Southeast Asia

For the latter half of the twentieth century, after the United Nations officially recognized Indonesian independence in 1949, Indonesia dominated regional politics in Southeast Asia. But during its shift from authoritarianism to democracy, in the late 1990s and early 2000s, Indonesia mostly lost that mantle of leadership. Now, with its democracy consolidated—though hardly perfect—and Indonesian leaders increasingly concerned about a range of regional threats, Jakarta is once again trying to lead Southeast Asia. Will it succeed? For more on whether Indonesia can reclaim this mantle, see my new article for Aspenia Online.

Over the past two years, and even as Thailand has made a transition from junta rule to, now, some kind of hybrid rule, following hotly contested but unfair elections, Thai activists living abroad have become increasingly imperiled. After the military took over after a coup in 2014, activism within the kingdom became increasingly perilous, and activists who questioned the monarchy, and lived in Thailand, have been endangered for decades. But in the past two years, the danger seems to have spread. In December 2018, two Thai antimonarchy and antimilitary activists living in exile in Laos were found dead in that country, in extremely mysterious circumstances. Their bodies were fished from the Mekong River. They had been handcuffed and disemboweled and their stomachs packed with concrete. Overall, in 2018 and 2019, multiple antimonarchy dissidents living in Laos have vanished—three supposedly vanished during a trip to Vietnam. Human Rights Watch and other rights organizations have expressed extreme concerns that the dissidents who vanished in Vietnam have become victims of enforced disappearances. In 2016 and 2017 other Thai antimonarchy activists had been disappeared in Laos. Another Thai activist known for antimonarchy views sought refuge in Malaysia, but was forcibly repatriated to Thailand earlier this year, where she is likely to face serious charges. The situation for exiled critics of Thailand’s military and monarchy seems to be getting even more dangerous. In July, Pavin Chachavalpongpun, a prominent academic, writer, and critic of the military and the monarchy, reported that he was in his bedroom, at night, with his partner, when, according to him, someone broke into their house in Kyoto, Japan, and sprayed Pavin and his partner with some kind of chemical substance. (Full disclosure: Pavin is a friend and a sometime coauthor; he also had his Thai passport revoked five years ago for his criticism of the monarchy and military.) Pavin and his partner, he reports, chased the man away, but they felt a burning on their skin, went to a local hospital, and also contacted the police. The hospital, Pavin reported, told them the chemical was not lethal—but instead some kind of pepper or capsicum spray. Pavin says that he believed he had been followed near his residence before the attack. Kyoto police are reportedly investigating the attack. The Thai government denies that they had any role in the reported attack on Pavin and his partner, but the pattern of increasing pressure on dissidents and activists living in exile is increasingly ominous.

In a recent analysis for the Jamestown Foundation, Russell Hsiao of the Global Taiwan Institute presented a thorough and compelling case of Chinese Communist Party (CCP) influence operations in Singapore. Singapore is a critical state for China in Southeast Asia, given the outsized role Singapore plays in regional diplomacy, the fact that it is the only Southeast Asian state with a majority ethnic Chinese population, and the fact that its leaders have an increasingly wary approach to China’s regional assertiveness. Hsiao notes that Singapore long has been a target of Chinese influence activities, through the United Front, through business associations, through clan associations, through Chinese influence over some Chinese-language Singapore media properties, and through other tools. His documentation is thorough, and it notes that, in recent years, China has utilized its influence at times of high Singapore-Beijing tensions, including, as he notes, one critical recent spat: One example was seen in 2016–2017, in which nine Singaporean military armored vehicles used for training in Taiwan were impounded during passage through Hong Kong. Singapore-PRC relations were strained by the incident, but Singaporean Chinese businessmen, who held ties with government officials through grassroots associations and other channels, reportedly provided ‘feedback’ to the government to avoid stirring up trouble with China by continuing to train in Taiwan. But what Hsiao does not explore is the extent to which, in recent years, Chinese attempts to influence Singapore seem to have grown, even compared to the long history of CCP influence strategies in the city-state. These efforts include both soft and sharp power. Singaporean officials believe that Beijing’s efforts to pressure Singaporean Chinese media, despite tough Singaporean media regulations, have increased in the past decade. They further believe that Beijing is boosting attempts to wield influence over universities and think tanks in Singapore; and, they believe that China is expanding people-to-people exchanges, which are tools of both soft and, potentially, sharp power in Singapore. There are further worries among Singaporean leaders that Beijing could increasingly affect Singaporeans’ news consumption and views of regional relations as WeChat becomes even more ubiquitous regionally as a source of conversation and information. And is Beijing’s approach working? In some cases, like the impoundment of the Singapore armored vehicles, China’s influence approach in Singapore may have worked for China. But overall, it remains unclear whether China’s soft and sharp power approaches to the city-state are actually producing a Singaporean populace with more favorable views of China, an environment in Singapore that would make the city-state more willing to go along with Chinese foreign policy aims, or really any shift in the receiving state (Singapore)’s long-term views because of China’s actions. In fact, Chinese influence activities have sparked Singapore to have a tough, open conversation about Beijing’s efforts, and to increasingly improve Singapore’s defenses against influence operations. Singapore, though, is not unique—and other Southeast Asian states are not as prepared as the city-state to evaluate and combat Chinese soft and sharp power strategies. Chinese influence activities are expanding in other Southeast Asian states, as China ramps up both its soft and sharp power approach to the region. In some Southeast Asian states, like Cambodia, the influence is increasingly obvious; Beijing has helped launch a news outlet in Cambodia that appears to be essentially a pro-regime and pro-China tool, and China may have played a role in manipulating Cambodia’s information environment prior to last year’s elections, where Hun Sen took complete control of the country. In other states in the region, too, Chinese soft and sharp power campaigns have dramatically increased in the past decade. I will examine these soft and sharp power efforts in other Southeast Asian states—and whether they are working—more fully in coming blog posts and other longer publications.

