The most modern reference to this quote is used in H.G. Wells’ short story first printed in the April 1904 issue of The Strand Magazine. However, it seems Wells may have lifted the genuine quotation from the Adages of Desiderius Erasmus of Rotterdam in 1500: “Inter caecos regnat strabus.” In more modern Latin, that might be “In terra caecorum monoculus rex.” The quotation predates Erasmus. It may have first appeared in the 15th-century Greek Paromiae of Michael Apostolius, although I cannot seem to locate it.

My point being? This example serves to show the arrogance of royalists, thinking a 600-year old quotation, in Greek and Latin, has anything whatsoever to do with our King, or Thailand!

However, “country of the blind” sort of fits. Read the story for yourself—it’s delightful.]

He told of his reason for venturing back from that fastness, into which he had first been carried lashed to a llama, beside a vast bale of gear, when he was a child. The valley, he said, had in it all that the heart of man could desire–sweet water, pasture, an even climate, slopes of rich brown soil with tangles of a shrub that bore an excellent fruit, and on one side great hanging forests of pine that held the avalanches high. Far overhead, on three sides, vast cliffs of grey-green rock were capped by cliffs of ice; but the glacier stream came not to them, but flowed away by the farther slopes, and only now and then huge ice masses fell on the valley side. In this valley it neither rained nor snowed, but the abundant springs gave a rich green pasture, that irrigation would spread over all the valley space. The settlers did well indeed there. Their beasts did well and multiplied, and but one thing marred their happiness. Yet it was enough to mar it greatly. A strange disease had come upon them and had made all the children born to them there–and, indeed, several older children also–blind. It was to seek some charm or antidote against this plague of blindness that he had with fatigue and danger and difficulty returned down the gorge. In those days, in such cases, men did not think of germs and infections, but of sins, and it seemed to him that the reason of this affliction must he in the negligence of these priestless immigrants to set up a shrine so soon as they entered the valley. He wanted a shrine–a handsome, cheap, effectual shrine–to be erected in the valley; he wanted relics and such-like potent things of faith, blessed objects and mysterious medals and prayers. In his wallet he had a bar of native silver for which he would not account; he insisted there was none in the valley with something of the insistence of an inexpert liar. They had all clubbed their money and ornaments together, having little need for such treasure up there, he said, to buy them holy help against their ill. I figure this dim-eyed young mountaineer, sunburnt, gaunt, and anxious, hat brim clutched feverishly, a man all unused to the ways of the lower world, telling this story to some keen-eyed, attentive priest before the great convulsion; I can picture him presently seeking to return with pious and infallible remedies against that trouble, and the infinite dismay with which he must have faced the tumbled vastness where the gorge had once come out. But the rest of his story of mischances is lost to me, save that I know of his evil death after several years. Poor stray from that remoteness! The stream that had once made the gorge now bursts from the mouth of a rocky cave, and the legend his poor, ill-told story set going developed into the legend of a race of blind men somewhere “over there” one may still hear to-day.

And amidst the little population of that now isolated and forgotten valley the disease ran its course. The old became groping, the young saw but dimly, and the children that were born to them never saw at all. But life was very easy in that snow-rimmed basin, lost to all the world, with neither thorns nor briers, with no evil insects nor any beasts save the gentle breed of llamas they had lugged and thrust and followed up the beds of the shrunken rivers in the gorges up which they had come. The seeing had become purblind so gradually that they scarcely noticed their loss. They guided the sightless youngsters hither and thither until they knew the whole valley marvellously, and when at last sight died out among them the race lived on. They had even time to adapt themselves to the blind control of fire, which they made carefully in stoves of stone. They were a simple strain of people at the first, unlettered, only slightly touched with the Spanish civilisation, but with something of a tradition of the arts of old Peru and of its lost philosophy. Generation followed generation. They forgot many things; they devised many things. Their tradition of the greater world they came from became mythical in colour and uncertain. In all things save sight they were strong and able, and presently chance sent one who had an original mind and who could talk and persuade among them, and then afterwards another. These two passed, leaving their effects, and the little community grew in numbers and in understanding, and met and settled social and economic problems that arose. Generation followed generation. Generation followed generation. There came a time when a child was born who was fifteen generations from that ancestor who went out of the valley with a bar of silver to seek God’s aid, and who never returned. Thereabout it chanced that a man came into this community from the outer world. And this is the story of that man.

He was a mountaineer from the country near Quito, a man who had been down to the sea and had seen the world, a reader of books in an original way, an acute and enterprising man, and he was taken on by a party of Englishmen who had come out to Ecuador to climb mountains, to replace one of their three Swiss guides who had fallen ill. He climbed here and he climbed there, and then came the attempt on Parascotopetl, the Matterhorn of the Andes, in which he was lost to the outer world. The story of that accident has been written a dozen times. Pointer’s narrative is the best. He tells how the little party worked their difficult and almost vertical way up to the very foot of the last and greatest precipice, and how they built a night shelter amidst the snow upon a little shelf of rock, and, with a touch of real dramatic power, how presently they found Nunez had gone from them. They shouted, and there was no reply; shouted and whistled, and for the rest of that night they slept no more.

As the morning broke they saw the traces of his fall. It seems impossible he could have uttered a sound. He had slipped eastward towards the unknown side of the mountain; far below he had struck a steep slope of snow, and ploughed his way down it in the midst of a snow avalanche. His track went straight to the edge of a frightful precipice, and beyond that everything was hidden. Far, far below, and hazy with distance, they could see trees rising out of a narrow, shut-in valley–the lost Country of the Blind. But they did not know it was the lost Country of the Blind, nor distinguish it in any way from any other narrow streak of upland valley. Unnerved by this disaster, they abandoned their attempt in the afternoon, and Pointer was called away to the war before he could make another attack. To this day Parascotopetl lifts an unconquered crest, and Pointer’s shelter crumbles unvisited amidst the snows.

And the man who fell survived.

At the end of the slope he fell a thousand feet, and came down in the midst of a cloud of snow upon a snow-slope even steeper than the one above. Down this he was whirled, stunned and insensible, but without a bone broken in his body; and then at last came to gentler slopes, and at last rolled out and lay still, buried amidst a softening heap of the white masses that had accompanied and saved him. He came to himself with a dim fancy that he was ill in bed; then realized his position with a mountaineer’s intelligence and worked himself loose and, after a rest or so, out until he saw the stars. He rested flat upon his chest for a space, wondering where he was and what had happened to him. He explored his limbs, and discovered that several of his buttons were gone and his coat turned over his head. His knife had gone from his pocket and his hat was lost, though he had tied it under his chin. He recalled that he had been looking for loose stones to raise his piece of the shelter wall. His ice-axe had disappeared.

He decided he must have fallen, and looked up to see, exaggerated by the ghastly light of the rising moon, the tremendous flight he had taken. For a while he lay, gazing blankly at the vast, pale cliff towering above, rising moment by moment out of a subsiding tide of darkness. Its phantasmal, mysterious beauty held him for a space, and then he was seized with a paroxysm of sobbing laughter . . . .

After a great interval of time he became aware that he was near the lower edge of the snow. Below, down what was now a moon-lit and practicable slope, he saw the dark and broken appearance of rock-strewn turf He struggled to his feet, aching in every joint and limb, got down painfully from the heaped loose snow about him, went downward until he was on the turf, and there dropped rather than lay beside a boulder, drank deep from the flask in his inner pocket, and instantly fell asleep . . . .

He was awakened by the singing of birds in the trees far below.

He sat up and perceived he was on a little alp at the foot of a vast precipice that sloped only a little in the gully down which he and his snow had come. Over against him another wall of rock reared itself against the sky. The gorge between these precipices ran east and west and was full of the morning sunlight, which lit to the westward the mass of fallen mountain that closed the descending gorge. Below him it seemed there was a precipice equally steep, but behind the snow in the gully he found a sort of chimney-cleft dripping with snow-water, down which a desperate man might venture. He found it easier than it seemed, and came at last to another desolate alp, and then after a rock climb of no particular difficulty, to a steep slope of trees. He took his bearings and turned his face up the gorge, for he saw it opened out above upon green meadows, among which he now glimpsed quite distinctly a cluster of stone huts of unfamiliar fashion. At times his progress was like clambering along the face of a wall, and after a time the rising sun ceased to strike along the gorge, the voices of the singing birds died away, and the air grew cold and dark about him. But the distant valley with its houses was all the brighter for that. He came presently to talus, and among the rocks he noted–for he was an observant man–an unfamiliar fern that seemed to clutch out of the crevices with intense green hands. He picked a frond or so and gnawed its stalk, and found it helpful.

About midday he came at last out of the throat of the gorge into the plain and the sunlight. He was stiff and weary; he sat down in the shadow of a rock, filled up his flask with water from a spring and drank it down, and remained for a time, resting before he went on to the houses.

