In politics, some issues are considered untouchable—the “third rail” that, if grasped, can lead to political suicide. Such was the case for US House Speaker Tip O’Neill when he dealt with Social Security reform.
In a similar vein, Pita Limjaroenrat, the prime ministerial candidate of Thailand’s progressive Move Forward Party, tackled a contentious national issue—lèse-majesté. His bold stance on Article 112, the law against royal insult, ultimately contributed to the suspension of his parliamentary duties and halted his aspirations to become prime minister. As the dust settles after the election, two questions linger: was the push for Article 112 reform too hasty, and did Move Forward anticipate the consequences?
Article 112, dating back to 1908, makes it a crime to defame, insult, or threaten the king, queen, heir-apparent, or regent, punishable by up to 13 years in prison. Its vague wording allows for broad interpretation and has been wielded as a tool of suppression by those in power. Move Forward, representing young progressive Thais who participated in the 2020 protests, called for the repeal of Article 112 in January 2021. When their reform attempt was rejected in February, it became clear that the odds were stacked against them.
So, why did Move Forward proceed with such a risky move? It could be attributed to ideological commitment and political calculation. They wanted to honor the trust of their progressive supporters and prove their dedication to pushing for change. Additionally, after their electoral upset, they believed they had gained enough political capital and public backing to form a coalition government with Pheu Thai, even if it meant stirring up controversy.
Move Forward’s boldness extended beyond Article 112. They even proposed cutting the monarchy’s budget, which raised eyebrows and added to their antagonistic reputation. However, their idealism and persistence came with a price, as they underestimated the deeply entrenched establishment’s power to resist change.
Perhaps Move Forward could have chosen a more pragmatic path, shelving Article 112 temporarily to gain political capital before pushing for reforms. Nonetheless, they remained steadfast in their pursuit of change, driven by the belief that the law was being used as a weapon of intimidation.
In contrast, Pheu Thai pursued a more cautious approach, setting ambitious seat targets and selecting Srettha Thavisin to attract working-class voters. Their more measured strategy showcased an understanding of the realities of Thai politics and the potential consequences of pushing against the establishment’s norms.
Move Forward’s persistence on Article 112 triggered conservative resistance, with challenges from the Constitutional Court and conservative activist Theerayut Suwankesorn. Thai conservatives, bound by the ideologies of “nation, religion, and king,” are deeply loyal to the monarchy and perceive any attempts to reform the law as subversive.
By touching the “third rail,” Pita and Move Forward took a risk that could lead to their political demise, just as their predecessor Future Forward Party faced oblivion. As the establishment fiercely defends its interests, Thailand is on the cusp of discovering how far they will go to protect the status quo.
