Chatichai’s staircase

9 November 1997

Over the last eleven months, as the political play slid from melodrama, to tragedy, to horror, the principal stage set has been Chatichai’s house.

Theatre is an intrinsic part of politics. Where kings and nobles once had to stage-manage ceremonial to dramatise their rule, television now dramatises politics on a daily basis.

In the past, this drama was strictly stage-managed. The nightly news followed an exact hierarchy—the palace, the military heads, the prime minister, other ministers.

In the 1990s, this rigid sequence has disappeared. But for some years, television developed no distinctive set-pieces of political theatre except the Government House Ambush. Politicians descend the ornate central staircase of Government House into a thicket of microphones, cassette recorders and video crews.

But this scene lacks an essential element of such theatrical set-pieces—the scope for variety. At first some ministers advanced into the ambush with a swagger, some with obvious fear, some even with a whiff of mischief. But before long most politicians learnt how to set their teeth into a smile, wade into the ambush, and bluster. The scene became predictable and boring.

Over the last year, the daily drama of politics has been transformed. We have been let into Chatichai’s house. Partly the transformation comes from the house itself. This is Rajguru, one of the baronial castles of Thai politics. The camera’s sweeps, pans and zooms convey a sense of space, of grandeur, of investment. This family has been at the centre of Thai politics for three generations.

Partly the transformation results from the stage management skills of Chatichai himself. The house provides the setting for at least three major set-pieces which have been played over and over again, with subtle variations of tone and tempo.

1. The Greeting. The sequence and detail of the political wai has become almost as complex as the formal Japanese bow. The performance of the two parties is shaped by several variables. Of course, their relative ages matter as in any such greeting. Then the number of seats each controls in the House. And finally the message which each wants to pass to the viewing public. The guest can vary the depth, length, and degree of reverence in his wai. The host’s response can range from competitive self-abasement, through mere warmth, to polite condescension.

Surely soon we will be treated to action replays and expert analysis, rather like football commentary, with statistics of each participant’s depth and length replacing percentage possession and shots on goal.

The Greeting does not end with a single exchange. The aftermath is an intrinsic part of the scene. At one extreme, the host throws a welcoming arm around the guest’s shoulders with just a hint of Russian bear-hug. At the other, the couple separates quickly, twisting out of the formal parallelism of the wai, avoiding even eye contact.

In Chatichai’s hallway, this scene has been extended further. In the crudest variant, the two actors grasp hands and mug for the camera in simulated friendship or shared triumph. In the subtler versions, the couple retreat into the inner recesses of the house with the lens zooming in pursuit. One places a hand on the other’s shoulder (friendship, guidance); the two grasp hands (common purpose); heads bend together in an intense private exchange of words (commitment to affairs of state).

The political wai is not new. But earlier leaders did not exploit its dramatic potential. Chuan stuck to the politely formal. Banharn, as in so much else, looked as if he was straining to follow an auto-prompt. Chatichai, Chavalit and their entourages have developed the mise en scene of the political wai to new levels.

2. The Private Party Meeting. Occasionally this scene has been staged with various participants from the coalition, but usually it is confined to the Chat Pattana party. Members arrive one by one and are ushered into the meeting room on the ground floor. The impact of the scene is achieved by allowing the cameras to set up very close to the meeting room door. We are right there! As each participant arrives, a minder eases open the door a fraction, and allows the guest to slide in. We get a brief glimpse inside, and then the door closes.

This scene is lifted straight from gangster films. What happens as the guest passes inside and the door closes against our view? A password? A masonic sign? A quick check for hardware? The scene reeks of secrecy, magic, conspiracy, power.

This impression is confirmed by the later d้nouement. As the meeting breaks up, one of the younger party offsiders is deputed to talk to the cameras. He saunters towards the lenses with over-acted casualness. Hands in pockets. Laconic smile. Detached air. He fixes his eyes on the ceiling, and talks over the heads of the cameramen and interviewers: nothing happened in the meeting, nothing was decided, nothing to report. We have been allowed right up to the doorstep, but then elegantly excluded. We are not part of the chosen few. The events behind that narrowly opening door are too important, too exciting for us to know.

3. The Staircase. Meetings with party outsiders take place upstairs, beyond The Staircase. Ever since Chavalit consented to Chatichai hosting the coalition’s discussions, Chatichai has exploited the staging mercilessly. The spider welcoming the fly. The gods admitting mere mortals for a short-term visit to heaven.

For this scene, the cameras are kept some way back to allow a rising pan shot up The Staircase. Coalition members arrive one by one. The ascent of the lower flight of The Staircase is their chance for a solo performance. Snoh shambles up with tired resignation. Chalerm pirouettes for the cameras. Korn shows off his new shirt. Samak ignores the cameras pointedly and looks the other way. The technocrat ministers tiptoe timidly, heads swivelling to take in the scenery (they may not be back many times).

The Staircase creates a powerful illusion. Those who ascend it disappear. First they are foreshortened by the upward perspective. Then they turn the corner and are cut to half by the banister. At the top they are reduced to a head. Then they disappear. Into the heavens. Into the spider’s sanctum.

In the early days of the coalition, Chatichai often welcomed Chavalit on the ground floor, and accompanied him up The Staircase in the aftermath of The Greeting (arm around shoulder, hand clasp, whispered exchange). More recently, he has appeared only at the top. A wave from the heavens. A flash of cigar.

All these rehearsals were preparation for the one-performance-only drama of last Monday night. We could tell this was an unusual night because the staging was all wrong. The Greeting scene was dropped completely. Perhaps neither could work out how best to play it. The Private Party Meeting took place off to one side, a little more visible than usual (a show of strength?) but out of earshot (still smugly secret). Chavalit’s performance on The Staircase was deliberately bungled. The affair had become a crowd scene. On the way up he seemed lost and confused. On the way down, he was hustled and shielded from view, like a fugitive or a filmstar feigning a wish for privacy.

This show has had a great run. No encore. No curtain calls.