[Simon Creak, a PhD Candidate at The Australian National University, has examined the issues at stake in next month's SEA Games in Laos for Asia Times Online. Supposedly a massive achievement for the small country, the games have been scaled back and are dependent on enormous foreign funding. What to make of the paradox? Read on and leave your comments.]

Long after the misadventures of the United States in Indochina, landlocked Laos evokes golden temples, golden smiles and, in the business world, golden mining prospects. But it is a different type of gold that will occupy the nation when the region’s Southeast Asian (SEA) Games are for the first time staged in the country, from 9-18 December. What’s in it for little Laos?

The SEA Games may not register much outside the region, but this year celebrating their golden jubilee, they are a big deal for the 11 countries involved. These are Brunei, Cambodia, East Timor, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand and Vietnam. The previous games, in Thailand in 2007, featured more that 5,000 athletes and almost 2,000 officials across 43 different sports.

Laos, a tiny country of just six million people, is understandably excited at hosting the 25th games for the first time in the event’s 50-year history. Local news reports in the state-controlled media refer proudly to the “honor” of playing host, while organizers boast the event will “put Laos on the map”, attract tourists and draw foreign investment.

Just as important, the ruling Lao People’s Revolutionary Party (LPRP) sees the games as a boost to the regime’s prestige at home. This is not just a sports event, but probably the country’s biggest state extravaganza since formally gaining independence from France in July 1949.

Underlining the party-state’s involvement, the president of the organizing committee is Deputy Prime Minister Somsavat Lengsavad.

Despite the difference in scale, there are parallels to the Summer Olympic Games held in China last year. Just as Beijing leveraged the event to proclaim China’s emergence as a global power, the games in Vientiane represent a regional coming-out for the Lao one-party state, a symbolic culmination of the over three decade-long “revolutionary struggle” for independence and development under the LPRP.

Undertaking the complex task of the hosting a major international event, in that thinking, demonstrates the country’s modern credentials.

Perennially the “smaller brother” to its regional rivals, hosting the event constitutes nothing less than a symbolic coming of age for Laos. A government spokesman told the Bangkok Post, “The SEA Games in Laos is a magnificent example of what sports can do … and Laos has joined the giants in this respect.”

Here the issue is less about showcasing the nation to attract tourism and investment, than demonstrating the munificence of the ruling party-state.

More unexpected, perhaps, is the widespread transnational support for the games among the Lao diaspora, formed from the mass exodus of refugees after the party’s 1975 rise to power when it overthrew the royalist government, forcing King Savang Vatthana to abdicate.

Fans discuss the games in a Facebook group and websites, some set up even before the official games site. Many contributors plan to travel to Laos for the event, one enthusing, “I have built my whole year around this.” Identified online by the flag of the pre-1975 royal regime, such posts suggest the Lao national pride of hosting the event may be linking Lao communities usually separated by distance and politics.

Yet, many questions also surround the event. Due to a lack of infrastructure, the Lao version of the games will consist of only 25 sports, little more than half the number held in Thailand. The omission of standard sports such as basketball, gymnastics and track cycling has outraged some competing nations, particularly Malaysia and the Philippines, while the addition of novelties such as finswimming – a speed competition in which swimmers don a large, dolphin-like fin – has aroused chuckles of dismay.

It matters little that these countries are aggrieved at the loss of medal opportunities, nor that all SEA Games’ hosts nominate their own, often quirky events. Press coverage has focused not on Laos’ unprecedented national achievement, but on the games’ loss of “glamour” and reduced “priority” for these countries. The poverty and lack of development of Laos – one of the region’s poorest nations – has attracted particular attention, the exact opposite of what the Lao government is trying to promote.

Most symbolically, perhaps, Laos is able to host the games only through massive assistance from its larger, richer allies in the region. The Chinese Development Bank has provided financing for the US$100 million main stadium complex, which is being built by Chinese contractors on the outskirts of the capital, Vientiane.