They were very strange to his eyes, and indeed the whole aspect of that valley became, as he regarded it, queerer and more unfamiliar. The greater part of its surface was lush green meadow, starred with many beautiful flowers, irrigated with extraordinary care, and bearing evidence of systematic cropping piece by piece. High up and ringing the valley about was a wall, and what appeared to be a circumferential water channel, from which the little trickles of water that fed the meadow plants came, and on the higher slopes above this flocks of llamas cropped the scanty herbage. Sheds, apparently shelters or feeding-places for the llamas, stood against the boundary wall here and there. The irrigation streams ran together into a main channel down the centre of the valley, and this was enclosed on either side by a wall breast high. This gave a singularly urban quality to this secluded place, a quality that was greatly enhanced by the fact that a number of paths paved with black and white stones, and each with a curious little kerb at the side, ran hither and thither in an orderly manner. The houses of the central village were quite unlike the casual and higgledy-piggledy agglomeration of the mountain villages he knew; they stood in a continuous row on either side of a central street of astonishing cleanness, here and there their parti-coloured facade was pierced by a door, and not a solitary window broke their even frontage. They were parti-coloured with extraordinary irregularity, smeared with a sort of plaster that was sometimes grey, sometimes drab, sometimes slate-coloured or dark brown; and it was the sight of this wild plastering first brought the word “blind” into the thoughts of the explorer. “The good man who did that,” he thought, “must have been as blind as a bat.”

He descended a steep place, and so came to the wall and channel that ran about the valley, near where the latter spouted out its surplus contents into the deeps of the gorge in a thin and wavering thread of cascade. He could now see a number of men and women resting on piled heaps of grass, as if taking a siesta, in the remoter part of the meadow, and nearer the village a number of recumbent children, and then nearer at hand three men carrying pails on yokes along a little path that ran from the encircling wall towards the houses. These latter were clad in garments of llama cloth and boots and belts of leather, and they wore caps of cloth with back and ear flaps. They followed one another in single file, walking slowly and yawning as they walked, like men who have been up all night. There was something so reassuringly prosperous and respectable in their bearing that after a moment’s hesitation Nunez stood forward as conspicuously as possible upon his rock, and gave vent to a mighty shout that echoed round the valley.

The three men stopped, and moved their heads as though they were looking about them. They turned their faces this way and that, and Nunez gesticulated with freedom. But they did not appear to see him for all his gestures, and after a time, directing themselves towards the mountains far away to the right, they shouted as if in answer. Nunez bawled again, and then once more, and as he gestured ineffectually the word “blind” came up to the top of his thoughts. “The fools must be blind,” he said.

When at last, after much shouting and wrath, Nunez crossed the stream by a little bridge, came through a gate in the wall, and approached them, he was sure that they were blind. He was sure that this was the Country of the Blind of which the legends told. Conviction had sprung upon him, and a sense of great and rather enviable adventure. The three stood side by side, not looking at him, but with their ears directed towards him, judging him by his unfamiliar steps. They stood close together like men a little afraid, and he could see their eyelids closed and sunken, as though the very balls beneath had shrunk away. There was an expression near awe on their faces.

“A man,” one said, in hardly recognisable Spanish. “A man it is–a man or a spirit–coming down from the rocks.”

But Nunez advanced with the confident steps of a youth who enters upon life. All the old stories of the lost valley and the Country of the Blind had come back to his mind, and through his thoughts ran this old proverb, as if it were a refrain:–

“In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.”

“In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.”

And very civilly he gave them greeting. He talked to them and used his eyes.

“Where does he come from, brother Pedro?” asked one.

“Down out of the rocks.”

“Over the mountains I come,” said Nunez, “out of the country beyond there–where men can see. From near Bogota–where there are a hundred thousands of people, and where the city passes out of sight.”

“Sight?” muttered Pedro. “Sight?”

“He comes,” said the second blind man, “out of the rocks.”

The cloth of their coats, Nunez saw was curious fashioned, each with a different sort of stitching.

They startled him by a simultaneous movement towards him, each with a hand outstretched. He stepped back from the advance of these spread fingers.

“Come hither,” said the third blind man, following his motion and clutching him neatly.

And they held Nunez and felt him over, saying no word further until they had done so.

“Carefully,” he cried, with a finger in his eye, and found they thought that organ, with its fluttering lids, a queer thing in him. They went over it again.

“A strange creature, Correa,” said the one called Pedro. “Feel the coarseness of his hair. Like a llama’s hair.”

“Rough he is as the rocks that begot him,” said Correa, investigating Nunez’s unshaven chin with a soft and slightly moist hand. “Perhaps he will grow finer.”

Nunez struggled a little under their examination, but they gripped him firm.

“Carefully,” he said again.

“He speaks,” said the third man. “Certainly he is a man.”

“Ugh!” said Pedro, at the roughness of his coat.

“And you have come into the world?” asked Pedro.

“OUT of the world. Over mountains and glaciers; right over above there, half-way to the sun. Out of the great, big world that goes down, twelve days’ journey to the sea.”

They scarcely seemed to heed him. “Our fathers have told us men may be made by the forces of Nature,” said Correa. “It is the warmth of things, and moisture, and rottenness–rottenness.”

“Let us lead him to the elders,” said Pedro.

“Shout first,” said Correa, “lest the children be afraid. This is a marvellous occasion.”

So they shouted, and Pedro went first and took Nunez by the hand to lead him to the houses.

He drew his hand away. “I can see,” he said.

“See?” said Correa.

“Yes; see,” said Nunez, turning towards him, and stumbled against Pedro’s pail.

“His senses are still imperfect,” said the third blind man. “He stumbles, and talks unmeaning words. Lead him by the hand.”

“As you will,” said Nunez, and was led along laughing.

It seemed they knew nothing of sight.

Well, all in good time he would teach them.

He heard people shouting, and saw a number of figures gathering together in the middle roadway of the village.

He found it tax his nerve and patience more than he had anticipated, that first encounter with the population of the Country of the Blind. The place seemed larger as he drew near to it, and the smeared plasterings queerer, and a crowd of children and men and women (the women and girls he was pleased to note had, some of them, quite sweet faces, for all that their eyes were shut and sunken) came about him, holding on to him, touching him with soft, sensitive hands, smelling at him, and listening at every word he spoke. Some of the maidens and children, however, kept aloof as if afraid, and indeed his voice seemed coarse and rude beside their softer notes. They mobbed him. His three guides kept close to him with an effect of proprietorship, and said again and again, “A wild man out of the rocks.”

“Bogota,” he said. “Bogota. Over the mountain crests.”

“A wild man–using wild words,” said Pedro. “Did you hear that–”BOGOTA? His mind has hardly formed yet. He has only the beginnings of speech.”

A little boy nipped his hand. “Bogota!” he said mockingly.

“Aye! A city to your village. I come from the great world –where men have eyes and see.”

“His name’s Bogota,” they said.

“He stumbled,” said Correa–” stumbled twice as we came hither.”

“Bring him in to the elders.”

And they thrust him suddenly through a doorway into a room as black as pitch, save at the end there faintly glowed a fire. The crowd closed in behind him and shut out all but the faintest glimmer of day, and before he could arrest himself he had fallen headlong over the feet of a seated man. His arm, outflung, struck the face of someone else as he went down; he felt the soft impact of features and heard a cry of anger, and for a moment he struggled against a number of hands that clutched him. It was a one-sided fight. An inkling of the situation came to him and he lay quiet.

“I fell down,” be said; I couldn’t see in this pitchy darkness.”

There was a pause as if the unseen persons about him tried to understand his words. Then the voice of Correa said: “He is but newly formed. He stumbles as he walks and mingles words that mean nothing with his speech.”

Others also said things about him that he heard or understood imperfectly.

“May I sit up?” he asked, in a pause. “I will not struggle against you again.”

They consulted and let him rise.

The voice of an older man began to question him, and Nunez found himself trying to explain the great world out of which he had fallen, and the sky and mountains and such-like marvels, to these elders who sat in darkness in the Country of the Blind. And they would believe and understand nothing whatever that he told them, a thing quite outside his expectation. They would not even understand many of his words. For fourteen generations these people had been blind and cut off from all the seeing world; the names for all the things of sight had faded and changed; the story of the outer world was faded and changed to a child’s story; and they had ceased to concern themselves with anything beyond the rocky slopes above their circling wall. Blind men of genius had arisen among them and questioned the shreds of belief and tradition they had brought with them from their seeing days, and had dismissed all these things as idle fancies and replaced them with new and saner explanations. Much of their imagination had shrivelled with their eyes, and they had made for themselves new imaginations with their ever more sensitive ears and finger-tips. Slowly Nunez realised this: that his expectation of wonder and reverence at his origin and his gifts was not to be borne out; and after his poor attempt to explain sight to them had been set aside as the confused version of a new-made being describing the marvels of his incoherent sensations, he subsided, a little dashed, into listening to their instruction. And the eldest of the blind men explained to him life and philosophy and religion, how that the world (meaning their valley) had been first an empty hollow in the rocks, and then had come first inanimate things without the gift of touch, and llamas and a few other creatures that had little sense, and then men, and at last angels, whom one could hear singing and making fluttering sounds, but whom no one could touch at all, which puzzled Nunez greatly until he thought of the birds.

He went on to tell Nunez how this time had been divided into the warm and the cold, which are the blind equivalents of day and night, and how it was good to sleep in the warm and work during the cold, so that now, but for his advent, the whole town of the blind would have been asleep. He said Nunez must have been specially created to learn and serve the wisdom they had acquired, and that for all his mental incoherency and stumbling behaviour he must have courage and do his best to learn, and at that all the people in the door-way murmured encouragingly. He said the night–for the blind call their day night–was now far gone, and it behooved everyone to go back to sleep. He asked Nunez if he knew how to sleep, and Nunez said he did, but that before sleep he wanted food. They brought him food, llama’s milk in a bowl and rough salted bread, and led him into a lonely place to eat out of their hearing, and afterwards to slumber until the chill of the mountain evening roused them to begin their day again. But Nunez slumbered not at all.

