Southeast Asia

Although in his first three years in office President Rodrigo Duterte has proven divisive internationally, this week’s midterm elections show that he retains enormous power over Philippine politics. In fact, after his allies’ sweeping victories in both houses of congress, he probably now has more control than any Philippine leader since dictator Ferdinand Marcos. What will Duterte do with the victory? Given the events of past three years, it is easy to imagine him using magnified powers to move the country farther from an illiberal democracy and closer to an outright autocracy, while also taking steps to entrench his influence well beyond the end of his term in 2022. On foreign policy, however, Duterte’s big win will have less impact. For more on the implications of the Philippine midterms, see my new World Politics Review article.

By Pavin Chachavalpongpun and Joshua Kurlantzick The coronation of King Vajiralongkorn of Thailand, held last weekend, was the first crowning of a Thai sovereign since that of his father, the late King Bhumibol Adulyadej, who was enthroned in May 1950. A few days before the coronation, King Vajiralongkorn surprised the public by announcing his marriage, the king’s fourth, with Suthida Vajiralongkorn na Ayutthaya, a former flight attendant who is now Thailand’s queen consort. The crowning of Vajiralongkorn last weekend was a formal ceremony; in reality, he has already been acting as king for two and a half years. Bhumibol reigned for seventy years until he passed away in October 2016, and generally amassed enormous goodwill among Thais, as well as substantial moral capital that he could use at times of great crisis in the kingdom. The long, authoritative reign of Bhumibol started when he was quite young, and Thais’ images of him were mostly a blank slate, allowing the king and his allies in the military and the Cold War-era United States, for whom Thailand was a critical partner, to shape a benign, caring image of Bhumibol to the Thai public. However, the relatively advanced age that his son ascends to the throne (he is sixty-six, while his father was enthroned at age twenty-two, and some Thai citizens’ concerns about the new king’s suitability for the throne and how he plans to utilize his powers, raise critical questions about whether Vajiralongkorn could ever enjoy the popularity of his father. It will be much harder for the new king to win the public trust, and repeat his father’s success as a respected mediator. Yet Thailand’s prospects in the post-coronation period rest, in good part, on the ability of King Vajiralongkorn to build a new consensus with the country’s major political stakeholders—some of whom are the same as they have been for decades, while others are emerging onto the scene. To be sure, Thailand is technically a constitutional monarchy, with the monarch supposedly above politics, but since the end of Thailand’s absolute monarchy in the 1930s the monarch has long competed with, and allied himself with, politicians in wielding of political power. During the Bhumibol period, the king built a political network, known in Thailand scholar Duncan McCargo’s phrase, as the “network monarchy,” as a vehicle to wield power. Today, Vajiralongkorn is more open in his political ambition, and in how he involves himself in politics. Thailand has fallen into a protracted crisis over the past twenty years, starting from the early period of Thaksin Shinawatra’s government, when he governed as an illiberal democrat—and getting worse in 2006, the year the Thaksin government was overthrown in a coup. The growing crisis at that time coincided with the decline of the Bhumibol era; as any Thai political consensus that existed unraveled, Bhumibol stood aside and then became increasingly physically incapacitated and unable to play a role as a mediator, as he had done at some points in the past in Thai history. Thai political stability had been sustained in many of the previous decades in part because Bhumibol was able to negotiate a consensus among various political actors, such as the military and various pro-democracy movements. (However, Bhumibol certainly had conservative leanings, and sometimes abandoned his mediating role to more clearly back the military and its allies, thereby defying the idea that the monarchy remains above politics; but, the former king rarely openly delved into politics.) The former king was able to serve as this mediator because of his wide public popularity. It was also possible because he earned a great degree of legitimacy through his moral authority, which was partly created by a sophisticated public relations campaign overseen by the palace, but also depended on the former king traveling throughout Thailand and seeming to really care about the lives of most Thais. But King Vajiralongkorn does not come to the throne with those advantages. The achievements of Bhumibol were individualistic and not institutional, meaning the royal transition fails to automatically bring security to the monarchy, although Bhumibol’s legacy, and the palace’s intense publicity campaigns, do offer some initial goodwill for the new king. Still, Vajiralongkorn faces several challenges in becoming a respected figure who could foster stability. For one, he has shown an intention to intervene more directly in politics than his father, such as by initially refusing to approve Thailand’s new constitution, until parts of the constitution were changed, and by taking more direct control of the wealthy Crown Property Bureau. Second, the early days of his era as king have not led to a reduction in political tensions. The elections held on March 24, the first in Thailand since the coup of May 2014, were held in an unfair pre-election environment. Even so, a coalition of anti-junta parties initially appeared to have won a slim majority of seats in the lower house of Parliament, as well as the largest combined share of the popular vote. But the official results for all seats appear to have been interpreted, by Thailand’s election commission, in a questionable way that favors a coalition of pro-military parties, further deepening political uncertainties. The military is further using various avenues to try to destroy the anti-junta coalition of parties, and possibly put one of its key leaders in jail. The king has been, at best, mute on these developments. Vajiralongkorn does not seem interested in brokering any consensus between the military and anti-junta parties. The country seems headed for continued instability, with a military-backed prime minister and seething anger among supporters of anti-junta parties. The current army chief General Apirat Kongsompong, handpicked by Vajiralongkorn, has several times intervened in politics. He has openly threatened and tried to intimidate the leadership of a new anti-junta party, Future Forward, which did extremely well for a first-time party in the March elections. On the contrary, the new king turned down his best opportunity to broker a potentially lasting consensus in Thailand before the election was held—when he scotched a plan to have his sister, Princess Ubolratana, run as a prime minister candidate at the head of Thai Raksa Chart. Had she been allowed to run, and won, she could have possibly created a political compromise in which the powerful military was defanged, and tensions between groups of Thais on different sides of the political, regional, and social spectrums cooled. (She also might have caused other problems, as a royal-turned-prime minister who could have stifled dissent because of her position.) But as it turned out, when former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra nominated the princess as prime ministerial candidate for the Thaksin-linked Thai Raksa Chart, Vajiralongkorn issued a royal command: he did not only prevent the princess from running but castigated Thaksin for politicizing the monarchy. Vajiralongkorn’s response was seen as a move to calm the yellow-shirt royalists who were enraged by a potential alliance between Thaksin and Ubolratana, but it did nothing to position the new king as an honest broker in Thai politics. More recently, King Vajiralongkorn continued to penalize Thaksin by stripping the former prime minister of royal decorations. This move will further thwart any attempt in bringing about consensus in the new reign. Combined with a seeming desire to intervene more openly in politics—in some ways harkening back to the era of the absolute monarchy—and a disinterest in brokering between political actors, the new king does not have a reservoir of public trust that might sustain him even if he made controversial decisions. The Thai public, despite strict lèse majesté laws, has for years found ways to access stories of the new king, published in the foreign press, about his eccentric lifestyle and playboy reputation. Forging political consensus is key to a successful reign. Consensus may not lead to democracy in Thailand, but stability can be achieved through political compromises. Bhumibol’s rule was characterized by the predominance of consensus over coercion, even though he tended to side with the military at most key moments. In contrast, only a few years into the Vajiralongkorn reign, it is unclear whether the new king has an interest in fostering political consensus at all. Pavin Chachavalpongpun is associate professor at Kyoto University’s Center for Southeast Asian Studies.

