Desperately seeking a drug-smuggling warlord

Don Pathan
The Nation

For some weeks now Interior Minister Chalerm Yoobamrung has been talking about his connection with Ai Joe, a mysterious figure who supposedly handles Wei Hsueh-kang's drug money.

Wei is a top commander in the 20,000-strong United Wa State Army (UWSA), dubbed the world's largest armed drug- trafficking army by the US government. His battalion controls a sizeable chunk of land adjacent to the northern Thai border with Burma, where he churns out millions of methamphetamine pills on a weekly basis, not to mention some of the world's finest grade-four heroin.

No one outside the Wa territory knows who Ai Joe really is or what he looks like. The only thing we know about Ai Joe, if Chalerm is to be trusted, is that he is an acquaintance of Duang, the Interior chief's son. Chalerm said Duang and Ai Joe had, over the past five years, established enough rapport to serve as the basis for possible negotiations.

Chalerm's idea is to send his son to seek a possible way out for Wei, with the hope that this could pave the way for the beginning of the end of illicit drugs coming into Thailand from the Burmese side of the border.

The idea is to get Wei to kick the habit in exchange for some sort of economic assistance from Thailand. For Chalerm, the idea has a noble ring to it: by helping them, we help ourselves.

Burma watchers, especially those keeping a close watch on the opium trade and the rebel insurgency in the Burmese sector of the Golden Triangle, are scratching their heads as to what to make of Chalerm's proposal. It's not so much a question of Chalerm's credibility. The doubt tends to centre on the merit of the proposal itself.

First of all, Chalerm doesn't seem to mind the fact that Wei is one of America's most wanted persons, with a reward tag of US$2 million(Bt67,500,000). He jumped bail in Thailand in 1987 on heroin trafficking charges and was later sentenced to death in absentia by a Thai court.

A UWSA senior officer, speaking on condition of anonymity, said, "Commander Wei's movements and whereabouts are highly secret out of concern that he could be nabbed at any given moment."

And in spite of being under the UWSA banner, Wei's business empire, which stretches to Hong Kong, Shanghai and Bangkok, not to mention Rangoon, leads up to, and is controlled by him and him alone.

A Chinese officer monitoring the UWSA's  activities described the organisation as experiencing a dumbbell effect, with Wei and his brothers controlling the Wa area along the Thai border, while UWSA chairman Bao Yu-xiang and his brothers control areas along the Sino-Burma border.

Chairman Bao has shown willingness to enter into negotiations with the West, including the US and Thailand. He even tried giving up opium cultivation for two seasons to win favours. But no one welcomed his gesture. In fact, the US responded unfavourably. The US Department of Justice in January 2005 indicted seven Wa leaders on drug trafficking charges.

Wei, being one of the world's most notorious criminals, can't afford to play at diplomacy.

"Wei's men do push-ups every day. They are always on high alert for whatever threat may come their way," the Chinese official said.

The proposal from Chalerm is nothing new. Thailand, during the Thaksin Shinawatra administration, went down this well-trodden road before, and the end result was a great deal of embarrassment.

Thaksin was duped by the then security tsar of Burma, General Khin Nyunt, into whitewashing the UWSA by initiating a joint crop-substitution/development project in UWSA-controlled areas near the Thai border.

Seed money of Bt20 million from the Thai government helped build a school. But no students attended classes until Chinese-speaking teachers were hired.

The opening ceremony saw the then Thai Third Army Region commander Lt-Gen Picharnmate Muangmanee singing and dancing with Chairman Bao. Strange bedfellows, indeed, considering the fact that just a year ago Wa and Thai soldiers were slugging it out along the common border.

Perhaps Chalerm has something up his sleeve. But if the turbulent history of Burma tells us anything at all, it is that drugs and insurgency are two sides of the same coin.

Chalerm can't possibility solve the drug problem without taking the political dimension into consideration. And until an adequate political settlement can be reached between the Burmese junta and all the armed ethnic armies, one can forget about seeing these drug armies kicking the habit.

No one will ever climb a mountain to buy cabbages. They will, however, do so to buy opium and methamphetamines.

Note: For more information from the US Department of Justice's indictment on the eight UWSA leaders, click http://www.usdoj.gov/dea/pubs/states/newsrel

Army's abuses come home to roost in South

Anupong, who was in the deep South the following day on an official visit, said he would set up a committee to investigate the imam Yapa Kaseng's death. Bangkok-based diplomats and human-rights advocates initially supported Anupong's response. 