Instead, he sat up in the place where they had left him, resting his limbs and turning the unanticipated circumstances of his arrival over and over in his mind.

Every now and then he laughed, sometimes with amusement and sometimes with indignation.

“Unformed mind!” he said. “Got no senses yet! They little know they’ve been insulting their Heaven-sent King and master . . . . .

“I see I must bring them to reason.

“Let me think.

“Let me think.”

He was still thinking when the sun set.

Nunez had an eye for all beautiful things, and it seemed to him that the glow upon the snow-fields and glaciers that rose about the valley on every side was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His eyes went from that inaccessible glory to the village and irrigated fields, fast sinking into the twilight, and suddenly a wave of emotion took him, and he thanked God from the bottom of his heart that the power of sight had been given him.

He heard a voice calling to him from out of the village.

“Yaho there, Bogota! Come hither!”

At that he stood up, smiling. He would show these people once and for all what sight would do for a man. They would seek him, but not find him.

“You move not, Bogota,” said the voice.

He laughed noiselessly and made two stealthy steps aside from the path.

“Trample not on the grass, Bogota; that is not allowed.”

Nunez had scarcely heard the sound he made himself. He stopped, amazed.

The owner of the voice came running up the piebald path towards him.

He stepped back into the pathway. “Here I am,” he said.

“Why did you not come when I called you?” said the blind man. “Must you be led like a child? Cannot you hear the path as you walk?”

Nunez laughed. “I can see it,” he said.

“There is no such word as SEE,” said the blind man, after a pause. “Cease this folly and follow the sound of my feet.”

Nunez followed, a little annoyed.

“My time will come,” he said.

“You’ll learn,” the blind man answered. “There is much to learn in the world.”

“Has no one told you, ‘In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King?’”

“What is blind?” asked the blind man, carelessly, over his shoulder.

Four days passed and the fifth found the King of the Blind still incognito, as a clumsy and useless stranger among his subjects.

It was, he found, much more difficult to proclaim himself than he had supposed, and in the meantime, while he meditated his coup d’etat, he did what he was told and learnt the manners and customs of the Country of the Blind. He found working and going about at night a particularly irksome thing, and he decided that that should be the first thing he would change.

They led a simple, laborious life, these people, with all the elements of virtue and happiness as these things can be understood by men. They toiled, but not oppressively; they had food and clothing sufficient for their needs; they had days and seasons of rest; they made much of music and singing, and there was love among them and little children. It was marvellous with what confidence and precision they went about their ordered world. Everything, you see, had been made to fit their needs; each of the radiating paths of the valley area had a constant angle to the others, and was distinguished by a special notch upon its kerbing; all obstacles and irregularities of path or meadow had long since been cleared away; all their methods and procedure arose naturally from their special needs. Their senses had become marvellously acute; they could hear and judge the slightest gesture of a man a dozen paces away–could hear the very beating of his heart. Intonation had long replaced expression with them, and touches gesture, and their work with hoe and spade and fork was as free and confident as garden work can be. Their sense of smell was extraordinarily fine; they could distinguish individual differences as readily as a dog can, and they went about the tending of llamas, who lived among the rocks above and came to the wall for food and shelter, with ease and confidence. It was only when at last Nunez sought to assert himself that he found how easy and confident their movements could be.

He rebelled only after he had tried persuasion.

He tried at first on several occasions to tell them of sight. “Look you here, you people,” he said. “There are things you do not understand in me.”

Once or twice one or two of them attended to him; they sat with faces downcast and ears turned intelligently towards him, and he did his best to tell them what it was to see. Among his hearers was a girl, with eyelids less red and sunken than the others, so that one could almost fancy she was hiding eyes, whom especially he hoped to persuade. He spoke of the beauties of sight, of watching the mountains, of the sky and the sunrise, and they heard him with amused incredulity that presently became condemnatory. They told him there were indeed no mountains at all, but that the end of the rocks where the llamas grazed was indeed the end of the world; thence sprang a cavernous roof of the universe, from which the dew and the avalanches fell; and when he maintained stoutly the world had neither end nor roof such as they supposed, they said his thoughts were wicked. So far as he could describe sky and clouds and stars to them it seemed to them a hideous void, a terrible blankness in the place of the smooth roof to things in which they believed–it was an article of faith with them that the cavern roof was exquisitely smooth to the touch. He saw that in some manner he shocked them, and gave up that aspect of the matter altogether, and tried to show them the practical value of sight. One morning he saw Pedro in the path called Seventeen and coming towards the central houses, but still too far off for hearing or scent, and he told them as much. “In a little while,” he prophesied, “Pedro will be here.” An old man remarked that Pedro had no business on path Seventeen, and then, as if in confirmation, that individual as he drew near turned and went transversely into path Ten, and so back with nimble paces towards the outer wall. They mocked Nunez when Pedro did not arrive, and afterwards, when he asked Pedro questions to clear his character, Pedro denied and outfaced him, and was afterwards hostile to him.

Then he induced them to let him go a long way up the sloping meadows towards the wall with one complaisant individual, and to him he promised to describe all that happened among the houses. He noted certain goings and comings, but the things that really seemed to signify to these people happened inside of or behind the windowless houses–the only things they took note of to test him by–and of those he could see or tell nothing; and it was after the failure of this attempt, and the ridicule they could not repress, that he resorted to force. He thought of seizing a spade and suddenly smiting one or two of them to earth, and so in fair combat showing the advantage of eyes. He went so far with that resolution as to seize his spade, and then he discovered a new thing about himself, and that was that it was impossible for him to hit a blind man in cold blood.

He hesitated, and found them all aware that he had snatched up the spade. They stood all alert, with their heads on one side, and bent ears towards him for what he would do next.

“Put that spade down,” said one, and he felt a sort of helpless horror. He came near obedience.

Then he had thrust one backwards against a house wall, and fled past him and out of the village.

He went athwart one of their meadows, leaving a track of trampled grass behind his feet, and presently sat down by the side of one of their ways. He felt something of the buoyancy that comes to all men in the beginning of a fight, but more perplexity. He began to realise that you cannot even fight happily with creatures who stand upon a different mental basis to yourself. Far away he saw a number of men carrying spades and sticks come out of the street of houses and advance in a spreading line along the several paths towards him. They advanced slowly, speaking frequently to one another, and ever and again the whole cordon would halt and sniff the air and listen.

The first time they did this Nunez laughed. But afterwards he did not laugh.

One struck his trail in the meadow grass and came stooping and feeling his way along it.

For five minutes he watched the slow extension of the cordon, and then his vague disposition to do something forthwith became frantic. He stood up, went a pace or so towards the circumferential wall, turned, and went back a little way. There they all stood in a crescent, still and listening.

He also stood still, gripping his spade very tightly in both hands. Should he charge them?

The pulse in his ears ran into the rhythm of “In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.”

Should he charge them?

He looked back at the high and unclimbable wall behind–unclimbable because of its smooth plastering, but withal pierced with many little doors and at the approaching line of seekers. Behind these others were now coming out of the street of houses.

Should he charge them?

“Bogota!” called one. “Bogota! where are you?”

He gripped his spade still tighter and advanced down the meadows towards the place of habitations, and directly he moved they converged upon him. “I’ll hit them if they touch me,” he swore; “by Heaven, I will. I’ll hit.” He called aloud, “Look here, I’m going to do what I like in this valley! Do you hear? I’m going to do what I like and go where I like.”

They were moving in upon him quickly, groping, yet moving rapidly. It was like playing blind man’s buff with everyone blindfolded except one. “Get hold of him!” cried one. He found himself in the arc of a loose curve of pursuers. He felt suddenly he must be active and resolute.

“You don’t understand,” he cried, in a voice that was meant to be great and resolute, and which broke. “You are blind and I can see. Leave me alone!”

“Bogota! Put down that spade and come off the grass!”

The last order, grotesque in its urban familiarity, produced a gust of anger. “I’ll hurt you,” he said, sobbing with emotion. “By Heaven, I’ll hurt you! Leave me alone!”

He began to run–not knowing clearly where to run. He ran from the nearest blind man, because it was a horror to hit him. He stopped, and then made a dash to escape from their closing ranks. He made for where a gap was wide, and the men on either side, with a quick perception of the approach of his paces, rushed in on one another. He sprang forward, and then saw he must be caught, and SWISH! the spade had struck. He felt the soft thud of hand and arm, and the man was down with a yell of pain, and he was through.

Through! And then he was close to the street of houses again, and blind men, whirling spades and stakes, were running with a reasoned swiftness hither and thither.

He heard steps behind him just in time, and found a tall man rushing forward and swiping at the sound of him. He lost his nerve, hurled his spade a yard wide of this antagonist, and whirled about and fled, fairly yelling as he dodged another.

He was panic-stricken. He ran furiously to and fro, dodging when there was no need to dodge, and, in his anxiety to see on every side of him at once, stumbling. For a moment he was down and they heard his fall. Far away in the circumferential wall a little doorway looked like Heaven, and he set off in a wild rush for it. He did not even look round at his pursuers until it was gained, and he had stumbled across the bridge, clambered a little way among the rocks, to the surprise and dismay of a young llama, who went leaping out of sight, and lay down sobbing for breath.

And so his coup d’etat came to an end.

He stayed outside the wall of the valley of the blind for two nights and days without food or shelter, and meditated upon the Unexpected. During these meditations he repeated very frequently and always with a profounder note of derision the exploded proverb: “In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.” He thought chiefly of ways of fighting and conquering these people, and it grew clear that for him no practicable way was possible. He had no weapons, and now it would be hard to get one.

