An open letter to Prime Minister Prayut

A few months before that fateful day of October 23, 1910, 104 years ago today, the king, knowing that his failing kidneys would soon take their toll, wrote a candid and heartrending letter to one of his daughters.
Of regrets, he said in the letter, he had two. The first: That he was able to fulfil only 20 per cent of what he had set out to do during his reign. The second: That he realised now that he could educate people intellectually, but he could not make them righteous.
His eyes, if one cares enough to look closely enough at the photographs, tell the entire story. They were tinged with woe.
King Rama V presided over a kingdom that had reached a difficult crossroads. Having witnessed the threat of encroaching colonialism in the last years of his father’s reign, the young king had his mind set on reforms as a means of saving the nation’s sovereignty. And it was this multifaceted reform of the social, political and economic domains that ushered Thailand into the era of modernity.
There are four pertinent stories here that might serve as cautionary tales for you, Mr Prime Minister.
In 1874, King Rama V chartered the Council of State in line with the British model of a Privy Council. As head of the Council, he called himself “President”. The Council comprised entirely of trusted foreigners.  They were tasked with two responsibilities – one, to correct the king should he lose his way, and two, to oversee the work of Cabinet members, most of whom were the king’s relatives and close family friends. One year later, the councillors sought an audience with King Rama V and submitted their resignations. Their reason? They unanimously surmised that the first task had been simple, but in the second one they had failed. It was simply impossible to monitor or supervise the ministers and ensure that they “chose the high road” in administering their affairs of office.
The second story occurred in 1884 when a group of Siamese officials in London and Paris, who had familial ties with the king, began demanding democracy for Siam. Their explanation for the demand was that the country could only fend off colonialism by adopting Western-style democracy. At that time, Thailand did not even have a common script, and there was no formal education available to commoners. King Rama V’s response was to start building a modern education system, as he deemed it the single most important prerequisite for Western democracy that some craved unconditionally.
The third story concerns the king’s wisdom and nimble-thinking  in conducting foreign affairs. Thailand remains the only country in Southeast Asia that has never been colonised. The king kept our national dignity in tact.  He never allowed the country to fall into a position where it had to beg for mercy from a ruthless colonial power. He knew Thailand had one unequalled advantage – our geopolitical location, and he played it to the fullest. By forging a personal friendship with the Tsar of Russia, the king gave both Britain and France – the two aggressors at Thailand’s door – a little homework to ponder. Would their interests be best served by Thailand falling into the hands of one of the two colonial rival powers, or would they better profit from Thailand remaining a neutral buffer state? The answer was our independence.
The fourth story was King Rama V’s well-thought-out abolition of corvée (state-bonded labour) and slavery as well as his land reform to permit private ownership. Those undertakings were ultimately about citizen empowerment. He took a long view and accomplished this Herculean task in one generation without shedding a single drop of blood. He did not offer handouts, but he gave Thais much more – their dignity. And with that, they became less prone to being bought off. These days we are witnessing a reversal, with many Thais now addicted to handouts. Our increasingly materialistic debt culture has practically turned people back into slaves once more. The obsession with money and wealth has deadened us. Our children believe that corruption is profitable, not wrong. Those who do not take bribes are often regarded as fools.
Mr Prime Minister, your straight talking in Italy last week gave us hope. Not only did you have the courage and civility to apologise when you thought you went overboard with a harsh response to questions from reporters, but you had the honesty to let us see you as human. For the longest time, the country has suffered leaders who refused to apologise for their blatant wrongdoings and incompetence, never deigning to show humility. In their own opinion, they could do no wrong. The faults belonged in others’ stars, not their own.
You know that the public has placed huge expectations on you to right all the wrongs in a year or a year and a half. You know that one way or another you will not be able to live up to all those expectations. You are worried, and already wearied. The road ahead is long and not strewn with roses. You can trust yourself to do everything humanly possible to fulfil your pledge, but you do not know how much you can trust those around you to do the same and their own agendas and personal interests. You cannot know whether all the briefings you are given are complete and accurate.  You know that sooner or later, you will make mistakes. You also know that those who wish you ill are waiting for that to happen. Once the body’s immunity is low, diseases attack. Ironically, freedom of expression – as long as it’s accompanied by responsibility, accountability and verity – will serve as your immunity booster. You will hear from honest naysayers and critics, not just yes-men.
But, Mr Prime Minister, if there is any consolation, it’s the fact that what you are doing is returning the favour to the country of your birth. They say that no good deed goes unpunished. But your torturous path is not a walk of shame. Your task is not to please everyone, only to do the right thing for the country and its people.
In closing, Mr Prime Minister, back in 1863 during the civil war in America (“Land of the Free”), president Abraham Lincoln confessed to a senator that he was more worried about “the fire in the rear” than he was about the Confederates to his front. Lincoln’s critics, especially the Copperheads, were harsh, uncompromising and relentless. They called him a tyrant, bent on amassing power and ruining democracy. But he himself knew that wasn’t so. And that, for a great man like Lincoln, was good enough.