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.
DON PATHAN - Thailand-based security analyst/development consultant (Photo: Anjaman Pass, Afghanistan, with two Northern Alliance fighters, October 2001)
Sunday, 27 January 2008
Sunday, 23 September 2007
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
Thursday, 23 August 2007
'Pushing people towards the insurgents'
By DON PATHAN
For the past three months or so, members of the Thai Army and Royal Thai Police have been carrying out raids on various pockets of communities in the Muslim-majority South to hunt down a new generation of Malay insurgents accused of being behind the violence in the region.
Scores of people, at times over 100 in a single outing, have been rounded up during each of these raids. The detainees include suspected insurgents and their sympathisers, neighbours, and friends, and sometimes they appear to be innocent bystanders.
The Army said the move is part of the military's strategy to weed out the insurgents from the rest of the villagers. They call it "separating the fish from the water", supposedly, a tactic employed during the height of the communist insurgency.
The detainees are taken to an Army camp in Pattani where authorities check their names against a list of suspected insurgents.
Those who have arrest warrants outstanding are kept behind bars, while those considered to be "high risk" are sent to military-run boot camps where they go through a four-month course aimed at making them good citizens.
Besides coming together in formation to sing the national anthem and pick up a new skill, they will also listen to Muslim clerics who will tell them that they should not be thinking about taking up arms against the state to liberate their historic homeland known as "Patani".
Family members are permitted to make routine visits, but no one seems to know exactly what goes on inside these camps when the visitors are gone. About 200 are being held in various camps in the upper South.
Thai officials defended the approach, saying "high-risk" individuals should not be left alone in remote villages where hardcore insurgents have all the time in the world to incite them into becoming militants, said one senior official who spoke on condition of anonymity.
While the suspected militants and "high-risk" individuals are under detention, government officials and rangers are sent in to try to win the people over to their side.
But given the rangers' reputation for being trigger happy, using these government militias to win hearts and minds may not exactly be a wise move.
"They slap us in the face and then they turn around and pat us on the back," said Bang Seng, a villager from Narathiwat's Sungai Padi district who was detained in one of the raids. He asked that his real name and village not be identified.
Across the street from his house is a friend who was also taken in and kept in detention for more than two weeks before being released.
"We didn't know what our rights were and none of us dared to ask. They confiscated my butcher knives and I was so afraid they were going to throw some charges against me for having them," he said.
More than 40 in all were rounded up on that dreadful morning from this particular village but less than half of them were released after more than two weeks of detention. The rest, supposedly those deemed by authorities as being too "high-risk", were sent to military camps in provinces in the upper South. They are expected to be released by the end of October.
"It's a way of us reasserting the state's authority and showing the militants what we can do," said a senior officer at the Fourth Army Area.
According to villagers, the Army did exactly just that - flexed their military might as more than 200 soldiers and rangers surrounded the village and entered their homes one by one.
All were taken in on the same military vehicle. For three days, all would be interrogated one by one - some more than others, especially those in their 20s.
"The first night was the worst," said a man in his sixties.
"No one in my cell could sleep. We were just too scared. Nobody knew what was going to happen," said Bae Mah, 60.
Twice a day the detainees are instructed to line up in formation to sing the Thai national anthem.
"We older guys couldn't speak much Thai so we just mumbled the words, rightly and wrongly, to go with the tune," he said.
Bae Mah said he wasn't sure what the authorities were trying to achieve by forcing him to sing a song in a language he didn't understand. For him, such official ceremony was the stuff of television. He never thought it was applicable to him until he was detained.
A big breath of fresh air came on the fourth day when family members were permitted to visit the detainees.
"I cried when I saw my wife," said Bae Mah, who let out a giggle along with his wife who was sitting just behind him.
Locals here say their fear of the security forces is not unfounded. Indeed, talks of extra-judicial killings and abductions are ripe in just about every community here, while memories of the Tak Bai massacre - when at least 79 young Malay-Muslim men died from suffocation while being transported on the back of military trucks - have yet to subside in the minds of many.
"Don't they know that if we were insurgents we wouldn't be sticking around to be taken in?" asked Bang Seng.
"They keep telling us that we must love the country in which we live. But what they are doing is actually pushing the people further away and possibly towards the insurgents," he said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part II: Locals cling to hopes of a solution in South
By DON PATHAN
For the battered military and its Army-installed government, the ongoing raids and the mass arrests, not to mention the "indoctrination" process in the deep South, were meant to rattle the cages of the insurgents just as much as for domestic consumption.
Bang Seng (not his real name), a villager from Narathiwat's Sungai Padi district who was detained in one of the raids, thinks the officials were just out to reach certain quotas - like the drug war during the Thaksin years when the body count became some sort of a benchmark. But this time round, it's the number of people they put in boot camps, he explained.
"They got this scanner that is supposed to detect bomb-making materials but they try to pass it off as some sort of a lie-detector machine," Bang Seng said.
Indeed, with an eye set on cementing their place in Thai politics following the coup last September, the military has been hard up for success stories.