It has become, at this point, almost a trope to conclude that global democracy is increasingly imperiled, but there is considerable evidence backing this theory. In response to the global threats to democracy, some foreign policy analysts and government officials have begun to suggest that the United States and other democracies are entering a Cold War–style competition against autocracy, in its many modern forms. While autocracy—illiberal populism of both the right and the left, military dictatorship, major autocratic powers like China—is clearly on the rise globally and in Asia, a Cold War–style, grand ideological campaign against authoritarianism in general is unlikely to halt democracy’s global regression. For more on democracy’s slide in Asia, and how states should respond, see my new feature in the Diplomat.

Last month, the United Nations released a scathing report about the organization’s own actions in Myanmar over the past ten years. The report, written by an independent investigator, but commissioned by UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres, lambasted the UN for a “systemic failure” by UN agencies to find any common strategy toward the Myanmar government. This strategic failure, it noted, continued even as abuses escalated in the past five years against the Rohingya, and ultimately resulted in such atrocities that the UN’s own fact finding mission has called for Myanmar’s top military leaders to be investigated on charges of genocide and crimes against humanity. The fact the UN was willing to investigate and criticize its own actions might offer some hope for change. For more on the UN’s approach to Myanmar, and whether it might shift, see my new World Politics Review article.

Last weekend’s Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) Summit, held in Bangkok, yielded several notable accomplishments. But several of the announced breakthroughs actually contain less than meets the eye. 1. Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership. At the ASEAN summit, leaders from the ten Southeast Asian nations vowed to rapidly push forward the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership (RCEP), which also includes non-ASEAN states including Australia, China, India, Japan, South Korea, and others. Thai Prime Minister Prayuth Chan-ocha said, over the weekend, that he expects RCEP to be completed by the end of the year, echoing a promise made by RCEP participants last year. This is probably an overambitious goal—there is still considerable negotiating to be done, especially with Australia and India; Singapore Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong was probably closer the mark when he stated that Southeast Asian states hope to conclude much of the substantial negotiations on RCEP by the end of 2019. Nonetheless, real progress toward finalizing RCEP would be another huge step forward for regional multilateral trade integration—and a further sign that such integration will continue even though the United States has largely abdicated trade leadership in Asia. 2. The Indo-Pacific Outlook. ASEAN states came together and jointly announced their vision for the Indo-Pacific region, after some doubts voiced from Singapore and other members as the vision took shape in the months prior to the summit. The Outlook is a five-page document, with a lot of holes; it lacks significant details about many issues. As Prashanth Parameswaran notes for the Diplomat, the Outlook covers several areas: “the integration of the Asia-Pacific and Indian Ocean regions; the promotion of dialogue and cooperation instead of rivalry; the advancement of development and prosperity of all; and the importance of the maritime domain in the regional architecture.” The release of ASEAN’s Indo-Pacific Outlook at least allows ASEAN to have some vision, at a time when other actors including the United States, Australia, France, and Japan all have released regional visions. And the outlook will attempt to place ASEAN at the center of regional integration and regional security—a view core to ASEAN’s beliefs. But given that it is a thin document, and offers only a minimal insight as to specifics of how ASEAN would organize the region—and that ASEAN states still appear divided about how to put meat on the Outlook—it is hard to imagine it as a document that will help restore ASEAN’s unity and will have as much impact as documents issued on the Indo-Pacific by major powers. The thin document does not really offer much rationale for ASEAN centrality in Asia, and it says little of note about major powers in the region—the United States and China—or about central issues like the South China Sea. 3. The Rohingya. Before the summit, ministers from ASEAN states like Malaysia, and many rights organizations, applied pressure on the Myanmar government to offer the Rohingya Myanmar citizenship after violence in western Myanmar’s Rakhine state, which has been labeled genocide and crimes against humanity by the United Nations and human rights groups. Some ministers also called for real justice for the perpetrators of these crimes. Perhaps predictably, the Myanmar government refused—and ASEAN, wedded to consensus, did not make any public demands on Naypyidaw. The ASEAN way, of playing down tough issues and often abdicating on rights, has triumphed again—to the detriment, of course, of the Rohingya.