By DON PATHAN
The Nation

There were high hopes among observers of Thailand's southern conflict that the justice system would prevail when Army Chief General Anupong Paochinda vowed to get to the bottom of the death of a Narathiwat imam who was killed while in military custody last March.

It was reported that he died from internal bleeding. His ribs were cracked, apparently from being kicked repeatedly while soldiers interrogated him.

Authorities tried but failed to reach an out-of-court settlement with the family who are demanding answers in the death of their family head.

News of his death spread like wildfire, seriously undermining the already fragile relationship between Thai security forces and the Muslim Malay community in the restive region.

Anupong, who was in the deep South the following day on an official visit, said he would set up a committee to investigate the imam's death. Bangkok-based diplomats and human-rights advocates initially supported Anupong's response.

 But today, two months later, there is a growing concern that Yapa's case would go down the road to oblivion. Yapa's daughter has filed a formal complaint with the police, putting her last hopes with the country's legal system.

But like other controversial cases against state security agencies operating in the region, attempting to reach an out-of-court settlement or sitting on the case long enough for it to be forgotten, appears to be the preferred mode of operation.

According to the Muslim Attorney Centre's Kitcha Ali-ishoh, who handles hundreds of cases in the deep South where violence has claimed more than 3,000 lives, most of them Malay Muslims, Yapa 's case has yet to move beyond the police station.

Army spokesman Colonel Acra Thiproch said the case is in the legal pipeline but couldn't say when the system will render its verdict.

Kitcha said the system as it stands is stacked against defendants.

"Hundreds of cases have been handed to the attorney general. Not one has been rejected in spite of the fact that, as past cases have shown, most of these allegations have no merit," Kitcha said.

In other words, young men are locked up for months, and at times for years, until their cases are brought to court. Most are eventually set free as the evidence against them is lacking. The waiting period, which offers virtually no opportunity for bail, has become a bargaining chip in itself, Kitcha said.

From a bird's eye view, law enforcement is acting on what they believe, but not on what they can prove in a court of law.

Intelligence work over the years has not only failed to curb the violence in the South, but has made little headway in getting into the heart of the network of insurgents. Information leading to the arrest or detention of suspects is mainly based on secondary sources and often solicited through torture.

While torture has long been suspected to be part of interrogations, recent years have seen a growing number of people coming forward to accuse authorities of torturing them while under detention.

Information about suspects usually comes from secondary sources, instead of solid evidence that could hold up in court, Kitcha said.

These suspects are "invited for questioning" by authorities who have the power under martial law to hold them incommunicado for seven days and if needed, to extend that period by 30 days.

From June to November of last year, thousands of young men were detained following a series of blind sweeps through villages in highly contested areas.

The courts intervened in the Army project that saw hundreds of young men sent against their will to military camps in the upper South for what was supposed to be "job training". The court, however, ruled that the scheme was unconstitutional and ordered it to stop.

A current public-relations campaign by the Internal Security Operation Command capitalised on the fact that the overall number of attacks, especially on soft targets, has gone down in recent months. But according to Human Rights Watch's Sunai Phasuk, the number of attacks may have decreased, but recent attacks have become much more accurate and deadly.

While newer recruits continue to carry out regular disturbances, the more experienced commandos take out security convoys and military installations, he said.

"Having more men and more guns does not guarantee success," said Sunai. "Widespread abuse and impunity in counterinsurgency operations have made the ground fertile for recruitment and radicalisation, making it likely for the insurgency to continue for generations."

Part of the difficulty in breaking the back of the insurgents is that they have ample recruits on the ground. The  fact that this generation of militants is so organic and decentralised makes any comprehensive, across the board strategy irrelevant.

Moreover, it is premature and misleading for Thai authorities to congratulate themselves on the declining number of attacks without taking serious action on the root causes of the conflict - which they have created. The conduct of the security forces, as seen in Yapa 's case, as well as controversial policies, are driving young Malay Muslim men into the arms of the insurgents.

The military justifies its controversial actions on the ground by saying that it is trying to weed out bad apples.But for local Malay Muslims, with their historic mistrust of the state apparatus and government agencies, these controversial efforts reinforce the notion that the Thai authorities are colonial masters.

In the South, the media, too, must think outside the box

Don Pathan
Pattani

Just recently a couple of dozen reporters based in the three southernmost provinces came together in Pattani, along with senior members of the Thai Journalists' Association, to brainstorm on the ongoing violence in the restive region and how to better cover it.