The canker of civilisation had got to him even in Bogota, and he could not find it in himself to go down and assassinate a blind man. Of course, if he did that, he might then dictate terms on the threat of assassinating them all. But–Sooner or later he must sleep! . . . .

He tried also to find food among the pine trees, to be comfortable under pine boughs while the frost fell at night, and– with less confidence–to catch a llama by artifice in order to try to kill it–perhaps by hammering it with a stone–and so finally, perhaps, to eat some of it. But the llamas had a doubt of him and regarded him with distrustful brown eyes and spat when he drew near. Fear came on him the second day and fits of shivering. Finally he crawled down to the wall of the Country of the Blind and tried to make his terms. He crawled along by the stream, shouting, until two blind men came out to the gate and talked to him.

“I was mad,” he said. “But I was only newly made.”

They said that was better.

He told them he was wiser now, and repented of all he had done.

Then he wept without intention, for he was very weak and ill now, and they took that as a favourable sign.

They asked him if he still thought he could SEE.”

“No,” he said. “That was folly. The word means nothing. Less than nothing!”

They asked him what was overhead.

“About ten times ten the height of a man there is a roof above the world–of rock–and very, very smooth. So smooth–so beautifully smooth . . “He burst again into hysterical tears. “Before you ask me any more, give me some food or I shall die!”

He expected dire punishments, but these blind people were capable of toleration. They regarded his rebellion as but one more proof of his general idiocy and inferiority, and after they had whipped him they appointed him to do the simplest and heaviest work they had for anyone to do, and he, seeing no other way of living, did submissively what he was told.

He was ill for some days and they nursed him kindly. That refined his submission. But they insisted on his lying in the dark, and that was a great misery. And blind philosophers came and talked to him of the wicked levity of his mind, and reproved him so impressively for his doubts about the lid of rock that covered their cosmic casserole that he almost doubted whether indeed he was not the victim of hallucination in not seeing it overhead.

So Nunez became a citizen of the Country of the Blind, and these people ceased to be a generalised people and became individualities to him, and familiar to him, while the world beyond the mountains became more and more remote and unreal. There was Yacob, his master, a kindly man when not annoyed; there was Pedro, Yacob’s nephew; and there was Medina-sarote, who was the youngest daughter of Yacob. She was little esteemed in the world of the blind, because she had a clear-cut face and lacked that satisfying, glossy smoothness that is the blind man’s ideal of feminine beauty, but Nunez thought her beautiful at first, and presently the most beautiful thing in the whole creation. Her closed eyelids were not sunken and red after the common way of the valley, but lay as though they might open again at any moment; and she had long eyelashes, which were considered a grave disfigurement. And her voice was weak and did not satisfy the acute hearing of the valley swains. So that she had no lover.

There came a time when Nunez thought that, could he win her, he would be resigned to live in the valley for all the rest of his days.

He watched her; he sought opportunities of doing her little services and presently he found that she observed him. Once at a rest-day gathering they sat side by side in the dim starlight, and the music was sweet. His hand came upon hers and he dared to clasp it. Then very tenderly she returned his pressure. And one day, as they were at their meal in the darkness, he felt her hand very softly seeking him, and as it chanced the fire leapt then, and he saw the tenderness of her face.

He sought to speak to her.

He went to her one day when she was sitting in the summer moonlight spinning. The light made her a thing of silver and mystery. He sat down at her feet and told her he loved her, and told her how beautiful she seemed to him. He had a lover’s voice, he spoke with a tender reverence that came near to awe, and she had never before been touched by adoration. She made him no definite answer, but it was clear his words pleased her.

After that he talked to her whenever he could take an opportunity. The valley became the world for him, and the world beyond the mountains where men lived by day seemed no more than a fairy tale he would some day pour into her ears. Very tentatively and timidly he spoke to her of sight.

Sight seemed to her the most poetical of fancies, and she listened to his description of the stars and the mountains and her own sweet white-lit beauty as though it was a guilty indulgence. She did not believe, she could only half understand, but she was mysteriously delighted, and it seemed to him that she completely understood.

His love lost its awe and took courage. Presently he was for demanding her of Yacob and the elders in marriage, but she became fearful and delayed. And it was one of her elder sisters who first told Yacob that Medina-sarote and Nunez were in love.

There was from the first very great opposition to the marriage of Nunez and Medina-sarote; not so much because they valued her as because they held him as a being apart, an idiot, incompetent thing below the permissible level of a man. Her sisters opposed it bitterly as bringing discredit on them all; and old Yacob, though he had formed a sort of liking for his clumsy, obedient serf, shook his head and said the thing could not be. The young men were all angry at the idea of corrupting the race, and one went so far as to revile and strike Nunez. He struck back. Then for the first time he found an advantage in seeing, even by twilight, and after that fight was over no one was disposed to raise a hand against him. But they still found his marriage impossible.

Old Yacob had a tenderness for his last little daughter, and was grieved to have her weep upon his shoulder.

“You see, my dear, he’s an idiot. He has delusions; he can’t do anything right.”

“I know,” wept Medina-sarote. “But he’s better than he was. He’s getting better. And he’s strong, dear father, and kind–stronger and kinder than any other man in the world. And he loves me–and, father, I love him.”

Old Yacob was greatly distressed to find her inconsolable, and, besides–what made it more distressing–he liked Nunez for many things. So he went and sat in the windowless council-chamber with the other elders and watched the trend of the talk, and said, at the proper time, “He’s better than he was. Very likely, some day, we shall find him as sane as ourselves.”

Then afterwards one of the elders, who thought deeply, had an idea. He was a great doctor among these people, their medicine-man, and he had a very philosophical and inventive mind, and the idea of curing Nunez of his peculiarities appealed to him. One day when Yacob was present he returned to the topic of Nunez. “I have examined Nunez,” he said, “and the case is clearer to me. I think very probably he might be cured.”

“This is what I have always hoped,” said old Yacob.

“His brain is affected,” said the blind doctor.

The elders murmured assent.

“Now, WHAT affects it?”

“Ah!” said old Yacob.

THIS,” said the doctor, answering his own question. “Those queer things that are called the eyes, and which exist to make an agreeable depression in the face, are diseased, in the case of Nunez, in such a way as to affect his brain. They are greatly distended, he has eyelashes, and his eyelids move, and consequently his brain is in a state of constant irritation and distraction.”

“Yes?” said old Yacob. “Yes?”

“And I think I may say with reasonable certainty that, in order to cure him complete, all that we need to do is a simple and easy surgical operation–namely, to remove these irritant bodies.”

“And then he will be sane?”

“Then he will be perfectly sane, and a quite admirable citizen.”

“Thank Heaven for science!” said old Yacob, and went forth at once to tell Nunez of his happy hopes.

But Nunez’s manner of receiving the good news struck him as being cold and disappointing.

“One might think,” he said, “from the tone you take that you did not care for my daughter.”

It was Medina-sarote who persuaded Nunez to face the blind surgeons.

“YOU do not want me,” he said, “to lose my gift of sight?”

She shook her head.

“My world is sight.”

Her head drooped lower.

“There are the beautiful things, the beautiful little things–the flowers, the lichens amidst the rocks, the light and softness on a piece of fur, the far sky with its drifting dawn of clouds, the sunsets and the stars. And there is YOU. For you alone it is good to have sight, to see your sweet, serene face, your kindly lips, your dear, beautiful hands folded together. . . . . It is these eyes of mine you won, these eyes that hold me to you, that these idiots seek. Instead, I must touch you, hear you, and never see you again. I must come under that roof of rock and stone and darkness, that horrible roof under which your imaginations stoop . . . NO; YOU would not have me do that?”

A disagreeable doubt had arisen in him. He stopped and left the thing a question.

“I wish,” she said, “sometimes–” She paused.

“Yes?” he said, a little apprehensively.

“I wish sometimes–you would not talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“I know it’s pretty–it’s your imagination. I love it, but NOW–”

He felt cold. “NOW?” he said, faintly.

She sat quite still.

“You mean–you think–I should be better, better perhaps–”

He was realising things very swiftly. He felt anger perhaps, anger at the dull course of fate, but also sympathy for her lack of understanding–a sympathy near akin to pity.

“DEAR,” he said, and he could see by her whiteness how tensely her spirit pressed against the things she could not say. He put his arms about her, he kissed her ear, and they sat for a time in silence.

“If I were to consent to this?” he said at last, in a voice that was very gentle.

She flung her arms about him, weeping wildly. “Oh, if you would,” she sobbed, “if only you would!”

For a week before the operation that was to raise him from his servitude and inferiority to the level of a blind citizen Nunez knew nothing of sleep, and all through the warm, sunlit hours, while the others slumbered happily, he sat brooding or wandered aimlessly, trying to bring his mind to bear on his dilemma. He had given his answer, he had given his consent, and still he was not sure. And at last work-time was over, the sun rose in splendour over the golden crests, and his last day of vision began for him. He had a few minutes with Medina-sarote before she went apart to sleep.

“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall see no more.”

“Dear heart!” she answered, and pressed his hands with all her strength.

“They will hurt you but little,” she said; “and you are going through this pain, you are going through it, dear lover, for ME . . . . Dear, if a woman’s heart and life can do it, I will repay you. My dearest one, my dearest with the tender voice, I will repay.”

He was drenched in pity for himself and her.

He held her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers and looked on her sweet face for the last time. “Good-bye!” he whispered to that dear sight, “good-bye!”