The summit this weekend of leaders of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), held in Bangkok, will probably be less contentious than some of the ASEAN summits earlier this decade, when the organization’s divides over China were plainly on view. Still, there are several key issues to follow when the ten leaders meet in the Thai capital. 1. Prayuth Chan-ocha as the chair. Prayuth, newly confirmed as Thailand’s civilian prime minister, will head the meeting, since Thailand holds the rotating chair of ASEAN this year. Thailand has been aggressively advertising the meeting, probably to use it as a sign that Prayuth is in firm command, and that the event will signify his transition from coup leader to civilian leader. Prayuth will get the warm welcome he seeks. Although some other ASEAN leaders may be uncomfortable with a chair who launched a coup against an elected government, ASEAN’s norm of noninterference in other states’ affairs, and the fact that all the leaders probably will have to work with Prayuth for a long time, will muffle any comments about how Prayuth became Thailand’s civilian prime minister. 2. The ASEAN Indo-Pacific Outlook. The ten ASEAN states will probably approve and reveal a vision for the region called the “ASEAN Indo-Pacific Outlook,” which will emphasize ASEAN’s centrality to the region—although, the outlook will likely be so vague that it will be hard to glean much more from it. But there are already tensions among key states about aspects of the vision; Singapore reportedly is wary of the concept, which has long been pushed by Indonesia as a counterpart to the regional visions that have been developed by the United States, Australia, France, and Japan, among others. It is possible that these tensions will keep the vision from being revealed at the summit. 3. The ongoing crisis for the Rohingya. Hundreds of thousands of Rohingya have fled to Bangladesh after ethnic cleansing in Rakhine State; smaller numbers have fled to ASEAN member-states including Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand. Although the issue of whether, and how, Rohingya refugees could be repatriated will definitely be a major area of discussion at the summit, ASEAN states likely will play down any criticism of the Myanmar government, given ASEAN’s usual practice of not harshly criticizing member-states. Thailand’s foreign minister already has said that the group will not be “pointing out who is right or wrong” regarding the Rohingya issue—despite the fact that the UN, and numerous rights agencies, have accused the Myanmar military and government of abetting genocide and crimes against humanity. Indonesian President Joko Widodo likely will push the Myanmar government to make real progress on promoting peace in Rakhine State and ensuring safety for Rohingya returning there; right now, it would be unsafe for Rohingya to return. But he could easily get the cold shoulder from the Myanmar government, which has bristled at even the mildest critiques and suggestions from neighbors. 4. Trade tensions. Although the ASEAN states have few options, they surely will spend considerable time discussing what, if anything, Southeast Asia can do as the region is increasingly caught up by regional trade current, including the escalating trade war between the United States and China. The trade battle has actually had some positive, short-term impacts on ASEAN states like Vietnam, a location that is absorbing outflows of investment leaving China. But overall, an extended trade battle will seriously concern many Southeast Asian states, especially those, like Singapore, whose economies are almost totally trade dependent. The countries likely will discuss the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership, but there is little indication the deal will be completed anytime soon; the massive agreement has so many potential stumbling blocks. 5. China. With Thailand as the ASEAN chair, instead of Singapore (last year’s chair) or Vietnam (next year’s chair), China may have more leverage within the group; Thailand and China have much warmer relations than China does with Vietnam or Singapore. When Cambodia was chair, in 2012, Beijing appeared to wield significant leverage over ASEAN meetings. Thailand is far more powerful and independent than Cambodia, but China still likely will have more sway than it did last year or will next year. However, it is unlikely that ASEAN will agree on a proposed South China Sea code of conduct with China during this summit; there remain deep tensions within the organization about the proposed code, and a Chinese vessel just last week rammed a Philippine fishing boat in disputed waters, angering Filipinos.

Earlier this month, the retired general who led a military coup in Thailand five years ago, Prayuth Chan-ocha, was formally confirmed as prime minister by King Vajiralongkorn, after parliament unsurprisingly voted to hand the position to the former coup leader. Of course, Prayuth, who did not even run in Thailand’s elections in March, was in the position to win the parliamentary vote because, since the coup, the junta he led had essentially hand-picked the upper house of parliament, after rewriting the constitution to make the Senate appointed, and overseen other constitutional changes that weakened large and anti-military parties. Then, after the long-delayed and controlled elections in March, Thailand’s Election Commission offered a highly unusual interpretation of the results. It seemed to arbitrarily reduce the number of seats won in the lower house of parliament by a coalition of anti-military parties, giving just enough seats to a collection of tiny parties that then joined Prayuth’s coalition. Before the parliamentary vote last week, Prayuth declined to offer a vision to the legislature for how he would govern. Given the way he became prime minister, which infuriated many opposition parties, part of the new government’s agenda will likely include further measures to repress activists. But repression will not be Prayuth’s only card. For an analysis of Prayuth’s agenda, see my new piece for World Politics Review, from which this excerpt is taken.

