King and constitution

9 jan 2006

 The publishing sensation of last year was Pramuan Rujanaseri’s book on Phraratcha-amnat, Royal Powers. Tens of thousands of copies sold in a short time. Many more were downloaded from the internet. People walked around holding the book like the badge of membership in a certain club. Most press commentary focused on the book’s specific relevance to the issue of Khunying Jaruvarn Maintaka. But the book had a much broader argument on the role of king and constitution in Thailand. Last week, the leading historian and public intellectual, Nidhi Eoseewong, published a view that is interestingly different.

First, what did Pramuan’s book say. His key point, stated and restated several times, is “The constitution is not above the king in any way …. The status of the king does not come under the constitution. There has arisen misunderstanding over this point in current politics.”

Pramuan argues this two ways, first by history, and then by theory.

In 1932, the seizure of power by the People’s Party brought the era of absolute monarchy to an end. “In theory the sovereign power now belonged to the people, and in practice sovereign power fell into the hands of the people…. But everybody assumed power would be transferred from king to people only when the people had education and government officials were of good quality, meanwhile the exercise of sovereign power in the executive, judicial, and legislative branches  remained with the king.”

After 1932, “the power of governing the country was not truly in the hands of the people, but in the hands of officials, especially military officials.” As a result of this, “the Thai people do not yet believe in democratic theory; they know only that the country has a democratic government which must have the king as head of state, and all Thai have faith in the king and confidence that the king will overcome political crises.”

Pramuan’s final proof that the king is above the constitution is that “Not one single person has dared promulgate a constitution himself. Every version was presented to the king and granted by the throne, especially the last three constitutions of 1978, 1991, and 1997 which required royal approval not just a royal counter-signature.”

In sum, Pramuan argues that the king remains above the constitution because democracy failed, and thus the statement “The sovereign power belongs to the Thai people” which appears at the start of the current constitution and (with variations) all its predecessors, does not mean quite what it seems.

Pramuan’s second argument is more theoretical. “The status of the king as head (phramuk) of state and nation does not arise from constitutional provisions alone but from the customs and traditions of the Thai from the past.”

As a result of these customs and traditions, “the Thai king has a status which is clearly different from any other monarch.”

Pramuan summarises the “subtlety, imbued with Thai political philosophy” which makes the Thai monarch different under five points. Two of these are the king’s roles as head of the armed forces and upholder of religions, which are in fact written into the constitution. The third is the convention that “the king can do no wrong,” which is of course not at all unique and which His Majesty denied in his last birthday speech.

That leaves the two points to which Pramuan gives most prominence: “that the king bears the burden of the people’s hardship and suffering like parents raising their children”; and “that the king is venerated by the whole Thai nation, as a result of blood, their faith in the king’s deeds and actions, and his role as the focus of national unity and harmony.” This veneration and loyalty is “passed down in the blood of the Thai from birth to death.” He suggests this tradition stretches back “a thousand years.”

In a long article in Matichon Weekly (30 December), Nidhi Eoseewong did not refer directly to Pramuan’s book. He also noted that he agreed with the Pramuan camp over the status of Khunying Jaruvarn’s appointment. But he disagreed with their reasoning. “Those people suggest that royal commands are sacred and inviolable because they come from the king who is an object of veneration, but I think this understanding is wrong, and a threat to the democratic system with the king as head of state.”

Nidhi’s main point is: “The key principle of the power of the monarchy lies in the fact that the king wields this power as representative of the sovereign power which belongs to the people…. Royal commands might have meant something else in the past, but under the democratic system with the king as head of state, they mean commands which make use of the sovereign power of the people…. Official positions made by royal appointment arise from the sovereign power of the people.”

Nidhi is also unhappy about the calls to “restore the royal powers.” Such calls were a feature of Thai politics  in the military era. They were used to justify coups and eliminate political enemies. They were common because they were the “least dangerous form of opposition” in that era. “In Thai politics, ‘restoring royal powers’ means nothing more than a changeover of power from one group to an opposing group.” Nidhi gently reminded his readers of King Rama VII’s statement that the problem with absolute monarchy was that there was no insurance that the incumbent would always be a good and suitable person. Nidhi thus argued that calls to restore royal powers are a threat both to democracy and to the institution of monarchy.

Many people bought Pramuan’s book and carried it around, perhaps as an act of loyalty to the king, perhaps as a form of protest at the government. But one wonders how many of them read it, and how many of those readers would agree with Nidhi rather than Pramuan.