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Home , Ananda Mahidol, Anna Leonowens, Boonsanong Punyodyana, Chai (king of Ayutthaya), Chakri dynasty, Chulalongkorn

The Russian Revolution in the Eyes of a Thai Royal

A thesis presented to

the faculty of the College of Arts and Sciences of Ohio

In partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the degree

Master of Arts

Jeffrey R. Shane

August 2017

© 2017 Jeffrey R. Shane. All Rights Reserved. 2

This thesis titled

The Russian Revolution in the Eyes of a Thai Royal

by

JEFFREY R. SHANE

has been approved for

the Department of History

and the College of Arts and Sciences by

Alec G. Holcombe

Assistant Professor of History

Robert Frank

Dean, College of Arts and Sciences 3

ABSTRACT

SHANE, JEFFREY R., M.A., 2017, History

The Russian Revolution in the Eyes of a Thai Royal

Director of Thesis: Alec G. Holcombe

This thesis examines a previously unknown chapter in the history of Siam, namely, the history of Siamese-Russian relations during the sixth reign (1910-1925).

More specifically, it explores the Russian Revolution through the eyes of a young

Siamese royal, Mom Chao Surawutprawat Thewakun, who, as a student studying military science in Petrograd, found himself caught up in the violent upheaval of the February

Revolution and the October coup of 1917. The instrument for carrying out this study is

Surawutprawat Thewakun’s cremation volume, issued in 1974 under the title Kanpatiwat nai Ratsia mua songkhram lok khrang thi 1 [The Russian Revolution at the Time of the

First World War], the translation of which is presented here in English for the first time.

4

DEDICATION

This is for my lovely , Pittaya Paladroi-Shane, whose unflagging encouragement and support has sustained and inspired me throughout the writing of this thesis. It is also for

my , who, in spite of my own uncertainties, my own self-doubts, have never

stopped believing in me.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank Dr. Alec Holcombe for his generous support, inspiration, and astute advice. I also wish to acknowledge Dr. John Brobst for the much appreciated perspective that only he can bring to a project such as this. Finally, I want to express my sincere gratitude to Dr. William H. Frederick, who has faithfully and adroitly served as my mentor and friend for almost two decades. I simply cannot repay him for all that he has taught me.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

Abstract ...... 3 Dedication ...... 4 Acknowledgments ...... 5 Explanatory Notes ...... 7 Conventions ...... 7 Chronology ...... 7 Introduction ...... 10 Thai Cremation Volumes in Historical Perspective ...... 13 Thai Cremation Volumes as Sources of Historical Evidence ...... 20 Unraveling the Mystery of Surawutprawat’s Elusive Memoir ...... 25 Historical Background ...... 34 The Russian Revolution at the Time of the First World War ...... 61 Kerensky and his Men Seize Power from the ...... 63 Lenin Makes Revolution ...... 74 The Journey Home ...... 90 Afterword ...... 116 References ...... 161

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EXPLANATORY NOTES

Thai Language Conventions

The transliteration of Thai language words is a contentious subject on which much ink has been spilled. At the heart of the debate is the question of phonetic accuracy versus orthographic simplicity and uniformity. Here, precedence is given to the latter.

This thesis adheres to the Royal Institute’s Guide for (1968), which, although far from perfect, forgoes distracting diacritical marks, thus making for easier reading. With only a few minor exceptions, international library standards for transliterating Thai conform to the Royal Institute’s system.

The same conventions dictate the manner in which Thai names are transliterated, except in the case of the names of Thai historical figures and notable scholars, which are reproduced in the same Romanized form adopted by the individuals themselves.

As is customary in , are referred to by their given name, rather than their . Hence, publications authored by Chalong Soontravanich, for example, appear in the bibliography under the name Chalong, not Soontravanich.

Thai place names are transliterated in accordance to the “Principles of

Romanization for Thai Script by Transcription Method” as outlined by the Eighth United

Nations Conference on the Standardization of Geographic Names, , 2002.

Chronology

Because the temporal focus of this thesis covers a broad swath of both the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, it is necessary to explain the use of the terms Siam,

Siamese, Thailand, and Thai. Throughout much of the period (1782-present), 8 the and people were referred to as Siam and Siamese respectively. This changed in 1939, when Thai nationalist Luang Phibunsongkhram issued a controversial cultural mandate changing the name of the country from Siam to Thailand on the grounds that the latter name more accurately reflected the ethnic composition of the country. In the wake of Phibun’s ouster at the end of World War II, the name of the country briefly reverted to

Siam. Then, in 1949, following his return to power, Field Phibunsongkhram once again changed the name of the country back to Thailand. For the sake of accuracy and consistency, this thesis uses the terms Siam and Siamese for the period up to 1939.

Thereafter, with the exception of the immediate post-World War II period, the terms

Thailand and Thai are employed.

Although dates in this thesis are expressed in Western terms based on the

Gregorian , it is worth noting that contemporaneous vernacular sources on

19th and early 20th century Thai history used a variety of calendrical systems, often concurrently. The Chulasakarat calendar, or the Thai , was the standard means of reckoning dates until 1889, when Siam adopted the .

Converting dates from the Thai lunar to the solar calendar is complicated and requires elaborate conversion tables. For this, I have relied on Khloi Songbandit, Patithin 250 pi: tangtae Ph. S. 2304 thung 2555, Phranakhon: Khlang Sangkhaphan Luk S.

Thammaphakdi 1954.

Throughout much of the Bangkok period (1782-present), two distinct numbering systems were used. One was essentially a regnal calendar, expressed in terms of the Rattanakosin (Ro. So), or Bangkok era. The epochal date of the Rattanakosin era 9 was reckoned from April 6, 1782, which corresponds to the date of the founding of the

Chakri . The second system, which remains in use up to the present-day, is the

Thai (B.E.), referred to in Thai as Phutthasakkarat (Pho. So.). The epochal date of the Thai Buddhist calendar was reckoned from 11, 543 BCE, the presumed date of the death of . In 1912, ( VI) moved the start of the new calendar year ahead to April 1, which coincided with

Songkran. In 1941, Phibunsongkhram proclaimed January 1st to be the start of the new year.

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INTRODUCTION

On a breezy Indian day in October 2005, I found myself in Ithaca, New

York, sitting in the basement at the home of Professor David K. Wyatt, contemplating in boyish wonderment the thousands of Thai books, journals, and other bibliophilic delights that lined the walls of his private library. I was spellbound. Mrs. Wyatt (Alene) and Jeff

Ferrier, my department head and colleague, had stepped out to take some fresh air and exercise. Dr. Wyatt was upstairs busily chatting with fellow Thai historian Ron Renard, an old friend and frequent guest. I was given the run of Dr. Wyatt’s personal library for the afternoon and was soon lost in thought.

A few earlier Dr. Wyatt had posted an odd, understated message on the

Committee on Research Materials on (CORMOSEA) list-serve stating,

“There is a Southeast Asia library collection up for sale. Interested? DKW.” Naturally, I was intrigued—puzzled by the terseness of the announcement, but nonetheless intrigued.

The prospect of acquiring Dr. Wyatt’s collection for Ohio University was thrilling. So with the blessings of our dean, I wrote Dr. Wyatt and arranged to pay him a visit.

Dr. Wyatt had amassed an impressive treasure-trove of Thai and Western-language scholarship on Thailand and . In addition to the standard works one would naturally expect to find in a Thai scholar’s library, Dr. Wyatt had assembled a full set of the Thai royal chronicles (phongsawadan), the diaries (chotmaihet phraratchakitraiwan) and personal correspondence of King (1868-1910), and a miscellany of rare monographs, folk tales (tamnan), and cremation volumes 11

(nangsu anuson / nangsu chæk). I felt as if I had stumbled upon the Holy Grail of Thai collections.

