In 2018, a group of Thai academics and activists created Future Forward, a progressive-leaning party that favored royal and political reform. It was led by Thanathorn Juangroongruangkit, a young, good-looking man from the business world who was eloquent, cosmopolitan, and social media savvy. At the 2019 elections, Future Forward finished in third place. A year later, Future Forward was banned, and Thanathorn was debarred from politics.
The Future Forward’s politicians then created Move Forward, a progressive-leaning party that favored royal and political reform. It was led by Pita Limjaroenrat, a young, good-looking businessman who was eloquent, cosmopolitan, and social media savvy. At the 2023 general elections, Move Forward came in first place. A year later, Move Forward was banned, and Pita was debarred from politics.
The Move Forward politicians then created the People’s Party, a progressive-leaning party that favors royal and political reform. It was led by Natthaphong Ruengpanyawut, a young, good-looking man from the business world who was eloquent, cosmopolitan, and social media savvy.
My point isn’t that when one party was banned, another was created to take its place. That is not uncommon in Thai politics or in semi-democracies. The parties linked to former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra are now in their third incarnation. Instead, what is novel is that each new party and leader are essentially following the same script. To use a metaphor, they perform the same play only on different stages and with different actors playing the lead role. The lines are the same. The storyline is the same. The protagonists and antagonists are the same. The audience’s reactions and expectations are the same. What the progressive movement has done, in other words, is create a popular script that can be handed over to a new set of actors when the previous ones can no longer perform.
The immediate benefit is that if the metaphorical show is canceled, someone else can find a new venue and lead actor, and the audience will arrive knowing that they’ll see the same performance. More importantly, it ensures the party and the leader do not become overly important. After all, Natthaphong simply reads from the same lines as Pita and Thanathorn did before him. He knows that he didn’t write the script; he’s the performer, not the playwright. He knows he’s not bigger than the show itself. Likewise, the political party knows it’s just a stage for audience engagement.
As I understand it, the foundations of the Future Forward Party stem from conversations between two of Thailand’s leading left-wing thinkers, Piyabutr Saengkanokkul and Chaithawat Tulathon. That Gramscism united the pair is unsurprising from what they produced. What matters is what’s being said, not who’s saying it. What matters is changing the opinions of the masses, not party-building. What matters is how culture changes politics, not vice-versa. This is certainly a break from the dynastic politics of the Shinawatras, in which who, not what, matters.
It’s also a break from the vanguardism of some Southeast Asian political parties that have ended poorly. There are ample examples of leaders outgrowing their political party and the party becoming a subjugated vehicle for an increasingly dictatorial figure, like Aung San Suu Kyi and her National League for Democracy (NLD). Or the party becomes so big that it sucks in an entire movement that was previously outside of the party, as the Cambodia National Rescue Party (CNRP) did with Cambodia’s trade unions and civil society. But the NLD couldn’t survive without Aung San Suu Kyi, and Cambodia’s civil society collapsed when the CNRP was forcibly dissolved. Thai progressives seem to have hit on a novel way of preventing this. Whether it works will depend on how the People’s Party now puts on the performance.