A Vietnamese company has built the $19 million athletes’ village and Thai funds have been used to refurbish the existing National Stadium. Dozens of smaller financial agreements with countries like Japan and South Korea will provide everything from training to tracksuits.

Strategic patronage

There are good reasons for these countries to contribute their patronage. First is the simple commercial benefit. In return for building the stadium, Chinese developers were reportedly granted 1,640 hectares of prime land near the That Luang stupa, the national symbol, on which to develop a “Chinatown” complex in Vientiane. The Vietnamese company that funded the athletes’ village is opening a wood-processing factory and hotel in Laos.

Second is regional influence. Thailand, Vietnam and China have long competed for influence in Laos. While socialist Vietnam has held political sway since the 1975 revolution, China has aggressively expanded its economic presence and soft power in the region, and some in the government, notably the Chinese-educated Somsavat, have increasingly turned to the regional giant. Thailand, meanwhile, considers Laos a natural part of its sphere for cultural and historical reasons, a perception boosted by the flow of goods, people and information across the Mekong River that separates the two countries.

Third is regional friendship and cooperation. For half a century, the SEA Games and their predecessor, the Southeast Asian Peninsula Games, have been the region’s major cultural expression of regionalism, providing opportunity for friendly cooperation and rivalry without the risk of political fallout.

But despite all the pluses, the huge foreign assistance required to host the event has raised stubborn questions about Laos’ national autonomy. For every article invoking the “spirit of ASEAN”, others scoff at Laos’ inability to fund and organize their own event. (The 11 participants at the SEA Games comprise the 10 members of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, plus East Timor.)

The New York Times recently summed up the feeling in the headline “Laos stumbles on Path to Sporting Glory”. Reinforced in the region’s own press, such views emphasize Laos’ dependence on foreign aid, undermining the games’ perceived benefits at home and abroad.

This ambivalence is also evident in the country. Opposition to the Chinatown deal, which saw the original development plan significantly scaled back, was framed in xenophobic nationalist terms, with residents questioning how the government could give up land to foreigners in the heart of the capital. With the deal pared back, questions linger as to how the Chinese will be compensated, raising the specter of massive government debt at a time the financial downturn has already applied added pressure on the games.

Meanwhile, web-board contributors ask how the new facilities can be “Lao” when they are adorned with banners in Chinese or Korean. Others wonder why developers have imported their own workers from China, rather than employing local Lao labor. Others still ponder why Laos cannot even produce its own merchandise for the games.

Such criticisms point to the central paradox of the SEA Games: how can they be a national achievement when the nation is so dependent on others to host them? Ultimately, factors which seem to mitigate the positive impact of the games need to be viewed in historical perspective.

The Lao nation and nationalism have always emerged from the intersection of national, regional and international ideologies and interests. In pre-colonial times, minor Lao kingdoms paid tribute to one or more overlords, allowing them to retain a substantial degree of autonomy in the process. Likewise, the peculiarity of French colonialism was that, rather than destroying Lao identities, it actually created the modern idea of Laos as a political and cultural entity.

The post-colonial Royal Lao Government was the heir of this national identity, which further solidified despite, or perhaps because of, Cold War rivalries, the Vietnam War and a budget largely underwritten by US assistance. After the US withdrawal and the communist revolution of 1975, the new regime looked to the socialist bloc, especially Vietnam and the Soviet Union, to plug the financial gap.

The enduring theme in this history has been the inability of Laos to pay its own way; its engagement with and dependence on foreign powers. The country’s current strategy of market-based development underwritten by foreign investment, foreign aid and ASEAN integration continues the trend.

Far from being undermined, the party-state represents itself as the all-powerful and benevolent conductor of these forces. This explains why state-run newspapers are filled constantly with photographs of “handover ceremonies”, and never more so than in the lead-up to the games. In this worldview, hosting the games demonstrates not the government’s lack of independence, but its consummate skill in harnessing aid from the region.