Then, as my eyes darted excitedly about Dr. Wyatt’s library, a familiar title caught my attention. I recognized the dust jacket. It was Katya & the of Siam.1 I owned a copy of it myself. Perhaps because I had studied and history before taking up the study of Thai and Southeast Asian history in graduate school, the book had a special appeal to me. As I thumbed through the crisp pages, I had not noticed Dr. Wyatt’s presence in the doorway and the sound of his voice startled me.

“Finding anything of interest?” he asked with a triumphant, self-satisfied grin. “As a matter of fact, I have,” I replied, holding up the copy of Katya for him to see. We both agreed that it was an absorbing tale and proceeded to talk about Prince Chakrabongse and his exploits in , marveling at the improbable spectacle of a Thai prince serving in the Imperial Corps of Pages, appointed to Empress Alexandra no less. Dr. Wyatt seemed genuinely amused by the incongruity of it all. Then, after a slight pause for reflection, Dr.

Wyatt’s demeanor subtly changed. He studied my face for a moment and, peering over the top of his eyeglasses, interjected wryly, “of course you do know that Prince

Chakrabongse was not the last Thai Royal to study in Russia, right?” I was speechless.

Noting my furrowed brow and general look of puzzlement, Dr. Wyatt smiled and in an exaggerated, professorial tone remarked, “Well, it would seem that you have overlooked a key text. I do hope you find it, because it is quite an interesting story.”

1 Eileen Hunter and Narisa Chakrabongse, Katya & the Prince of Siam (Bangkok: River Books, 1994). 12

I had not the faintest idea what Dr. Wyatt was alluding to. As I combed through my mental inventory of historical sources, I could not recall a single text, not so much as a footnote, to substantiate the assertion that anyone other than Prince Chakrabongse and

Nai Poum Sakara (a Thai commoner) had ever studied in Russia. Yet I knew Dr. Wyatt too well to challenge his knowledge of Thai history, even if his claim seemed to fly in the face of accepted historical discourse.

It would be many years before I understood the full import of Dr. Wyatt’s contention, and a few more still before I finally hit upon the answer. During the intervening period, Ohio University acquired the David K. Wyatt Thai Collection and sadly, shortly thereafter, Dr. Wyatt passed away at the age of 69.

I was sifting through a box of uncataloged Wyatt materials one afternoon when I discovered the key piece of historical evidence. It was a cremation volume, published in

1974 in memory of one Phan Tamruat Ek Mom Chao Surawutprawat Thewakun, a grandson of King (Rama IV) and of Prince Devawongse Varopakarn.2 The title of the cremation volume and the accompanying text, penned some years earlier by

M.C. Surawutprawat Thewakun himself, was Kanpatiwat nai Ratsia mua songkhram lok khrang thi 1 [The Russian Revolution at the Time of the First World War].3 As I eagerly

2 Phan Tamruat Ek refers to Surawutprawat’s rank at the time of his retirement from the Thai force, which was colonel. Mom Chao is a Thai honorific given to the offspring of Chao Fa or Phra Ong Chao and below the rank of Phra Ong Chao. For more on Thai titles of honor and , see Nakhaprathip, Prawat phraratchatinnanam (Phranakhon: Phræphitthaya, 1960). 3 Mom Chao Surawutprawat Thewakun, Kanpatiwat nai Ratsia mua songkhram lok khrang thi 1 (Krung Thep Maha Nakhon: Rongphim Suan Thongthin, Krom Kanpokkhrong, 1974). 13 pored over the mysterious text a hitherto unknown chapter in Thai history was revealed.

It told the improbable story of a group of Thai military cadets who found themselves caught up in the violent upheaval of the Russian Revolution in 1917 Petrograd. It soon became apparent that this was the same text that Professor Wyatt had obliquely referenced on that late afternoon in Ithaca in 2005. I think Dr. Wyatt would be rather pleased to know that I finally found it.

Thai Cremation Volumes in Historical Perspective

To grasp the significance of this discovery, it is necessary to have a general understanding of Thai cremation volumes. Perhaps owing to their relative obscurity, the history and evidentiary value of Thai cremation volumes is still poorly understood among foreign scholars. Unique to Thailand, the cremation volume is an idiosyncratic genre of writing with roots in the Buddhist custom of merit-making and the Thai practice of gift-giving. The publication and distribution of commemorative volumes at funerals, a tradition dating back to at least the 1880s, serves two functions.4 First, for

4 The emergence of Thai cremation volumes in the 1880s coincided with the expansion of printing technology in Siam. Dr. D. B. Bradley, an American , set up the first printing press in Siam in 1835. By the second half of the 19th century printing technology became increasingly accessible to Siamese elites, and even a few commoners, including the maverick K. S. R. Kulap Kritsananon, who availed himself of this new and exciting technology to publish a series of revisionist historical tracts that earned him the opprobrium of Siam’s royals and a brief period of confinement to an insane asylum. See Craig J. Reynolds, “Mr. Kulap and Purloined Documents,” in Seditious histories: contesting Thai and Southeast Asian pasts (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006), 56-59 and , “Fabrication, Stealth, and Copying Historical Writings: The Historiographical Misconducts of Mr. Kulap of Siam,” in Maurizio Peleggi (ed.), A Sarong for Clio: Essays on the Intellectual and Cultural : Inspired by Craig J. Reynolds (Ithaca, New : Southeast Asia Program Publications, Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 2015), 41-62. 14 surviving members, it is a way to pay homage to and make merit on behalf of the departed. Second, in a nod to posterity and the edification of future generations, it is regarded as a means of promoting and contributing to the preservation of the kingdom’s rich intellectual and cultural heritage.5 In addition, it is worth noting that, historically, because of the inordinately high costs involved, the practice of printing and distributing cremation volumes was primarily the preserve of the Thai aristocracy and upper class.6

The composition and content of cremation volumes merit brief elaboration.

Almost without exception, cremation volumes include photographs of the deceased, a biography, a record of academic and professional achievements, panegyrical letters from family and friends and, finally, the main text, which, given the solemnity of the occasion, is usually selected with painstaking care and discriminating judgement. Broadly speaking, the kinds of texts found in cremation volumes can be divided into two categories: the selected and revised published writings of the deceased or, more common, previously published, oftentimes long-out-of-print, works of other provenances. As for the subject matter of the texts, a review of the existing body of cremation volumes exhibits a fairly conspicuous uniformity. The majority of the texts are religious in nature,

5 See Grant A. Olson, “Thai Cremation Volumes: a Brief History of a Unique Genre of Thai Literature,” Asian Folklore Studies 51, 2 (1992): 279-94. 6 Only for a brief period in the 1980s did middle class Thai begin to publish cremation volumes in comparatively significant numbers. See Ronald D. Renard, “Writing Thai History and Culture,” Pts. 1 and 2, Journal of the 88 (2000): 26. 15

Buddhism being the most popular topic.7 Historical works, including royal chronicles, make up a significant part of the remaining body of literature.8

The cremation volume issued in memory of M.C. Surawutprawat Thewakun is thus something of an anomaly. Although it shares the same formulaic and structural orthodoxy as other commemorative tomes, the main text is by no means typical. Unlike most Thai cremation volumes, which more often than not include a reprint of a popular

Buddhist manuscript, a standard chronicle, treatise on the Thai language, or the occasional ethnography, this volume contains a previously unknown or long-forgotten memoir, a rare occurrence nowadays.9 The only roughly analogous comparison to