Top security officials were invited to make their case, particularly over how they perceived the media's coverage of the conflict in the region. Naturally, they asked that their side of the story be heard and that the media be more sympathetic to the challenges confronting them. According to these officials, the media has a role to play in reconciling the differences between the people of the Malay-speaking, Muslim-majority South and the rest of the country. The reporters agreed.

What they couldn't agree on was who, if anybody, should have a monopoly on defining what constitutes reconciliation - or in this case, reconciliatory news stories.

Like any government, the current administration and its bureaucratic machines claim that they have the facts. And because they have the monopoly on these facts, they are the ones who, supposedly, know what's best for the country. And so they issue official lines to the media to be presented to the public. What bothered many journalists was how these facts have been presented. They made it clear that the authorities must share the burden, but essentially agreed that it was part of their responsibility to present accurate and well-rounded stories.

But still, the question remains: should anybody have a monopoly on shaping the context of the story? For too long, the way the deep South was understood had been shaped by the state. For the officials, the answer is clear-cut and simple: the country is facing a new generation of Malay-Muslim militants who embrace a false teaching of Islam and are taught a wrong version of history - the version that says the Malay-speaking South has always been a part of Thailand, even before the world came up with this relatively new notion called the "nation-state".

Moreover, one should not deviate from this notion because, in doing so, one would be accused of adding to the problem instead of being part of the solution. What the state didn't say was that a new can of worms would be opened and they would be left to clean up the mess.

Reporters at the workshop admitted that being too close to the official line had taken its toll on them and they were concerned about their safety. Many said they had alienated their audience, particularly the Malay Muslims, who make up about 80 per cent of the people in the three southernmost provinces. Some even experienced verbal abuse from Muslims, who see them as a government mouthpiece.

It would be different, of course, if the Malay-Muslim public trusted the state. For years, the question of the legitimacy of the Thai state in the historical Malay-speaking homeland has loomed over the region. Since this wave of violence erupted in January 2004, more than 3,000 people have been killed.

According to the journalists, one way to get around this - to not be perceived as a mouthpiece of the state - is to call a spade a spade. Specifically, they asked that editors in Bangkok do less in terms of "sexing up" their stories and instead permit more human-interest stories. For most problems, acknowledging shortcomings is the first step toward a solution. Whether Thai journalists can think outside the box and withstand the wrath of state officials, on the other hand, remains to be seen.

Unlike conflicts elsewhere, there is no message from the insurgents. While the region is not short of critics, all agree that news reporting on the South would be elevated to a higher plane if the opposing forces designated their own spokesmen. But this won't happen anytime soon. Southern Thailand is not Aceh at its worst or Mindanao in its current predicament. One can't just pick up the phone and get the "other side of the story".

Because of the ongoing violence, Thailand's South is the most studied region in the country. For the most part, narratives on the region are presented essentially as sub-narratives of Thailand as a whole. The Thai media have been reluctant to acknowledge that a disturbing portion of the southern population have not come to terms with the country's notion of nation-state - because in doing so, they risk being seen as sympathetic to the people who, in the words of the state, have been misled by the false teaching of history and who embrace the wrong brand of Islam.

The challenge, it seems, is not just for the state to come up with a more realistic explanation as to why generation after generation question the legitimacy of the Thai state in the deep South. The media, too, must learn to think outside the box.

Lessons from the southern insurgency not learned

Published on March 20, 2008 -

Last May in Yala, then Prime Minister Surayud Chulanont told a press conference that he had received "positive feedback" from separatist groups over the idea of establishing some sort of "dialogue".

But he warned that more work had to be done before permanent peace in the Malay-speaking deep South could be achieved.

Kasturi Mahkota, foreign-affairs chief of the Patani United Liberation Organisation (Pulo), immediately welcomed Surayud's statement. He called it a "positive gesture".

But on Tuesday in Bangkok, Prime Minister Samak Sundaravej, ruled out the idea of negotiating with the separatists. Local media gave Samak's statement a great deal of coverage but failed to provide a proper context to this sticky issue.

For as long as anybody can remember, Thai security officials have been going to the Middle East, Europe and neighbouring countries to talk to the leaders of long-standing separatist groups, including the Patani United Liberation Organisation (Pulo), Barisan Revolusi Nasional (BRN) and Barisan Islam Pembebasan (BIPP).

However, the outcomes of these off-and-on chats have failed to have any affect on policy because they are carried out in an ad-hoc manner. They just want to sound out the separatists rather then work towards achieving something more constructive.

"Of course, they all say they are representatives of the Thai government," said one exiled leader who spoke on condition of anonymity.