Up until the shakedown two months ago, Thai soldiers were largely doing police work - rushing to crime scenes where forensic police collected physical evidence with the hope that it would lead to something meaningful.
Patrols don't seem to be well coordinated, as suggested by the slow arrival of reinforcements following gunfights, while checkpoints are hardly manned, suggesting the absence of a security grid.
But while roadside bombings around Yala may have ceased these past two months, direct, as well as simultaneous attacks, are being carried out outside of the areas targeted for raids.
It may not be Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation where convoys would have to be escorted by helicopter gun-ships, but the high number of simultaneous attacks has a tendency to jolt the nerves of political and security leaders.
Moreover, few officials here are willing to say that this is the result of a "balloon effect" - a squeeze in one area causing another location to blow up - as this would discredit the so-called headway they have made with these raids.
But coming to terms with reality has never been a strong trait of the Thai military. Violence in the region emerged in late 2001 but it was not until the January 2004 raid on an army battalion that the government finally admitted that a new generation of Malay-Muslim separatists had emerged. The political underpinnings of the raid were just too much for the Bangkok government to continue to dismiss the militants as "sparrow bandits".
But, as they try to change the minds of the young Malays, conceivably Thai military officials could be digging their own graves. No one in their right mind would actually believe that two to four months of indoctrination in an Army boot camp would change the minds of these young men.
Secondly, because of the organic and secretive nature of this generation of militants, there are concerns among some intelligence officials that the government's latest tactics could be providing the insurgents with a needed forum - in this case an Army camp - to come together and strengthen their network.
Strangely, the Army is billing these mass arrests over the past two months as an olive branch it is extending to the community. Turn your back on the insurgents - or better yet, turn them in - and we all can live in peace, the Malays of Patani are often told.
For the better part of the past 100 years, the Malays of Patani were told that they must appreciate all that the Thai state has given them and that they must learn to embrace the values that define Thailand's nation-state. They have also been told that they need to learn to be obedient.
But Malays here say the state's attitude towards them is not only racist, but it comes at the expense of their cultural identity, which they see as being inseparable from Islam.
Although they detest the ethnocentric nature of Thailand's nation-state ideology, locals here said it doesn't necessary mean that they want to separate from the Kingdom.
The high turnout for the general election, including the recent referendum on the constitution, suggested that the Malays here still have hope that somehow the system will come through for them.
But six years later there is nothing to indicate that the violence will end any time soon. "We are just buying time until a political solution comes up," said one senior Thai general who worked on policy concerning the restive region.
Over the years none of the so-called "breakthroughs" have failed to change the course of the insurgency as militants continue to put up a nasty fight.
Once in a while the troops stumble upon a small cache of weapons, as in the case of a hot pursuit that led to the Islam Burapha boarding school. But this small cache that belonged to about six or seven teachers was enough for the authorities to declare a major success. A sign of desperation, one might say, but after years of being on the receiving end, a handful of contraband could seem like a big bag of gold.
Some in the Fourth Army Area actually believe that sooner or later this ongoing shakedown will lead to mass surrender, thus, making concessions with the old guard irrelevant. Apparently, they didn't say anything about Malay separatism, an idea that has refused to go away even after more than 100 years of direct rule by the Thai state.
Don Pathan is The Nation's regional news editor. This is the concluding part of his report on the deep South. The first report was published yesterday.
For the past three months or so, members of the Thai Army and Royal Thai Police have been carrying out raids on various pockets of communities in the Muslim-majority South to hunt down a new generation of Malay insurgents accused of being behind the violence in the region.
Scores of people, at times over 100 in a single outing, have been rounded up during each of these raids. The detainees include suspected insurgents and their sympathisers, neighbours, and friends, and sometimes they appear to be innocent bystanders.
The Army said the move is part of the military's strategy to weed out the insurgents from the rest of the villagers. They call it "separating the fish from the water", supposedly, a tactic employed during the height of the communist insurgency.
The detainees are taken to an Army camp in Pattani where authorities check their names against a list of suspected insurgents.
Those who have arrest warrants outstanding are kept behind bars, while those considered to be "high risk" are sent to military-run boot camps where they go through a four-month course aimed at making them good citizens.
Besides coming together in formation to sing the national anthem and pick up a new skill, they will also listen to Muslim clerics who will tell them that they should not be thinking about taking up arms against the state to liberate their historic homeland known as "Patani".
Family members are permitted to make routine visits, but no one seems to know exactly what goes on inside these camps when the visitors are gone. About 200 are being held in various camps in the upper South.
Thai officials defended the approach, saying "high-risk" individuals should not be left alone in remote villages where hardcore insurgents have all the time in the world to incite them into becoming militants, said one senior official who spoke on condition of anonymity.
While the suspected militants and "high-risk" individuals are under detention, government officials and rangers are sent in to try to win the people over to their side.
But given the rangers' reputation for being trigger happy, using these government militias to win hearts and minds may not exactly be a wise move.
"They slap us in the face and then they turn around and pat us on the back," said Bang Seng, a villager from Narathiwat's Sungai Padi district who was detained in one of the raids. He asked that his real name and village not be identified.