7 Grant A. Olson, “Thai Cremation Volumes: a Brief History of a Unique Genre of Thai Literature,” 284-87. For a broader analysis of the content of Thai cremation volumes published since the turn of the 20th century, see Marasri Sivaraks, comp., Bannanukrom nangsu chæk khong Nai Charat Phikun, Hongsamut Sun Echiatawan okchiangtaisuksa, Mahawitthayalai Kieoto / riapriang doi Marasi Siwara (Kyoto: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto University, 1989); Suphat Songsængchan, Kansuksa praphet khong nangsu anuson nai ngan chapanakit sop thi khatlok ruang chak tonchabap khong Hosamut hæng Chat læ ruang thi dai chak læng un un rawang pi Pho. So. 2501-2510 (Krungthep: Suphat Songsængchan, 1969). Also see the - Bowonniwet Digital Cremation Collection at https://archive.org/details/thaicremationcopy&tab=collection. 8 Sadly, bibliographic control of Thai cremation volumes is still rather poor, especially in the case of older volumes, which were often cataloged without subject headings or even a description of the main text. The development of parallel script in recent years, which has greatly enhanced public access to Thai language materials in general, and the emergence of digital collections, such as the long-awaited Thammasat University-Wat Bowonniwet Vihara Digital Cremation Collection, has done much to remedy this problem. Slowly, it has begun to lift the veil separating scholars from the larger corpus of Thai commemorative volumes and given us a sharper sense of the full range of subjects covered by the medium, including history, which until recently was obscured. 9 I conducted a reasonably exhaustive search and found no mention of Surawutprawat’s account in the Thai or English-language scholarship on the subject. Even some of the most prominent Thai scholars in the field today, including Thongchai Winichakul, Charnvit Kasetsiri, and Nidhi Eoseewong, to whom I posed this question during both the 2013 and 2014 Council on Thai Studies (COTS) meetings and in personal 16

Surawutprawat’s volume that comes readily to mind is the cremation volume brought out in memory of M.R. Chakratong Tongyai, which includes botanical field notes of a 1939 trek up Doi Inthanon from the unpublished diary of the missionary Walter Zimmerman.10

Eventful as Zimmerman’s expedition was, however, it is hard to imagine that it was as noteworthy as the Russia Revolution, one of the truly decisive events of the twentieth century. To further underscore the significance of Surawutprawat’s memoir, it appears to be the only first-hand account of the Russian Revolution ever published by a Thai, or for that matter, any Southeast Asian author.

At the time of the Revolution, Surawutprawat Thewakun was studying military science in Petrograd at the Aleksandrovsky (Alexander) II Cadet Corps. Nor was he alone. Eight other Siamese were studying in Russia when the seized power in

October 1917.11 Curiously, however, only Surawutprawat, it seems, had the foresight or natural inclination to record his observations of the Revolution in writing. Apart from

correspondence, were at a complete loss. To all but David Wyatt, it seems, Surawutprawat’s story has gone completely unnoticed. 10 Ronald Renard, “Writing Thai History and Culture,” 26; and Anuson ngan phraratchathan phloeng sop Mom Ratchawong Chakratong Tongyai (Krungthep: Hanghunsuan Chamkat Fanni Phapblitching, 1998). 11 In an autobiographical essay written late in his life and published as part of his own cremation volume, M.C. Anantanorachai Thewakun, Surawutprawat’s half- on his ’s side of the family, recorded the names, dates and institutional affiliations of all the Thai military school students educated in Russia between 1898 and 1917. In sum, 14 Thais studied in Russia during this 19-year period. Excluding Surawutprawat, the names of the eight students alluded to above are: Nai Thep Pumirat, Mom Ratchawong Sewattawong Wachirawong, Mom Chao Niwatthawong Kasemsan, Nai Fawn Ritakanee, Mom Chao Chaloemsi Sawatdiwat, Mom Chao Laksanalœt Chayangkun, Mom Chao Nikonthewan Thewakun, and Mom Chao Anantanorachai Thewakun. See Nangsu makruk kon: niphon khong Mom Chao Anantanorachai Thewakun (Phranakhon: Rongphim Chanwa, 1968), 24. 17 acknowledging that the Bolshevik putsch forced them to return to Siam before being able to complete their studies, none of the other students documented the actual events or their impressions of the Revolution. And yet, even though they may not have written about the

Revolution, per se, they did leave behind clues about their time in Russia. Cremation volumes were printed and distributed as part of the funerary rites for six of

Surawutprawat’s Thai compatriots and former classmates.

Discovered scattered across three continents, each in varying condition, these commemorative volumes corroborate critical details of Surawutprawat’s account, especially the chronology of events, and provide additional contextual evidence of their experiences and conditions of life in Russia, including personal correspondence and rare photographs.12 In the absence of corroborating evidence, it would be very difficult to assess the veracity of Surawutprawat’s account on its own merits.

Whether they wrote about their experiences or not, the students, ranging from nineteen to twenty-two years of age, could scarcely avoid being touched by the

12See Phraprawat lao (Phranakhon: Ro. Pho. Mahamakutratchawitthayalai, 1965); Lamdap sakun Sutcharitkun (Phranakhon: Phræ Kanchang, 1968); Khambanyai prawatsat sakon Ph. S. 2494 (Krung Thep: Meru Wat Thatthong, 1975); Phraratchahatthalekha khrao sadet fai nua nai ratchakan thi 5 (Krung Thep: Mo. Po. Pho., 1977); M.R. Sewattawong Wachirawong Phraratchaprawat Sangkep khong Peter Maharat (Phra Nakhon: Rongphim Kromsanbannat Tahan Ahkat, 1964); and Nangsu makruk kon: niphon khong Mom Chao Anantanorachai Thewakun. Although no cremation volume appears to have been issued for Nai Fawn Ritakanee, the one member of the group not of royal extraction, it is interesting to note that under the pseudonym Naiphan Tri Luang Yotawut, Fawn translated and published Leo Tolstoy’s magnum opus War and Peace in the Thai language. See Leo Tolstoy, ., Songkhram lae Santipap [War and Peace], trans., Naiphan Tri Luang Yotawut [Nai Fawn Ritakanee], (Phra Nakon: Rongphim Wittayanuphap, 1930-31). Fawn Ritakanee’s translation of this Russian classic remains popular in Thailand up to the present. The fifth edition of Songkhram lae Santipap was published in 2008. 18

Revolution (not to mention the First World War) in profound ways. As Siamese, it was their first confrontation with mass violence. Not since the mid-18th century sacking of

Ayutthaya at the hands of the Burmese had Siam experienced a major political disruption.

For Surawutprawat, the Revolution appears to have elicited a particularly strong moral and political reaction.

An eyewitness to both the and the October 1917 coup.

13Surawutprawat recounts stories of widespread famine, mass demonstrations, sporadic street violence, rampant looting, arson and general lawlessness. He grouses from time to time about food shortages and other privations he endured in Russia, but seldom in a self- pitying way. Surawutprawat appears to accept such dissonances as part of everyday life in Russia. He describes, almost matter-of-factly, the brutal killing of a classmate at the

Alexander II Cadet Corps, who was run through the back with a bayonet one night on the street in Petrograd by a pro-Bolshevik soldier on the grounds that he was wearing the insignia of Alexander II on the lapel of his student uniform. Appalled by the destructive violence and extreme cruelty of the Revolution, Surawutprawat takes special umbrage at the communists for the murder of the Tsar and his family, arguing, perhaps naively, that the Tsar bore the revolutionaries no personal ill-will and had ruled over Russia in a manner befitting a virtuous king (thotsapitratchatham).14 He expresses a considerably

13 Although scholars remain divided over how to characterize the events of October 1917, Richard Pipes makes a lucid and compelling argument for using the term ‘coup.’ See A Concise History of the Russian Revolution (New York: Vintage Books, 1995), xii-xvii; 113. 14 Thotsapitratchatham is the Thai derivative of the - term dasarajadhamma. It is typically translated into English as the ten principles of moral leadership, which include: benevolence, morality, selflessness, truthfulness, gentleness, diligence, 19 more jaundiced, and more widely accepted, view of the debauched mystic, Grigorii

Rasputin, who was famously accused of besmirching the reputation of the Romanov family.

