A moment when all seemed possible

The faces in the crowd – Muslim and Buddhist, young and old – as the citizens of the South greeted the His Royal Highness the Crown Prince on his arrival at Pattani’s central mosque reflected the deep, heartfelt respect they have for the monarchy. For a brief moment, everyone on that sanctified ground felt as one. It would be wonderful if the entire country could share that mutual empathy, every day.
The moment was especially touching since Pattani, along with Yala and Narathiwat and the four Malay-speaking districts in the province of Songkhla, are collectively entering the 14th year of a bloody insurgency that has so far claimed nearly 7,000 lives, mostly Muslim.
The genuine affection and admiration on the faces of the people at the sacred mosque represented cause for hope. Perhaps, in spite of all the violence and sorrow, peace might yet prevail, allowing a return to harmonious coexistence in the historically contested region.
It seemed in that moment that all the efforts to bring about peace have not been in vain, and that the nation should not stop looking for the means to bring about a settlement between the insurgents of the Patani region and the Thai state.
Far too much is at stake. Southern Thailand might very well continue its drift away from Thailand and the Thai identity, until it crosses the point of no return. After more than 13 years, the current wave of violence continues unabated and the wedge dividing Patani from the rest of the nation grows wider by the week.
If Thailand proper wants to reverse this trend, its citizens and its leaders have to rethink the demands placed on the Malays of the far South. For more than half a century – since the heyday of the nationalist movement that united our country – the Malays have been told that their authenticity as Thais requires 
them to relinquish their unique history and culture and instead embrace those of the multitudes to the north.
From the northern border of Chiang Rai all the way south to a town outside Hat Yai called Chana – where the upper side speaks Thai and the lower speaks Malay – “Thainess” (kwam pen Thai) is a unifying force. But what bonds the Malay Muslims in the southern border provinces is a shared ethnicity, or, to be a precise, an ethno-religious identity.
The religious factor is important. State officials might abuse southern rights with impunity and far more Muslims have died in the fighting than Buddhists, but the ongoing violence has shaken the Thais’ belief in their natural superiority. They’re unfortunate response takes the form of Islamophobia. Muslims are barred from building mosques in Nan, Nakhon Phanom, Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai because the Buddhists there fear the southern conflict will find new bases.
Fear comes from ignorance, the 12th-century Muslim philosopher Averroes (Iban Rashid) counselled. That fear then fosters hate, and hatred leads to violence. Such is the situation the world over.
In ignorance, too many Thais cling to an unearned sense of superiority. They counter the Malay “challenge” to Thainess by abandoning deep-felt spiritual beliefs on right versus wrong. Foregoing compassion, they turn a blind eye to the plight and grievances of the Patani Malays. Indifference to the Tak Bai massacre and other atrocities is widespread because of the perception that the victims somehow deserved it for affronting Thai nationhood.
It’s difficult – but not impossible – to break this common habit of feeling superior to the Patani Malays and other ethnic minorities, or to citizens of neighbouring countries. The only true path to peace in the far South begins with a heartfelt examination of our individual attitudes towards those “others”. Peaceful men through the centuries have assured us that only the first step will be difficult.