Thailand’s Prime Minister Grab Exposes How Democracy Dies Quietly
Is democracy about policy, or power? In Thailand, the answer, as revealed by Anutin Charnvirakul’s unexpected ascent to Prime Minister over Pheu Thai’s Chaikasem Nitisiri, isn’t simply “both.” It’s a stark demonstration of how one can actively undermine the other. It’s easy to get caught up in the political play-by-play — the eleventh-hour maneuvering, the coalition deals. But pull back, and you see a landscape warped by forces that see popular legitimacy not as a source of authority, but as a threat to be managed.
Anutin’s win, even as Pheu Thai floated increasingly desperate compromises, underscores the precarity of democratic institutions when faced with entrenched power. Pheu Thai’s wistful vow to eventually “return to complete the policies we have left behind,” betrays a deeper, unsettling truth: a victory at the ballot box doesn’t guarantee a victory over the structures that define power.
“We are waiting for the day we can return to complete the policies we have left behind,”
Thailand’s history isn’t a gentle curve toward democracy; it’s a jagged line punctuated by interventions that systematically undermine popular sovereignty. The 1991 coup, for example, installed a military junta that subsequently rewrote the constitution to limit the power of elected officials. Then came the 2006 coup, and the 2014 coup led by General Prayut Chan-o-cha, which not only ousted another Pheu Thai government but also entrenched the military’s role in politics through a constitution designed to ensure its continued influence. These aren’t isolated incidents; they’re deliberate efforts to insulate the real levers of power from the messy, unpredictable process of democratic politics.
The defection of long-time Thaksin critic Chalerm Ubamrung isn’t just political opportunism; it’s a symptom of a deeper malady. As political scientist Thitinan Pongsudhirak argues, Thailand suffers from a “deep state” — a network of military officials, royal advisors, and bureaucratic elites — that sees any government perceived as a threat to its interests as an enemy. This “deep state” isn’t necessarily conspiratorial, but it is self-preserving, and its diffuse power makes even the most popular policies, like Pheu Thai’s proposed 20-baht flat fare Bangkok Post, almost impossible to implement without its tacit consent.
This tension between popular will and entrenched power echoes far beyond Thailand. The rise of autocratic populism in Hungary, the weaponization of the judiciary in Poland, and even the increasingly fraught debates over voting rights in the United States — all point to a global phenomenon: the vulnerability of democratic institutions to manipulation and erosion. As political theorist Yascha Mounk has written, the subversion of democracy often occurs not through dramatic revolutions, but through a series of subtle, seemingly technical adjustments to electoral laws, judicial appointments, and bureaucratic procedures that gradually tilt the playing field.
Anutin’s victory isn’t simply a political setback for Pheu Thai. It’s a stark reminder that the fight for democracy is less about winning elections and more about dismantling the very structures that make those victories hollow. And, perhaps more importantly, recognizing that even dismantling those structures isn’t enough. The harder work lies in building a culture of democratic norms and institutions that are robust enough to withstand the constant pressure from those who benefit from the status quo. It’s a call to look beyond the horse race of politics and confront the deeper currents shaping the future of Thailand, and indeed, democracy itself.