It is also clear that the lofty yet muddled ideals of the Revolution, ideals that were quickly betrayed, confounded Surawutprawat. The Bolsheviks’ prodigious experiment in social engineering tested everything he thought he knew about the existing order. What

Leon Trotsky characterized as “overturning the world,”15 Surawutprawat, quoting an old

Thai language adage, described rather disparagingly as a topsy-turvy world in which the

“decent man walks the back alleys, and the slave walks in the street.”16 The seemingly arbitrary dispossession and redistribution of wealth riled the young Siamese royal. And yet, a careful reading of the memoir gives one the impression that Surawutprawat often felt conflicted. Just as the Revolution offended his aristocratic sensibilities, so the social and political contradictions inherent in Russia under the old regime appear to have stung his social and moral conscience. This is not to suggest that Surawutprawat was prepared to repudiate his privileged class status. But the experience does seem to have given him pause.

The final chapter of Surawutprawat’s memoir recounts the Siamese students’ arduous and courageous return home. The fraught journey, covering an astounding eight thousand miles by rail and another fifteen hundred by sea, was attended with much

compassion, non-violence, forbearance, and righteousness. See Phraya Siwisanwacha, Phramahakasat nai prathet Thai (Phranakhon: Borisat Chanwanitchai, 1977), 7-8. 15 Richard Pipes, The Russian Revolution (New York : Knopf, 1990), xxi. 16 The original Thai language phrase Surawutprawat uses is ผูดึเดินตรอกขึ-ครอกเดินถนน. 20 hardship and adventure, including a rather dubious encounter with a band of heroin- trafficking Russian Jews, and more incredulous still, a face-to-face meeting with

Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov (Lenin) himself. Whether either of these episodes actually occurred as they were related, based on misinterpretations of the facts, or were the fruit of youthful imagination, is debatable.

Thai Cremation Volumes as Sources of Historical Evidence

The importance of Thai cremation volumes as sources of historical knowledge is well documented.17 Not all scholars, however, share the same enthusiastic regard for the tradition. In 2006, Dr. Eiji Murashima published a witheringly critical article on the evidentiary value of cremation volumes. He argues:

Though these books purport to give historical accounts, their real purpose is not to clarify or delve rigorously into historical facts, but rather to commend the achievements and virtues of certain individuals or groups. Because of this, they only take up facts and events that honor or praise the persons concerned. The narratives are often exaggerated or embellished while undesirable or embarrassing historical facts are ignored or glossed over, or in the worst cases their stories are falsified. Therefore one should not expect rigorous historical examinations from books of this kind. Thus historiography within this Thai tradition of producing commemorative books seems to be only that of a tool for self-praise and self- commendation. Within this tradition, historical facts are easily rewritten and

17 Grant Olson, “Thai Cremation Volumes: a Brief History of a Unique Genre of Thai Literature,” 279-94; Justin McDaniel, The Lovelorn Ghost and the Magical Monk : Practicing in Modern Thailand (New York : Columbia University Press, 2011), 50; and Ronald Renard, “Introduction,” in Ronald Renard ed., Anuson Walter Vella , Thailand : Walter F. Vella Fund, Payap University ; Honolulu, : Center for Asian and Pacific Studies, University of Hawaii at Manoa, 1986), 2. It is perhaps worth mentioning here that the late professor Yoneo Ishii, whom Murashima cites to buttress his skeptical remarks of Thai commemorative literature, was in fact an outspoken and passionate admirer of genre. In fact, it is widely known that it was Yoneo Ishii who orchestrated the purchase of the Charas (Pikul) Collection, consisting of some 9,000 Thai cremation volumes, for the Center of Southeast Asian Studies at Kyoto University. 21

rearranged into praise-filled stories. Having been long immersed in this tradition, Thai historians have tended not to be rigorous about historical facts. This lax attitude toward history has without doubt affected the content and quality of scholarly research and books on Thai history produced in Thailand. 18

Had Murashima fired a few harmless volleys across the bow before resorting immediately to deadly broadsides, his reservations about Thai cremation volumes as credible sources of historical information may have been better received. As it stands, however, his provocative remarks seem overdrawn.

To begin with, the broad strokes with which Murashima paints commemorative volumes need to be more carefully refined. He appears to conflate his criticism of a single

Thai commemorative volume with the entire corpus. More to the point, his argument is based wholly on the perceived deficiencies of one title, namely, Prawattisat kansongkhram khong Thai nai songkhram Maha-Echia Burapha [The Military History of

Thailand in the Greater East Asian War].19 Granted, within the slender frame of reference of this particular publication, there is much justice in what Murashima asserts. It abounds in historical inaccuracies, blatant fabrications, and obsequious glorification of the Thai military. However, in his rush to judgement, Murashima appears to have lost sight of two key facts. First, at the risk of seeming overcritical, Prawattisat kansongkhram khong Thai nai songkhram Maha-Echia Burapha is not, strictly speaking, a cremation volume. It is a standard commemorative volume, published to preserve the memory of an important

18 Eiji Murashima, “The Commemorative Character of Thai Historiography: The 1942-43 Thai Military Campaign in the Shan States Depicted as a Story of National Salvation and the Restoration of Thai Independence,” Modern Asian Studies 40, 4 (Oct. 2006): 1053- 54. 19 Prawattisat kansongkhram khong Thai nai songkhram Maha-Echia Burapha (Bangkok: Amarin Printing, 1997). 22 historical event, in this instance, the Thai military’s actions in the Shan States during

World War II.

Second, it should come as no great surprise that this particular title is lacking in

“rigorous historical examination.” After all, the volume was conceived and published by the Armed Forces Education Department under the direction of the Supreme Command of the Armed Forces—arguably one of the most hidebound conservative institutions in

Thailand. As many Thai scholars will attest, the virtues of objectivity and intellectual integrity have only a limited claim on the attention of the Armed Forces Education

Department.

Lastly, the claim that “Thai historians have tended not to be rigorous about historical facts” because they have been influenced by or inured to an inferior tradition of historical writing (i.e. Thai commemorative literature) that is subject to gross historical errors and blatant falsehoods is unfounded. Thai historians are quite capable of differentiating between professional and amateur scholarship. As a matter of fact, many

Thai historians, it could be argued, are on average more skeptical and assiduous in their interpretations of historical evidence than some of their Western counterparts precisely because they have for so long been exposed to myths and the lacquering over of the realities of their national history by the Thai authorities and traditional elites.

What is most unfortunate about Murashima’s critique is that it may discourage future generations of Thai historians from exploring cremation volumes as possible sources of historical knowledge, for in the right hands they can be valuable tools. As with any tool, however, one must know how to use it. 23

The cremation volume published in memory of Surawutprawat Thewakun is a case in point. Surawutprawat’s autobiographical account, The Russian Revolution at the

Time of the First World War, should not be treated as historical scholarship but as a primary source. In other words, it is presented not as historical fact but as a first-hand account of the Russian Revolution as interpreted by a Thai royal. Like most memoir literature, the importance of Surawutprawat’s account lies not so much in its contribution to the historiography of the Russian Revolution, for in truth it contains few revelations of any real significance, but rather, for what it reveals about the author and the refracted light it sheds on the history of Siam, its political culture, and the worldview of Thai privileged society in the early 20th century. Equally important, although often more difficult to discern, is the influence of , especially that of the imperial court and social elites, in shaping Surawutprawat’s views of the Revolution and Russian society in general. Any assessment of his account must take these factors into consideration.