Although it has been more than a month since Thailand’s elections, the actual outcome remains uncertain. The final count of seats in the lower house of parliament is still unclear, since the election commission has not decided how to allocate party list seats, and since some of the winning candidates, particularly in the group of anti-junta parties, could be disqualified. Of course, the upper house was not elected, and is essentially packed with supporters of the military and probable prime minister Prayuth Chan-ocha. The group of anti-junta parties, which joined in a coalition after the election, still claim to have more than half of the seats in the lower house of parliament. Although half the lower house would not be a big enough haul to stop Prayuth from becoming prime minister, since he could draw on total support in the senate and enough support in the lower house to be named prime minister, holding more than half the seats in the lower house would in theory allow the anti-junta coalition to block legislation proposed by Prayuth and his allies. This showing by the anti-junta parties also, in theory, reflects the public will—and a desire by many Thais to embrace new, reformist parties. But the anti-junta coalition’s position remains perilously weak; in reality, they have few cards to play. Some articles, like a recent piece in the Nikkei Asian Review, suggest that the anti-junta coalition is in a modestly strong position to challenge the military, and eventually pave the way toward real liberal democracy in Thailand. And indeed, it is true that in the elections, Future Forward, the biggest new party in the anti-junta coalition, won a strikingly large share of seats for a party that had not existed before the 2019 vote, and one that was not linked to the red-yellow splits of the past. It also demonstrated a popular appetite for a party that eschewed traditional political machinery and Thai money politics, called for cuts to the bloated military budget, brought many new faces into politics, and relied on social media to get out its talking points. But a future where Future Forward, or another reformist party, has real power, is far off. The junta has shown, in the weeks since the election, that they intend to crush Future Forward, and that a political compromise, one that might end post-election squabbling over the lower house and pave the way for real reform far down the road, is almost surely not going to happen. This time around, unlike, say, in the mid-2000s, the armed forces appear determined not to allow a situation in which their power could be undercut. The leader of Future Forward, Thanathorn Juangroongruamgkit, and other top members of Future Forward, face a wide range of charges, including some related to election law, some related to sedition, and some related to share sales. Most likely, Thanathorn will be disqualified from politics, and some of his allies in the party will be coerced or co-opted to join the pro-military coalition in the lower house. Meanwhile, other members of the anti-junta coalition will be arm-twisted to join the pro-military coalition in the lower house, defanging the anti-junta group’s power. The anti-junta coalition will have little recourse. Indeed, the military, which already oversaw the harshest coup era in Thailand in decade, has little interest in compromise. They also face little external pressure; foreign diplomats may pay visits to Thanathorn, but foreign governments are not going to turn the screws on Thailand. Major powers are eager to fully restore all relations with Bangkok, no matter how the election results ultimately wind up. The tactics being utilized against Thanathorn are tried and true measures in Thai politics. Will they provoke an angry, violent response, as has occurred at times in Thailand when the military, and its proxies attempted to subvert the results of an election? Probably not now—there is unlikely to be massive unrest, of the kind that paralyzed Bangkok in 1992 or 2010. The junta took tough measures, in the past five years, to minimize the possibility of a popular uprising; the groups with the greatest recent abilities to turn out large numbers of protestors, those linked to Puea Thai party, have mostly been shattered in recent years.