The general population might not be completely convinced, but this does not matter in the wider view. The 2009 SEA Games’ limited size and dependence on foreign help merely accords with the self-image of Laos as a small country with limited resources.

Last year, for instance, the country sent a tiny team of four athletes to the Beijing Olympics, thanks to funding from the International Olympic Committee. While there was certainly some criticism on the Internet, more comments focused on the positive. “Four is better than nothing,” said one, while another suggested plaintively, “When we are poor, we have to accept that we are poor.”

This may not be how the government sees its hosting of a scaled-back games, but, together with positioning itself as a benevolent conductor of foreign assistance, such views help to explain how the event is being seen as a success inside the country when those outside see mainly dependence and poverty. Laos’ little SEA Games are a big deal for the poor country, foreign-funded or not.

[Simon Creak is a PhD candidate at the College of Asia-Pacific, Australian National University, with a specialization in the history of Laos. He can be contacted at simon.creak@anu.edu.au.]

Vajiralongkorn is a graduate from Australia’s Royal Military College in Canberra and has trained with the U.S., British and Australian armed services…His Western lifestyle is not discussed openly, thanks again to lese majeste. But people have privately asked whether he has the natural authority to unify the nation, especially given his partisanship towards the military. Meanwhile, the king remains convalescing in a heavily guarded Bangkok hospital as the unsaid succession to the throne gets thought about daily.

- Extracted from “Police on guard against anti-king comments”, UPI, 4 November 2009. 

It is hardly surprising — given the inevitable international curiosity about Thailand’s succession – that descriptions of this type will continue to appear in newspapers around the world.  Such descriptions tend not to be explicitly critical of the royal family, or Crown Prince Vajiralongkorn, but they are, I’d suggest, one part of increasingly broad-minded efforts to understand the future of Thai society.  These efforts are now coming thick-and-fast; on some days they are starting to dominate discussion of the potential changes that will come with the end of King Bhumibol’s long reign.

Some months ago I put together a tentative list of Fifty-two questions for the study of mainland Southeast Asia.  Today I want to draw attention to question 41, “Is Crown Prince Vajiralongkorn really as bad as people make out?”.  Well-informed answers to this question will, I’m sure, help journalists, analysts, academics and others to better understand Thailand’s longer-term prospects.  Such answers may also help Thais who are interested in the succession to improve their own understanding of the palace, and its key personalities.  We haven’t seen the end of newspaper articles that seek to describe (usually in very cautious terms) the potential for an even deeper political crisis.  So it makes sense, I reckon, to attempt an answer to one of the questions that is lurking in the background of these commentaries.

Comments and suggestions from readers are very welcome here.  You may even want to chance your arm…and offer an answer to the question.

Wassana Nanuam, Lap luang phrang phak phitsadan [Secrets, Trickery, and Camouflage: The Improbable Phenomena]. Bangkok, Post Books, 2009. 303 pp. In Thai.

Soldiers, guns and coups have played a big role in Thailand’s politics for centuries. Historians think that the Front Palace incident in 1874 early in the reign of the fifth Bangkok king was actually a coup attempt backed by nobles and princes who stood to lose out if the young King Chulalongkorn proceeded with his reforms. Many coups, such as the one in September 2006, have succeeded, but there is no guarantee of success as several coup planners in the 1980s discovered. The country’s annals are littered with failed and aborted coups, and false alarms.

Seizing power by coup is a dangerous game. A coup that fails can result in disgrace or demotion, and even jail or death, so the plotters need to plan meticulously. The loyalties of key divisional commanders need to be secured. Inside knowledge of the itineraries of the head of government and his most loyal supporters is invaluable, and the reactions of the palaces need to be anticipated. The leader of the coup group also must assess whether or not he has ‘the right stuff’ to be prime minister. He also needs to identify rivals who might seriously challenge his leadership.