In elections last month, Australia’s Liberal-National coalition won a surprising victory, defying pollsters who had almost uniformly predicted that the Australian Labor Party would triumph. The coalition’s victory was chalked up, by many, to the unpopularity of Labor leader Bill Shorten, who has since resigned as leader of Labor, and the Australian electorate’s cautiousness—the coalition had overseen continued economic expansion, and Labor had proposed a bold agenda that might have alienated some voters. On domestic policy, the coalition’s victory likely presages continuity on key domestic issues like taxes. Morrison promised tax cuts before the election, for instance and seems likely to deliver them. But the impact of the coalition’s victory on Australian policy toward Southeast Asia is somewhat less clear. In the run-up to the election, as James Curran noted for Asia Unbound, the parties did not seriously debate foreign policy. On China and the United States, two of Australia’s three most important foreign relationships, Morrison seems to have a predictable approach, Curran wrote, but the Liberal-National coalition will find its policies challenged by regional and global dynamics—principally being pulled between the two giants—that could undermine Morrison’s attempt to have a coherent China policy. And in dealing with Southeast Asia and the Pacific, the coalition’s approach seems somewhat more muddled, although there are important reasons for hope. On Indonesia, Morrison is poised to move relations forward, and has already taken steps, since becoming prime minister last year, to solidify ties with Jakarta. In March, Indonesia and Australia signed a major free trade agreement, though it still has to be approved by parliaments in Canberra and Jakarta. This was a landmark in bilateral economic ties, and Morrison also went to Jakarta on his first international trip as prime minister last year. In making Indonesia his first destination for an international trip, Morrison demonstrated the high priority he placed on the Australia-Indonesia relationship, historically a fraught one. Although ties between Canberra and Jakarta cooled briefly last year after Morrison raised the idea of moving the Australian embassy in Israel, Morrison formally recognized West Jerusalem as Israel’s capital yet his administration ultimately opened a defense and trade office in Jerusalem, with little fanfare. The trade agreement, too, helped warm links again between Jakarta and Canberra. In his new term, Morrison is likely to push efforts to upgrade strategic ties with Indonesia, in addition to getting the trade deal passed through parliament. The bilateral relationship, like all of Indonesia’s foreign ties, also probably will benefit from more stability in Canberra, as Morrison’s election and new Liberal Party rules that make internal party spills more difficult should stabilize Australian politics and prevent the revolving chair prime minister problem that, in recent years, has unsettled regional allies. The opportunity for closer strategic relations between Australia and Indonesia certainly exists: As I noted in a Council Special Report last year, the Jokowi administration has become increasingly worried about Beijing’s approach to the South China Sea and other regional challenges. Indonesians overall also have declining favorable views of China. Indeed, Jakarta has moved closer to Canberra’s hawkish views about China’s military assertiveness, although Jokowi needs to woo Chinese investment so badly that he will be reluctant to truly alienate Beijing. Still, there is a substantial chance for Morrison to build on the Comprehensive Strategic Partnership Australia signed with Indonesia last year, such as by expanding bilateral joint military exercises or making the new Japan-South Korea-Australia-Indonesia exercises a regular practice. Outside Indonesia, admittedly Canberra’s crucial Southeast Asian relationship, the coalition’s policies are less clear. Morrison seems more focused on China, Indonesia, and the Pacific, traditionally an Australian sphere of influence but increasingly an area of Chinese dominance, than on Southeast Asia other than Indonesia. Morrison’s plan for a Pacific pivot is substantial, and he has already moved to make good on the strategy. His approach will balance China’s power in the Pacific, though the coalition’s general lack of action on climate change will potentially undermine Pacific ties. With mainland Southeast Asia, other than Vietnam, it will be difficult for the Morrison administration to convince any countries to go along with Canberra’s relatively tough approach toward China. And Canberra does not appear to have as clear a strategy toward mainland Southeast Asian states as it does toward the rest of the region. I will deal with Morrison’s approach to mainland Southeast Asia in the next blog post.

In March, Thai voters cast their ballots in the country’s first election since a military coup in 2014. After months of waiting, a prime minister was finally chosen on Wednesday—Prayuth Chan-ocha, the retired general who led Thailand’s coup five years ago. His victory was all but guaranteed, even though anti-junta forces together got the most votes in the election, after the military and its allies launched criminal charges against top opposition leaders, and oversaw an unusual reading of electoral laws to help the pro-military party gain the most seats possible.  What will Prayuth as a civilian prime minister look like? And how will he handle a very different Thai politics? For more, see my new Q&A on the Thai prime minister.