Samak said most government agencies disagree with direct negotiations. However, he was tight-lipped about the secret meetings between the two sides while insisting that the government was not going to sit down with the separatists on an equal basis.

Jolted by the weekend car bombs in Pattani and Yala, Samak had to sound uncompromising in public. The veteran politician knows he is dealing with an issue that cannot be easily translated into a quick political victory. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why the premier and his interior chief, Chalerm Yoobamrung, have been side-stepping the issue.

The problem with the Thai security top brass is that, after years of talking to the separatists, their attitude has not changed. They see themselves as "negotiating with bandits" rather than being in a "dialogue with fellow citizens" - people who embrace a different political ideology, as the communist insurgents did two decades ago.

The only thing that successive Thai administrations have agreed upon is that the issue should not be internationalised. In other words, no foreign governments or international organisations should be involved in mediating the talks or be allowed to snoop around the deep South, where allegations of gross human rights violations and questionable security practices are rife. Thailand looks at East Timor and Aceh and tells itself that this is not what it wants.

The problem with the Thai generals is that they think like Thai politicians. They all want the violence to end under their watch. Never mind that the problem is deeply rooted in history and shaped by mistrust and the resistance of southern Muslims to Thailand's policy of assimilation.

Another problem is that the old guard - older members of the separatist groups - don't and, in most cases, can't control the new generation of militants on the ground. Locally known as juwae, the new generation of insurgents do not necessarily identify with the old guard, and they engage in the kind of brutality unheard of by the previous generation. They are organised in cell clusters but have the capacity to coordinate attacks - 100 targets at a time - throughout the region.

Even after years of being on the receiving end of this battle, the government is still unable to fine-tune a number of important initiatives. At a recent Thai Journalists' Association seminar in Pattani, the provincial Task Force commander, Major General Thawatchai Samutsakorn, said the "government can't tell me what they [insurgents] will get if they surrender".

Often, a suspect who surrenders is paraded in front of the media, unable to speak freely, while top officials tell the public how the suspect has come to his senses after being misled by some false religious teaching and distorted history.

And afterwards, when released, the "reformed" militant becomes a target of his former comrades.

Nearly 3,000 people have been killed in the insurgency since it began in January 2004.

Insurgents make it clear there is no neutral ground

Don Pathan
Pattani

It was dubbed "Rick's Cafe" by one foreign diplomat, in reference to the hangout in the movie Casablanca, neutral turf where all World War II warring factions cautiously mingled, trying to figure out their opponent's next move.

But whatever "neutrality" the CS Pattani Hotel had in the past ended on Saturday evening, as the violence in this restive region took its toll on the hotel, one of the most important commercial establishments in the deep South.

For much of the past five years, this hotel was the venue for some of the fiercest debates among top government officials, local elites, Muslim clerics, human-rights activists and local politicians.

They all came to sip tea and chat with acquaintances at the terrace restaurant next to the very spot where a car armed with three fire-extinguisher canisters, each filled with 10 kilograms of explosive materials, was parked.

Given the high-profile nature of CS Pattani, not to mention the unprecedented nature of the car-bomb attack, it was somewhat odd that Cabinet ministers remained tight-lipped throughout the weekend.

Two bombs exploded simultaneously on that unforgettable night, killing two and injuring about 15 others. But a third bomb, found about 30 metres away from where the car was parked, was a dud.

The blast tore up a row of vehicles parked in front of the hotel and shattered all the windows on the front side of this eight-floor hotel, as well as those of two rows of nearby shop houses.

Besides putting an end to the longstanding notion of the CS Pattani as a violence-free zone, the use of a car bomb against this soft target was an indication that the violence in this restive region has crossed a new threshold.

Earlier in the day, a similar incident took place in front of a Yala public school when a bomb, also hidden in a vehicle, exploded mid-afternoon, killing the driver who was said to have been a key bomb-maker for a militant cell in the province.

While many were stunned at the loss of the last safe haven in this restive region, Pattani Task Force commander, Maj-General Thawatchai Samutsakorn, said he had serious doubts as to whether the use of car bombs would become a major component in the militants' fight against the Thai state.

Sunai Phasuk, of Human Rights Watch, sees Saturday's attack as a blunt statement by militants after 10 months of being on the receiving end of the military's shakedown, which has forced some cells to go under and has put some militants on the run.

The controversial shakedown campaign, kicked off in July 2007, has consisted of blind sweeps of remote villages withup to 100 individuals taken in for questioning. Individuals deemed to be in the "high-risk" category have been sent to military boot camps under the guise of "job training" and "counselling".

