Ten years ago, in the scorching months of April and May, Thailand descended into chaos. The scenes of violent clashes that left almost 100 people dead and over 2,000 injured were forever seared into the country’s consciousness. A decade later, the traumatic events still haunt the families of those killed, injured, or locked up–many of them from the Northeast–and all the others who have watched from afar in disbelief.
Questions about power, democracy, equality, and the meaning of citizenship that the Red Shirt movement pushed into the public debate, have all but been left unanswered. Instead, the military suspended democracy in 2014 for almost five years, promising to “return happiness” to the country. The junta’s approach to reconciling a deeply divided nation was suppression and reeducation through so-called reconciliation training and attitude adjustment sessions.
The desire for a more equal and just society that fueled the Red Shirt protests was brushed aside as the men in uniforms dismantled the country’s democratic institutions and curtailed civil liberties.
Ultraconservative forces discredited the Red Shirts either as terrorists seeking to “burn down the nation” (phao ban phao muang) or as “buffaloes” misled by self-serving politicians. A chauvinistic discourse in the media portrayed rural voters as ignorant and uneducated, leading them to vote for the “wrong” candidates in elections. It flared up again, most recently, in the controversial elections last year.
Despite the repressive climate of past years, Red Shirt activists continue to commemorate the tragic events, circulating the slogan “We won’t forget” (rao mai luem). Their persistent demand for the “truth” to be revealed has posed a challenge to Thai society’s deep-rooted culture of impunity.
Ten years later, the meaning of the bloody events in April and May 2010 remains a highly contested subject. Some see the discussion as a Pandora’s box with the potential to rattle the very foundations upon which the Thai state is built. But others insist that Thailand will never become a genuine democracy until its past tragedies can not be openly discussed, and that there can be no peace without justice.
On the 10th anniversary of the crackdown, The Isaan Record revisits the event and its aftermath through a series of articles, interviews, short stories, and videos, titled “Remembrances of Red Trauma,” in the belief that the memories of those who were suppressed should be retold and kept alive.
This year provided more sorrow than cheer for Isaan people, especially for those in Nong Bua Lamphu, who suffered a horrific loss after a mass shooting at a nursery killed 37 people, 24 of which were small children.
People in Isaan across several provinces also had to endure hardships that came from floods and from many of the government’s construction projects. The Isaan Record documented and published these struggles that remain unresolved.
For The Isaan Record, the year 2022 was one of greatest sorrow, as we suddenly lost our aspiring reporter and photographer, Adithep Chantet. In his short time, though, he created an impressive photographic world. We showcase a number of Atitep’s final photos as part of our “Photos of the Year 2022.”
What would you do if you returned to your house three months after a flood only to find it in ruins, damaged beyond repair, a slush of garbage and mud obscuring any hint of a floor? This is what many flood victims in Ubon Ratchathani province encountered. They need to stay in their homes but first they need to eat. Meanwhile relief from the government is slow and insufficient. What are they to do? Songwut Jullanan from Ubon Ratchathani reports.
The daughter of a redshirt grows up and comes to understand and appreciate her father in a new way. Although he died a decade ago when she was just a child, she now reaches out to him in a letter. Guest contributor Rattanapon Noi-Wong confronts the past and asks to join her father, as a […]
It’s been over a month now since the Mitraphap Community along Khon Kaen railway was confronted with major loss after their homes were submerged in meter-high water. The physical and psychological damage, though, remains – and has been overlooked by the government. Community members ask if the flash flood they’re forced to face is only seen as a necessary sacrifice for the city residents and the province’s economic hub to be spared from.