By Nicholas Borroz The Last Days of the Mighty Mekong, by Brian Eyler, director of the Southeast Asia program at the Stimson Center, takes the reader on a journey from glaciers in China to rice fields in Vietnam, stopping along the way in Cambodia, Laos, and Thailand. The book describes how unsustainable human society’s current relationship is with the Mekong, which he defines not just as a river but as a complex ecological system that includes glaciers, lakes, deltas, and other smaller rivers in the region. The Mekong is important globally in terms of biodiversity—thirteen times more fish are caught annually from the Mekong than from all of North America’s lakes and rivers combined. It is also important strategically—the Mekong starts in China and flows through mainland Southeast Asia, an economically dynamic region where Beijing is increasingly the dominant external power. The Mekong has become increasingly important to trade as well, as the river has been made more navigable (controversially) through efforts by China to dredge rapids and remove rocks, among other strategies. Eyler demonstrates, through a mix of anecdotes and analysis, how economic development projects that fail to consider ecological consequences are, ultimately, unsustainable—such projects increasingly threaten the long-term health of the river and its basin. In the context of the Mekong, he shows, the impact on the river can occur locally, when a Cambodian fishing community for instance overfishes and depletes fish stocks, thus destroying its livelihood. It can happen on a national scale—for instance, when the Vietnamese government builds water management infrastructure that interrupts sedimentation distribution cycles, thus undermining the national agricultural sector the infrastructure is supposed to support. This damage also can happen on a regional scale. Thailand’s energy demands, for instance, are one reason for dam-building in Laos, and these dams ultimately damage biodiversity both in Laos and Thailand. Eyler shows that unsustainable economic development is destroying both the Mekong’s biodiversity and also the ways of life of communities along and near the river. Eyler cites numerous indicators that biodiversity is on the wane, such as declining Mekong Giant Catfish populations and the changing compositions of cyprinid harvests. To explain the community destruction threat, he provides numerous sobering examples, particularly in China and Cambodia, of ill-designed relocation programs that have hurt displaced communities’ societies and economies. Although all of the countries in the Mekong basin have, in various ways, undermined the river’s long-term viability, Eyler places the most blame on China for the Mekong’s dire future. As he notes early in the book, the Chinese model of economic development “is defined by top-down, investment-led capitalism at the expense of protecting communities and natural biodiversity.” At the end of the book, he circles back to his core claim, after reviewing a mountain of evidence, and reaffirms that China’s model of development is the Mekong’s biggest threat. Not only does dam-building in China (where the river is called the Lancang) disrupt the Mekong further downstream, but Chinese outbound investment and tourism to Southeast Asia potentially lead to harmful economic development projects in other countries. Eyler implies that economic development projects—which often proceed in the Mekong basin after weak or nonexistent environmental impact studies—must do much more to consider potential ecological and societal consequences before they are approved by regional governments. Only in this way, he notes, will the region’s states avoid catastrophe for the river basin. He provides a few examples of relatively sustainable economic development in the river basin. He does not, however, propose a clear, concrete plan for how states—either upstream China or downstream less powerful states—can enforce this shift. Nor does he explain how the region could more broadly avoid greater long-term damage to the health of the river and the people who depend on it. Perhaps he does not offer further recommendations because he sees little reason to believe China will reconsider the ecological and societal consequences of its dam-building activities, or seriously consult other stakeholders in the Mekong basin. Nicholas Borroz is an international business doctoral candidate at the University of Auckland.

