Should we take Thai politics seriously, given the fact that the current struggle over the controversial amnesty bill reveals nothing but a great sense of irony?
When the government of Yingluck Shinawatra abruptly pushed the blanket amnesty bill through parliament, it was quickly approved by the majority of parliamentarians who are members of the ruling Pheu Thai Party.
Devout supporters of former prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra have explained away the motive behind the amnesty as a way forward for national reconciliation. Some believed in a thing called a "super deal" between Thaksin and his opponents in high places. Regardless, these hardcore supporters are yearning to welcome Thaksin home. With the amnesty bill, their dear leader will not just walk free from all charges, but will have his reputation restored and money returned.
The first irony lies in the fact that the amnesty bill, which could whitewash Thaksin's past, is obscuring another reality in which red-shirt demonstrators were killed in the state's violent crackdowns in May 2010.
What the supporters of Thaksin demanded in the first place, and thus compelled them to vote for the Pheu Thai Party, was to see justice being given to those who were killed and the culprits being brought to justice. But today, Thai politics still predominantly revolves around personality and individual interests of political leaders, sadly at the expense of social justice.
Prime Minister Yingluck herself last week came out to check her popularity, and indeed to measure the level of damage done to her party because of the amnesty bill. Yet, Ms Yingluck said nothing other than to downplay the real issue of justice. She reportedly begged Thais to forgive one another and to sacrifice themselves so that the country could move forward. But moving forward without dealing with a troubled past will not end long years of political conflicts. This unveils another kind of irony inherited within the mindset of political leaders.
Should the amnesty bill be enacted, it would further deepen the culture of impunity in Thailand. The origin of the red shirts, born in the aftermath of the coup as a counter to the political intervention of the military, symbolised a protest against injustice and a promotion of democracy. Yet, it is ironic today to witness some of the red shirts forgetting the roots of their existence by endorsing a bill which belittles justice and the rule of law. This blanket amnesty bill will dangerously set a new standard whereby future killings of the people will be accepted and pardoned.
Of course, not all red shirts have lent their support to the amnesty bill. "Progressive" red shirts care little about the freedom of Thaksin but more about finding the truth behind the massacre at Rachaprasong in 2010. The Pheu Thai Party's amnesty bill in fact serves to create rifts between different groups within the red-shirt movement. The conflicts have increasingly become threatening to the political position of Pheu Thai. There exist hyper-Thaksinites who are, ironically, confronting other red-shirt members accused of being disloyal to Thaksin.
But irony is also found in the opposition camp. The anti-Thaksin forces, now no longer confined within the yellow-shirt movement but engaging more of Bangkok's middle class, have embarked on making their own discourse about the amnesty. To them, the amnesty represents the selfish interest of the Shinawatra family; and thus the focus of their campaign has been to get rid of Thaksin, who represents a bad example of a corrupt politician.
Without recognising that this same amnesty will set those responsible for the killing of the people free, the anti-Thaksin forces have to a great extent been successful in obscuring the issue of impunity as if Thailand had never experienced the state's violent crackdowns in 2010.
Their move is understandable. Behind the anti-Thaksin forces today are those associated with the opposition Democrat Party, whose leader, Abhisit Vejjajiva, served as prime minster during the turbulent years from 2008-2011 when the fatal crackdowns took place. In many ways, the amnesty bill initiated by the Pheu Thai Party offered the Democrat Party a platform to discredit Thaksin for his attempt to whitewash himself. More importantly, it also allowed Mr Abhisit to distort the political past; he has continued to claim that the state's crackdowns on demonstrators were necessary because the latter violated the law. In other words, his actions were within the scope of the law.
This kind of irony is hard to swallow. Mr Abhisit has refused to take any responsibly for the loss of people's lives. And yet, he would be pardoned even as he was rejecting the amnesty bill. Not only was the Pheu Thai government reluctant to reinstate justice but it was willing to allow negligence of responsibility on Mr Abhisit's part.
What is most ironic is that amid intensifying political wrangling between different groups of political elite, political prisoners will continue to be held hostage by the individual interests of the various political actors. The red shirts may have forgotten that their friends are still detained. Preventing Thaksin from landing in prison has become a priority, not campaigning for the release of those political prisoners.
As of now, it seems that the amnesty bill will eventually be canned. The possibility of political violence will compel the Yingluck government to place the bill back on the shelf. In this case, the dream of seeing political prisoners in Thailand being emancipated is slim.
Pavin Chachavalpongpun is associate professor at Kyoto University's Centre for Southeast Asian Studies.