Timing is critical, and luck is a big factor. For advice on bringing off a coup successfully, military officers scrambling for rank and power consult astrologers. The incumbent monarch is the ninth Bangkok king, so the 9s in the date of the latest coup – the nineteenth day of the ninth month of B. E. 2549 – suggest an astrologer’s connivance on timing. The generals’ wives, who have time on their hands, may play a key role by searching out forecasts from lay and monastic astrologers on behalf of their husbands. The astrologers feed the egos and stoke the ambitions of their clients, always useful for retaining the confidence of men who aspire to high office. In the last two successful coups in 1991 and 2006, the astrologer who had advised the chief coup planner became the astrologer for the coup group once it had assumed power. In 1991 it was Kengkat Chongchaiphra, and in 2006 it was the Chiang Mai-based Warin Buawiratloet.   

To prepare for national leadership certain steps can be taken to enhance prospects. The astrologer may recommend that his client increase his store of merit with appropriate rituals. Sixteen has been an auspicious number for army chiefs, so the spellings of names are twigged to make up the requisite sixteen characters, including superscript and subscript vowels and tone marks. Sometimes personal and family names are changed to ‘reverse’ bad karma or to designate a martial vocation. Did General Arthit Kamlang-ek’s parents really name him ‘The Sun Deity Preeminent Force’? Fire is cleansing, so soldiers changing their names burn some of their hair and nail clippings along with their old name to ritually dispose of their former selves.

The astrologers acquire confidential information that may be leaked to the media and thus contribute to an atmosphere of public apprehension and uncertainty. Rumours serve strategic ends by testing the reaction of key institutions and power blocs. For an important military player merely to be seen visiting an astrologer can stir rumours. During the turmoil of late 2008 when rumours circulated of a possible coup, General Anuphong Phaochinda, then head of the army, avoided visiting Warin, the astrologer of the 2006 coup group. Anuphong’s unwillingness to quell the violence instigated by the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD) and his refusal to resign after fatalities caused by the use of tear gas in suppressing protests indicated not weakness or conspiracy with the PAD or one of the palaces, but the management of risk. Anuphong stood to lose a great deal if the coup went ahead and ultimately failed. He did not want to risk his career by acting and failing.   

Senior military officers are graduates of the Chulachomklao Royal Military Academy founded on 5 August 1887 by King Chulalongkorn who is addressed as Royal Father or Grandfather of the school. Within the academy’s grounds is an image of Chulalongkorn before which the cadets daily swear to protect the king’s legacy and defend the throne and the nation with their life’s blood. Whenever graduates of the academy encounter an image of this monarch, such as the equestrian statues located throughout the country, they commune with the image, renew their vows of loyalty, and pray to the deceased king for his blessing and success in their ventures. Throughout their careers, military officers reach out for the sacred and mysterious powers of the academy’s patron saint.   

Consider these numbers. August was the birth month of four prime ministers of Thailand who came from the army: Field Marshal Thanom Kitikhachorn (11^th); General Sujinda Kraprayoon (6^th); General Prem Tinsulanond (26^th); and General Surayut Chulanon (28^th). Other high-ranking generals who have played key roles in the nation’s politics recently and who were born in August include Sunthorn Khongsompong (1^st), Mongkol Amphornphisit (10^th), Chettha Thanajaro (23^rd), and Arthit Kamlang-ek (31^st). Banharn Silpa-archa, who was prime minister from 1995-1996 was born on 31 August, and Abhisit Vejjajiva, the present prime minister, was born on 3 August. Anan Panyarachun, who was a cooperative choice for prime minister when the army needed a quick fix to restore its tattered reputation after the disastrous May 1992 killings in the streets of Bangkok, was born on 9 August. Some astrology manuals stretch the August sign into late July, in which case Chuan Leekpai and Thaksin Shinawatra, born on 28 and 26 July respectively, join the group.