Prayuth Chan-ocha led the 2014 military coup and will now lead the country as civilian prime minister after this week’s parliamentary vote. But the military will still dominate politics.

By Pavin Chachavalpongpun and Joshua Kurlantzick General Prem Tinsulanonda, the former army chief, long-time prime minister (1980–1988), and head of the palace’s Privy Council, passed away on May 26, at the age of ninety-eight. Prem outlived former King Bhumibol Adulyadej, who died in October 2016. The two men had cultivated a special relationship that had shaped Thai politics for decades. Prem played a major role in the re-ascendance of the monarchy’s power, and also created a template of an unelected but relatively effective prime minister during his long time on the job in the 1980s. Unfortunately, few could replicate that template, yet Thailand’s generals and archroyalists have continued to dream of—and regularly put into place—unelected prime ministers, or prime ministers serving without a real popular mandate. Today, junta leader Prayuth Chan-ocha, who was the pro-military party’s candidate for prime minister in March elections, appears set to become civilian prime minister. The military had positioned Prayuth to serve as civilian prime minister, whether or not he got a real popular mandate. And in the March election, which reportedly was unfair in the run-up to election day, Prayuth’s party did not win the majority of seats, although to be sure it did perform well in the popular vote. But, after the election, what appeared to be a dubious reading of electoral laws by the country’s election commission created an allocation of seats that favoured the pro-military party and its allies. Now Prayuth’s party apparently has made a coalition with two midsize parties, including the Democrat Party, which did poorly in the election but now is a kingmaker in the lower house of parliament. This coalition should be enough to make Prayuth prime minister, although he will command a very slim majority in the lower house. If Field Marshal Sarit Thanarat, a dictator and prime minister, was the key figure who mentored King Bhumibol in the late 1950s and early 1960s when the monarchy remained relatively weak—weaker than the armed forces—Prem was the individual who most influenced the king in the 1980s and afterwards. Prem’s influence, moreover, came in a time when, with Prem’s help, the monarchy shifted the balance of power. By the 1980s and 1990s, the palace was no longer subservient to the armed forces; increasingly, they were equal powers, and today the palace has come to dominate the army in many respects. Sarit was responsible for constructing the ideology of neo-royalism, which resurrected the powerful position of the monarchy in politics after the end of the absolute monarchy in the 1930s, the diminution of the Thai monarchy in the 1940s, and the end of many monarchies globally in the post–World War II era. Sarit revived the ritual of prostration before monarchs, a ritual once abolished by King Chulalongkorn, who ruled what was then Siam between 1868 and 1910. The revival of prostration was one part of a broader campaign of rituals, media promotion, and other tactics designed to lift Bhumibol to the status of demigod. King Bhumibol also genuinely boosted his popularity in Thailand through extensive travel and charity work in the kingdom, earning subjects’ respect and love. For Sarit and other Thai military rulers, the revival of the monarchy also helped support the role of the military in politics. The security of the monarchy was made equivalent to the security of the nation. As the defender of national security, then, the military claimed the need to remain in politics so as to defend the security of the monarchy as well. The United States, which became Thailand’s key ally and patron in the Cold War, strongly supported the revival of the monarchy. Washington saw the king as a key ally in the battle against communism in Thailand and in Southeast Asia more broadly. Prem took on what Sarit left behind, promoting the position of Bhumibol in politics and ultimately making the palace the central actor in the country, around which even the military revolved. (Of course, Thailand is technically a constitutional monarchy, but in reality it is far from one.) The central political network in Thailand in recent decades has been what Duncan McCargo named the “network monarchy,” a network of royalists surrounding the palace, and pursuing policies supported by the king—with the royalists spread among the military, political parties, business, the bureaucracy and other power centers. In the 1980s Prem strengthened the network monarchy while ensuring that Bhumibol commanded the top of the political structure, and that other powerful actors understood the king’s role. Prem also oversaw a kind of managed democracy in which power still remained in his hands, the army’s hands, and the hands of the palace. However, since Bhumibhol died, the network monarchy has broken down; Prem and the current king, Vajiralongkorn, reportedly detested each other, and Vajiralongkorn has been more clearly amassing power himself, doing away with the idea of a network around the palace. Prem was handpicked by Bhumibol to serve as prime minister in 1980, and his time as prime minister was a period of relative stability (albeit not real democracy) and extremely high economic growth rates. The current Thai junta, while trying to ensure Prayuth becomes civilian prime minister, seemingly sees the Prem era of managed democracy as a model to emulate. However, Thai society has changed significantly since the 1980s, after decades of real democratic contests. Despite the five years of repression since the 2014 coup, it is hard to imagine such managed democracy surviving for long, and Prayuth and his allies also have shown little of the management skills of Prem and his circle of technocrats. After Prem stepped down from the premiership, he was appointed as the president of the Privy Council, the circle of advisors to the monarchy. As the head of the Privy Council, Prem positioned himself as maintaining the continuity and power of the network monarchy. He continued working with powerful institutions, including the armed forces, the judiciary, the Crown Property Bureau, and large companies, to control politics from behind the scenes. At times, when Thai elected governments became strong, threatening the power of the network monarchy, the network would push back. In the case of the Chatichai Choonhavan government, in 1991, the network resorted to a military coup to overthrow Chatichai. But the real challenge to the network monarchy and Prem arrived with the emergence of Thaksin Shinawatra on the political scene. Thaksin, who built an effective party apparatus and a sophisticated populist platform, posed a serious challenge to network monarchy. Winning multiple elections, he diminished the power of Prem and the network, until he openly challenged the authority of Bhumibol—an act that, in 2005 and 2006, sparked a coup in 2006 and Thailand’s seemingly never-ending political crisis, one that continues on today. When Bhumibol was hospitalized, beginning essentially in 2009, Prem’s position in Thai politics became weaker. Another military faction, the Queen’s Guard, which was not aligned with Prem, gained more power following the newly active role of Queen Sirikit as her husband was bedridden. The new reign of Vajiralongkorn commenced in 2016. Prem had long questioned Vajiralongkorn’s abilities as a monarch. In private, Prem had told American diplomats of his disapproval of Vajiralongkorn and wish that someone else would have been placed in the line of succession. His worries, captured in diplomatic cables that were ultimately leaked by WikiLeaks, likely infuriated Vajiralongkorn, given how the new king then treated Prem. As king, Vajiralongkorn reorganized the Privy Council, replacing old councillors picked by his father with his own trusted men. However, Prem was not kicked out, and still served as head of the Privy Council. But it was a powerless position. Vajiralongkorn essentially amended the constitution to allow himself to rule without a regent when out of the country, and generally emasculated the power of the Privy Council. He is now relying on a few personal advisors, rather than the Privy Council. The king apparently no longer wishes to depend on his proxies, working through the Privy Council as his father in the past. Instead, he appears to be taking action in areas from politics to the military to the Crown Property Bureau, largely on his own. The death of Prem, and the increasing power of the new king, could signal the end of the network monarchy era. Prem left a legacy in which the palace built up and maintained its power, through multiple eras, and even into the Shinawatra age. In this light, Prem left behind a legacy of royal dominance, to be further consolidated by Vajiralongkorn, even as the new king diminishes the network and takes more power for himself. Pavin Chachavalpongpun is associate professor at Kyoto University’s Center for Southeast Asian Studies.