With another five-year term, President Joko Widodo will possibly revive economic reform efforts and could take a more skeptical view toward China.

Incumbent Indonesian president Joko Widodo, or Jokowi, appears to have handily won a second term in Indonesia’s presidential elections this week. Although the final, confirmed results will not be available for weeks, quick and unofficial counts released after the election on April 17 showed Jokowi defeating rival Prabowo Subianto by around 10 percent. (The quick counts have generally proven reliable in the past.) In concurrent parliamentary elections, Jokowi’s coalition seems to have taken enough seats to control more than 50 percent of parliament, although the final results in the parliamentary election are also not due for weeks. Jokowi has proven a charismatic but often cautious leader, despite bold promises of reform in his first campaign in 2014; his first term did not live up to high hopes. But, after this election—and the fact that he does not have to run again—Jokowi could convert his personal popularity, and the power that comes with a big win, to restart economic reform, strengthen the country’s democracy, and rethink Jakarta’s approach to Beijing. For more on how Jokowi might actually approach his second term, see my new CFR Article. 

This week, Indonesians will go to the polls in the country’s presidential elections. Incumbent Joko Widodo, or Jokowi, remains a strong favorite, against challenger Prabowo Subianto. Most surveys show Jokowi with a wide lead, although Prabowo’s campaign appears to be picking up some steam in its final days. Still, even if Jokowi is re-elected, he would assume a second term in a political environment in which the vast hopes for his presidency, which surged before his first election in 2014 and early in his first term, have diminished. Jokowi has made some progress in economic reform and combating graft, but overall his record as president has been mixed at best. For more of an assessment of Jokowi’s first term, see my new piece for World Politics Review.