Across the street from his house is a friend who was also taken in and kept in detention for more than two weeks before being released.
"We didn't know what our rights were and none of us dared to ask. They confiscated my butcher knives and I was so afraid they were going to throw some charges against me for having them," he said.
More than 40 in all were rounded up on that dreadful morning from this particular village but less than half of them were released after more than two weeks of detention. The rest, supposedly those deemed by authorities as being too "high-risk", were sent to military camps in provinces in the upper South. They are expected to be released by the end of October.
"It's a way of us reasserting the state's authority and showing the militants what we can do," said a senior officer at the Fourth Army Area.
According to villagers, the Army did exactly just that - flexed their military might as more than 200 soldiers and rangers surrounded the village and entered their homes one by one.
All were taken in on the same military vehicle. For three days, all would be interrogated one by one - some more than others, especially those in their 20s.
"The first night was the worst," said a man in his sixties.
"No one in my cell could sleep. We were just too scared. Nobody knew what was going to happen," said Bae Mah, 60.
Twice a day the detainees are instructed to line up in formation to sing the Thai national anthem.
"We older guys couldn't speak much Thai so we just mumbled the words, rightly and wrongly, to go with the tune," he said.
Bae Mah said he wasn't sure what the authorities were trying to achieve by forcing him to sing a song in a language he didn't understand. For him, such official ceremony was the stuff of television. He never thought it was applicable to him until he was detained.
A big breath of fresh air came on the fourth day when family members were permitted to visit the detainees.
"I cried when I saw my wife," said Bae Mah, who let out a giggle along with his wife who was sitting just behind him.
Locals here say their fear of the security forces is not unfounded. Indeed, talks of extra-judicial killings and abductions are ripe in just about every community here, while memories of the Tak Bai massacre - when at least 79 young Malay-Muslim men died from suffocation while being transported on the back of military trucks - have yet to subside in the minds of many.
"Don't they know that if we were insurgents we wouldn't be sticking around to be taken in?" asked Bang Seng.
"They keep telling us that we must love the country in which we live. But what they are doing is actually pushing the people further away and possibly towards the insurgents," he said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part II: Locals cling to hopes of a solution in South
By DON PATHAN
For the battered military and its Army-installed government, the ongoing raids and the mass arrests, not to mention the "indoctrination" process in the deep South, were meant to rattle the cages of the insurgents just as much as for domestic consumption.
Bang Seng (not his real name), a villager from Narathiwat's Sungai Padi district who was detained in one of the raids, thinks the officials were just out to reach certain quotas - like the drug war during the Thaksin years when the body count became some sort of a benchmark. But this time round, it's the number of people they put in boot camps, he explained.
"They got this scanner that is supposed to detect bomb-making materials but they try to pass it off as some sort of a lie-detector machine," Bang Seng said.
Indeed, with an eye set on cementing their place in Thai politics following the coup last September, the military has been hard up for success stories.
Up until the shakedown two months ago, Thai soldiers were largely doing police work - rushing to crime scenes where forensic police collected physical evidence with the hope that it would lead to something meaningful.
Patrols don't seem to be well coordinated, as suggested by the slow arrival of reinforcements following gunfights, while checkpoints are hardly manned, suggesting the absence of a security grid.
But while roadside bombings around Yala may have ceased these past two months, direct, as well as simultaneous attacks, are being carried out outside of the areas targeted for raids.
It may not be Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation where convoys would have to be escorted by helicopter gun-ships, but the high number of simultaneous attacks has a tendency to jolt the nerves of political and security leaders.
Moreover, few officials here are willing to say that this is the result of a "balloon effect" - a squeeze in one area causing another location to blow up - as this would discredit the so-called headway they have made with these raids.
But coming to terms with reality has never been a strong trait of the Thai military. Violence in the region emerged in late 2001 but it was not until the January 2004 raid on an army battalion that the government finally admitted that a new generation of Malay-Muslim separatists had emerged. The political underpinnings of the raid were just too much for the Bangkok government to continue to dismiss the militants as "sparrow bandits".
But, as they try to change the minds of the young Malays, conceivably Thai military officials could be digging their own graves. No one in their right mind would actually believe that two to four months of indoctrination in an Army boot camp would change the minds of these young men.
Secondly, because of the organic and secretive nature of this generation of militants, there are concerns among some intelligence officials that the government's latest tactics could be providing the insurgents with a needed forum - in this case an Army camp - to come together and strengthen their network.
Strangely, the Army is billing these mass arrests over the past two months as an olive branch it is extending to the community. Turn your back on the insurgents - or better yet, turn them in - and we all can live in peace, the Malays of Patani are often told.
For the better part of the past 100 years, the Malays of Patani were told that they must appreciate all that the Thai state has given them and that they must learn to embrace the values that define Thailand's nation-state. They have also been told that they need to learn to be obedient.
But Malays here say the state's attitude towards them is not only racist, but it comes at the expense of their cultural identity, which they see as being inseparable from Islam.
Although they detest the ethnocentric nature of Thailand's nation-state ideology, locals here said it doesn't necessary mean that they want to separate from the Kingdom.