With the final results out of the Indonesian presidential elections, incumbent President Joko Widodo, or Jokowi, has won a sizable victory over challenger Prabowo Subianto, with Jokowi taking 55.5 percent of the vote to Prabowo’s 44.5 percent. The sizable Jokowi win is being presented, at least in some media coverage, as evidence, in an era of populist strongman making gains globally—after all, populist Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi just led his party to a crushing victory in India’s national elections—that Indonesian voters had somehow rejected strongman politics for a man more committed to democratic pluralism, and to pragmatic fixes for the country’s major needs. The New York Times, for instance, called Jokowi’s re-election a “repudiation of the nationalist and faith politics that have brought strongmen to power across the globe.” To be sure, compared with Prabowo, a bombastic former lieutenant general who in recent years had made alliances with Islamists and has regularly hinted that he might rule as a strongman, Jokowi is more committed to Indonesian democratic norms and institutions. Jokowi performed well in many areas of the country with large numbers of religious minorities, suggesting that these voters believe he is more willing to protect concepts of secularism and pluralism embedded in the Indonesian constitution. “For the continued existence of our country,” Jokowi told the New York Times after the final results were released, “we have to rely on Indonesia’s culture, which is diverse and tolerant.” Yet Jokowi’s first term hardly suggests that, in his second term, he is likely to steer Indonesia back toward a pluralist path. He seems unlikely to move the country away from some of trends that point to growing military influence over the economy and domestic politics, an increasing crackdown on free speech, and rising intolerance for religious and ethnic minorities, and LGBT Indonesians. During his first five years in office, Jokowi abandoned many initial hopes that he would be a powerful champion for democracy, rights, and pluralism in a country that is increasingly facing sectarian divides and an empowered Islamist movement. He has said virtually nothing about the growing intolerance toward religious minorities, or the increasing jailing of LGBT Indonesians. He occasionally defended the LGBT community, but his government has not taken any action to stop attacks on LGBT people by Islamist hard-liners, often with the apparent support of the security forces. Last year, Jokowi, in a meeting with UN officials, implied that LGBT men and women should not be accepted in Indonesia. Meanwhile, in the latter part of Jokowi’s first term, he appointed former military men to many high positions in his government, and gave them multiple portfolios. This is a worrying sign for rights and for civilian control of the armed forces, given the army’s track record of abuses, and the fact that some of the men Jokowi placed at senior government positions themselves, like Defense Minister Ryamizard Ryacudu, have been linked to abuses in the past. The defense minister also is notorious for his anti-gay statements; he has said that Indonesia’s LGBT rights movement is “a form of proxy war” against the country. Perhaps, now that he does not have to run for office again, Jokowi will be more willing to use his bully pulpit to push back against rising Islamism, and increasing intolerances of minorities. But Jokowi is not normally a bully pulpit type speaker; he prefers to effect change in incremental ways, unlike some of his predecessors. This is part of his common man appeal, but his modest speaking style is not necessarily suited for using the rhetorical powers of the presidency to stand up for secularism and pluralism, and to combat rising Islamism. He also appears especially focused, as his second term launches, on delivering on areas like improving social welfare programs, continuing his work to upgrade Indonesia’s physical infrastructure, and making inroads into extreme poverty, as well as attracting investment. These are all much-needed and important areas for the president to focus on, the core of the pragmatic platform of a many who cut his teeth in politics as a big city mayor. But they will do little to stop the country’s slide into sectarianism and illiberalism. Jokowi also has promised a major revamp of his cabinet later this year, a common move after re-election. Still, given Jokowi’s close links with so many top military men, many military leaders will remain in the president’s close circle. In the weeks since the election, too, there are no signs that Jokowi intends to halt his efforts to use state powers against political opponents, even though he has been re-elected. Earlier this month, security forces arrested a prominent supporter of Jokowi opponent Prabowo, on treason charges, for supposedly planning large protests.