And then in silence he turned away from her.

She could hear his slow retreating footsteps, and something in the rhythm of them threw her into a passion of weeping.

He walked away.

He had fully meant to go to a lonely place where the meadows were beautiful with white narcissus, and there remain until the hour of his sacrifice should come, but as he walked he lifted up his eyes and saw the morning, the morning like an angel in golden armour, marching down the steeps . . . .

It seemed to him that before this splendour he and this blind world in the valley, and his love and all, were no more than a pit of sin.

He did not turn aside as he had meant to do, but went on and passed through the wall of the circumference and out upon the rocks, and his eyes were always upon the sunlit ice and snow.

He saw their infinite beauty, and his imagination soared over them to the things beyond he was now to resign for ever!

He thought of that great free world that he was parted from, the world that was his own, and he had a vision of those further slopes, distance beyond distance, with Bogota, a place of multitudinous stirring beauty, a glory by day, a luminous mystery by night, a place of palaces and fountains and statues and white houses, lying beautifully in the middle distance. He thought how for a day or so one might come down through passes drawing ever nearer and nearer to its busy streets and ways. He thought of the river journey, day by day, from great Bogota to the still vaster world beyond, through towns and villages, forest and desert places, the rushing river day by day, until its banks receded, and the big steamers came splashing by and one had reached the sea–the limitless sea, with its thousand islands, its thousands of islands, and its ships seen dimly far away in their incessant journeyings round and about that greater world. And there, unpent by mountains, one saw the sky–the sky, not such a disc as one saw it here, but an arch of immeasurable blue, a deep of deeps in which the circling stars were floating . . . .

His eyes began to scrutinise the great curtain of the mountains with a keener inquiry.

For example; if one went so, up that gully and to that chimney there, then one might come out high among those stunted pines that ran round in a sort of shelf and rose still higher and higher as it passed above the gorge. And then? That talus might be managed. Thence perhaps a climb might be found to take him up to the precipice that came below the snow; and if that chimney failed, then another farther to the east might serve his purpose better. And then? Then one would be out upon the amber-lit snow there, and half-way up to the crest of those beautiful desolations. And suppose one had good fortune!

He glanced back at the village, then turned right round and regarded it with folded arms.

He thought of Medina-sarote, and she had become small and remote.

He turned again towards the mountain wall down which the day had come to him.

Then very circumspectly he began his climb.

When sunset came he was not longer climbing, but he was far and high. His clothes were torn, his limbs were bloodstained, he was bruised in many places, but he lay as if he were at his ease, and there was a smile on his face.

From where he rested the valley seemed as if it were in a pit and nearly a mile below. Already it was dim with haze and shadow, though the mountain summits around him were things of light and fire. The mountain summits around him were things of light and fire, and the little things in the rocks near at hand were drenched with light and beauty, a vein of green mineral piercing the grey, a flash of small crystal here and there, a minute, minutely-beautiful orange lichen close beside his face. There were deep, mysterious shadows in the gorge, blue deepening into purple, and purple into a luminous darkness, and overhead was the illimitable vastness of the sky. But he heeded these things no longer, but lay quite still there, smiling as if he were content now merely to have escaped from the valley of the Blind, in which he had thought to be King. And the glow of the sunset passed, and the night came, and still he lay there, under the cold, clear stars.

Charge dropped for Aussie who ‘mooned’ queen

Agence France-Presse: January 16, 2012

http://www.rawstory.com/rs/2012/01/16/charge-dropped-for-aussie-who-mooned-queen/

 An old monarch with a sense of good humour

 A man who allegedly flashed his buttocks at Queen Elizabeth II during her visit to Australia last year had a charge of wilful exposure against him dropped.

Sydney man Liam Warriner, 22, was arrested in October and charged with exposing himself as the British monarch, who is also head of state in Australia, passed by during her visit to Brisbane.

During a mention of the matter in the Brisbane Magistrates Court, police on Tuesday said they were dropping the wilful exposure charge but proceeding with a public nuisance charge.

Warriner’s lawyer John-Paul Mould said his client intended to plead guilty when the case is heard on February 14, Australian Associated Press reported.

Tens of thousands of people turned out to welcome the queen on a 10-day tour of Australia last October that took her to Canberra, Brisbane, Melbourne and Perth.

The queen is warmly regarded in Australia, a former British colony, though from time to time debate flares about whether ties to the monarchy should be cut and the nation become a republic.

http://thaipoliticalprisoners.wordpress.com/2012/01/18/somyos-in-court-in-nakhon-sawan/

Somyos: lese majeste victim

PPT has received this report on the 16 January 2012 court appearance by lese majeste victim Somyos Prueksakasemsuk.

It would be useful if some of the international media were to focus on this case, where the defendant is shackled and shuttled around the country for no apparent legal reason. It seems that this is added punishment rather than having any legal basis. If one refuses to plead guilty on lese majeste charges, then the state engages in forms of torture.

The so-called justice system in royalist Thailand is a disgrace.

On February 16th, Somyot Prueksakasemsuk, editor of “ Voice of Taksin ” magazine, was brought to Nakornsawan Provincial Court for the third hearing of the prosecution witnesses.

More than 40 supporters and family attended, including an international observer, John Maynard, the president of the Postal Workers Union of Australia, and long time friend of Somyot’s.

The only witness on Monday was the former secretary of Sunai’s Law office, Miss Pranida Homhuan. The attorney asked Pranida Homhuan her view about the two articles written by Jit Pollachan, the basis of the case against Somyot. She confirmed that she had been asked to review the articles but that her opinion was that the content of the articles did not relate to the king. This statement was made under oath to defense lawyer, Mr. Suwit Thongnuan.

Somyot arrived in court shackled and reported to observers that the regime of Nakhonsawan prison was more strict than Petchaboon prison and that he had been staying in the infirmary due to ill health. According to Somyot he has been unable to buy food suitable for his health problems for some time. Somyot made the request for a transfer back to Bangkok prison rather than face the transfer to Songkhla prison for the next defense witness hearing, on the basis of his security and health. The judge claimed that he had no authority to grant this request.

After the hearing, Somyot’s defeence lawyer Mr. Suwit Thongnuan said that he did not understand why Pranida Homhuan had been called as a witness as there was no relevant evidence presented under questioning. He argued that the movement across Thailand for this hearing was not warranted and put an unnecessary pressure on his client. He restated his concern about Somyot’s security at the next hearing as it will be held in Songkhla Province, a region dominated by the PAD (People’s Alliance for Democracy) which represents a strong opposition to Somyot’s political position.

Sunai Jullapongsathorn , chairman of the Foreign Affairs Committee of Thailand stated that he was concerned about Somyot’s movement around Thailand and would assist Somyot’s legal team in their appeal to the Criminal Court to relocate the next hearing to Bangkok.

Our correspondent also point out video and photos from this court appearance here, here (a statement by Somyos’ wife in English), here (in ไทย), here (a statement by John Maynard), and several others that pop up in YouTube as related videos.

Bryan Farrell

Waging Nonviolence: January 9, 2012

http://www.alternet.org/story/153703/the_fascinating_history_of_%27tree_huggers%27?akid=8114.100590.TNQruO&rd=1&t=12

Show the slightest bit of concern for the environment and you get labeled a tree hugger. That’s what poor Newt Gingrich has been dealing with recently, as the other presidential candidates attack his conservative credentials for having once appeared in an ad with Nancy Pelosi in support of renewable energy. Never mind that he has since called the ad the “biggest mistake” of his political career and talked about making Sarah Palin energy secretary. Gingrich will be haunted by the tree hugger label the rest of his life. He might as well grow his hair out, stop showering and start walking around barefoot.

But is that what a tree hugger really is? Just some dazed hippie who goes around giving hugs to trees as way to connect with nature. You might be shocked to learn the real origin of the term.

The first tree huggers were 294 men and 69 women belonging to the Bishnois branch of Hinduism, who, in 1730, died while trying to protect the trees in their village from being turned into the raw material for building a palace. They literally clung to the trees, while being slaughtered by the foresters. But their action led to a royal decree prohibiting the cutting of trees in any Bishnoi village. And now those villages are virtual wooded oases amidst an otherwise desert landscape. Not only that, the Bishnois inspired the Chipko movement (which means “to cling”) that started in the 1970s, when a group of peasant women in Northeast India threw their arms around trees designated to be cut down. Within a few years, this tactic, also known as tree satyagraha, had spread across India, ultimately forcing reforms in forestry and a moratorium on tree felling in Himalayan regions.

Despite this powerful history of nonviolent resistance, we still consider tree hugger a derogatory term. Meanwhile, a current example of forest protection in Brazil, where the country’s environmental agency has a special ops team that hunts down illegal loggers, gets all kinds of glory. Not that it shouldn’t, considering Brazil has cut deforestation by nearly 80 percent since 2004. But do environmental heroes need to, as the BBC recently described Brazil’s forest agents, “wear military fatigues, with heavy black pistols slung casually on their thighs” in order to get any respect?

In Africa, there are several conservation organizations that have a shoot-to-kill policy when they see a suspected poacher. Private security firms in Zimbabwe, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Malawi provide military-style protection for the iconic animals that Western tourists flock to see. While some have argued in support of these desperate measures–pointing to the dramatic rise in poaching in recent years–the “shoot first and ask questions later” approach has led to the deaths of locals, who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. These incidents of course lead to resentment toward conservation, which has been shown to be most effective when local communities are involvedin the process.