Let us consider, for example, Surawutprawat’s account of the students’ extraordinary encounter with the unsavory louts purportedly involved in the opium trade.

While the encounter itself is certainly not out of the realm of possibility (the opium trade between Russia, Central Asia, and the Far East was quite robust at the time of the

Revolution), what is rather curious about the story is the students’ claim that the culprits were Jewish. How could the students possibly know this? The most plausible explanation is that it was a simple case of prejudgment. The students were almost certainly exposed to various anti-Semitic myths and cultural biases that were prevalent in Russian high- 24 society during this time, including the spurious accusation that the vast majority of the

Russian revolutionaries and other such trouble-makers were Jewish.20 Nor were the

Siamese above peddling such prejudiced views. King Vajiravudh published several essays and plays with overtly anti-Semitic resonance.21

As for Surawutprawat’s assertion that the students were interrogated by V.I.

Lenin before leaving Russia, this, perhaps more than any other claim, strains credulity.

Aside from the fact that it seems highly unlikely that Lenin himself was engaged in the mundane task of issuing exit visas, Surawutprawat’s description of Lenin is inconsistent with what we know about the Bolshevik leader. He states, “Lenin wore a ring with an inordinately large black stone surrounded by diamonds. It was said that the ring once adorned the royal hand of the Tsar. Lenin’s dress was impeccable, dapper, and cut in the current Western style.” Like his fictional hero, Rahkmetev, as depicted in

Chernyshevsky’s novel What is to be Done? (1862), Lenin is said to have renounced all material desires and embraced an especially stringent form of asceticism.22 At no time was his attire ever described as being dapper or fashionable. Nor would he ever wear anything as ostentatious as ring adorned with large stones and diamonds. This particular episode throws into bold relief not just the gullibility of Surawutprawat and the other students, but the extent to which they were susceptible to some of the more widely

20 See Orlando Figes, A People’s Tragedy: A History of the Russian Revolution (New York: Viking, 1997), 82; Oleg Budnitskii, “The Jews and Revolution: Russian Perspectives, 1881-1918,” East European Jewish Affairs 38, 3 (December 2008): 321- 334. 21 The most famous of these was The Jews of the Orient (Bangkok: Siam Observer, 1914). 22 Orlando Figes, A People’s Tragedy: A History of the Russian Revolution, 130-31. 25 accepted misconceptions of the time. This narrative, perpetuated by Russian monarchists, had the double objective of exposing Lenin and other prominent Bolsheviks as hypocrites and of bolstering their argument that the Bolsheviks seized power for the sole purpose of plundering the wealth of the Romanovs and Russian capitalists.

In sum, Professor Murashima’s critique of Thai commemorative literature, that

“the narratives are often exaggerated or embellished,” or that they fail to “delve rigorously into historical facts,” is not entirely without merit. At the very least, he offers a stark reminder that Thai sources and the writing of Thai history can be problematic.

Having said that, Murashima’s analysis in general is seriously flawed, not the least because he confuses Thai cremation volumes with the broader array of commemorative literature. Furthermore, his epistemological concerns, while commendable, are grossly overstated, and his myopic fixation with “the historical facts” has rendered him incapable of developing a discriminating appreciation for the tradition of Thai cremation volumes.

Unraveling the Mystery of Surawutprawat’s Elusive Memoir

How Surawutprawat’s memoir has escaped the attention of Thai historians for so long is yet another intriguing facet to this story. For reasons that will be fleshed out in the afterword, he chose not to publish his account until 1972—a half-century after he returned to Siam. Even then, it was not published separately, but buried among the miscellany of eulogies, biographical data, and other ephemera in a long-since-forgotten cremation volume brought out in memory of a certain Jew Sumnasukapan, a Thai woman from with no apparent connection to Surawutprawat, the 26

Thewakun family, or Russia.23 It was only after I was able to track down a copy of the cremation volume of the eldest son of Jew Sumnasukapan, Chattrakankoson (Jiem)

Limpeechat, who died in 1995, that I was able to establish a plausible connection between Jew Sumnasukapan and Surawutprawat.

Apparently, Jew’s son, Chattrakankoson, born in 1902, attended, as did

Surawutprawat some years earlier, the Royal Pages School in Bangkok. In 1917,

Chattrakankoson was awarded a government scholarship to go abroad to study in the

United States. By a curious chance, among the eighteen other gifted Thai students travelling to the U.S., was a pretty Sino-Thai commoner by the name of Sangwal, who had hopes of studying nursing. The aspiring nurse, later known as Mom Sangwal, and later still, the Queen , was the mother of the late King and the recently deceased King . After completing his secondary education,

Chattrakankoson, was accepted into the New York Police Academy. Upon graduating in 1926, he returned to Siam and accepted a position with the Police

Department at the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. In 1947, Chattrakankoson was named

Director General of Police.24

Based on this fragmentary evidence, it seemed increasingly likely that

Chattrakankoson was at least an acquaintance, if not a close colleague, of Surawutprawat,

23 See Bannakan nai ngan phraratchathan phloeng sop Nang Jew Sumnasukapan (Jew Limpichat) (Nakhon Luang: Kongkanphim Samnakngan salakkin baeng ratthaban, 1972). 24 See Anuson ngan phraratchathan phloeng sop Phon Tamruat Ek Luang Chattrakankoson Mo. Po. Cho., Mo. Wo. Mo., Tho.Cho. Wo. (Chiam Limpichat), na men luang na Phlapphla Itsariyaphon, Wat Thepsirinthrawat, Wansao thi 6 Mesayon 2540 (Krungthep: Po. Samphanpanit, 1997). 27 since both had had long careers as police officials. With this thought in mind, I returned to Surawutprawat’s cremation volume and began leafing through the letters from friends and family. The hunch paid off handsomely. Among the dozens of letters of condolence published in Surawutprawat’s volume was an eloquently written eulogy by

Chattrakankoson. The two were evidently close friends. The only reasonable conclusion that one can draw, therefore, is that when Jew Sumnasukapan died in 1972, her surviving son, Chattrakankoson, wishing to honor the memory of his mother, asked his friend,

Surawutprawat, permission to publish his account of the Russian Revolution in his mother’s cremation volume.

Also in 1972, Surawutprawat was invited by his fellow members of the King’s

College Society to give a lecture on the Russian Revolution. His autobiographical account was later published in serial form in the final three issues of the Society’s now defunct newsletter, Sansawet.25

In spite of the fact that Surawutprawat’s account of the Russian Revolution was published in some form on three separate occasions between 1972 and 1974, a total of only four copies of the text are believed to have survived.26

What we do not know is when Surawutprawat actually wrote his memoir. Certain key features of the text, however, lend themselves well to inference. Perhaps most revealing is the fact that at various points in the narrative Surawutprawat appears to date

25 According to the Union Catalog of Thai Academic Libraries (UCTAL), Sansawet ceased in 1974. 26 Surawutprawat’s cremation volume is held at Thammasat University, the University of , Berkeley and Ohio University. Only one copy of Jew Sumnasukapan’s cremation volume is known to exist and it is housed at Thammasat. 28 specific events based on an older reckoning of time—one that has not been in use in Siam since 1940. For example, in the first paragraph of the section entitled “The Journey

Home,” Surawutprawat writes that the students returned to Siam in March 2460 B.E.27

(March 1917 C.E.), which, based on the modern Buddhist (Phutthasakkarat) calendar, means that the students could not possibly have witnessed the October coup. Although it is conceivable that Surawutprawat recorded this date in error, a more likely explanation is that the memoir (or at least substantial parts of it) was written sometime between 1918 and 1941, and that when preparing the text for printing in 1972 the compilers or publisher neglected to convert the date from that based on the older reckoning of the Thai Buddhist era to the new.