The statistic is striking. The tempting conclusion is that birth in August is auspicious for Thai army officers who thus have an advantage over competitors for promotion. Their celestial sign is linked to the August founding of the Chulachomklao Royal Military Academy, and for this reason they receive favourable treatment in appointment to rank. Three civilian prime ministers – or five, if we include the late July births – may also have benefited from this convergence by reassuring key power blocs that the country would prosper during their stewardship.

Another bulwark of the military establishment is the Ministry of Defence, the Kalahom, whose offices were constructed more than 120 years ago by General Surasakmontri (Joem Saeng Xuto, 1851-1931).  The building is located near the city pillar across the road from the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, the spiritual heart of the kingdom. Within the ministry are several shrines, including a timber post that has been weeping resin since the end of the absolute monarchy in 1932. A female tree spirit dwells in the post, which the soldiers dress with green cloth and where they make offerings and vows. The minister of defence and his deputy who occupy the Kalahom offices go about their work amidst these sacred sites with grave responsibilities weighing on them. If they should err or act dishonestly, their lives will be in danger.  

Between the Kalahom building and the road are 42 cannons, a kind of open-air museum of Thai military prowess. Iconic maps on bronze plates allow passers-by to identify the name and location of each cannon on display. One of the more famous cannons, Phya Tani, has been a bone of contention with the people of Pattani who want it returned to their province (illustration). Because Phya Tani is an emblem of the national government’s sometimes precarious sovereignty in the south, this request is unlikely to be granted in the near future. All the cannons belong to the national patrimony and enjoy heritage listing, as a former minister of defence discovered when he proposed moving the cannons elsewhere and the Department of Fine Arts objected.

Until 2004, the 42 cannons pointed toward the Grand Palace and the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. In June of that year General Chettha Thanajaro, then the minister of defence, ordered the cannons swung around to face in the opposite direction. The order was said to have originated from ‘on high’, possibly to counter the symbolic threat to the sacred precincts across the road. It was ominous that the big Phya Tani cannon pointed towards the palace and royal temple in light of the troubles in the south such as the theft of weapons there early in 2004 and the violent suppression of young Muslim activists in April who had occupied the Krue Sae mosque in Pattani. One rumour held that former Prime Minister Thaksin had given the order to reverse the cannons. Another rumour was that the deputy minister of defence, a protégé of General Prem, was responsible. In any case, once repositioned, the cannon muzzles now pointed directly at the Kalahom, not very auspicious for the defence personnel working there! So the cannons were repositioned yet again to point sideways as they are today, parallel to the road and away from the sacred precincts and the Kalahom.

In Thailand the past haunts the present in many ways. A remarkable number of bureaucrats, soldiers, politicians, and business people believe themselves to be reincarnations of historical persons. King Naresuan, who restored Siamese sovereignty by defeating the Burmese in the late sixteenth century, and the military personnel around him are particular favourites in the contemporary moment. King Taksin’s achievement of restoring Siamese sovereignty (ku chat) in the late eighteenth century has also made his reign popular in this respect. General Sonthi Bunyaratkalin was said to be a reincarnation of one of King Taksin’s stalwart soldiers. Thus Sonthi’s role in leading the 2006 coup was ordained by his past life, because he was redressing the harm done to the kingdom by Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra who had disposed of the country’s wealth by selling his family company, Shin Corporation, to foreign interests without paying tax. Thaksin needed to be removed from office in order to redeem the country.

 Foreigners tend to think of astrology, numerology, necromancy, and reincarnation as exotic beliefs that liven up the Thai scene. Political observers tend to think of these matters as an entertaining sideshow designed to divert a credulous public from the real game being played in the barracks and the safe houses of the capital. Wassana Nanuam, who covers military affairs for the Bangkok Post, thinks otherwise. She believes that the struggles in Thailand since 2006 have been not just about political power, money, or the muzzle of the gun, but about the supernatural. In the course of her reporting, Wassana has interviewed many high-ranking generals and other national leaders as well as the astrologers who advise them. Her interpretation of the evidence is sufficiently canny for some big-shot soldiers – or bik thahan, as the journalists refer to the army’s heavy hitters – to be wary of contact with her lest she discover too much about the way they go about their business. Many of her conversations with the bik thahan must be off the record, but she has earned the respect of her military informants because of her discretion and even-handed treatment of sensitive matters.