The high turnout for the general election, including the recent referendum on the constitution, suggested that the Malays here still have hope that somehow the system will come through for them.
But six years later there is nothing to indicate that the violence will end any time soon. "We are just buying time until a political solution comes up," said one senior Thai general who worked on policy concerning the restive region.
Over the years none of the so-called "breakthroughs" have failed to change the course of the insurgency as militants continue to put up a nasty fight.
Once in a while the troops stumble upon a small cache of weapons, as in the case of a hot pursuit that led to the Islam Burapha boarding school. But this small cache that belonged to about six or seven teachers was enough for the authorities to declare a major success. A sign of desperation, one might say, but after years of being on the receiving end, a handful of contraband could seem like a big bag of gold.
Some in the Fourth Army Area actually believe that sooner or later this ongoing shakedown will lead to mass surrender, thus, making concessions with the old guard irrelevant. Apparently, they didn't say anything about Malay separatism, an idea that has refused to go away even after more than 100 years of direct rule by the Thai state.
Don Pathan is The Nation's regional news editor. This is the concluding part of his report on the deep South. The first report was published yesterday.
Saturday, 23 June 2007
Crisis in south rooted in ethnic Malay identity
Govt's charm offensive may be winning support abroad, but it won't end bloodshed in region
Don PathanThe Nation
Not long after Thai soldiers and police stacked hundreds of unarmed Muslim demonstrators on the back of military transport trucks - suffocating 78 of them in the process - the Thai Foreign Ministry went through their rolodex's looking for Muslim organisations.
The aftermath of the Tak Bai tragedy generated all kinds of fears and concerns.
Besides the possibility of a diplomatic fallout with Islamic countries over the death of 78 unarmed demonstrators, many were worried the incident would change the course of the insurgency in the deep South, turning local grievances into a struggle for Islamic causes. But nearly three years later, the banner is still very much Malay nationalism.
Prior to the Tak Bai incident, the then Thaksin Shinawatra administration didn't give much thought about generating political capital from international Islamic organisations or institutions.
But like most organisations, foreign or local, an institution is only as good as what you churn out of it. The previous government of Chuan Leekpai succeeded in securing a "permanent observer" seat in the Organisation of Islamic Conference (OIC). In doing so it dashed the hopes of separatist movements such as the Patani United Liberation Organisation (Pulo) or Barisan Revolusi Nasional (BRN) from using it as a launching pad to attack Thailand.
As part of its effort to get the Muslim countries off its back, Bangkok launched a charm offensive. Diplomatic old hands and Muslim VIPs were dispatched to the Middle East and to OIC meetings.
There were some difficult moments, however. The OIC rattled the government's cage on more than one occasion, issuing some strong statements in 2005 over Thailand's handling of the far South.
After more than two years of diplomatic offensive, Thailand has succeeded in obtaining some breathing space.
But Bangkok also made some concessions. In a joint press statement in May 2007, the Foreign Ministry had to acknowledge the OIC's desire for "prompt and effective investigation of any allegation of human rights abuses". It also said that "long-term solutions to the problem in the South should entail granting the people of the region greater responsibility in governing effectively their local affairs".
Although no one knows what this will translate to in real terms, diplomatically speaking, the language of the joint statement suggested that the tricky topic of structural or administrative reform could be on the table in the future.
But while its charm offensive gives Thai officials some breathing space in the international arena, back in the deep South, the government's campaign to win hearts and minds is being clipped by reports and allegations of targeted killings and heavy handed measures.
Moreover, Muslims in the restive South, as well as those living exile, said Bangkok has been barking up the wrong tree with its insistence on playing the Islamic card.
The problem in the restive region is not about Islam; it is deep rooted in the ethnic Malays' refusal to embrace the pillars and values that define Thailand's nation-state building, they insist.
But Thai officials continue to ignore the complexity of the long-standing problem of assimilation and the question of identity the ethnic Malays face.
Oversimplifying the problems in the deep South tends to turn many Muslims off, particularly those who would like to work with the state but are disgusted by the government's futile policies.
Although it has put off many Muslims around the country, the government continues with its search for a model Muslim citizen, or "moderate", as the government likes to say, for others to emulate.
One big problem for Bangkok is that the model isn't catching on - no one wants to be seen as a "Muslim Uncle Tom".
Wednesday, 30 May 2007
Bombs 'like those in Bangkok'
Blasts created a lot of noise but not much physical damage, police say
Don Pathan
The Nation
The latest spate of bombs in Hat Yai will certainly shove this southern commercial centre further towards a crisis and prolong its attempt to regain its status as a popular destination for Malaysian and other tourists.
This culturally rich town where Malay, Chinese and English languages are spoken, has never been the same since it was rocked by bombings in April 2005 and September last year.
But unlike previously, Thailand's top security officials have refrained from speculating that insurgents from the deep South were behind the attacks on Sunday night.
This differs greatly from before, when police were quick to point the finger at a group of zealous militants for a string of high profile attacks, including the April 2005 Hat Yai Airport bombing, and the blitz in Yala three months after.