Three events this week served as a reminder that, in a world where democracy is buffeted on many fronts—the rise of populists who often undermine the rule of law, a growing disinterest in democracy promotion from leaders of the United States and other states, and the influence of major authoritarian powers—armed forces remain political actors in many countries, despite an overall reduction in coups since the days of the Cold War. In Thailand, ruled by a military junta since 2014, the military’s favored party won the largest share of the popular vote in elections last month, but a group of anti-junta parties appear, overall, to have garnered the biggest number of seats in the lower house of parliament. So, the Thai military appears to be maneuvering to ensure that the second-biggest party in the anti-junta alliance is defanged, and to use a range of inducements to convince smaller political parties to join the pro-military alliance in parliament. No matter what happens, it is almost certain that Thailand’s military will remain in control of government, resisting attempts at real civilian oversight of the armed forces. Meanwhile, in Indonesia, which holds presidential elections next week, the military is steadily regaining much of the power it lost in the period after the fall of Suharto, as Indonesian democracy emerged. As Evan Laksmana notes in the New York Times, both candidates in the Indonesian elections, incumbent Joko Widodo (known as Jokowi) and challenger Prabowo Subianto, have helped the military regain power, or will likely do so if elected. If Prabowo, a retired former lieutenant general, were to win (which still seems unlikely given polls of the race) there is a possibility that he would reduce limits on the central government and undermine democratic checks and norms—and potentially allow the military and other security forces far greater rein domestically. Jokowi, though not as openly disdainful of democratic norms and institutions as Prabowo, has surrounded himself with military men. He has allowed the armed forces to reassert their influence over domestic issues including counterterrorism and counternarcotics, among other areas. This is a worrying trend in a country where, for decades, the armed forces were known for dominating politics and committing rights abuses. In other parts of Southeast Asia, militaries retain significant political leverage, though outright coups have declined since the Cold War, as they have in regions like Africa as well. In Myanmar, the military, still by far the most powerful actor in the country despite a technically civilian government, appear to be extending their new battle in Rakhine State. There, fighting has intensified in recent weeks between the military and the insurgent Arakan Army. The military retains near-total control over internal security, and it is unclear whether operations, like the one ramping up against the Arakan Army, are taken solely on the military’s initiative, or whether the armed forces even really consult with the civilian government before acting. But Southeast Asia is not unique. In Sudan this week, the armed forces indeed launched a coup, removing longtime leader Omar al-Bashir. To be sure, Bashir was one of the most repressive rulers in the world, and came to power three decades ago in a coup as well. But the military takeover could neuter the massive protest movement in Sudan, prevent a real transition to a freer form of government, and install just as repressive a regime in Khartoum as Bashir’s government. Just as other types of autocratic regimes have freer rein today than they did in the 1990s and early 2000s, militaries also face fewer constraints on their power. Democratic powers are distracted by their own deep political problems, populations in some states have soured on democracy and looked to other alternatives, and the U.S. government views regions like Southeast Asia as places home to a growing contest for influence with China—and thus requiring closer ties with almost any government willing to align with Washington. The U.S. government appeared ready to completely normalize military-to-military relations with Bangkok, before the election last month, even though the election process was unfair. With Egypt, the White House has lavished fulsome praise on autocratic leader Abdel Fatah al-Sisi, a military man who took power in a coup six years ago and now has indicated he wants to stay in office another fifteen years. The Indonesian military’s creeping re-emergence in Indonesian domestic politics has had little impact on U.S.-Indonesia security ties, or Indonesia’s security links with other regional democracies. Meanwhile, in a world increasingly looking for strongman rule as an alternative to democracy, to solve crises of graft and a lack of political accountability by elected leaders, military men have become more attractive. In some countries, like Thailand, where populists already have ruled, populations have looked to the military as means of ousting populist leaders—though in reality military governments only further erode democratic norms and institutions. In places like Egypt, Indonesia, Myanmar, Thailand, or even Brazil, armed forces, too, are again embedding within their military cultures a resistance to civilian oversight—or refusing to change their cultures to embrace civilian oversight. For a time in Thailand in the late 1990s and early 2000s, for instance, it appeared that the Thai armed forces were beginning to shift, with younger officers at least considering an end to the kingdom’s cycle of coups and military meddling in politics. Whatever glimmer of hope there was for a civilianization of the Thai military now has vanished. The country has had two coups in the past fifteen years, and both older and younger generations of Thai officers seem committed to the continuation of the Royal Thai Army as the dominant political actor.

It has become accepted, among most experts on democracy, and among policymakers, that democracy worldwide is in increasing peril. This year’s Freedom in the World annual report on the state of democracy, produced by Freedom House (for whom I have consulted on reports on Southeast Asian states) noted that democracy had declined globally for thirteen years in a row. It further found that authoritarian states were “shed[ding] the thin façade of democratic practice that they established in previous decades,” while “countries that democratized after the end of the Cold War have regressed in the face of rampant corruption, antiliberal populist movements, and breakdowns in the rule of law” and that even consolidated democracies, in Europe and North America, faced severe pressure, backsliding, and corrosion of democratic institutions and norms. Its findings have been echoed by a range of other research, and although autocratic-leaning populists had mixed results in elections in 2018, they are not going away anytime soon. Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte is likely to consolidate his power in upcoming midterm elections, and possibly create a dynasty, hoping to eventually hand power to his daughter. Mexican President Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador is undermining Mexican democratic institutions, going around institutions via referenda and other means, packing the courts, and taking other measures, as Shannon O’Neil has noted. Meanwhile, the most powerful authoritarian states, such as China, are becoming more repressive, and more globally influential, while leading democracies are far less interested in democracy promotion outside their borders. With a few exceptions, like Malaysia and possibly Ethiopia, countries that recently have seemed ready to shed autocratic governments have backslid, with repressive regimes crushing political change in places like Cambodia and Egypt or newly elected leaders failing to support the growth of democratic institutions, as in Myanmar. Amidst this gloom, a fascinating new article, based on groundbreaking new research, suggests that the global retreat of democracy is actually worse than it appears, even to some of its most pessimistic observers. In an article for Democratization, Anna Luhrmann and Staffan Lindberg of the University of Gothenburg, who base their conclusions on the V-Dem, or Varieties of Democracy, Project’s findings, argue that a “third wave of autocratization” (following the world’s two previous autocratic waves last century), or a move away from democracy, is actually affecting more democracies than was commonly thought, although usually through gradual reversals, with legal facades, rather than an abrupt democratic reversal like a coup. (I was a contributor to the V-Dem project briefly.) V-Dem is a project that uses a comprehensive, multidimensional dataset of various indicators to measure democracy in a broad range of countries. They further find that this backsliding began earlier than the mid- to late-2000s, which is when many democracy experts have traced the start of the current regression. The authors argue, in fact, that the current authoritarian resurgence actually began as early as 1994—a theory that suggests this wave of autocratization is far longer than previously imagined, and more difficult to stem, although many of the states regressing today do not revert into as brutal autocracies as in the past. Yet because so much of this backsliding was gradual, and not abrupt, it often has escaped initial notice. In addition, these types of gradual regressions, frequently cloaked in legal shifts and happening while flawed elections continue to take place—and lacking any Reichstag fire type catalytic event—have made it harder for domestic opponents of autocratization to mobilize against the growing repression. Even worse, they find that, while these gradual processes of democratic erosion are not as abrupt and severe as reversals like coups, they still almost always result in the death of democracy. Of the democratic erosions they studied, the note, only 15 percent were halted before democracy broke down—in Bolivia, Ecuador, Nicaragua, South Korea, and tiny Vanuatu. Grim, indeed.