The election results show a hardening of voting patterns along religious, ethnic, and geographic lines, a troubling development for a multiracial and religiously diverse Indonesia.

By Petra Desatova Anand Panyarachun, the former prime minister of Thailand and a long-time central figure in Thai politics, belongs to an old generation of Thai technocrats, who shaped Thailand’s economic and political developments between the 1960s and 1990s. This was an era of mostly military rule, but many of the military governments delegated significant authority over the economy, and to some extent politics, to the technocratic elite. Educated almost exclusively in Europe and the United States, these technocrats had stellar careers and many, like Anand, who is now eighty-six years old, continue to command immense social respect to this day, even as Thailand’s political system has broken down, with little consensus left. The technocrats’ careers were characterized by a strong sense of public service and willingness to work with whatever government was in power. Their dealings with the military were often more pragmatic than principled—but not all Thai technocrats pandered to military interests. Anand, for one, despite generally conservative leanings, had thorny personal relations with many generals over the course of his technocratic career. This tension, however did not prevent him from accepting General Suchinda Kraprayoon’s offer to be appointed Thailand’s prime minister following the 1991 military coup. Anand’s achievements in office earned him a reputation, among many Thais, of the best prime minister Thais have never elected—injecting some legitimacy to the narrative of traditional elites (the monarchy, military, and senior bureaucracy) that you do not necessarily need to win an election to be a wise leader, a point hammered home by the current military junta’s creation of an upper house of parliament full only of appointed senators, for instance. Dominic Faulder’s new biography provides many fascinating insights into Anand’s life as well as some of the major political developments in modern Thai history, in which Anand often played a central role. Faulder is a veteran journalist and foreign correspondent, who has been based in Thailand since the early 1980s. Particularly well documented in Faulder’s Anand biography are the politically turbulent mid-1970s, which were marked by the end of the Vietnam War and withdrawal of all combat U.S. military forces from Thailand, which had been a primary staging ground for the war. The decade also was marked by the rise of ultra-conservative right-wing political forces—a rise that culminated in the infamous 1976 Thammasat University massacre. Another well-documented period in the book is the early 1990s, when Anand was appointed Thailand’s prime minister twice within nineteen months, amidst another period of extreme political turbulence that included Suchinda’s coup and Anand’s service as his prime minister, mass antimilitary protests in Bangkok, a brutal crackdown on the protestors by the Royal Thai Army, an intervention by the late king Bhumibol Adulyadej, and then a return to civilian government with Anand as prime minister again. Born in 1932 into a family of Chinese and Mon descent that was part of the Siamese non-royal titled elite (the country had not yet changed its name to Thailand), Anand’s life was comfortable and full of privileged opportunities. At the age of sixteen, he was sent to England to study at Dulwich College followed by a degree in economics and law at Trinity College, Cambridge. Upon his return to Thailand in 1955, Anand joined the foreign service, which was one of the most prestigious career paths for aspiring young technocrats at the time. He quickly rose up the ranks due to his excellent command of English and his no-nonsense attitude and forthrightness. These traits are not normally associated with Thai culture, and have earned Anand a reputation as being “un-Thai” among some co-workers. At the age of twenty-six, he was made a secretary to the then powerful foreign minister, Thanat Koman. This was a significant career leap that helped to develop Anand’s skills and experience. In 1964, Thanat posted Anand to New York to join the Permanent Mission of Thailand to the United Nations. By the age of forty, Anand had become an ambassador to Washington—the most prestigious diplomatic posting at the time in the Thai foreign service. Anand’s approach to diplomacy was very hands-on. He believed that the role of a diplomat was to “have your own mind and make [policy] inputs.” This approach did not always sit well with some deep-seated Thai cultural norms, such as valuing seniority and deference. His approach landed him in trouble when he returned to Thailand in 1975 to become a permanent secretary at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. His uncompromising stance on the lingering U.S. military presence in the kingdom made him particularly unpopular with Thailand’s generals, who charged him with communist tendencies following the 1976 military coup and the Thammasat University massacre. Although