Police named Faisal Haji Isma-ae and Abdul Kamae Saleh as the heads of this militant cell.
Because of the choice of targets and the scale of the damage, authorities said the 2006 Hat Yai attacks had crossed a new threshold. The six simultaneous bomb blasts killed four and injured about 70 people in crowded areas popular among local and foreign visitors. The implications went far beyond the Muslim-majority South, where the ongoing violence has claimed more than 2,200 lives since January 2004.
Some speculated that the 2006 "hit" was a sign of things to come: militants would target high-profile places to create the greatest possible psychological impact, now that they had struck in Hat Yai.
History has shown that successful attacks usually lead to bigger, more lethal dramas.
But the seven bombs last Sunday didn't seem to fall in that pattern.
However, this could well be a simple exercise in tactics.
Hat Yai streets were more or less emptied of Malaysian tourists, who were well on their way back home when the bombs went off. Moreover, none of the bombs had shrapnel and all appeared to have been small and quickly assembled.
Authorities said Sunday night's bombs were similar to those in Bangkok recently: lots of noise and political headaches, but not much physical damage.
With or without the insurgency in the far South, history has shown that Hat Yai, like many other border towns, has long been a battleground for influential figures fighting over control of illicit activities.
Given the fact that Hat Yai is not far from the boundaries of the troubled region - about 100km north of Pattani and about 50km east of Saba Yoi district, where another fatal bomb was detonated at a fresh market yesterday - it is understandably tempting to link any disturbances to the ongoing insurgency.
Coming up with a convincing answer as to how the mess in Hat Yai can be understood will be just as difficult in finding the culprits behind these attacks, who not only inflict death and injuries, but also cripple the local economy.
Don Pathan
The Nation
The latest spate of bombs in Hat Yai will certainly shove this southern commercial centre further towards a crisis and prolong its attempt to regain its status as a popular destination for Malaysian and other tourists.
This culturally rich town where Malay, Chinese and English languages are spoken, has never been the same since it was rocked by bombings in April 2005 and September last year.
But unlike previously, Thailand's top security officials have refrained from speculating that insurgents from the deep South were behind the attacks on Sunday night.
This differs greatly from before, when police were quick to point the finger at a group of zealous militants for a string of high profile attacks, including the April 2005 Hat Yai Airport bombing, and the blitz in Yala three months after.
Police named Faisal Haji Isma-ae and Abdul Kamae Saleh as the heads of this militant cell.
Because of the choice of targets and the scale of the damage, authorities said the 2006 Hat Yai attacks had crossed a new threshold. The six simultaneous bomb blasts killed four and injured about 70 people in crowded areas popular among local and foreign visitors. The implications went far beyond the Muslim-majority South, where the ongoing violence has claimed more than 2,200 lives since January 2004.
Some speculated that the 2006 "hit" was a sign of things to come: militants would target high-profile places to create the greatest possible psychological impact, now that they had struck in Hat Yai.
History has shown that successful attacks usually lead to bigger, more lethal dramas.
But the seven bombs last Sunday didn't seem to fall in that pattern.
However, this could well be a simple exercise in tactics.
Hat Yai streets were more or less emptied of Malaysian tourists, who were well on their way back home when the bombs went off. Moreover, none of the bombs had shrapnel and all appeared to have been small and quickly assembled.
Authorities said Sunday night's bombs were similar to those in Bangkok recently: lots of noise and political headaches, but not much physical damage.
With or without the insurgency in the far South, history has shown that Hat Yai, like many other border towns, has long been a battleground for influential figures fighting over control of illicit activities.
Given the fact that Hat Yai is not far from the boundaries of the troubled region - about 100km north of Pattani and about 50km east of Saba Yoi district, where another fatal bomb was detonated at a fresh market yesterday - it is understandably tempting to link any disturbances to the ongoing insurgency.
Coming up with a convincing answer as to how the mess in Hat Yai can be understood will be just as difficult in finding the culprits behind these attacks, who not only inflict death and injuries, but also cripple the local economy.
Thursday, 17 May 2007
Harsh realities mar peace efforts in South
Don Pathan
The Nation
Narathiwat
Even by local standards, the scene on a back road deep in the heart of the Muslim-majority South last Wednesday was bleak.
Bodies of seven Special Forces soldiers were scattered over the narrow back road in Narathiwat's Rangae district. Two soldiers were stuck in the cab of the pickup truck, which had flipped over, while another soldier was tossed several metres into a wooded area.
All were shot at point blank range - a damning statement from the militants to Thai authorities that they mean business regardless of the gestures of goodwill from the Bangkok government.
Two days later in the same district, two policemen were shot dead and their bodies burned beyond recognition. Police said the two attacks were carried out by the same militant cell responsible for killing the seven Special Forces soldiers.
Like other militant attacks in the restive region, the insurgents carry out their deadly strikes and then quickly blend into their villages.
Reinforcement units are often too slow, while hot pursuit is virtually non-existent in this restive region. The latest wave of the insurgency has so far claimed more than 2,100 lives since January 2004.
