Thai turmoil rips at even families, friends

BANGKOK — As bullets flew in Bangkok last week, verbal battles raged across the country. Best friends bickered, spouses sparred and co-workers clashed over Thailand's past, present and future.

My wife took part in one of those word wars, and hasn't been the same since. The conversation took place Wednesday as the military cracked down on anti-government protesters, and it went like this:

"I want all the tanks to crush those Reds," said her friend, a fellow Thai who works for Chiang Mai University in northern Thailand, referring to the color of the protesters' shirts. "They are bad people. They are traitors."

My wife, Tanyalux, who has tried to remain neutral, responded: "I completely disagree with the use of force."

"You must choose whether you support the government or the Red Shirts," said her friend, who backs the so-called Yellow Shirts, or those who support the government. "You must choose the color. Are you Thai or not?"

"Of course I'm Thai," Tanyalux said, "but I don't want to see people die. You're an intellectual. You shouldn't have such a murderous mind."

My wife was stunned. Such exchanges are rare between educated Thais, who are known for their politeness, yet they illustrate the growing divisions in Thailand — not just between urban elite and rural poor, but also among friends and families.

At a government nursing home in Chiang Mai where my mother-in-law works, a Red Shirt policeman argued with his Yellow Shirt wife, a social worker. He wanted to watch the Red Shirt television station; she wanted a pro-government channel. They ended up smashing the TV to bits.

"They almost killed each other," Tanyalux said. "They fought like mad."

Elsewhere in the compound, according to my mother-in-law, a Yellow Shirt worker told a Red Shirt colleague, "Who pays your salary these days? Is it the Red Shirts? Why don't you go die with the Red Shirts."

The Red Shirts are the ones who staged a two-month protest in the heart of central Bangkok in a failed effort to topple the government. Many are from the north and northeast and are loyal to the former prime minister, Thaksin Shinawatra, who is in exile after a 2006 coup and a conviction on corruption charges. His populist policies and focus on the poor made him the most popularly elected official in Thai history.

But he had an authoritarian style, and the Yellow Shirts — drawn largely from Bangkok's middle classes — accused him of meddling with state institutions and pushing policies to enrich his family and friends. Their citywide demonstrations four years ago set the stage for a coup, and subsequent protests included shutting down Bangkok's international airport.

Insults, uneasy silences

On their Facebook pages, many Thais have posted scathing comments about the Red Shirts. "I'm so bored with the buffaloes. I wish they'd go home," wrote my brother-in-law, who works in Bangkok.

Many other middle-class Thais refer to the Red Shirts as kwai — or water buffalo. It is not a compliment. Buffaloes may be strong, but they are also slow and stupid; they wallow in the mud.

Other postings called the Reds hia, or water lizard. Dozens of these prehistoric-looking creatures slither though the lakes of Lumpini Park in central Bangkok, where many of the protesters camped for two months. When someone calls you a hia, you can expect very bad luck.

Phrases like, "They should all die," or "They don't deserve to be Thai," are common.

"I cannot bear to read them," says my wife. "They are too mean. I've never seen such hatred."

Tanyalux has not yet spoken to the friend she argued with; she is angry and cannot forgive her. Politics, which never really engaged her, is now an obsession. She wants to find others who agree with her, and she is trying to understand the roots of the conflict — not an easy task given government and Red Shirt propaganda.

Yet for all those who openly clashed over the ongoing crisis, there are plenty more who have followed the more traditional Thai way of biting their lips. This custom says it is important to avoid personal conflict and not "lose face." The result is awkward silence.

While watching TV coverage of the crackdown, a friend's husband, a Yellow Shirt, and his brother, a Red Shirt, could say nothing for fear of upsetting the other. Imagine watching Bangkok burn and not being able to say a word.

In the streets

Just before the crackdown, I walked through the main protest area near Central World, a massive shopping complex. A singer was making fun of the prime minister, Abhisit Vejjajiva, played by a man wearing a mask of Abhisit. The crowd roared at the mocking, and laughed when a "Red Shirt" jumped on stage to "beat" the prime minister and chase him away.

The irreverence was inspiring. Thais are brought up to worship their parents, teachers and king, and to respect their elders and local leaders. They rarely question authority. The feelings unleashed by the protest movements are bound to be good for democracy in the long run, I thought.

Two nights later, I walked along Rama IV Road, which would eventually be the main battleground for the government's final offensive. Soldiers hunkered behind sandbag bunkers, while protesters barricaded themselves in Lumpini Park behind sharpened bamboo sticks and stacks of tires.

It was surreal. This was my neighborhood when I first moved to Bangkok from Seattle 10 years ago. Now, rolls of barbed wire and lines of police trucks blocked the sidewalks. I passed a row of soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders. One stepped on my foot but turned to smile and say, "Sorry."

Last week, the soldiers finally cleared out the protesters, using armored personnel carriers to smash the barricades. Parts of the city went up in flames.

Three dozen buildings were set ablaze, including the Stock Exchange of Thailand. All in all, the government says, 85 people were killed and nearly 2,000 injured during the last two months. Scattered violence spread to the provinces.

The good news is that it's been peaceful since Thursday, and on Saturday the government lifted a curfew that had been imposed on much of the country.

What's happening in Thailand is complicated. It's partly a class divide, but also a generational and geographical one. It's also a power struggle between traditional factions, and an ideological contest about democracy and the administration of justice. What's clear is that the conflict isn't over.

"Buildings are easy to rebuild," said Paul Scales, an Irishman who moved to Bangkok in 1989 and now develops property. "This will have much longer-term implications."

Scales compared Thailand's civil divide to Ireland's civil war between Protestants and Catholics. "We know about how different communities can be entrenched," he told me. "Here they are all Buddhists. It's not a religious divide. That's why families are divided."

The Scaleses used to live across from Central World, which was torched by fleeing protesters and whose smoldering remains are now a symbol of domestic terrorism. Their son, 5, saw images of the shopping mall burning and collapsing on TV.

"You worry about the impact it's going to have on kids," Scales said.

Weereeya Tepsarn, 33, who sells real estate in Bangkok, was saddened by the widespread destruction.

"It's unbelievable this kind of violence could happen in Thailand," she said.

Weereeya does not agree with the Reds or Yellows, and says there are many more like her. She mentioned a friend who cannot speak to her father because of his strong Red Shirt views. "She has no color," she said. "She just wants peace."

Thailand is often called the Land of Smiles, and Thai hospitality and culture draw millions of tourists a year. I asked Weereeya if she thought the phrase perpetuated a myth, because behind the smiles there seemed to be a lot of anger.

"Naturally, Thai people are friendly and calm," she said. "And very welcoming to guests and to foreigners. The country was never in tension. Life was never hard, so you could smile easily. The poor always had food."

This hadn't changed, she said, but Thais seemed more anxious now, and some were living in fear and wondered if Bangkok would ever be safe again.

"You don't feel it's over," Weereeya said. "The Reds or the Yellows could come out again."

Jeff Hodson is a former Seattle Times reporter who lives and teaches in Thailand.