On the ground, allegations of torture, wrongful arrest, and target killings were piling up towards the end of the term of the military-installed government, which was replaced by the current administration.

But while the blind sweeps succeeded in halting roadside bombings, especially in the more highly contested areas in Yala and Narathiwat, where the suspects behind Saturday's operation were based, top security brass didn't predict how the insurgents would make their comeback.

The car bomb at the CS Pattani Hotel, Sunai said, was more than just a way of telling the security apparatus that they were back.

"They are sending a spine-chilling message across the region that the separatist fighters are striking back, and that no one and nowhere is safe," Sunai said.

Separatist militants in Thailand's southern border provinces are not known for respecting universal principles prohibiting attacks on civilians and civilian targets. Such a radical and brutal ideology feeds on ongoing abuses and injustice committed by Thai security forces in their counterinsurgency operations, Sunai said.

"But nothing can justify human-rights violations. The fight for freedom or acts of retribution against state-sponsored abuses does not give these militants justification to shoot, or blow up civilians like this. This is madness, not a liberation war," Sunai added.

But Thawatchai warned against overrating Saturday's operation, saying it appeared to be the work of one particular cell and added that there is nothing to suggest that other cells would follow suit or that they would have the means to do so.

He also pointed to their blunders - the fact that the third canister didn't go off, and the premature detonation of the car bomb in Yala, which ended up taking the operative's life.

Unlike the previous generation of separatist fighters who camped out in remote pockets along the hills near the Thai-Malaysian border, today's militants, often referred to as "juwae", or fighter, by local residents, are organised in cells or clusters of cells with a high degree of coordination. This enables them to carry out simultaneous attacks across this historically contested region where about 80 per cent of the inhabitants are Muslims of Malay ethnicity.

Thawatchai thinks local residents would be less sympathetic to the juwae's fight if their bombs continue to go off in areas popular among Muslims, such as the CS Pattani.

Indeed, killing Muslims suspected of spying for the Thai state is one thing; a powerful bomb that sees no racial or ethnic lines is another. Two men died from Saturday's blast at the CS Pattani. One was a Muslim security guard and the second a Thai Buddhist cook.

Pornthip means well, but she misunderstands the south

Don Pathan
The Nation

Khunying Dr Pornthip Rojanasunand was visibly upset when she appeared
on television to talk about the recent tragedy that ended in the death
of several of her staff.

Some of her most dedicated people lost their lives when an army
helicopter went down in Banang Sata district, a highly contested area
where clashes between Thai security forces and Malay Muslim insurgents
take place on a regular basis.

In line with her old self, Pornthip took a pot shot at the police,
whom she accused of being uncooperative with her forensic department.
But she didn't leave the airwaves without slamming the local Malay
Muslims, whom she accused of being ungrateful to the Thai state.

Pornthip told her interviewer claims by some state officials of making
headway in winning the hearts and minds of the local Malay Muslims in
Thailand's southernmost provinces was untrue.

She pointed to the recent train attack by a group of at least six
gunmen who shot and killed four security officials. Pornthip said none
of the passengers - most if not all were local Malays - made no effort
to give the officials any information about the presence of the
militants who were disguised as soldiers when they jumped on the
train.

The hundreds of roadside bombs of recent years, said Pornthip, were
planted under the very noses of the local residents. And yet, no one
ever comes forward.

Like typical bureaucrats assigned to the Malay-speaking South,
Pornthip feels the "Thai Muslim" residents have failed to live up to
their responsibility as citizens.

Coming to terms with knowing that Malay Muslims could do more but
won't has been extremely difficult for many Thai officials who see
themselves as doing good deeds for their fellow citizens.

It has been difficult for them because, like Pornthip, they cannot see
that the ongoing violence in the deep South is much more than a
problem of law and order.

It is a conflict - one that has pitted the Malay (not Thai) Muslims
insurgents against what they see as illegitimate foreign troops, and
that the local Muslim community is stuck between the two sides.

They may or may not agree with the insurgents' brutal methods but they
are not going to stick their neck out to help representatives of a
state they don't trust.

And if they do stick their neck out for whatever reason, can the state
guarantee their safety and protection from the insurgents?

The militants have shown they have no qualms about killing fellow
Malay Muslims if they are considered a legitimate target. In fact,
most of the victims of the daily drive-by killings - not taking into
account the ambush of military conveys - are ethnic Malays. All are
card-carrying Thai citizens.