The immediate task, said the Fourth Army Area's chief-of-staff Major-General Chamlong Khunsong, is to send authorities back to Ban Bangor for a public consultation to "create an understanding. "We must try to bring the local community to our side or else we risk losing them to the militants," Chamlong said.
Security officials say the policy of reconciliation through peaceful means is slow and daunting, as historical mistrust between the Malay-speaking residents and the state continues to hamper efforts to win hearts and minds.
No one seems to know where the next attack will come from, which has made mapping out so-called "red areas" almost meaningless.
Attacks against security units have been a daily occurrence as the battleground has shifted from remote areas to towns and villages since this latest wave of violence flared three years ago.
The fabric of society which once held Buddhists and Muslims together has been effectively torn apart, as the scope of victims has expanded from security officials to civilians, including teachers, monks and non-security personnel.
Muslims and Buddhists who lived through the battle fought between the previous generation of Malay separatist groups and government forces didn't see themselves as being stuck in the middle of a vicious crossfire.
In fact, in areas that were not accessible by government officials, groups such as the Patani United Liberation Organisation or the Barisan Revolusi Nasional encouraged social functions and activities as a way to make day-to-day life as normal as possible for the local community.
But in the late 1980s the armed wings of the longstanding Malay separatist groups became exhausted and fell apart following the government's blanket amnesty programme.
However, Bangkok mistook the absence of violence for permanent peace and an end to Malay nationalist sentiment. No one suspected that a new generation of separatists and insurgents was in the making. For much of their early lives, these young militants, locally referred to as juwae, or fighter in the local Malay dialect, told themselves that they needed to take back their homeland from the "invading Siamese". And when they came of age, one by one, village-based cells began to emerge organically under an umbrella of a loose network scattered through out the region.
While the previous generation of fighters positioned themselves in remote hills and launched conventional attacks, today's militants don't have to go far from their homes to carry out strikes.
And because they are not organised according to any recognisable structure, taking down one cell does not necessarily mean a major breakthrough for authorities, as a similar cell could still be operating in the next district or tambon.
During his recent visit to the region, Prime Minister Surayud Chulanont said the government had received "positive feedback" from the insurgents over dialogue.
A senior officer from the Fourth Army Area said the positive signals had come from both members of the longstanding groups in exile, as well as militant cells on the ground.
"Some cell members feel their struggle has no end in sight and have begun to question the whole idea behind daily attacks. They don't see an end game," he said.
But a formal dialogue, or negotiations is far off possibility. Military officers on the ground said there was no guarantee that dialogue with one militant cell would resonate with others, given the fact that the current generation of insurgents is extremely organic. And in spite of this "positive feedback", the scene from Rangae district continues to serve as a grim reminder that a lasting peace is still a long way off.
The Nation
Narathiwat
Even by local standards, the scene on a back road deep in the heart of the Muslim-majority South last Wednesday was bleak.
Bodies of seven Special Forces soldiers were scattered over the narrow back road in Narathiwat's Rangae district. Two soldiers were stuck in the cab of the pickup truck, which had flipped over, while another soldier was tossed several metres into a wooded area.
All were shot at point blank range - a damning statement from the militants to Thai authorities that they mean business regardless of the gestures of goodwill from the Bangkok government.
Two days later in the same district, two policemen were shot dead and their bodies burned beyond recognition. Police said the two attacks were carried out by the same militant cell responsible for killing the seven Special Forces soldiers.
Like other militant attacks in the restive region, the insurgents carry out their deadly strikes and then quickly blend into their villages.
Reinforcement units are often too slow, while hot pursuit is virtually non-existent in this restive region. The latest wave of the insurgency has so far claimed more than 2,100 lives since January 2004.
The immediate task, said the Fourth Army Area's chief-of-staff Major-General Chamlong Khunsong, is to send authorities back to Ban Bangor for a public consultation to "create an understanding. "We must try to bring the local community to our side or else we risk losing them to the militants," Chamlong said.
Security officials say the policy of reconciliation through peaceful means is slow and daunting, as historical mistrust between the Malay-speaking residents and the state continues to hamper efforts to win hearts and minds.
No one seems to know where the next attack will come from, which has made mapping out so-called "red areas" almost meaningless.
Attacks against security units have been a daily occurrence as the battleground has shifted from remote areas to towns and villages since this latest wave of violence flared three years ago.
The fabric of society which once held Buddhists and Muslims together has been effectively torn apart, as the scope of victims has expanded from security officials to civilians, including teachers, monks and non-security personnel.
Muslims and Buddhists who lived through the battle fought between the previous generation of Malay separatist groups and government forces didn't see themselves as being stuck in the middle of a vicious crossfire.
In fact, in areas that were not accessible by government officials, groups such as the Patani United Liberation Organisation or the Barisan Revolusi Nasional encouraged social functions and activities as a way to make day-to-day life as normal as possible for the local community.
But in the late 1980s the armed wings of the longstanding Malay separatist groups became exhausted and fell apart following the government's blanket amnesty programme.