From early in 2006 Thai leaders have been engaged in a ‘war of magic’ (saiyasat), and  in the second half of the book, Wassana narrows the focus to the increasingly personal conflict between former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra and Sondhi Limthongkul, leader of the PAD. Thaksin’s audacious use of the Temple of the Emerald Buddha in April 2005 sent jitters through elite circles and the defence forces. The founding of Thaksin’s Thai Rak Thai party on Bastille Day, commemorating the French revolution, augured an even grander design. As Thaksin’s star faded, Myanmar astrologers were made famous when a small Burmese woman with shortened limbs known as ET, reputedly the astrologer of Senior General Than Shwe, became popular with the Shinawatra family, especially Thaksin’s wife, Photjaman. These actions of Thaksin spooked the opposition, and Sonthi responded in kind, for example, in the wanton destruction of the Brahma shrine at government house when it was occupied by his supporters in late 2008.

Such is the trickery and camouflage reported in Wassana’s book. She has pieced together a jigsaw puzzle of rivalries and relationships, networks and alliances, and power blocs in the army and the political parties to make a compelling case for how the sciences of prognostication, divination and the dark arts of spells and curses motivate the behaviour of civilian and military leaders. For help in hedging risk, dealing with uncertainty, and nudging history in a favourable direction, civilians and soldiers alike consult custodians of this knowledge. As the Thai saying goes, ‘if you don’t believe in it, don’t disparage it’. Just to play it safe.

Reviewed by Craig J. Reynolds

Published originally on New Mandala, 6 November 2009

The Asia Society wants to let you know about an upcoming webcast, Tearing the Land Apart: Islam and Legitimacy in Southern Thailand, featuring the author, Duncan McCargo, Southeast Asian Politics, University of Leeds. This event will take place at the Asia Society headquarters in New York tomorrow, Friday, November 6, 2009 from 1:00-2:00 p.m., ET (New York).

We hope that you will join us online by visiting our website, and following the directions there. The webcast will be available 30 minutes before the program begins. Listeners will also have opportunities to send their questions in to moderator@asiasociety.org, where they will be addressed during the program. Please also feel free to forward the flyer below to your contacts as well. Please let me know if you have any questions. We look forward to your participation!

This is a question most people in Malaysia don’t really contemplate. The recent by-election saw a disgraced former Chief Minister from Barisan Nasional win with a thumping majority (he was suspended from UMNO for corruption, but in true Malaysian style no charges were brought against him). Voters in the constituency credited Isa for doing a “good job” when he was Chief Minister of the state and therefore felt obliged to vote for him.

What then does one do, if the majority seems to be in favour of a wrong direction for a country? It was a highly civilised Germany that elected Adolf Hitler. How is it that the well educated citizens of Zimbabwe did not foresee what Mugabe would do? Or closer to home – how is it that intelligent Burmans allowed a military junta to destroy such a prosperous country?

Who do we hold responsible when this occurs? Is UMNO responsible for the state that Malaysia is in now? Or are the citizens of Malaysia collectively responsible? After all, have not Malaysians continued to support this party, directly or indirectly. Are we prepared to sacrifice for our country, like Stauffenberg did?

It may be the nature of humans to be selfish in order to survive. However, history tells us, that this selfishness ultimately destroys the very things we hold dear. Malaysians will soon face this reality, if they have not already.

It give us great pleasure to announce that Michael Montesano has been named Book Review Editor. Michael will be known to many of you. He is a highly experienced scholar of Southeast Asia and a regular contributor to discussions in the on-line world. He will bring a wealth of experience to this role. 

