In Thailand, in the last decade, there have been few and far-between moments to come together, even if only for a respite—until now. In what appears to be a remarkable show of “coming together”—150,000 people—rich and the poor, Bangkok elite and “upcountry” (rural folk) wore black and gathered at Bangkok to sing the royal anthem in the memory of the deceased King Bhumibol Adulyadej (Rama IX, reign 1946-2016) who passed away at the age of 88—the world’s longest reigning monarch.

Thailand hasn’t been smiling for a while, what with its political landscape a jarring kaleidoscope of fractious politics—of cliques, political parties, coups, junta and colour-code (where “yellow” monarchists embattle “red” Thaksin supporters—Thaksin being the ex-PM Thaksin Shinawatra, 2001-2006). In a nation of 67 million, the tagline “ land of smiles” cuts a contrast to schisms that runs deep, with wealth and income inequities. As Thai economist Pasuk Phongpaichit says the “top four families alone own 45% of the wealth of the top 50” in Thailand listed in Forbes 2014.

“The King and Thailand”—monarchy and Thailand have had a complex relationship—not all rosy or as romantic as Japanese actor Ken Watanabe’s rendition as Rama IV (King Mongkut, reign 1851-1868) on Broadway’s wildly popular musical “The King and I” would suggest, but then neither does the recent mass outpouring and singing give an inkling of what lies beneath.
Monarchy in Thailand is regarded as of divine-origin (devaraja in Thai meaning God-king or demi-God), but despite claims of divinity, absolute monarchy came to an end in the revolution of June 24, 1932 led by the People’s Party. King Prajadhipok (Rama VII) abdicated in 1935 to retire to the wooded English countryside of Surrey, succeeded by his nine-year old nephew Ananda Mahidol (Rama VIII), then studying in Switzerland.

In 1945, Prince Mahidol returned, but the young Prince, a gun enthusiast died from an unexplained gunshot wound (in 1946)—which catapulted his younger brother—Bhumibol Adulyadej to the throne on June 9, 1946. Thus began the reign of King Bhumibol (Rama IX) destined, not by design or intent but by the wheels of fate—to be King.

King Bhumibol became a constitutional monarch. But herein begins the story of the dramatic comeback of the Chakri dynasty (est.1782) under King Bhumibol—from one that was discredited (in 1932), to one that has become an indispensable part of Thailand’s political dispensation—but this, not without controversies and heartburn.

Call it re-invention or revival, rise or resurgence—King Bhumibol presided over a complete turnaround in the fortunes of monarchy because of many factors. Then the political scenario was dominated by Field Marshal Plaek Pibulsongkram, an anti-royalist who steered the country from 1939-44 and 1948-57 as Thailand’s longest serving prime minister, and through those years the King’s political presence was feeble, limited solely to performing public duties.

But then came a twist—the twin-coups of 1957-1958, ushered in field marshal Sarit Thanarat (who had not participated in the 1932 revolution) and changed the dynamics. The King, plucked from the margins, was reinstated as the guiding light.

It is said that Thanarat supported monarchy to legitimise his power, and by proclaiming that the “King and Nation are one and indivisible” (from the Thai national slogan of Nation, Religion and King, adapted from God, King and Country) as historian Chris Baker notes, insinuated that power radiated downwards from the monarch, rather than upwards from the people. Significant changes, such as marking the national day on the King’s birthday began to firmly ensconce King Bhumibol as the political cornerstone.

But the dictator had clearly underestimated the young King Bhumibol’s political acumen—who not only outgrew the limited role that the military elite had envisaged for him but became a formidable power centre in his own right.

Over the decades, many if not all, viewed the King, as royalist scholar Borwarnsak Uwanno has pointed out, as a “Dhammaraja” (lit. king of righteousness) who ruled in accordance with the ten Theravada-Buddhist precepts of “Dasarajadhamma” (lit. dasa means ten; rajadhamma means principles) referring to the ten principles of a righteous king that range from dana (alms) to sila (good conduct) and above all, avirodhana (righteousness). In the eyes of the many, King Bhumibol fit the bill.