The reader will recall from the explanatory notes that from 1912 to 1940, the epochal date of the Thai Buddhist calendar was reckoned from April 1st. Then in 1941,

Field Marshal Phibunsongkhram proclaimed January 1st to be the start of the new year.

In order to reconcile the three variance between 1940 and 1941, a simple mathematical conversion was required. Specifically, this conversion applied to all dates prior to 1941, and the three month period between January 1st and March 31st in particular. In converting a date based on the older Buddhist era reckoning to the new, the number to add or subtract is 1; the factor for converting dates from the Buddhist to the

Christian era is 542. For all other dates, the standard conversion factor of 543 applies. In summary, therefore, the date of Surawutprawat’s return to Siam should have been

27 มีนาคม ๒๔๖๐. M.C. Surawutprawat Thewakun, 29. 29 converted from March 1917 C.E. [2460 B.E.] to March 1918 [2461]. 28 This revised date of departure from Russia is consistent with the written account of M.C. Niwatthawong

Kasemsan.29 Ironically, had the date been properly converted prior to publication, we may have falsely assumed that Surawutprawat began writing his memoir much later in life than appears to be the case.

Just as Surawutprawat’s apparent use of an obsolete Thai calendrical system suggests that he began work on his memoir decades before it ever appeared in print, other aspects of the text offer clues that lend weight to the theory that at least some parts of his account were written only a few years before his death. For example, in the third to last paragraph of the section entitled “Lenin Makes Revolution,” Surawutprawat writes:

Today the danger of communism is becoming more and more menacing all the time. It is frightening to think that what happened to Russia could one day befall Thailand. Luckily, at present we have a revered [on the throne] to uphold the ten virtues. He understands the suffering and poverty of the people. He regularly visits and looks after the well-being of his subjects. He introduces them to [various] ways in which to earn a livelihood and promotes [public projects] and activities when natural disasters strike, such as floods, fire, windstorms, and the danger presented by those who instigate communism. He organizes relief efforts to alleviate suffering by distributing money, basic necessities, and consumer goods. [Such acts] inspire a tremendous feeling of warmth and admiration for the mercifulness of the King, which in turn mitigates the perils which torment the people. If every single government official tried to conscientiously follow in the footsteps of his our citizens would be happy. The country would prosper apace. Indebtedness would be a thing of the past.

When reading this earnest and laudatory passage for the first time the thought that came immediately to mind was that it seemed strangely out of place, that it belonged to

28 See Anthony Diller and Preecha Juntanamalaga, “Thai Time” (revised keynote speech, Conference on Thai Languages and Cultures, Thammasat University, December 7-8, 1995); 29 See Phraprawat trat lao, 1965, ง. 30 an entirely different era than other parts of the text. Thematically, it is strikingly reminiscent of Thailand of the late 1960s and early ‘70s.

First, there can be no doubt that this a reference to His Majesty King Bhumibol

Adulyadej (1927-2016). Anyone who has spent any time in the kingdom will recognize these themes as being central to the national leitmotif and standard rituals of homage to

King Bhumibol. It speaks directly to the king’s reputedly unimpeachable character, conscientiousness, benevolence, and his special rapport with and genuine concern for the welfare of the Thai people. Surawutprawat’s praise is neither insincere, nor, quite frankly, entirely unjustified. But it is unique to the person of King Bhumibol. Few if any Thais spoke of King Vajiravudh (1910-1925) or King (1925-1935) with such effusive adulation or affection, and sadly, the young King Ananda (1935-1946) was not on the throne long enough to win the hearts of the Thai people.30

Second, the reference to the king’s unswerving commitment to development and the social betterment of the Thai people, especially those in the rural countryside, can also be placed squarely in the historical context of the late 1960s and early ‘70s. It was during this time, when King Bhumibol was most active in the public sphere and his

30 King Prajadhipok abdicated the throne to Ananda in 1935. At the time, however, Ananda was only twelve years old and living in . Ananda did not return to Thailand to assume his duties as king until after World War II in 1945. One year later he was found dead in his bed chamber, the result of a single gunshot to the head. The two most authoritative works on King Bhumibol and Ananda, see Paul Handley, The King Never Smiles: A Biography of Thailand’s Bhumibol Adulyadej (New Haven & : Yale University Press, 2006); and Rayne Kruger, The Devil’s Discus (London: Cassell, 1964). 31 popularity with the Thai people was approaching its zenith, that this persona of the engaged and compassionate king began to crystalize.

Third, Surawutprawat’s apparent apprehension about the specter of communism looming over Thailand is particularly evocative of the mood of the late ‘60s and early

1970s. It was during this period that various symbolic representations of the king were cleverly employed to counter the growing menace of communism.

Before turning to the historical background, there is one additional question that calls for comment, namely, why translate Surawutprawat’s memoir? To begin with, it helps to fill a relatively small yet nonetheless important historiographical gap. Most of the standard historical accounts of Russian-Siamese foreign relations are unsatisfactorily vague, fragmentary, and narrowly focused on the personal relationships between King

Chulalongkorn, Tsar Nicholas II, and Prince Chakrabongse. In fact, were it not for

Surawutprawat’s memoir we still would be under the false impression that Chakrabongse was the only Siamese royal to be educated in Russia. Also, the history of Russian-

Siamese relations during the sixth reign has all but completely escaped the attention of scholars. As a result, many questions about the impact of the February Revolution and the

October coup on Russian-Siamese interactions have been deferred.

Second, the Russian Revolution was one of the twentieth century’s most important historical events. The simple fact that a group of young Siamese royals were among those who witnessed this watershed event is in itself highly significant. One cannot help but think that this experience must have left an indelible mark on the 32 students. It is certainly not difficult to imagine how it may have influenced their views on a wide range of political and social issues of relevance to Siam.

Third, Surawutprawat’s memoir offers discriminating readers a rare glimpse into the worldview, ideological leanings, and social class consciousness of young Siamese royals at one of the most pivotal moments of the twentieth century. Especially illuminating is Surawutprawat’s descriptions of the students’ interactions with and perceptions of the Russian people. Significantly, one can detect no hint of any presumptions of social or cultural inferiority among the Siamese students. They appear to be perfectly at ease in Russian privileged society. Indeed, they seem to find nothing incongruous about rubbing elbows with Russian aristocrats. Perhaps not surprisingly, the students seem far less adept in their dealings with the Russian masses.

Lastly, Surawutprawat’s memoir raises once again the vexing question of “Thai exceptionalism,” the idea first put forward by Benedict R. O’G Anderson in 1978 in his seminal essay “Studies of the Thai State: the State of Thai Studies,” that Siam, simply by virtue of it being uncolonized, was regarded “ipso facto unique.”31 Various historical arguments have been advanced to defend the “uniqueness” of Siam, including the . Whether one subscribes to the theory of “Thai exceptionalism” or not, it is exceedingly difficult to imagine a senario in which the of a colonized Siam

31 Benedict R. O’G Anderson, “Studies of the Thai State: The State of Thai Studies,” in Eliezer B. Ayal ed., The Study of Thailand: Analyses of Knowledge, Approaches, and Prospects in Anthropology, Art History, Economics, History, and Political Science (, Ohio: Ohio University Center for International Studies, Southeast Asia Program, 1978), 193-247. 33 would have been afforded the chance to go abroad to study in some of the most prestigious academies in world.