Please join us in welcoming him to the New Mandala and TLC team.

The show goes on. The military has a clear vision of what kind of state Burma should be—and that is not a democracy. It is sometimes argued that the hopes for a more pluralistic society rest on the next generation army officers. Aware of this danger, officers have been given unprecedented privileges and business opportunities in order to retain their loyalty to the regime. There are no Young Turks lurking in the wings.

- Extracted from Bertil Lintner, “Reaching Out to Burma”, The Wall Street Journal, 3 November 2009.

This manuscript was found in records concerning US foreign correspondents in Europe in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The manuscript may be a memoir, as there was a case alluded to within the same set of records, the news of which the Imperial German government was quick to suppress. This leads some credence to the view that this article presents a true account of a single trial or perhaps a composite of a number of cases from the same period. The manuscript, apparently for a German audience, can be dated to about1900, given its reference to Herzberg Hospital. The authorship is clearly attributable to Edward Breck, a liberal German-American who wrote for The New York Tribune in the 1890s [see Gillmeister, Heiner, Edward Breck: “Anglo-Saxon Scholar, Golf Champion, and Master Spy”, in, Sawada, Mayumi, L. Walker, and Shizuya T., Language and Beyond: Festschrift for Hiroshi Yonekura on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday (Tokyo: Eichosha, 2007), pp. 33-56], and also used “F.F. van de Water” as a pseudonym (the name of the narrator in this case).  Breck was an accomplished writer, both in English and German, both of fiction and nonfiction. This long manuscript was apparently originally in German and sequestered in the archives of the conservative Tribune. It was translated into English by an unknown translator, identified only with the initials “A. H. R” and who appears to have preferred leaving certain parts un-translated, perhaps to lend a feel of authenticity. This translation came with a number of footnotes; the translator seems to have added a few notes where clarification seemed appropriate. The original title has been retained. This manuscript was received from an unnamed source who found it in the Tribune archives, and thought it should be published as it had obvious relevance to the Thai situation.

The manuscript is available here. And here are the first three paragraphs:

Otto von Schelling, the Senior State Attorney, cut an impressive figure. His civil service uniform was immaculate. Before when I had seen him, he looked to be of average build. But seeing him before us, wearing his red imperial sash, his chest now seemed immense, seemingly swollen with pride for the recognition conferred him by the Kaiser. His whiskers were immense, and had they been on a less dignified mien, might have appeared startling, but for von Schelling they made him appear almost majestic. Removing his pince-nez, he looked out at those present and smiled.

“Gentlemen, I want to thank you for coming to the Reichsjustizamt this afternoon. We realize there has been some concern among you, our honoured foreign correspondents, about the use of the lese majeste law, and I want to clearly explain the government’s position on this matter.”

“As you may know, German law recognises the importance of honour and reputation. Everyone—from the Kaiser to the most humble citizen—is protected from libel and slander. Of course one whose reputation is besmirched may resort to seeking civil damages, but here the integrity of each person’s reputation is what ensures peace and order in society, and so the German state makes such violations criminal.”

“There has been concern in the local and foreign press that there is a perceived lack of discretion in the use of the lese majeste law. I say ‘perceived’ because I believe that there is a misunderstanding about the lese majeste law, particularly amongst our foreign guests. You may prize freedom of expression above all else. And we might say that we cherish protections of our good names. You should realise that the lese majeste provision is a deep expression of Teutonic, of German culture. I might even hazard saying that it is part of what makes us German, just as our love of monarchy is a central impulse of all true Germans. I might even go so far as to say that it is impossible to have a true German who entertains republic thoughts.”

The program for the Update is here.

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If we have time, we will also try to do some brief blog updates on New Mandala itself.

Please note that New Mandala has not been involved in organising this event, so if you have any questions about availability of papers etc. contact the National Thai Studies Centre.