Last week’s brief outage of Facebook and Instagram probably annoyed selfie-centric Sukhumvit slickers more than anyone else. But spare a thought for the civil servants who work in the Department of Provincial Administration. On Friday, as most were looking to a post-pay day weekend, it was revealed the department head Krissada Boonrat had issued a ban on the use of Facebook, Line and other social media on work computers and devices. The use of email would also be restricted to government business.
At first blush, this is innocuous enough. Work time is for work, after all, and those on government salaries owe the taxpayer the courtesy of resisting the urge to check friends’ status updates while on the job. Still, in an era when more people, companies and governments are communicating through such means, dismissing the value of social media is a backwards-looking step. Even the CIA tweets these days, not that they are particularly enlightening about what they are currently up to.
If time wasting was all there was to it, the edict would simply look retrograde. But there is a more insidious side to the announcement. It also warned against posts that could damage others, or breach the controversial Computer Crimes Act or some other criminal offence. Disconcertingly, supervisors were warned about possible punishment if their subordinates defied the ban.
It also came in a week that was rather bleak for freedom of expression, although at least that can still be said. Human Rights Watch described Thailand as being in “free fall” and pointed to the stifling of dissenters and media censorship as key concerns.
Freedom House, meanwhile, downgraded Thailand’s rating to 5.5 on a scale of seven (higher being worse), changing its status to “not free”. Political rights slipped from four to six, while civil liberties went from four to five. While still faring better than Myanmar, Laos and Vietnam, Thailand now shares the same score as Cambodia and is said to have an even less free internet. Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines are the relatively bright spots in Asean, while Singapore is deemed “partly free” with the caveat that the press is restricted.
The downgrade comes as no real surprise: martial law has been in effect since May 20, orders explicitly aimed at curtailing media freedom were promulgated soon after, and journalists and academics were among those summoned, along with the more predictable political agitators, for discussions with the army. Much of this came largely in the immediate aftermath of the coup, but as several senior Pheu Thai figures discovered last week after airing their views on Yingluck Shinawatra’s impeachment, the threat remains.
Even more symbolically, a joint press conference by democracy and human rights advocacy foundation Friedrich-Ebert-Stifung and the Thai Journalists Association on the very issue of media freedom was shut down before it began. TJA vice-president and senior Bangkok Post journalist Manop Thip-osod lamented the lost opportunity to have a constructive discussion about academic research on the topic and worried that the closure would have a negative effect on the country’s image.
One consequence is that, for now, we know little about what Friedrich-Ebert-Stifung’s findings actually were, and the organisation declined to make it available when contacted this week. News reports have only mentioned in broad terms the restrictions and intimidation media organisations have faced from various political forces, and that the report delved into the hate speech that could be so clearly heard on rival political news outlets before the coup.
It may well be that the organisation has findings that would explain, if not necessarily justify, the current restrictions on freedom of expression. The vitriol and hate speech voiced by political figures of all persuasions in the past decade, and aired or reprinted through partisan newspapers, radio and television outlets was shameful. If Friedrich-Ebert-Stifung explored those issues, along with other instances of media intimidation, then it would be worth listening to and discussing rationally. The problem is that, right now, that appears to be impossible.
Laws governing hate speech have been mooted in recent weeks: this is not an inherently bad idea, but proposing them at a time when expression has already been curtailed could be interpreted as a further measure to silence voices the regime doesn’t want to hear.
A line must be drawn somewhere. Hate speech of the kind we saw before the coup and during the red-shirt protests of 2010, among too many other examples, is patently damaging and should be denounced rather than applauded. But swinging the pendulum too far the other way, stifling any criticism and reacting testily to any questioning, is not in the country’s best interests. Covering up or ignoring the problem will only let it fester. The road to reconciliation can only be paved with more discussion — and crucially, more listening — not less.