Not surprisingly, people want to protect the land they live on. And like the Bisnhois and people of the Chipko movement, they are often willing to lay down their lives for it–armed only with their own two arms.

Bryan Farrell is an editor at Waging Nonviolence, where he writes about environment, climate change and people power. His work has also appeared in The Guardian, The Nation, Mother Jones, Slate, Grist and Earth Island Journal.

Rick Falkvinge

Falkvinge on Infopolicy: January 4, 2012

http://falkvinge.net/2012/01/03/orwell-was-an-optimist-happy-new-year/

As we enter 2012, it becomes increasingly clear that Orwell was an optimist. As darkly as he painted the possible future, we are now much worse off.

When Orwell painted his dystopic future (which is out of copyright in Australia), perhaps this paragraph summarizes the dystopian society most of all:

The telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it, moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as heard. There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched everybody all the time. But at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live – did live, from habit that became instinct – in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.

This was perceived as dystopic to the brink of unbelievability at the time.

In the book 1984, the government is able to watch three things. What we say out loud, who we meet in our homes, and what we do in our own home. They are only able to observe this as it happens; if they missed it, you are safe, but there was no way to tell if they missed it.

Today, we have arrived at a point where the Western “free” governments can monitor:

• What you say at home, and more importantly, what you think of
• What news articles you read, for how long, and in what order
• Your dating preferences
• Your future travel plans
• Your political opinions
• Whom you converse with, over any channel; specifically including if you talk to a reporter or if you converse in abnormal amounts with political oddthinkers
• Everything you say to anybody electronically, out loud or in text
• How you move around in the city, and whom you are close to; specifically including if you are making detours from your home-to-work pattern
• Your entire network of people over time
• Whose thoughts you are interested in, rebroadcast, and respond to

In addition, they can record, index, and store all of this indefinitely, to come back at you decades after the fact and question your character when the political context has changed dramatically.

Orwell was an optimist.

This is why we must keep fighting for civil liberties.

Worse Than Article 112

Fringe Philosopher

Prachatai: January 19, 2012

http://www.prachatai3.info/english/node/3004

Today I was tremendously affected by things that I saw, so much so that I was at a loss for words. First, in the morning, I saw the Facebook status of a former student of mine. My former student harshly condemned Professor Piyabutr Saengkanokkul and linked to a photo of him from Thai Post newspaper. When I scrolled down, the comments included only further condemnation, including calls to actually harm Professor Piyabutr.

The second thing that affected me today was the news that the first-year student at Thammasat University whose pseudonym is “Kan Thoop” (“Joss Stick”) was summoned by the police in relation to violation of Article 112.  The summons is based on a complaint that was made in 2010. Kan Thoop herself has already been severely affected by the complaint, with two universities refusing to allow her to matriculate as a student. Most recently, at the end of last year, ASTV and Manager viciously publicized her real name, personal information and stories about her.

I am speaking about a “danger” or “a scary thing” worse than Article 112.

On it’s own, Article 112 is not too terrifying, if the person who files the complaint and the justice system proceed forthrightly in line with the true “meaning” of the words “defame, insult, threaten.” But what arises in the current witch hunt atmosphere and in the justice system is that we are unable to clearly “differentiate” between what is defaming, insulting and threatening, what is the expression of feelings or child-like “trolling,”  and what is sincere criticism for the public good.

When someone files a complaint, the police do not dare to refuse to proceed. When the police send the file to the prosecutor, he has to send it to the court, because the prosecutor himself does not want to take responsibility in a “delicate” matter like this. Once the case makes it to the court, it is difficult for the “victims” to survive (In the case of “Ah Kong,” given that the proof was “not beyond  doubt,” many people thought be would be spared, but he was not. Instead, he was punished even more severely than seemed conceivable.)

It seems as though “anyone at all” is permitted to go file a complaint. Those who do not like different political opinions or stances, those who do not like different colors, or those who are “ultra-royalists” — whatever the reason, they can go file a complaint.

Article 112 has become the instrument of  “anyone at all,” and anyone like that possesses a very frightening method of thinking.

For example, the majority of those who posted attacks on Facebook about Professor Piyabutr are youth of the new generation.  They live a life that is fully free with respect to eating, drinking, going out, shopping, etc.  You could say that in sum, their way of life holds freedom from old-style conventions.

But freedom like that tends to come automatically or naturally arises from the permeation of the values of living modern life in society from films, dance, fashion, internet media, etc. It does not come from challenging established thinking, or result from a culture of asking questions, analyzing and criticizing until thought crystallizes. Living a life of freedom that comes automatically and naturally like that is far preferable to a life of old, Thai-style conventions. Even if there were numerous “Rabiabrats”(1), how could they regulate the lives of the new generation? There is no way that they could succeed.

I cannot blame new generation for living a life of freedom. Still, this enhanced life should make people learn to be more responsible for their own lives. Yet I want to offer the observation that a life of freedom in which the freedom has not come from challenging established thinking, or resulted from a culture of asking questions, analyzing and criticizing until thought crystallizes, makes it seem like the lives of the new generation are very, very free. So when they are faced with the problem of “political freedom,” which is freedom that has to be understood in relation to  challenging established thinking and a culture of asking questions, analyzing and criticizing until thought crystallizes, it becomes apparent that the new generation does not get it.  They do not get the meaning and “value” of political freedom at all. They do not get what is the “problem” or the “obstacle” in the way of democratization.

Consequently, they then attack people like Professor Piyabutr, people who come out to fiercely assert political freedom on behalf of all people, including them.  They then pursue a witch hunt, claiming “warped thinking.” The claim comes out by rote, as if they are mynah birds.

Does the new generation love the life of freedom? Certainly they do. Without doubt, they do not want anyone to force to them to live their life in a particular way. But what if you ask if they love “political freedom”? This is where there is a problem. The phenomenon of the Cyber Scouts, the witch hunt atmosphere, and the tendency to repetitively cite the existence of “warped thinking” like mynah birds have been readily absorbed and accepted by the new generation.  All this indicates support for an assault on “political freedom” that is concerning.

What this reflects is the culture of learning and way of life inside the fenced-in university and/or the official education system.  The system does not foster “citizens” who love political freedom. Yet instead inculcates citizens to love and appreciate other things. They then allow these other things to become more important than the political freedom of the people. Until those things come to be cited, again and again, as the reason to kill the people who come out to demand political freedom.

The danger, or that which is scarier than Article 112, is therefore the inability to appreciate the meaning and value of political freedom combined with the ever-present readiness to use all means to attack those who come out to demand or assert political freedom.

Today, I had a conversation with an American professor who is a work colleague of mine (he speaks Thai well). He said something worth thinking about — “Every society has issues that are, more or less, fraught with peril. When people come out to raise questions or offer analysis on these issues, they should be supported rather than condemned.”

I have watched the media, intellectuals, and other prominent individuals offer analysis that the call to reform Article 112 and amend the Constitution is a “time bomb,” so to speak, that may create political conflict and violence in 2012. My sense is that if we are more “responsible” than those who offer this kind of analysis, and bring a reasoned, thoughtful, carefully detailed proposal comprising various views, there will not be further conflict and violence.

Do we have the courage to raise questions about or offer analysis about an issue that poses all-around risks of political conflict and violence today?

Why does the mainstream media fail to report the voices of those who are courageous enough to do so, such as Professor Somsak Jeamteerasakul, who insists on the “principles” of democracy and explains the fundamental “problem points” of democratization in a direct and logical fashion? When the other side claims that this is “warped thinking,” the mainstream media is ready to be their “mouthpiece.”

This is another kind of terror.  It is terror that results from the voice of principle and reason lacking a “mouthpiece,” while the mainstream press is ready to give voice to the claim that this is “warped thinking.” Members of the new generation who love their lives of freedom but do not recognize the value of political freedom are led along easily, like a flock.

Issues that were similarly perilous in the 19th century make the “mouthpieces” of the second decade of the 21st century “afraid” to reflect the voices of  principle and reason that assert political freedom and democratization.

This is the “fear that is frightening” beyond belief in our times!

Note:
(1) “Rabiabrat” refers to Rabiabrat Pongpanich, a former senator from Khon Kaen province known for her harsh, public criticisms of behavior and clothing that she sees as transgressions of what she (narrowly) identifies as Thai values and culture.

Translated by Tyrell Haberkorn.

Source: 

http://www.prachatai.com/journal/2012/01/38583

Clean Up the Act Now

Frank G Anderson

Prachatai: January 19, 2012

http://www.prachatai3.info/english/node/3001

Given the tremendous negative image and loss of reputation Thailand has engendered over the last five or six years arising from vigorous prosecution of lese majesté cases and cases under the Computer  Crime Act, it seems behooving to the state and government to at least clean up the lese majesté act so as to resemble, in international public opinion and in conformance with international agreements Thailand has already signed, a more civilized process. Right now minimal “adjustments” can easily be made that would at least offer a semblance of demonstrated respect for human decency and human rights, and illustrate Buddhist dharma. The following steps could be taken now.

1. Discard the use of shackles on lese majesté accused and convicted. Shackle and chain use visibly emphasizes what is seen as inhuman treatment and unnecessary restriction of physical movement.

2. Across the board always permit bail, other than when it is clearly demonstrated post-facto that the accused will flee. Restraining accused in remand for weeks while his or her rights would be duly protected through defense preparations on bail is hardly reasonable.

3. Formerly instruct all state officials to cease and desist form interfering in the criminal prosecution process by never counseling the accused to plead guilty or otherwise encourage them to admit guilt.