exonerated within a few months, this experience had a profound impact on Anand and his family—it led to his decision to exit the foreign service in 1978 and start a second career in business. Anand’s rise to premiership in 1991 was unexpected. Readers might find it surprising that he was not General Suchinda Kraprayoon’s first choice for the post. In fact, his name had to be suggested to Suchinda. Although Anand considered the coup a “national catastrophe,” he agreed to take the job. Saying no and leaving the generals to drown in the political malaise they had created would, theoretically, be the principled option, but Anand believed it was not a good decision for Thailand. He formed a government full of capable technocrats and pushed through many impressive policies, such as trade liberalization and a highly effective anti-HIV/AIDS campaign that made Thailand a model for other developing countries, with staggering speed and efficiency. This has had a lasting political effect on Thailand as Anand essentially demonstrated what capable, civilian, and incorruptible leaders can theoretically achieve if they are not constrained by electoral politics. Every time there is a political crisis in Thailand, some Thais hope for another unelected leader with Anand-like qualities. What they usually get, however, is an ineffective military general with a narrow, pro-armed forces, and regressive agenda. Anand’s second term as Thailand’s prime minister followed General Suchinda’s short-lived elected government and the bloody crackdown on anti-government protesters in May 1992. Anand’s second term was only 104 days long and had no legislative agenda. Anand chose not to launch a criminal investigation into the May 1992 events. Instead he secretly drafted a transfer plan to remove the military generals responsible for the violent crackdown from positions of power. This was a missed opportunity to hold the Royal Thai Army accountable for the May 1992 events, but Anand maintains to this day that any formal investigation was the responsibility of the elected governments that came to power after him. Following his two premierships, Anand returned to work in the private sector. He also became involved in many activities with public-service elements, both in Thailand and abroad. Some of his most notable contributions include chairing the constitution drafting committee that delivered Thailand’s widely-praised and progressive 1997 constitution, presiding over a United Nation’s panel on global peace and security, chairing the commission on Southern Thailand, and chairing the National Reform Commission on Thailand’s deep political and societal divides. Faulder’s book shows that Anand is by no means a typical Thai technocrat, but readers might be left with mixed feelings about Anand. Although Anand holds some fairly progressive views, within the context of Thai politics and society—Anand supports the devolution of power to Thailand’s outer regions, and Faulder quotes Anand as saying that the draconian lèse-majesté law, which has stifled discourse, should be decriminalized and replaced with a system of fines—Anand is still very conservative. He donated fifty-thousand Thai baht to the ultra-royalist and conservative People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD) movement, part of the broader royalist “yellow shirt movement.” The PAD played a role in ousting the elected government of Thaksin Shinawatra and paving the way for the 2006 military coup. Anand also attended a funeral of a yellow shirt protester in 2008. He does not regret either action. Described as “pale yellow”—sympathetic to the arch-royalist yellow shirt movement in Thailand—by a close friend, Anand is an unapologetic royalist. Five hundred fifty-six pages long, the book can seem quite daunting, but Faulder’s narrative style is highly readable. Many of his insights stem from his long personal relationship with Anand, and he provides a lot of rich detail on Anand’s life and career, drawing on more than two hundred interviews with Anand and interviews with many other sources. His account of Anand is set within wider discussions of Thailand’s political developments, regional and international affairs. However, readers expecting a highly-critical assessment of Anand’s role in these developments or explorations of the many controversies surrounding Thai politics might be disappointed. This is an authorized biography that presents a largely positive account of Anand and treads carefully around many of the controversial topics in Thai politics, including the country’s multiple military interventions, and the role of the monarchy, often leaving it to the reader to join the dots in the narrative about these topics. Nevertheless, this is a very informative and absorbing book, which will be of great interest to Thailand experts as well as anyone interested in the politics and diplomacy of a long-time, critical U.S. treaty ally. Petra Desatova, PhD, is a researcher on the United States Institute of Peace project into Thailand’s 2019 elections, at the School of Politics and International Studies, University of Leeds.