Beyond the business of politics

 20 mar 2006

The rise of Thaksin was a logical result of a political system which represents money rather than people. Maybe his fall could begin a move beyond this.

Thailand’s parliament is not a “representative” assembly at all. It’s more like a business club. That’s because it is totally dominated by businessmen, and because they are able to use their position and status for commercial gain.

Private business-owners account for only 3 percent of Thailand’s working population, but they occupy about 70 to 80 percent of the seats in parliament.

Over-representation of one group – especially on such a staggering scale – means under-representation of everybody else. Only 2 percent of MPs claim to be farmers, and none is truly representative of the small farmers who are the single largest segment of the population. Only a couple of MPs are representative of the small-scale family businesses and others in the urban informal sector who are the second largest population group. There’s not one from the private business employees who are the third largest.

How did this come about? Thailand’s parliament truly came into being in the 1980s at the tail-end of the Cold War. The authorities were still intent on suppressing any kind of political organization among ordinary people for fear it might be communist. Without organization, there was no chance to convert population numbers into parliamentary seats. This restriction delivered parliament into the hands of money.

Nowadays, vote-buying no longer works as a transaction. People know they can take the cash and vote however they like. But scattering money around before polling day has become customary. Candidates who fail to comply risk being branded as “ungenerous.” The resulting shower of money at elections acts as a barrier against the representation of anyone who has not got the money to invest.

Drafters of the 1997 Constitution thought they could screen out cruder politicians by insisting MPs have a tertiary degree. This was a forlorn hope. A degree was another thing which money could buy. Universities scrambled to lay on courses to tap this new source of income. The educational qualification just acts as another barrier to ordinary people gaining any representation. It excludes over 92 percent of the total population from sitting in parliament, and over 95 percent of the rural segment.

If the fall of Thaksin results in constitutional reform, this is clearly one provision that should go. But what else can be done to make parliament more representative, and to prevent the rise of another business politician who treats the government as a branch of his business empire?

Currently the law forces a minister to stop managing his business interests, but allows him to place those interests in the hands of children who are above the legal age of consent. In a country where the normal business unit is the family, and the household head is the automatic CEO, this makes little sense. Who believes that Thaksin’s son and daughter were managing the Shin billions? Panthongtae himself said that the decision on the sale was made by “phu yai,” elders or parents.

But extending the law to cover adult children would be clearly unfair. What is needed is not more law but more enforcement. Constitution clause 209, which places limits on  ministers owning businesses and shareholdings, ends with this sentence: “The Minister shall not do any act which, by nature, amounts to the administration or management of shares or affairs of such partnership or company.” Under this provision, a minister should not escort his children to Singapore to make a share sale. He should not make deals or promote his family companies on the sidelines of diplomatic visits. He should not let government agencies under his control hand out investment privileges, revise concession contracts, and accelerate licenses and permissions for the benefit of his family companies. He should not set up companies in offshore havens.

A group of senators tried to challenge Thaksin over the Temasek deal using this clause 209, but the Constitution Court rejected the case. This rejection was not really surprising. It is one of the unwritten rules of the business club which masquerades as a parliament that laws such as these can be ignored. But the senators – or somebody else – should try again. There needs to be a precedent, to discourage future prime ministers. A proper investigation of the Shin empire and the Temasek deal is not vindictive, but a necessary step to move beyond the era of money politics.

To prevent the abuse of power for commercial gain, there needs to be public pressure too. The law on conflict of interest in the US is roughly similar to that in Thailand. Almost all politicians in the US opt to place their business interests in a blind trust, rather than transferring them to relatives or nominees. That’s because any conflict of interest will prejudice their popularity with voters. Similarly, an Australian premier was hounded out by the press and public opinion when it was found he had a joint investment with an Indonesian ex-president in a pig farm (!).

In the past, Thai public opinion has been much less vigilant. Perhaps that too is changing as a result of the Thaksin era. The successful fight to restore Khunying Jaruvarn to the post of Auditor-General was a major landmark. The acquittal of Supinya is another huge step forward. The defamation case against her was designed specifically to discourage public scrutiny of politicians’ business interests. Supinya declined a deal which would have avoided a precedent-setting judgement. The judges highlighted the importance of the right to scrutinise and criticise. The bravery of Supinya and the judges cannot be praised too highly.

Parliament will cease to be a business club only when it ceases to give businessmen the benefits which they want from such a club. The Thaksin era could ultimately be positive if it results in legal precedent and public awareness which starts to close the business club down.