In Thailand’s elections on March 24, the military’s proxy party, Palang Pracharat, did better than pre-election surveys had indicated. Palang Pracharat appears to have enough seats combined in the elected lower house and the unelected upper house, which is stacked with pro-junta allies, to likely ensure that Prayuth Chan-ocha, who has led a junta government since 2014, will become prime minister again. And the election, despite the unfair run-up to Election Day, relatively low turnout, and obstacles placed in the way of anti-junta parties, did offer some indications of Thailand’s future politics. For more on the meaning of Thailand’s national elections, see my new World Politics Review column.

Indonesia, the biggest economy in Southeast Asia and long the dominant strategic actor, is a country whose bilateral relationship with the United States has historically underperformed its potential. As I noted in a Council Special Report, U.S.-Indonesia economic and security ties lag Washington’s links with other leading countries in the region, though Indonesia is becoming one of the biggest consumer markets in the world, and wields the most influence over regional diplomacy. But the country is drifting, in economic reforms and its commitment to democracy. Islamist groups have become emboldened, undermining secularism and targeting minorities. Unfortunately, presidential elections in Indonesia on April 17 are probably not going to revitalize Indonesian politics. For more on the upcoming election, and its possible impact on regional security and U.S.-Indonesia relations, see my new CFR article.

Indonesia’s high-stakes vote for president is likely to result in more political stagnation for the world’s third-largest democracy.

By Van Jackson New Zealand may appear to be a paradise in the Pacific, but it is afflicted by many of the problems facing other liberal democracies, such as a rising suicide rate and deep socioeconomic inequalities with no clear solution. To this list of shared problems, tragically, one can now add white nationalist terrorism. The terrorist attacks in Christchurch on March 15, in which fifty were killed and dozens more wounded, was the worst such attack in New Zealand history. Focusing on transnational strategic threats, and looking from New Zealand, policymakers generally have not viewed white nationalist terrorism as a strategic concern, though both New Zealand and Australia have histories of white nationalism, including long histories of exclusionary immigration laws. But the brand of terrorism that resulted in the massacre in New Zealand is a strategic threat, and one that has been a blind spot for New Zealand and the national security establishments of its Five Eyes partners—the United States, Australia, Canada, and the United Kingdom, whose bureaucratic-level intelligence sharing was established decades ago. The Five Eyes intelligence partnership among these five states has, over time, been effective in monitoring and responding to the challenges of the Cold War, the threat of Islamist terrorism, and more recently in managing the evolving strategic threat that China poses in the Asia-Pacific and other regions. The threat of terrorism from white nationalists, however, is in some ways a more dangerous threat than either of these challenges, simply because it has been largely ignored by policymakers. Terrorism from white radicals is a transnational threat. Similar attacks to the Christchurch killing have occurred in Canada, European countries like Norway and the United Kingdom, and the United States. More will come, and these extremists view themselves as part of a war that is only just beginning. A manifesto from one of the alleged New Zealand attackers says as much, but white nationalist groups in the United States have discussed the idea of a battle emerging around the world as well. Radical white nationalist terrorism has been a blind spot for the national security communities in many countries. Although law enforcement agencies like the FBI have highlighted the threat—the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security noted in a report in 2017 that white nationalist extremists had committed more attacks in the United States between 2001 and 2017 than any other group—policymakers still often have not taken this threat seriously enough. In part, national security leaders and politicians in many states may have ignored white nationalist terrorism as a transnational threat since white nationalists traffic in theories and ideas that echo rhetoric found in some more mainstream political circles. The extremists express shared beliefs about a white race under threat, the inferiority of other races and non-Christian religions, and other conspiracy theories. White nationalist terrorists are acting on ideas of hate that transcend borders, using technologies, like social media and live streaming, that transcend borders, and celebrating other white nationalist figures from around the world, to create an imagined future (of theirs) that they believe transcends borders. The national security communities of the Five Eyes countries need to work together to combat the transnational ideas and the technologies that can be used to turn extremist ideas into action, and ensure that mainstream politicians’ rhetoric does not dampen a meaningful response to this growing threat, or obfuscate its character. Yet while intelligence officials have noted that Five Eyes partners have created a massive intelligence sharing network regarding other types of transnational terrorism, they also have noted that this intelligence sharing has not generally extended to domestic terrorists and terrorist groups, even white nationalist ones. Indeed, intelligence officials told the Washington Post that while Five Eyes countries might tell a partner state about a potentially imminent terrorist attack by a domestic extremist in that other country, they do not routinely share information about domestic terror threats in partner states. Now, that must change. Van Jackson is a Senior Lecturer in International Relations at Victoria University of Wellington, the Defense & Strategy Fellow at the Center for Strategic Studies: New Zealand, and a Global Fellow at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars.