4. Provide the accused with proper and adequate legal counsel by attorneys, or at least the immediate opportunity to solicit their own, lawyers are not afraid to challenge the lese majesté accusations and the process then currently used to investigate them.

5. Fairly assess the claimed linkage between lese majesté and national security with the objective of reaching a non-military view as to just how the two qualities are related and whether, in fact, deemed defamation or insult really presents any kind of threat to national security. To date the claimed links have been spurious and unsubstantiated other than in vague references to links between the institution and national security.

6. A ruling by relevant state authorities should also be conducted regarding accountability of all state officials involved in lese majesté cases to determine just to what extent, if any, rights have been violated or protected, and whether there is indeed, as claimed, genuine potential of terrorism caused by the intimidating nature of the case and those involved in prosecuting it.

7. Current convictions should be reviewed both in Thailand and by an international agency properly empowered to determine compliance or lack thereof with international standards of justice committed to by the Thai state.

8. Academic and medical professional assessments should be considered to determine to what extent lese majesté cases cause terror individually and socially. While libel terrorism has been recognized abroad, it has only been recognized in principle in Thailand as contained in such wording as, “used by people for political purposes.” In fact, the charge can also be used by the state for the same purpose, and indeed, many social critics have observed the same.

9. Rather than proceeding with more and more secrecy in lese majesté cases, the state should instead increase transparency and openness and be held accountable for lack of compliance during the entire process with domestic and international obligations.

10. Police and other agencies owe the accused minimal protection from intimidation and harassment, in and out of state authority presence. Fundamentalist news media should be cautioned not to disperse hate speech.

Lese majeste victims threaten hunger strike

Political Prisoners in Thailand: January 20, 2012 

http://thaipoliticalprisoners.wordpress.com/2012/01/20/surachai-threatens-hunger-strike/

H Block monument to IRA strikers

The first report of a hunger strike by lese majeste victims incarcerated for their political views was in The Nation. It reported that lese majeste victim Surachai Danwattananusorn has “vowed to begin a hunger strike next Wednesday” if he is “moved to the new detention centre for political prisoners in Bangkok’s Lak Si district…”.

Now that Surachai is known to be part of a group of lese majeste victims threatening a hunger strike (see below), we feel that a new stage in the struggle against lese majeste repression may be upon us.

Surachai has been detained since 22 February 2011 on charges that relate to a speech made on 15 December 2008. Hence, it is now more than 3 years since his alleged offense and he has been in jail for 11 months, without bail, while his trial drags on [FACT: Actually, Surachai’s trial has not even had a date set so far.]. This despite the fact that Surachai has stated that he is prepared to plead guilty in order to end the torment. [FACT: A guilty plea normally results in a date for sentencing.]

Red Siam leader Surachai, who is 69 and in poor health, was said to be “disheartened by the fact that he and another red shirt lese majeste detainee, Somyos Prueksakasem-suk, were not regarded as political prisoners.”

Surachai reportedly stated: “If political cases do not include that of Surachai and Somyos, then what else is there to be said?”

In a later report in the Bangkok Post it is reported that several lese majeste detainees have made the same demand and threatened a hunger strike. In the words of the Post, the hunger strike “threat was conveyed to the Corrections Department by Surachai Daneattananusorn, Daranee “Da Torpedo” Chanrncherngsilapakul, Somyot Prueksakasemsuk, and Ampon Tangnoppakul, among others…”.

The authorities are now seeking advice from the Truth for Reconciliation Commission chair Kanit na Nakhon. However Kanit says he won’t reply “since the department had full authority to make a decision.” That seems a bit weak-kneed.

While the idea of a special jail for political prisoners is difficult for many to comprehend, it is clear that red shirts and lese majeste victims like Surachai demand to be viewed as being imprisoned for their political beliefs.

The state recently moved 47 red shirts to the new detention center but no lese majeste victims.

As a footnote, we should note that both reports refer to 10 lese majeste prisoners. That seems low to us, but the Post report adds that this is at the remand prison alone. That would seem more likely to us.

Matichon Interview with Thammasat University Rector on Kanthoop and Article 112

Kaewmala

Prachatai: January 15, 2012

http://www.prachatai3.info/english/node/2998

Matichon published its interview of Dr. Somkit Lertpaithoon on 4 January 2012. Dr. Somkit Lertpaithoon is the rector of Thammasat University who also teaches public law.  The entire interview covered several issues, mainly Kanthoop, lèse majesté law (Article 112), and the proposed constitution amendment. This translation of includes only the part of the interview which focuses on the rector’s views on Kanthoop’s admission to Thammasat despite the lèse majesté accusations against her and on Article 112.

The Thammasat rector has faced strong criticisms from many royalists for the admission of Kanthoop to the university. Many have posted angry comments on his Facebook wall (to which he has not responded). I translated the Matichon interview of Kanthoop earlier here.

Dr. Somkit’s interview was conducted by Panthawit Thepchan.

…………………..

TRANSLATION:

(Note: Any inconsistencies that might appear in the interview exist in the original Thai-language interview transcript as published by Matichon. Additional texts in [brackets] are provided for clarity.)

Panthawit: Why has Thammasat University admitted Kanthoop, while Silapakorn and Kasetsart Universities have both rejected her?

Somkit: I see no university rule that says Thammasat students must respect the [three Thai pillars] Nation, Religion and King. If there were such a rule, it would mean that Thammasat is obliged to check if this particular student loves the Nation and the Religion, or if she has a religious faith. This sort of questions would arise. It would not be just about Kanthoop. So I wonder why those who have posted on my Facebook are questioning only about Kanthoop and not about other students. Many Thammasat students go on many political stages, both Yellow and Red. Why only Kanthoop? This is my question.

Next, I don’t know if Kanthoop really has done what [she has been accused of]. Why demand the rector to investigate? A university rector has a lot of work to do. One student among 35,000 in the entire student body is a very small matter. The crux of the matter is, the alleged lèse majesté comments were made before Kanthoop was admitted to this university. Lastly, we should not have this witch hunt because we don’t know if she really is a witch. And even if she really is a witch, a witch can also live in society. Even those vampires in Twilight can exist alongside humans.

Panthawit: So your view is that [Kanthoop] should have an opportunity to study at this university?

Somkit: Let me give an example. If you understand Thai society, [you know that] in the 6 October 1967 [student protests] there were a group of students who loved the nation and the people, who joined the Communist Party, such as Seksan Prasertkul, Theerayuth Boonmee and many others. Today these people are among the crème de la crème of the country. They may have lost their way for a while but they returned when society welcomed them back.

Compare Kanthoop with those students who joined the Communist Party years ago. As a pooyai [elder], as the rector, and as a Thammasat person, [I believe] if the kid has the knowledge and the ability to have passed the entrance exam to this university then she is entitled to study at this university. She has not yet been charged or arrested for whatever she has done before she came here. There has been only an allegation of an illegal act. Thammasat’s rules and regulations clearly state that if any student has been legally charged and given a jail sentence in the final verdict in a court of law, the student will be expelled, except in cases of misdemeanor and wrongdoings by negligence. Therefore, I can only expel Kanthoop if the court gives her a jail sentence. Even if she is charged today, I still can’t expel her. Please, let’s not push anyone’s back against the wall. I think each individual has his or her own political opinion. What I think is that Kanthoop has radical ideas.

Panthawit: If you think Kanthoop has a radical view, how will the Social Welfare Faculty or the university deal with what has happened [in her case]?

Somkit: On the day Kanthoop was admitted to Thammasat, the Social Welfare Faculty was well aware of [Kanthoop’s history]. The faculty interviewed her twice. In addition, the dean of the faculty also raised Kanthoop’s matter at a deans’ meeting. At the meeting, none of the deans knew that Kanthoop was accused by [a segment of] the [Thai] online community that she posted comments deemed to be lèse majesté. [Some of us] only knew that she went on a redshirt stage. I’d like to say that if anyone wants me to punish her according to the accusations, then give me [information]. I will set up a disciplinary committee, and those who demand a disciplinary investigation must also be responsible if she is proved to be not guilty according to the accusations. There are only people who put pressure on the Thammasat rector, but those people who are putting pressure are not taking any responsibility. But the rector must take responsibility.

Having said that, the issue is not me being fearful of any lawsuit or not having courage to do what I am supposed to do. I look at this matter in terms of giving a chance to 18-19 year olds. In the case of Kanthoop, she may have obtained a certain set of information, so she thinks according to the information she has received. If, by this rationale, in which she must be expelled from Thammasat because of her political opinion, you’d have to expel certain MPs from the parliament for having spoken on a redshirt stage. I’ll tell you that most Thammasat students are not redshirt. Kanthoop has come to study here; she is bound to meet a lot of friends and many types of peer pressure. Somebody told me that at the freshmen welcome ceremony she didn’t stand to the royal anthem, but in the end she had to stand. I don’t know if that really happened the way some students told me. But if that was true, why did Kanthoop have to stand up? Had she wanted to sit, she could have done that.

Panthawit: Let’s return to this point. Why was there a need to have a meeting with all the deans in the university? Was expression of a different political opinion [by Kanthoop] such a big issue that it warranted such a major meeting?

Somkit: Because there were complaints from people within the university as well as from outside. We had to clarify the matter.

Panthawit: Weren’t you afraid of being accused yourself by admitting Kanthoop to Thammasat?