However, Bangkok mistook the absence of violence for permanent peace and an end to Malay nationalist sentiment. No one suspected that a new generation of separatists and insurgents was in the making. For much of their early lives, these young militants, locally referred to as juwae, or fighter in the local Malay dialect, told themselves that they needed to take back their homeland from the "invading Siamese". And when they came of age, one by one, village-based cells began to emerge organically under an umbrella of a loose network scattered through out the region.
While the previous generation of fighters positioned themselves in remote hills and launched conventional attacks, today's militants don't have to go far from their homes to carry out strikes.
And because they are not organised according to any recognisable structure, taking down one cell does not necessarily mean a major breakthrough for authorities, as a similar cell could still be operating in the next district or tambon.
During his recent visit to the region, Prime Minister Surayud Chulanont said the government had received "positive feedback" from the insurgents over dialogue.
A senior officer from the Fourth Army Area said the positive signals had come from both members of the longstanding groups in exile, as well as militant cells on the ground.
"Some cell members feel their struggle has no end in sight and have begun to question the whole idea behind daily attacks. They don't see an end game," he said.
But a formal dialogue, or negotiations is far off possibility. Military officers on the ground said there was no guarantee that dialogue with one militant cell would resonate with others, given the fact that the current generation of insurgents is extremely organic. And in spite of this "positive feedback", the scene from Rangae district continues to serve as a grim reminder that a lasting peace is still a long way off.
Sunday, 29 April 2007
Scars of Krue Se bloodbath refuse to go away
Don Pathan
The Nation
Three years ago today when well over 100 Malay-Muslim militants launched a coordinated attack against 11 police outposts and one station in the deep South, the entire country was jolted by the unprecedented nature of the attacks.
Few knew what to make of it - young men armed with little more than machetes charging into certain death just to be heard.
Most died at the scene of the attacks, while some were shot point blank at close range. But the ones who caught everybody's attention were the 32 militants who retreated to the historic Krue Se Mosque on the outskirts of Pattani after attacking a police outpost nearby. Through the mosque's loudspeaker, the militants urged local Malays to rise up and take back their land from the invading Siamese.
By mid-afternoon, General Pallop Pinmanee, the highest-ranking official on the scene - who just happened to be in the neighbourhood on that day - decided he had had enough and ordered a full-scale bombardment of the mosque.
He admitted later that he was concerned that local residents would rise up and side with the militants. To him, stability overdid local sensitivity and the sanctity of the mosque.
Not only did the incident shed light into the lack of professionalism in the Thai armed forces - Pallop had no business directing the attack because he was not part of the local command - it left a permanent scar on the psyche of the Thai nation.
For many local Malays these young men were fighters who gave their lives just to be heard. For the security apparatus, the attacks were a sign that the worse was yet to come and that no one could be complacent. If a whole bunch of young men were willing to charge into certain death, the possibilities were endless.
What inspired the knife-wielding militants to do what they did is still uncertain, but it was obvious that many of the insurgents saw themselves as martyrs - and so do the locals. Most if not all of the April 28 militants were buried as martyrs in line with Islamic tradition.
The unprecedented nature of the April 28 militants' attack has yet to be repeated and probably never will.
But the psychological impact continues to be felt in military circles in the restive region where daily attacks against government troops continue unabated.
Moreover, today's attacks show that the militants are employing a higher degree of precision - as seen in an attack last week when an a group of about 50 militants ambushed a convoy of military vehicles, wounding 18 soldiers who were lured to a school fire set by insurgents.
Indeed, the April 28, 2004 bloodbath also set off a storm of debate among those in religious circles who wondered if the act could be considered a suicide mission. If so, would Thailand face the kind of suicide attacks that have become commonplace in the Middle East or in the Sri Lankan civil war?
There has been no conclusive answer to the question of whether the strikes constituted a suicide mission. The government's initial response was that the militants were a bunch of drug-crazed teenagers. Bangkok didn't want to see the political and security significance of the incident.
Local Islamic leaders comforted themselves with a "technicality". They pointed to the fact that these young men carried machetes. The mission was suicidal; it was not a suicide mission.
Besides, all the targets were police outposts and one station, not high-profile places packed with innocent civilians. In other words, the insurgents weren't after a high body count.
There was a general agreement that the group had employed unorthodox, supernatural beliefs and practices of folk Islam to indoctrinate these young men. Summoning spirits, making holy water and other popular customs carried over from Hinduism continue to be an important part of the local Muslims' belief system.
In an interview with The Nation after he was taken down in a gunfight later that year, Abdulah Akoh, an Islamic studies teacher who was initially part of the April 28 clique but decided not to take part, talked about a charismatic and persuasive Ismail Yaralong and how he used his charm to persuade others to join his outfit.
For more than four years, Ismail, also known as Ustaz Soh, moved from village to village, singling out young men of good standing in the communities and, after planting the seeds of trust, recruiting them into an outfit that Abdullah called Talekat Hikmahtullah Abandan (Direction from God Towards Invincibility).
Ustaz Soh promised invincibility and supernatural powers if and when a person reached a certain state of reverence. Properly trained, he said, a person could even make himself disappear or become impervious to bullets and knives.