With a week left before Thailand’s first national elections in eight years, the kingdom looks unlikely to resolve its political tensions, no matter the result of the vote. Instead, Thailand seems destined for continued political instability, although that instability could come in different forms, depending on the results of the election. Scenario 1: Prayuth Chan-ocha remains prime minister, cobbling together a modest coalition in the lower house, and combining that support with support from the upper house’s pro-military senators, who were all essentially installed by the junta. With anti-junta party Thai Raksa Chart disqualified from the election, pressure being applied on other anti-junta parties, and Prayuth’s advantages—he can become prime minister with only the support of 126 MPs in the lower house, because of the junta-created advantage in the upper house, where all the senators were appointed by the military government—the possibility of Prayuth staying on as prime minister is looking more likely. To be sure, Prayuth’s victory is by no means assured. Prayuth has been on a national tour, trying to soften his image as an intolerant and repressive leader, but there is not much evidence his strategy is working and that his party, Palang Prachart, has significant support. Still, Palang Prachart and potential allies in the lower house could eke out enough votes to make Prayuth prime minister. As prime minister, however, would Prayuth be effective in a civilian government? Unlikely. Prayuth has shown, during five years of army rule, to be intolerant of dissent and criticism, to have few ideas about how to bridge Thailand’s deep regional economic gaps, and to be supportive of policies that seem to bolster both the military and increase widening income inequality in the kingdom. During five years of junta rule under Prayuth, Thailand made little headway in upgrading its infrastructure, addressing the serious challenges in its education system, solving the southern insurgency, or making any progress toward ending its years of political chaos. And that was during a period in which the military governed in a highly repressive manner; after the election, Prayuth would have to lead in a freer environment, with opposition politicians, a freer press, and more open public protest. There seems little reason to believe that, as a civilian prime minister in a more hotly contested political environment, Prayuth would prove more effective at leadership, or more capable of focusing Bangkok on Thailand’s deep divides and serious long-term challenges. Scenario 2: Anti-junta parties, working in a coalition, manage to win 376 out of 500 seats in the lower house, and thus have the right to appoint a prime minister. Although this scenario looks increasingly unlikely, given the heightened environment of repression leading up to Election Day and the procedural and constitutional obstacles to an anti-junta coalition winning 376 seats, it is still possible. In this scenario, a combination of Puea Thai, Future Forward, and other parties like the Democrat Party, which has not ruled out joining such a coalition, though it seems unlikely, could win enough seats to select a prime minister. But after the initial triumph, there would likely be major, politically fatal roadblocks. The military will not allow an anti-junta coalition to take power and remain in power, creating the possibility of a civilian government working to reform the armed forces, reduce its budget, and establish greater civilian control. The Election Commission could begin disqualifying candidates from the anti-junta coalition and ordering re-runs of specific constituencies, until the anti-junta coalition lost control of the lower house. Thailand’s top court could dissolve the Future Forward Party. The military and its allies in parliament could twist arms to get the Democrat Party to instead join a coalition with Palang Prachart, a possibility that cannot be ruled out. In this scenario, some Palang Prachart-led coalition would eventually take power, following a period of instability—and voters who backed an anti-junta coalition would be furious. Either way, the outlook cannot be optimistic.