Unless people like Pornthip come to terms with the fact that, in the
eyes of the local Malay residents, the three southernmost provinces
are occupied territory, the state cannot expect to make any meaningful
progress towards solving the problems in the deep South.

There are many officials like Pornthip who go down south with good
intentions. But good intentions are not a policy.

Moreover, communication and information strategies of the state have
been geared towards domestic consumption. Desperately trying to
illustrate they are on the right track, officials unabashedly, every
week or so, announce that a "key leader" has been arrested, or that a
"major breakthrough" has been achieved.

There is this need to tell the public that this or that victim was
shot dead because he was an informant.

If the vicious attacks over this past week are any indication, it is
that the capacity of the insurgents is still very much intact and they
are at liberty to pick and choose their targets.

Hope for the southern poor

Things looking up in place that missed out on Thaksin handouts 

Don Pathan
Ban Ayamu, Narathiwat

Ibrahim Arong and his wife Faiza have four children and no home to call their own. They tap rubber in this highland area where Communist insurgents and Malay separatists used to roam some two decades ago. The couple makes about Bt200 a day - after the owner takes his cut.

Their eldest daughter was just sent to Narathiwat where she is living with a relative while taking a one-year nursing assistance course.

"They said the tuition is free and that employment is guaranteed upon graduation," said Faiza, trying hard to put on a positive face amid great uncertainties about their future.

The family will have to do without one helping hand, but said it's a risk worth taking if they want to get out of this cycle of poverty. As it is, the couple don't have much. A small, run-down wooden hut with a shabby roof is pretty much all they have - and that's sitting on somebody else's property.

The difficulties facing Ibrahim and Faiza are not unique. In fact, there are many families like them - poor, landless, working hard to make ends meet - and hoping that their children will have a better life.

But the people in Ban Ayamu are different. What it lacks in material assets, the community makes up in spirit.

About three years ago, with the help of Hama Mayunu, a member of a non-governmental organisation from Narathiwat that deals with community development, together with a local imam, Mohammed Muyeedin Karee, about 150 households of this highland community decided to come together and pool their money and resources.

What started off as a small cattle fund soon evolved into a pool of cash that enabled people like Ibrahim and Faiza to use it. They withdrew Bt3,000 for their daughter's uniform at the nursing school.

A small grant from a Kuwaiti non-governmental organisation helped build a mosque and a community centre that has been used as a kind of a town hall for local residents to come together.

Less than a kilometre from the mosque is 40 rai of land that will be divided up for 40 landless families. Couples like Ibrahim and Faiza are high on the waiting list and are likely to be the first family to move there when the logistics are in place, said imam Muyeedin.

The community is currently negotiating with the Community Organisation Development Institute (Codi), a government-funded private agency, to provide a 15-year interest free loan that would be managed collectively by the residents.

"Historically, assistance from the government tends to be in the form of give-aways and not much in the form of capacity-building at the local level," Hama said. "But our project is different. We believe the villagers can and should manage their own affairs."

During the Thaksin Administration, community development schemes were mainly quick cash thrown at villages. The initiatives were popular in the rural areas and succeeded in securing votes for the Thaksin's Thai Rak Thai Party. But little came in the form of productivity as the money went on personal use.

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, but villagers at Ban Ayamu missed out on Thaksin's million-baht and other populist schemes as they didn't have legal status as none of the residents have land titles - even though most have been here for more than two decades.

Besides missing out on Thaksin's easy money, the daily violence in the three southernmost provinces has brought them closer together, said Muyeedin. The community also linked up with other communities in the same predicament. One such community, Kalae Tapae, a congested coastal fishing port in Narathiwat has been trying for years to secure land deeds from the government.

Residents here say their plight and demands for necessities such as clean water had been long overlooked until two years ago, when they formed a community organisation that began to attract the attention of local politicians, as well as Prime Minister Surayud Chulanont who visited the place in late August.

Hama said local politicians have been trying to tap into the network of such communities for support.

But the community is keeping them at bay because no one wants their hands tied with a political commitment, said Muydeein, the de facto leader who never seems to run out of ideas, especially for young men whom he sees as being vulnerable as they struggle to find their place in the local society.

If it's not the social ills, said Muydeein, then it's the insurgency.

But Saheh Salaemae, 22, who just walked in with a bag of ice and soda for this month's meeting, offers a glimpse of hope.

"This is our chairman of the village fund," Muyeedin said. "Give a young man that kind of responsibility and he will grow up real quick."

Don Pathan
The Nation