
It will not be the red shirts' renewed activism that will decide long-term future of Thai politics. Nor will it be whether Thaksin is plotting an apocalypse, or whether the reluctant alliance between Abhisit Vejjajiva and Newin Chidchob has run its course. If Thailand, dazed with a bruised conscience and plagued by a great divide, is really capable of moving forward after years in political stagnation, here's the moment of truth.
The monster has laid down a fresh, immediate challenge. Sixteen Senators have been found by the Election Commission to be unconstitutionally holding shares in media businesses or stocks in firms granted state concessions of a monopolistic nature. This alleged breach of a crucial will of the charter is more rampant and ominous in the House of Representatives. Scores of MPs, including a dozen in the ruling Democrat Party, are being investigated by the EC, and they include Deputy Premier Suthep Thaugsuban and Parliament Speaker Chai Chidchob.
Prime Minister Abhisit, reacting to the speculation of a political doomsday scenario, has said that he hoped "accidents won't happen", or something along that line. As a normally eloquent man whose priorities include defending the Constitution, this is not one of his better efforts. An Abhisit of old would have opted for the only one proper reaction in this case: What is constitutionally wrong can't be politically right.
To be fair, Abhisit didn't look on the verge of falling into "that" trap. At least not yet. Complaints that this is bad luck, or a political game, or a conspiracy to destroy a government would simply rub it in for all of us. Constitutional rules concerning stock ownership are so clear that, if this is supposed to be "an accident", it is only because all the people who should have known better have got into their cars and are speeding at 240 kph without their seatbelts on.
We will be hearing all the expected arguments. "The shares are so minuscule I didn't know they matter", some will say. "I just forgot about them because they were so insignificant," others may insist. "What can I ever do, in my capacity as an MP, to help a company I have Bt20,000 invested in? Why would I risk everything for that Bt20,000?"
Conflict of interest loves this kind of environment. The monster thrives wherever people fool themselves that they can handle a little temptation. Its greatest weapon is not the ability to present the owner of Bt20,000 shares all sorts of appealing possibilities, but its capability of making it look like nothing is wrong.
Of course, Bt20,000 can't get to Bt20 billion no matter how hard one tries. This argument, however, represents a triumph of figures over conscience and smacks of the potentially disastrous ignorance of Murphy's Law. Ten MPs with Bt20,000 shares may complete their terms with the stock prices unchanged, but one may happen to hit a big jackpot and, one is all the monster needs to wreak havoc.
Imagine a police officer more than two decades ago, not yet a general but senior enough to have a big say on a computerisation project of the Police Department. He had a wife who owned a computer company, which could not be compared to giant firms at the time but big enough to make a bid.
You don't have to guess who ended up getting the contract. It's harder, though, to picture how Thailand would have been like right now had the deal gone to a different company. And yes, that contract's worth seemed infinitesimal when compared to the staggering numbers in the Temasek controversy and the telecom excise tax scandal.
Better be paranoid than sorry. If the Constitution does stipulate something equivalent to a witch-hunt, then so be it. The more guys with torches, the better.