An organisational manual, the Birjihad di Patani, found on the bodies of some of the April 28 insurgents provides a glimpse into the mind of the militants in Soh's outfit.
Besides justifying the killing of fellow Muslims who have betrayed the cause, the book also states that the next ruler of a liberated Patani should be from the bloodline of the deposed Patani sultanates, and that he should be a Shafi'i, one of the four schools of jurisprudence in Sunni Islam.
While these points suggest that the grievances of the April 28 outfit remained local, what concerns many is the possibility that this local struggle might become part of a global jihad where the banner would no longer be Malay nationalism but a fight for Islam.
Given the way the situation is being perceived as a Buddhist versus Muslim conflict, the latter phenomenon could very well reach Patani's shores sooner than later.
The Nation
Three years ago today when well over 100 Malay-Muslim militants launched a coordinated attack against 11 police outposts and one station in the deep South, the entire country was jolted by the unprecedented nature of the attacks.
Few knew what to make of it - young men armed with little more than machetes charging into certain death just to be heard.
Most died at the scene of the attacks, while some were shot point blank at close range. But the ones who caught everybody's attention were the 32 militants who retreated to the historic Krue Se Mosque on the outskirts of Pattani after attacking a police outpost nearby. Through the mosque's loudspeaker, the militants urged local Malays to rise up and take back their land from the invading Siamese.
By mid-afternoon, General Pallop Pinmanee, the highest-ranking official on the scene - who just happened to be in the neighbourhood on that day - decided he had had enough and ordered a full-scale bombardment of the mosque.
He admitted later that he was concerned that local residents would rise up and side with the militants. To him, stability overdid local sensitivity and the sanctity of the mosque.
Not only did the incident shed light into the lack of professionalism in the Thai armed forces - Pallop had no business directing the attack because he was not part of the local command - it left a permanent scar on the psyche of the Thai nation.
For many local Malays these young men were fighters who gave their lives just to be heard. For the security apparatus, the attacks were a sign that the worse was yet to come and that no one could be complacent. If a whole bunch of young men were willing to charge into certain death, the possibilities were endless.
What inspired the knife-wielding militants to do what they did is still uncertain, but it was obvious that many of the insurgents saw themselves as martyrs - and so do the locals. Most if not all of the April 28 militants were buried as martyrs in line with Islamic tradition.
The unprecedented nature of the April 28 militants' attack has yet to be repeated and probably never will.
But the psychological impact continues to be felt in military circles in the restive region where daily attacks against government troops continue unabated.
Moreover, today's attacks show that the militants are employing a higher degree of precision - as seen in an attack last week when an a group of about 50 militants ambushed a convoy of military vehicles, wounding 18 soldiers who were lured to a school fire set by insurgents.
Indeed, the April 28, 2004 bloodbath also set off a storm of debate among those in religious circles who wondered if the act could be considered a suicide mission. If so, would Thailand face the kind of suicide attacks that have become commonplace in the Middle East or in the Sri Lankan civil war?
There has been no conclusive answer to the question of whether the strikes constituted a suicide mission. The government's initial response was that the militants were a bunch of drug-crazed teenagers. Bangkok didn't want to see the political and security significance of the incident.
Local Islamic leaders comforted themselves with a "technicality". They pointed to the fact that these young men carried machetes. The mission was suicidal; it was not a suicide mission.
Besides, all the targets were police outposts and one station, not high-profile places packed with innocent civilians. In other words, the insurgents weren't after a high body count.
There was a general agreement that the group had employed unorthodox, supernatural beliefs and practices of folk Islam to indoctrinate these young men. Summoning spirits, making holy water and other popular customs carried over from Hinduism continue to be an important part of the local Muslims' belief system.
In an interview with The Nation after he was taken down in a gunfight later that year, Abdulah Akoh, an Islamic studies teacher who was initially part of the April 28 clique but decided not to take part, talked about a charismatic and persuasive Ismail Yaralong and how he used his charm to persuade others to join his outfit.
For more than four years, Ismail, also known as Ustaz Soh, moved from village to village, singling out young men of good standing in the communities and, after planting the seeds of trust, recruiting them into an outfit that Abdullah called Talekat Hikmahtullah Abandan (Direction from God Towards Invincibility).
Ustaz Soh promised invincibility and supernatural powers if and when a person reached a certain state of reverence. Properly trained, he said, a person could even make himself disappear or become impervious to bullets and knives.
An organisational manual, the Birjihad di Patani, found on the bodies of some of the April 28 insurgents provides a glimpse into the mind of the militants in Soh's outfit.
Besides justifying the killing of fellow Muslims who have betrayed the cause, the book also states that the next ruler of a liberated Patani should be from the bloodline of the deposed Patani sultanates, and that he should be a Shafi'i, one of the four schools of jurisprudence in Sunni Islam.
While these points suggest that the grievances of the April 28 outfit remained local, what concerns many is the possibility that this local struggle might become part of a global jihad where the banner would no longer be Malay nationalism but a fight for Islam.
Given the way the situation is being perceived as a Buddhist versus Muslim conflict, the latter phenomenon could very well reach Patani's shores sooner than later.
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