Somkit: No. What would I be afraid of? If I had to take care of [Kanthoop], I would have to take care of Somsak Jeamteerasakul, Worachet Pakeerat or Piyabutr Saengkanokkul [Thammasat lecturers who are vocal critics of Article 112]. How many people would I have to take care of for exercising freedom to express their different political opinions? It’s not just about Kanthoop or others who have different political opinions. Say, for instance, Thammasat Student A has [allegedly] killed Thammasat Student B, but as long as the trial is still ongoing, Student A is still entitled to study at Thammasat until there is a final verdict which results in unsuspended jail sentence.

Panthawit: In the case of Kanthoop, who is now a student at Thammasat, an online community has publicly revealed her personal data. A media outlet [ASTV-Manager Online] has published an article about her, questioning Thammasat for having admitted her. As the Thammasat rector, will you be making any official response to that? And if so, how?

Somkit: No. The rector isn’t that available. The floods have caused 2.8 billion baht damages. [Thammasat University was flooded.] I have many major issues to deal with, like how to improve research capacity of Thammasat lecturers, to become a world-class university. The dean of the Social Welfare Faculty has taken care of Kanthoop as well as served as her advisor. Ordinarily deans don’t serve as advisors to students. There are a lot of people handling this case. Don’t worry. Many people are watching Kanthoop. Let me stress that if Kanthoop commits any wrongdoing within Thammasat, I will take care of her. I personally don’t agree with Kanthoop’s behavior according to the accusations, so don’t say that I’m helping Kanthoop because I’m on her side. Kanthoop’s case had my attention, that’s why I took the matter to the deans’ meeting to discuss her admission, and the majority of the deans agreed we should admit her.

Panthawit: Was the admission of Kanthoop a way to mitigate the opposition to you from those with different political opinions from yours?

[Note: Dr. Somkit is perceived as a royalist and supporter of the 2006 coup. He was one of the drafters of the 2007 Constitution. He has challenged the merit of a proposal by a group of young progressive Thammasat law lecturers known as Nitirat to nullify all legal effects of the 2006 coup and to amend the lèse majesté provision in the Criminal Code.]

Somkit: That never occurred to me. We admitted Kanthoop because she passed the entrance exam; she was entitled to study [here]. If I had done that [admitting Kanthoop] to appease the redshirt government, I would have had to admit a hundred more redshirt students, which I wouldn’t have done. On the flip side, Thammasat does not distinguish students by their shirt color, but by their individual knowledge and ability. Whatever shirt-color you are, once you have entered Thammasat, you are Thammasat. If you are a redshirt, you must respect others of different colors in Thai society and at Thammasat. If you are Yellow, you must also respect that there are those who are Red. One must adjust oneself in Thai society. Thammasat endeavors to show society at large that [in] a good society, [we] can exist alongside one another, regardless of our colors. We shouldn’t be witch-hunting one another.

Panthawit: A dean has been appointed [Kanthoop’s] advisor and her case was discussed at a deans’ meeting. Doesn’t this reflect that political disagreement is a problem at Thammasat?

Somkit: Let me tell you that a number of people have complimented me on Facebook, saying that there is only one commendable thing ever done by the Thammasat University rector which is having admitted Kanthoop. As Thammasat rector, I don’t pay attention to the berating [of me] because I present myself as Yellow or Red. I adhere to the Thammasat principle that there is freedom in every inch of Thammsat. Thammasat teaches one to love the people. At Thammasat one can say anything as long as one does not violate another’s rights and freedom. Not only Kanthoop. Even Nitirat, I gave them warnings when they had their many press conferences. They can have their seminars about fixing the Article 112 problem, but if they violate others’ rights and freedom then I’ll have to take care of them. I must have measures [to deal with freedom and rights violations]. I won’t allow people to use Thammasat [as a political] stage to berate others or violate others’ rights. That’s a key Thammasat principle.

[Note: See some background of Nitirat’s proposal to amend Article 112 here, Worachet’s detailed presentation of Nitirat’s proposed amendment of Article 112 at Thammasat on 15 January 2012 here (YouTube VDO), and Prachatai news archive related to Nitirat here.]

Panthawit: What do you think of Article 112 in the Criminal Code? Do you have any problem with how this law has been applied like a group of people in this society has been shouting?

Somkit: Article 112 is about defaming or insulting the king and the heir apparent. This law has existed for a long time in Thai society, evidently at least during the Rattanakosin period. And [such a law] exists not only in Thai society but also in foreign countries. This is a legal provision to protect the head of state, be they kings, presidents, or any other types of head of state. Every country has this type of legal provision because defaming and insulting the head of state is like defaming and insulting any other person in general.

Article 112 has always been problematic in the eyes of scholars. The problem is not the legal provision itself, but the interpretation thereof. Enforcement—the enforcers are the police and the courts—in the principle of the criminal law looks at intent. If there is no intent, then there is no accountability. Principally, there are three categories of Thai laws concerning defamation and libel.

1. Direct/face-to-face insult (ดูหมิ่นซึ่งหน้า), punishable by up to 6 months imprisonment

2.  Defamation/libel (หมิ่นประมาท), punishable by up to one year imprisonment, for which the court looks at intent

[3.] In the case of [defamation] of the king, [the punishment] is 3-15 years according Article 112; as it happens the practices of legal enforcement and court trials [of cases under Article 112] thus far have not taken the intent into account.

This is a big problem concerning Article 112, which is an enforcement problem. From a legal perspective, [some] lawyers have said that those who have been charged with Article 112 in many cases should not be punished because the court did not use intent for arrests in other cases. For instance, Sondhi Limthongkul has repeated the words of Da Torpedo [who has just been found guilty and handed 15 years jail sentence] on a [rally] stage aiming to protect the king, therefore he did not have an intent [to defame the monarchy] and should not be punished. If someone were to file a complaint against Sondhi and the police interpreted the case as I said, then they would not accept the complaint, the state prosecutors wouldn’t file a charge in court, and the court wouldn’t have to judge Sondhi guilty because it was an act that lacked intent. And all others who have made comments aiming to protect the monarchy wouldn’t have to be punished according to Article 112. But if you say, you can’t say that, if a defamation is a defamation, then it means the court does not take into account intent in enforcing the law because the fundamental principle of criminal law is always intent.

Another problem with this article in the Criminal Code is the punishment. The punishment for ordinary defamation/libel is up to 6 months imprisonment for a face-to-face insult and up to one year imprisonment in the case of Mr. A defaming Mr. B or an officer. If compared with Article 112, I personally think the punishment in [Article 112] is too harsh.

Panthawit: Nidhi Eiwsriwong [respected historian and public intellectual attached to Chiang Mai University] wrote in an article that Article 112 is aimed to benefit [protect] the head of state. From national security perspective, [lèse majesté] could cause a rebellion in the kingdom. However, most defendants under this article do not have sufficient power to impact the head of state with their speech or writings or cause a rebellion to be brought about in the kingdom. How do you perceive Nidhi Eiwsriwong’s view?

Somkit: No. Nidhi made a broad interpretation. When we look at the purpose of a law, we look toward the future. But Article 112—the way it has been written from the past to the present—refers to individuals, not just the king as the head of state but also the individual who is the king. The law is just like any other defamation/libel law. For instance, if someone berates me, s/he berates Mr. Somkit as well as the rector of Thammasat University. Therefore, the key aspect in the problem concerning this article is not [the content of] the article itself but the interpretation in the enforcement of this article because it does not focus on intent.

Panthawit: A group of lecturers-academics [led by senior academic] Charnvit Kasetsiri has called for a panel to be set up to screen Article 112 complaints. The proposed panel may be represented by members of civil society and members of the parliament or the senate. What you think about this?

Somkit: It can’t be done. The law does not allow an establishment of any screening panel before a legal complaint can be made. Only the police, the state prosecutors and the courts have such an authority.

Panthawit: What about the proposal by the independent Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) which suggests that the government fix the Article 112 problem by allowing only the Office of the Principal Private Secretary of His Majesty the King to file [lèse majesté] complaints? What’s your view?

Somkit: Even more implausible because the palace should not be involved in the judicial process. To make the Principal Secretary Office or the palace the complainant would further involve the monarchy in politics. This is the matter of the state [because it’s about] the head of state. If the palace becomes the complainant, questions will arise in society: why does the palace file a complaint against this person and not that person, why does it make complaints against citizens? I don’t see that the Principal Secretary Office should handle the complaint process.

Personally, I am not concerned about how to amend this article because I am not an expert on criminal law. Fixing [Article 112] will be done by other experts, including even what Nitirat is doing. Importantly, those demanding or proposing amending [Article 112] must provide answers to society: why should there be any amendment and what will the amendment offer to society? They must answer this question: why would the punishment for the defamation/insult of the queen and the heir apparent have to be the same as the punishment for the defamation/insult of ordinary people, which is up to one year imprisonment?

Article 112 is like any other law that can be amended or debated within academic circles. Those proposing amending Article 112 aren’t committing lèse majesté. I don’t think [Thai] society will say that former Prime Minister Anand Panyarachun [who has publically said that certain amendment of Article 112 is advisable] has defamed the king. There are a number of people who want to have the article amended who have good intention for the king. The matter with Article 112 is, different people are talking about the same thing but have different ideas. Those who want to amend it must give clear explanations to society why it needs to be amended. Personally I don’t think I will lead in amending this law because I am a public lawyer, not a criminal lawyer. Plus, I am a university rector. I have many problems to think about.

Kaewmala (@Thai_Talk) is a writer and researcher. Website: thaiwomantalks.com