Source: The Washington Post

When I arrived in Thailand in the summer of 2003, Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra seemed to be presiding over a bona fide success story. Thailand's economy, battered by the Asian financial crisis in the late 1990s, was roaring back to life, with foreign investors returning to the country, the stock market blossoming and consumer spending soaring. At the chic restaurants along Bangkok's Sukhumvit Road, upper-middle class Thais in slick suits tossed back plates of expensive tapas and bottles of wine. Boasting the region's fastest growth rates, Thaksin had proudly toured Southeast Asia, promoting his "Thaksinomics" brand of economic stimulus as an example for other countries.

Thailand's politics also seemed to be operating on cruise control. With nearly 15 years of civilian rule, the country had built a vibrant democracy, and in 1997 created a reform-minded constitution hailed as one of the most progressive in the region.

It didn't last. By earlier this year, thousands of Thais had gathered in the streets to call for Thaksin's head, Thailand's political system had broken down, a rumbling insurgency in the country's south had exploded into open warfare and the economy had begun to nosedive. The situation came to a head last week, with a decidedly retro action: a military coup, not seen in Thailand since the early 1990s. Indeed, the sight of armed troops in camouflage patrolling the streets of Bangkok seemed jarring -- a sight more appropriate for Mauritania or Burma than a city full of malls lined with Chanel and Louis Vuitton boutiques.

But the decline of such a promising nation was not as rapid as it seems. Since he was first elected in 2001, Thaksin had slowly undermined Thailand's democratic institutions, and his economic policies, though initially successful, mortgaged Thailand's future. As a result, when Thaksin needed to rally support from the country's democrats last week, he found few still standing in his corner.

Entering politics as the head of one of Thailand's biggest telecommunications companies, Thaksin had promoted himself as a CEO-type leader, a man who made quick, firm decisions. This image of Thailand's richest man proved appealing, especially in a country accustomed to fragmented, slow-moving political coalitions, and along with massive, populist handouts of state money to rural areas, it helped him win large majorities in the 2001 and 2005 elections.

But Thaksin never seemed to understand that, unlike in a corporation, he could not simply order results in a democracy and stifle opposition. In the deep south, home to a Muslim minority with longstanding grievances against majority-Buddhist Thailand, Thaksin eliminated an institution designed to hear residents' complaints and then amassed near-total control over the situation.

In Bangkok, Thaksin's family company bought up Thailand's most independent television station, fired critical journalists and then used the government's Anti-Money Laundering Office to intimidate other reporters. The prime minister also cashiered civil servants who questioned his policies, including the governor of the Bank of Thailand and the reform-minded head of the armed forces. He helped install people close to him in key positions at the supposedly independent government watchdog agencies created by the 1997 constitution. He launched sedition charges against critics, and he openly undermined the authority of Thailand's judges.

The prime minister's economic policies, meanwhile, often seemed designed more to benefit his telecommunications empire. Though the Thaksinomics fiscal stimulus jump-started the economy, it left Thailand saddled with deep debts, and it failed to produce high-value industries that could compete with China and other Asian economies. In January, his family sold shares in its telecommunications company to a Singaporean firm, netting $1.9 billion without paying any taxes. A 2003 study by Vanderbilt University found that eight of the 10 largest conglomerates in Thailand had people in Thaksin's cabinet linked to their company.

As he amassed more power, Thaksin's attacks on his perceived enemies increased. He lashed out at the few independent media organizations still remaining. He refused to heed calls for reconciliation in southern Thailand, where anger had spiraled into widespread violence. Instead, he may have tacitly allowed death squads to rampage in the south, "disappearing" human rights advocates. More than 1,200 people have died in the region, at the hands of militants and the authorities, in the past two years alone.

But the government's crackdown there only made the problem worse. On most evenings, Thailand's deep south feels more like Iraq than a part of a modern democracy. At major intersections some troops manning heavy machine guns sit surrounded by sandbags, while others stop vehicles and search passengers. On back roads, insurgents gun down police and fire-bomb government buildings.

Eventually Thaksin went too far. Army officials and political elites chafed at his perceived corruption, and complained to me that the military was sacrificing soldiers in southern Thailand with no plan. Worse, when Thailand's revered monarch, King Bhumibol Adulyadej, obliquely criticized Thaksin in a speech last December, the prime minister did not listen.

Thaksin should have bowed before the king, honored like a god in Thailand for steering the country through decades of political crises. But he seemed not to heed the monarch, and though the poor still loved Thaksin, street protests erupted in February and March. These were not violent affairs. At one demonstration, thousands of urbane Bangkokians gathered on a central green to swap T-shirts mocking Thaksin, groove to anti-Thaksin funk music, chant slogans -- and snack on reams of Thai sweets.

Still, the street protests may have given the military the confidence to intervene, especially after Thaksin won another disputed election in April; the coup was led by Gen. Sonthi Boonyaratglin, army commander in chief and an ally of the royal palace. The coup-makers wore the monarchy's traditional colors, and the king later endorsed Sonthi's transitional government.

After the coup, the response from many of Thailand's leading liberals was decidedly lukewarm, though Thaksin had won three elections and international organizations such as Human Rights Watch condemned Sonthi's actions. Former prime minister Chuan Leekpai announced, "As politicians, we do not support any kind of coup but . . . Thaksin has caused the crisis."

Thailand now stands on a precipice. The military government has promised to appoint a civilian caretaker as prime minister and outline a path to elections next year, but it also has declared martial law and arrested activists who tried to protest the coup. By removing Thaksin, the military may have taken out a leader with anti-democratic tendencies, but it also shredded Thailand's 1997 constitution, which was supposed to offer a bulwark against the army playing a role in politics. "Political troubles should be solved by politicians,'' Sonthi himself had said last year.

And if Thailand holds another election, Thaksin, who remains popular among the poor, could legitimately win again, setting the stage for the kind of ongoing political turmoil that has doomed Southeast Asian nations such as the Philippines. For a country full of promise, that would be the saddest fate of all.

This article was originally published in the September 24, 2006 edition of the Washington Post.