In the run-up to Thailand’s elections, to be held on March 24, there was an initial burst of media attention around the possibility that Princess Ubolratana, the older sister of Thailand’s King Rama X, briefly put her name forward as a candidate for the pro-Thaksin Shinawatra Thai Raksa Chart Party. She would have been Thai Raksa Chart’s prime minister candidate, but her brother, the king, essentially quashed her candidacy. In the weeks since the furor over Princess Ubolratana’s surprise appearance, and almost immediate disappearance, from the election, the ruling junta—most likely with the accession of the palace—has reverted to tactics it has used for decades now to undermine and destroy anti-junta and/or pro-Thaksin parties. For one, the army and its allies in the judiciary and bureaucracy are working to ban or otherwise neuter key parties within an emerging anti-junta coalition that, although it has many differences among its members, could encompass Puea Thai, Thai Raksa Chart, and the Future Forward party, a new party that hopes to pick up significant support from younger Thais dissatisfied with military rule and Thailand’s continue scourge of coups. Future Forward expects to be especially strong in urban areas, and one poll showed it actually had the most support of any party running in the election. Together, despite running in a clearly unfair political environment, this anti-junta coalition appears to remain popular, and could potentially pick up enough seats to win control of Thailand’s lower house of parliament. So, the military and its allies are trying to prevent some of these anti-junta parties from even being on the ballot on March 24, while also warning other anti-junta parties that, even if they win on March 24, their triumphs could be short-lived. Bans on anti-military parties and party leaders, often on charges so minute it seems hard to believe they could bring down a political career, are tried and true strategies for the military and its allies in Thai politics. In this case, Thai Raksa Chart could well be disbanded by Thailand’s top court later this week, destroying it before the election and leaving uncertain whether its supporters will migrate to Puea Thai, Future Forward, or other parties. Future Forward, meanwhile, is facing dissolution allegedly over comments about the Thai monarchy, and Thai prosecutors could bring a criminal case against Future Forward leader Thanathorn Juangroongruangkit, a dynamic young politician, allegedly for offering criticism of the military in a speech in 2018. If prosecutors charge Thanathorn after the election, and proceed with a case, they could strip Future Forward of its key actor; in announcing the possible charges before the election, the Thai judiciary—usually now aligned with the armed forces—is also signaling to potential Future Forward voters that their party may be dismantled or crippled, just a few days after elections. To make matters worse for Future Forward, the junta now appears to be pursuing criminal charges against Future Forward’s deputy leader, utilizing what is essentially Thailand’s anti-“fake news” law for sharing an article that was incorrect but that he quickly deleted. He could be slapped with five years in jail. The junta also appears to be pursuing charges against another person running for prime minister in the election, claiming that he defamed the army chief. The junta’s hope, most likely, with all these traditional pre-election dirty tricks, is to reduce the voter turnout for pro-Thaksin parties and Future Forward enough that the anti-junta coalition will not win control of the lower house of parliament. This would allow the main pro-military parties and its allies to try to cobble together a coalition, with junta leader Prayuth Chan-ocha as prime minister. Alternatively, even if the anti-junta coalition wins control of the lower house on March 24, the army—likely with support of the palace—will probably use these looming charges, against people like Thanathorn and possibly other leaders of the anti-junta coalition, to bar them from politics for long periods of time and possibly put them in jail as well. Thanathorn’s alleged offense, for instance, carries a twenty year ban from politics if he is found guilty. In so doing, the military would quickly defang an anti-junta coalition that won control of the lower house of parliament, rendering it unable to function—unable to deliver on promises like cutting military spending, creating more effective oversight of the armed forces, boosting social welfare spending, and bringing Thaksin and Yingluck Shinawawtra back to Thailand, albeit to face new trials. An anti-junta coalition losing key players, fighting constant threats of bans or other actions from the judiciary, and likely with a slim majority even if it wins control of the lower house—the scenario would be ripe for a repeat of the late 2000s, when the military allegedly maneuvered behind the scenes to bring down a pro-Thaksin government, and reportedly strong-armed politicians into forming a new coalition, in the lower house, led by parties far more amenable to the Royal Thai Army.