Thailand’s Constitution Rewrite: Power Grab Threatens Democratic Legitimacy
Constitutions are supposed to be societies' operating systems: lines of code that define who holds power, how it’s used, and what firewalls protect against abuse. But what happens when the very act of writing that code is itself a bug — a flaw that undermines the entire system? That’s the challenge brewing in Thailand, where parties are vying for control of the constitution rewrite, and the debate isn’t just about policy; it’s about legitimacy itself.
The Bangkok Post reports that Pheu Thai is raising alarms about Bhumjaithai’s proposed constitution drafting assembly (CDA), decrying its lack of public involvement. Chanin Rungthanakiat, Pheu Thai’s deputy spokesman, argues a CDA formed “without public scrutiny or even indirect participation from voters could lead to potential collusion, resulting in a drafting body filled with members lacking proper qualifications.” He champions his party’s alternative: a hybrid model blending public and parliamentary selection.
Given the restriction imposed by the court, our draft is the most feasible and inclusive. It prevents collusion and ensures no single group can dominate the drafting process.
This isn’t simply a Thai political squabble; it’s a window onto a fundamental tension baked into the democratic project itself: How do you balance the need for expertise and institutional knowledge in crafting fundamental law with the equally crucial demand for popular sovereignty and buy-in? The specter of “collusion” that Pheu Thai raises isn’t just about corruption; it’s about a deeper, more insidious fear: that those in power will exploit the process to hardwire their advantages, effectively turning the constitution into a self-serving terms-of-service agreement.
Thailand’s constitution-making saga is a testament to the country’s chronic political instability. Since the end of absolute monarchy in 1932, the nation has churned through nearly 20 constitutions — an average of one every five years — each reflecting the ever-shifting balance of power between the military, the monarchy, and elected officials. Some were imposed after coups, others drafted by hand-picked committees. This isn’t just a case of institutional churn; it reflects a profound, unresolved conflict over the very foundations of Thai governance. The current CDA debate is thus not merely about process; it’s about whether Thailand can finally achieve a constitutional settlement that rests on genuine popular consent, not just the transient power of a particular faction.
The reality, of course, is that any constitutional amendment process is inherently political. As constitutional law scholar Richard Albert observes, “Constitutions are both law and politics, often simultaneously.” The CDA debate perfectly illustrates this point. Direct election of a constitutional advisory council seems intuitively more democratic, but the Constitutional Court’s track record of intervention makes such an approach risky. This arguably positions Pheu Thai’s mixed model as the most pragmatic compromise. But even this approach may only offer the appearance of public influence, while the underlying power dynamics remain largely unchanged.
The core challenge for Thailand, and for any nation contemplating constitutional reform, transcends the mechanics of drafting. It hinges on a willingness to genuinely redistribute power. A constitution that truly embodies the will of the people requires not just formal public input, but a deep-seated commitment from those in positions of authority to respect and uphold the constraints it establishes. Absent that commitment, even the most meticulously crafted charter risks becoming yet another artifact in Thailand’s long, turbulent constitutional history — a beautiful document destined to be ignored, circumvented, or simply rewritten when the political winds shift.
