Thailand’s Constitution: Rigged Reform Keeps Power Firmly in Elite Hands
Thailand’s constitutional crisis isn’t just a cycle; it’s a carefully calibrated clock, endlessly ticking between rewriting and reimposing, always asking: Who designs the mechanism? The latest cog in this machine, a constitutional amendment proposed by the Bhumjaithai Party, feels less like reform and more like a preemptive recalibration, designed to keep time running as it always has. On the surface, a potentially less obstructive Senate and a process for drafting a new charter sound promising.
According to the Bangkok Post, the Bhumjaithai draft would lower the Senate approval threshold for constitutional amendments from one-third to one-fifth, and creates a 99-member constitution drafting assembly (CDA). But power resides in the fine print, and here, the control levers remain firmly in the hands of parliament.
However, the draft explicitly forbids any changes to Thailand’s democratic system with the King as head of state, the form of the state, and Chapters 1 and 2 of the current charter.
This isn’t tinkering; it’s strategic entrenchment. The ban on altering anything touching the monarchy and the unitary state isn’t just a red line, it’s a wall. It demands the question: What is a “new” constitution when its foundational assumptions are deemed immutable? You might as well be renovating a house while being forbidden from touching the load-bearing walls.
Constitutionalism is a perpetual negotiation between stability and change, and in Thailand, that negotiation is consistently rigged. As Benedict Anderson noted in his seminal work, Imagined Communities, nations are constructed narratives. In Thailand, that narrative is meticulously managed, with the constitution serving as its authorized script. Democratization becomes a performance, a series of stage-managed events designed to dissipate pressure without fundamentally altering the power dynamics. Since the 1932 revolution that transitioned Thailand from absolute to constitutional monarchy, the military has intervened in politics roughly once every seven years, often followed by new constitutions designed to legitimize their rule. This history underscores a persistent impulse to control, rather than channel, popular will.
The resistance to amending sections relating to the monarchy stems from a deep-seated fear of unraveling the entire social fabric. Thailand’s history is punctuated by periods of intense political upheaval, such as the 1973 student uprising and the 2010 Red Shirt protests, all met with brutal force. This constant threat of unrest is wielded by the elite as a justification for preserving the status quo, and stifling demands for broader political participation and accountability.
The selection process for the CDA is also revealing. The parliament’s heavy hand in selecting the members all but guarantees a body that reflects, rather than challenges, the existing power structure. Imagine the US Congress hand-picking the delegates to a constitutional convention — the outcry would be deafening. A truly representative assembly would necessitate mechanisms for direct public input. Initiatives such as randomly selected citizen assemblies, similar to those used in Ireland to break constitutional gridlock, are notably absent here.
In the end, the Bhumjaithai Party’s proposal is the epitome of “managed democracy.” It offers the illusion of progress, while ensuring the real power remains firmly in the hands of the usual suspects. It’s a masterful exercise in political aikido, deflecting pressure while maintaining equilibrium. The thirst for a truly representative and accountable system remains unquenched, and this proposal serves only to demonstrate the remarkable resilience of the existing order. The question isn’t whether Thailand will eventually achieve genuine democracy, but whether its elite will ever permit it.