34

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

M.C. Surawutprawat Thewakun was born in 1896 into one of Siam’s oldest and most powerful aristocratic families. He was the grandson on his father’s side of King

Mongkut and Consort Piyamawadi ( Piam), the of a nobleman and a palace dancer,32 whom the governess admiringly described as “the only woman who ever managed the King with acknowledged success.”33

Surawutprawat’s father, H.R.H. Prince Devawongse Varopakarn (1858-1923), the elder full brother of three of King Chulalongkorn’s own queens, was one of the most astute and influential political figures of his time, second only to the King.34 Having begun his career in public service in the Royal Audit Office and the Royal Secretariat, in

1885 King Chulalongkorn proposed a new leadership role for Prince Devawongse, that of

Foreign Minister. The King’s choice proved eminently suitable. With industry and painstaking care, Devawongse re-organized the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, almost single-handedly, and directed Siam’s foreign relations with mastery and poise throughout

32 See the unpaginated biographical sketch in M.C. Surawutprawat Thewakun, Kanpatiwat nai Ratsia mua songkhram lok khrang thi 1; and Kanlaya Kuatrakun, Ratchasakun Sayam (Krung Thep: Samnakphim Yipsi, 2008), 107 33 Abbot Low Moffat, Mongkut, King of Siam (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1961), 144; and , of Siam (New York: The John Day Co., 1944), 220. Although Anna Leonowens is better known for her outrageous flights of fantasy than her credibility as an authority on the fourth reign, her assessment of Lady Piam may well be on the mark. Her impression of Piam is consistent with that of other Western contemporaries. 34 Prince Devawongse was the older full brother of Queen Sunanda, Queen Sawang and Queen Saowabha, the latter being the mother of both King Vajiravudh and King Prajadhipok. In addition, Devawongse was the great-grandfather of Queen , the present Queen of Thailand. See Prince Chula Chakrabongse, of Life: The Paternal Monarchy of Bangkok, 1782-1932 (New York: Taplinger Publishing Co., 1960), 221, 239, app. 35 the fifth and sixth reigns.35 In the words of Dr. Malcolm Smith, who was not given to effusive compliments, Devawongse was “one of Siam’s finest types, intelligent, clear- headed and practical in thought, dignified and courteous in manner.”36 Sadly, little is known about Surawutprawat’s mother, Mom Lamai Thewakun Na Ayutthaya, except that she descended from royal blood.37

Surawutprawat was the last of eight children born to Devawongse and Mom

Lamai Thewakun. However, as polygamy was still customary among Thai royalty at this time, Devawongse had not one but seven , with whom he had fathered a total of forty-seven children.38

Like most of royalty in early twentieth century Siam, Surawutprawat’s education got underway in earnest well before he was old enough to venture beyond the palace walls. Mom Lamai enlisted one of Devawongse’s pages to teach her youngest son the rudiments of the Thai language within the royal residence. Once he reached the

35 David K. Wyatt, Thailand, A Short History (New Haven & London, Yale University Press, 1982), 197; and Patrick Tuck, The French Wolf and the Siamese Lamb: The French Threat to Siamese Independence, 1858-1907 (Bangkok; Cheney; White Lotus, 1995), 53. 36 Malcolm Smith, A Physician at the Court of Siam (London: Country Life Limited, 1947), 121. 37 The hereditary term “Na Ayutthaya” indicates that Mom Lamai’s father was a royal of the lowest rank. 38 The names of M.C. Surawutprawat’s full are M.C. Traithotpraphan (1883- 1943), M.C. Thisakon (1884-1919), M.C. Damratdamrong (1886-1944), M.C. Saphasumnat (1888-1909), and M.C. Kandapah (1891-1934). Two of Surawutprawat’s siblings, neither of whom were ever named, died as infants. Only the first and last born, M.C. Traithotpraphan and M.C. Surawutprawat, lived long enough to celebrate their 60th birthdays, which explains in part the rationale behind the practice of polygamy in Siam. See Lamdap Ratchasakun Thewakun ruam thang ratchasakun lae sakun un thi kieo nuang (Phranakhon: Rongphim Tiranasan, 1970), 1-10. 36 appropriate age, Surawutprawat was commended to the Buddhist temple

Thepphawararam in Bangkok, where he received formal instruction in reading and writing Thai and an introduction to the arts, Pali and the principles of Theravada

Buddhism. At the age of ten or eleven, Surawutprawat matriculated at King’s College

(Ratchawitthayalai), a prestigious, English-style boarding school established under the royal patronage of King Chulalongkorn in in 1897.39 Conceived by the English tutor A. Cecil Carter, King’s College, staffed by both European and Thai instructors, and provided with a rigorous curriculum, it quickly became the school of choice for the sons of Siam’s royal and noble families.40 Upon completing the standard three-year Thai curriculum at King’s College, Surawutprawat entered the army cadet academy and served in the Corps of Royal Pages.

In 1913, Surawutprawat, then 17 years of age, was selected by H.R.H Prince

Chakrabongse Bhuvanath to study in Russia, where he entered the much vaunted

Imperial Corps of Pages.41 Steeped in Russia’s own deep-seated patrimonial heritage and

39 Surawutprawat entered King’s College in 1907, along with three of his half , Anantanorachai, Nikonthewan and Traithipthepsut, all of whom studied in Russia. See Nangsu makruk kon: niphon khong Mom Chao Anantanorachai Thewakun (1968), 18 (hereafter cited as Nangsu makruk kon). 40 See the unpaginated biography in M.C. Surawutprawat Thewakun (hereafter cited as Surawutprawat Thewakun’s bio); David K. Wyatt, The Politics of Reform in Thailand: Education in the Reign of King Chulalongkorn (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1969), 183-87; and Prawat Rongrian Ratchawitthayalai (Phra Nakhon, Rongrian Pho Boh Roh, 1966). 41 Accompanied by Phraya Lipikornkoson, the First Secretary to the Thai Ambassador in Russia, Surawutprawat, along with six other Siamese students, set sail for in May 1913. Upon reaching Paris, the party split up, with Phraya Manawaratchasewi, Mom Luang Chot Suthat Na Ayutthaya, and Phraya Latpolithamprakan, continuing on to London, where they pursued advanced degrees in . Phraya Lipikornkoson, and his young charges M.C. Surawutprawat, M.C. Niwatthawong Kasemsan, Nai Fawn 37 the heroic ideals of the of Malta, the history of the Corps of Pages reads like a medieval chivalric tale. The Corps of Pages formally came into being as a military and academic institution in 1802 during the reign of Tsar Alexander I (1801-1825). It was a privileged school reserved for the sons and grandsons of nobles and high-ranking officers.42 The Corps of Pages was located at Vorontsov Palace in St. Petersburg. The palace was constructed in the mid-18th century by the distinguished Italian architect

Francesco Bartolomeo Rastrelli. Like his other major works, such as the Palace in

St. Petersburg and Catherine Palace in Tsarskoye Selo (Tsar’s ), Vorontsov Palace, renowned for its imposing, late Baroque-style architecture and resplendent Rococo flourishes, looked the epitome of grandeur.43 That the Knights of Malta were once quartered at Vorontsov Palace only added to its spellbinding allure.44 The whole

Ritakanee, and M.C. Chaloemsi Sawatdiwat, travelled the remaining 1,500 miles to Petrograd by rail. Surawutprawat Thewakun’s bio; and Krommamun Phitthayalongkon, Ruang nakrian Muang Angkrit / Phraniphon khong Phra Ratchaworawongthoe Krommamun Phitthayalongkon (Phranakhon: Rongphim Chadarat, 1961). 42 That is to say, the Corps of Pages was formally chartered in 1802. In addition, the curriculum of the Corps underwent a change under Alexander I, placing greater emphasis on the study of military science. As a court and academic institution, however, the history of the Corps of Pages in Russia dates from the reign of Empress Elizaveta Petrovna (1741-1762). Thomas E. Berry, trans., ed., Memoirs of the Pages to the (Ontario, : Gilbert’s Royal Books, 2009), 5-7. 43 Thomas E. Berry, trans., ed., Memoirs of the Pages to the Tsars, 6-7; and William Craft Brumfield, A History of (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). 44 Shortly after his coronation in 1796, Paul I, extended a formal offer of refuge to the Maltese Knights, who had been driven out from Malta by Napoleon. Ever since he was a young tales of errantry had fascinated Paul. In 1798, his aspirations to knightly glory were at length realized when the Knights of Malta made a triumphant entry into St. Petersburg, placing themselves at his disposal. In an extravaganza of pageantry and ritualistic display of power, Paul accepted the and regalia of the knighthood and was proclaimed Grand Master of the Sovereign Order of the Knights of Malta. As a gesture of his munificence, Paul bequeathed Vorontsov Palace to the 38 atmosphere of the palace was suffused with the mythology of the Knights of Malta. The white Maltese Cross, which adorned the palace walls, was an abiding symbol and object of almost mystical reverence for the pages. Imagining themselves as rightful heirs of the

Order, the Pages adopted its ancient code of chivalry as their own. There can be little doubt that this same sense of belonging to the Order and of being a part of its historic legacy was inculcated in Surawutprawat as well.