King’s slew of royally-backed Royal Development Study Centres on ecology, agriculture, wasteland development and public service works such as the Chaipattana aerator (to treat waste water) to benefit the rural areas, as well as the philosophy of “self-sufficiency economy” made him a genuinely popular figure in the rural heartland and urban areas As Boroworn Uwanno says, “monarchy theoretically regarded as a political institution with political neutrality became a social institution in much the same way as family institution”.

Over the decades, under the loosely-defined rubric of successive constitutions and political upheavals, King Bhumibol exercised his prerogative to be consulted, to warn, to advise, to encourage and also to resort to what Anand Panyarachun (ex-Prime Minister, Thailand in the early 90s) calls “reserve powers not specified in the constitution to defuse national crisis”.

But herein too begins the sub-text—which leads up, particularly to the last decade of King Bhumibol’s reign and its discontents.

In the 1970s up until the 2000s, royal intervention resolved many a political crisis so much so that royal approval or at least royal acquiescence had became the norm. Certainly, highlights were King Bhumibol’s role in 1973, during the pro-democracy movement—ordering the dictators out after unwarranted bloodshed and appointing the prime minister after mass demonstrations against the military. He indicated in 1981 (in the most indirect way) his support for unelected prime minister Prem Tinsulanonda during the Young Turks’ coup—by the symbolic act of going to Korat where Prem Tinsulanonda had set up anti-coup headquarters. His intervention in the Black May 1992 coup was yet another landmark—wherein he admonished the warring protagonists, PM Suchinda Kraprayoon and Chamlong Srimuang to resolve their confrontation, exercising his right “to warn”. That image of the two leaders lying semi- prostrate before him beamed on TV channels worldwide was probably the defining moment of the institution.

And yet, paradoxically, glaring caveats appeared. Thai activist and political exile Ji Ungpakorn urges us to question as to why was there was little said on “semi-fascist” paramilitary groups, the Village Scouts (under royal patronage) that ran riot killing innocent students in 1976.

Others such as academic Porphant Ouyanont point to the paradox between the world’s richest monarchy that preached “self-sufficiency economy”, yet the assets of the Crown Property Bureau were $27 billion in 2005 and $43.8 billion in 2014.

And then there is the contentious “Lese majeste” which is defined as an offence against a ruler’s dignity wherein an accused can be imprisoned for 15 years. Sulak Sivaraksa (founder of Social Science Review, a journal that contributed to the pro-democracy uprising of 1973) has been charged at least five times—in 1984 and then again in 1991, when he alleged that the military was misusing the monarchy for political advantage. The last time he was charged was 2014, when he alluded to the cruelty of a 16th century monarch, King Naresuan, who ruled Ayutthaya 400 years ago.

And finally, a recent decade “horribilis” of coups, counter-coups and civilian deaths (in 2010) met with deafening silence—this perhaps because of prolonged illness. This brings us to Thailand’s last coup in 2014 where the military junta under General Prayuth Chan-ocha declared that the power “was presented to me by the King”.

If you flashback, Thaksin indicated in early 2006 that a “charismatic figure” was trying to see him out—perhaps referring to the leading figure Prem Tinsulanonda, now the temporary regent (2016) given that the Crown Prince’s ascension to the throne has been postponed.

What explains the jumble? Historian Chris Baker certainly notes of Thailand’s “network of oligarchies” that are built around monarchy, bureaucracy and army—which collude and collaborate together. Some scholars call Thailand a “network-governance”, still others, a “monarchised military”. The moot point here is not what they call it—but what it tells us about Thailand.

Where then, does the truth lie? And what is King Bhumibol’s legacy?

The answer leads to a maze between the debates on the constructed identity of the institution and its political conservatism, to the folds of Thailand’s political history, to the hearts of many Thais who regarded the King as a supra-political institution imbued with righteousness.

Perhaps it was the long-winding trajectory of twists and turns, ups and downs of human frailty and political acumen, opportunism and larger good for which the Thais came together to pay homage to—the transience that King Bhumibol embodied—once loved but lost, now lost and loved.

(Anurag Viswanath is a Singapore-based Sinologist and adjunct fellow at the Institute of Chinese Studies, Delhi. She is the author of Finding India in China)