In an electrifying broadcast that seized the airwaves and etched itself into the annals of Thailand’s political history, General Prayut Chan-o-cha, then the formidable army chief, orchestrated a moment that would pivot the country’s trajectory. Surrounded by the stoic faces of the armed forces leaders and the national police chief, he declared, in a scene straight out of a movie, the coup that would dislodge the Pheu Thai Party-led government on the unforgettable day of May 22, 2014. The room, heavy with the weight of destiny, was awash with the solemnity of the occasion—a nation paused, a new chapter commenced.
Fast forward to the present, the political stage buzzes with a new act as the Bhumjaithai Party stirs the pot with a proposal laden with potential seismic shifts. In a daring move, they’ve unfurled a bill targeted at undoing the lingering remnants of the epoch marked by the National Council for Peace and Order (NCPO)—the architects behind the curtain of the 2014 political shake-up. Championing the clarion call for human rights, the party charges that certain orders and announcements left by the NCPO are not just relics of a bygone era, but violative chains hindering the people’s freedoms.
Amidst the hallowed halls of parliament, Saritpong Kiewkong, a visionary representing Krabi under the Bhumjaithai banner, steps forth with the bill. He hands it to Areepen Utarasint, a beacon of adviceship to the parliament president, who accepts it, symbolically carrying the hopes of many on her shoulders. Saritpong divulges that the indomitable Anutin Charnvirakul spurred the legal eagles of the party into action, responding to the chorus of grievances from across spheres about the draconian shackles put in place by the NCPO that still loom large over the land.
The squad delved into the dense jungle of 240 orders and announcements, unearthing that a striking total of 71 has metamorphosed into the binding chains of law, with another 37 teetering on the brink of such transformation. These proclamations, crafted in the crucible of a coup, stand on legal grounds parallel to laws, Saritpong expounds, necessitating a legislative odyssey to revoke them. Yet, another ensemble of 55 plays a different tune, resembling cabinet resolutions that can be dissolved with a flick of the cabinet’s pen.
But the beat goes on, as Saritpong voices a plot twist—Bhumjaithai sees merit in preserving some of the NCPO’s edicts, dressed in their necessity for the state’s machinations. “Imagine them as rough diamonds,” he muses, “once cut and polished from coup-makers’ orders into the refined sparkle of normal laws, they’ll dazzle the eyes of foreign investors.”
The heart of the bill throbs with the intent to dismantle the chains bound by Section 44 of the interim constitution, born from the coup’s aftermath. This section bestowed upon General Prayut, in his garb as the NCPO chieftain, powers reminiscent of an emperor’s, eclipsing all other laws. Its legacy endures in the fabric of the current constitution, with Section 279 endorsing the decrees of yesteryears.
Thus unfolds the saga, a tale of a nation’s relentless quest for liberty’s light, navigating through the shadows of orders and announcements left in the wake of a coup. It’s a narrative of hope and resilience, of a country’s journey toward unshackling itself and rewriting its future. The bill stands as a testament to the undying spirit of Thailand, sparking debates, shaping opinions, and steering the nation towards a new dawn where freedom isn’t just a word, but a lived reality.