For reasons that remain unclear, in August 1915, Surawutprawat transferred from the Imperial Corps of Pages to the Aleksandrovsky II Cadet Corps.45 Established in

Tsarskoye Selo in 1882 in honor of Tsar Alexander II, who fell victim to an assassin’s bomb in 1881, the Aleksandrovsky Cadet Corps was one of imperial Russia’s premier military academies. Instead of boarding with the cadets, special arrangements were made

knighthood. During the reign of Alexander I, who ascended to the throne in 1801 after the death of Paul (he was strangled by his own Imperial Guards), the Vatican issued a papal decree effectively dissolving the Russian Grand Priory. With the establishment of the Roman Catholic Grand Magistracy the Maltese Knights abandoned St. Petersburg for . Yet even after their exodus, the Knights of Malta continued to exert a profound influence on the Russian Corps of Pages. See Daniel E. A. Perret, “The Sovereign Order of Saint John of Knights of Malta and the Corps des Pages, Russia’s Dream of Chivalry” Bulletin of the Sovereign Order of Saint-John of Jerusalem, Knights of Malta, no. 1 (1962). 45 The details of Surawutprawat’s transfer from the Corps of Pages to the Alexander II Cadet Corps are sketchy. What is known is that according to an official letter sent by the head of the Russian Ministry of Education, Military Section, to the Deputy Manager of the Russian National , Surawutprawat was scheduled to start his program of study at the Alexander II Cadet Corps in August 1915. The letter, dated March 1915, also mentions that the tuition was 450 rubles per year. See 100 Pi Khwamsamphan Sayam- Ratsia: khamplae ekkasan prawattisat (Bangkok: Mahawitthayalai Thammasat, 1997), 186. We have it on of Mom Chao Anantanorachai Thewakun, Surawutprawat’s half-brother, that the Siamese students were often discouraged from applying for admission into the Pages school due to the exorbitant cost of tuition. This may explain why Surawutprawat transferred to Alexander II. Nangsu makruk kon, 25. 39 to allow Surawutprawat to stay on in the Vorontsov Palace, where he lived with the family of a certain Colonel A. N. Fenu (А.Н. Фену), the regimental commander and an instructor at the Imperial Corps of Pages.

Of course, Surawutprawat was not the first Siamese to be educated in Russia. This honor fell to Prince Chakrabongse Bhuvanath, Surawutprawat’s first on his father’s side. Born to King Chulalongkorn and Queen Saowabha in 1883, Prince

Chakrabongse, who was whispered to be the favorite son of both of his parents, enjoyed a privileged upbringing and education typical for a celestial prince of the time.46 In 1896,

Prince Chakrabongse was sent to to be educated.47 His elder brother, Prince

Vajiravudh, who had arrived in England three years earlier, was himself preparing for entry into Sandhurst.48 Prince Chakrabongse might gladly have followed in his brother’s footsteps had fate not intervened. As it happened, King Chulalongkorn had different aspirations for his beloved son. During his extensive peregrinations across Asia in 1890-

91, Tsarevich Nicholas of Russia visited Siam at King Chulalongkorn’s invitation.49 By all accounts, the two men got along famously, so much so that when King Chulalongkorn visited St. Petersburg in July 189750 on the first leg of his much-ballyhooed tour of

46 Malcolm Smith, A Physician at the Court of Siam, 115. 47 Prince Chula Chakrabongse, Lords of life : the paternal monarchy of Bangkok, 1782- 1932, with the earlier and more recent history of Thailand, 236. 48 Walter F. Vella, Chaiyo!, King Vajiravudh and the development of Thai , with Dorothy B. Vella (Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1978), 2; and Eileen Hunter and Narisa Chakrabongse, Katya & the Prince of Siam, 29. 49 See Esper Esperovitch Uchtomskij, Czarevitch Nicolas of Russia in Siam and Saigon, 1891, trans., intro., Walter E. J. Tips (Bangkok, Thailand : White Lotus Press, 1999). 50Chalong Soontravanich, Rutsia-Thai samai ratchakan thi 5-6 (Krungthep Mahanakhon : Samnakphim Sangsan, 1973), 108. 40

Europe, Tsar Nicholas II, formally crowned of Russia in 1896, proposed that the

King send him one of his own sons to be brought up and educated in Russia at the Tsar’s personal expense.51 King Chulalongkorn accepted Nicholas’ generous offer. As to

Chulalongkorn’s choice of sons to go to Russia, he chose Chakrabongse, who, if he had any reservations about studying in Russia, abided by his father’s wishes with stoic good cheer nonetheless.

After having just settled into the rhythms of life in , Chakrabongse now began preparing himself for an entirely new enterprise in Russia. In October 1897, the Siamese legation in London recruited Pavel Ardashev, a Russian historian who was then conducting archival research for his Ph.D. dissertation in , to begin tutoring

Chakrabongse in French and Russian at the home of a certain Dr. Yarr in Camberley.52

Although by taking on this new assignment Ardashev was forced to put his research on hiatus, he appears to have had few regrets. In his diary, Ardashev wrote excitedly: “With

God’s help, my new pupil will be the first Thai Prince, who will know Russian language and may be [sic] will come to love Russia.”53

The prince and his Russian tutor got on wonderfully. In a jubilant letter addressed to his mother, Ardashev praised Chakrabongse enthusiastically, writing “I have never

51 Prince Chula Chakrabongse, Lords of Life, 236. 52 Petrova Maria Igorevna, “Принц Чакрабон в Англии” [Prince Chakrabongse in England] Электронный научный журнал [The Electronic Scientific Journal] 3, 6 (2016): 198, accessed April 3, 2017, doi:10.18534/enj.2016.03. . Apart from the abstract, which appears in both Russian and English, this article was published entirely in English. 53 Petrova Maria Igorevna, “Принц Чакрабон в Англии” [Prince Chakrabongse in England], 199. 41 dealt with such an attentive, gifted and industrious pupil. Moreover, he always works with pleasure, willingly and in good spirits.”54 Carried away by nationalist zeal, which often included a thread of disdain for the British, Ardashev quips in a separate letter, “my

Prince has been made rather British, but I try to force it out with my Russian influence. It pleases me, that at least one member of the Siamese Royal family will be considerably

Russified for the first time.”55

Recognizing that a little good-natured competition would give his son added motivation to concentrate on his studies, Chulalongkorn selected a promising Siamese student, Poum Sakara, who had been awarded the King’s Scholarship, to accompany

Chakrabongse to Russia.56 In January 1898, Poum joined Chakrabongse in Camberley and began studying Russian in earnest. Regarding his new pupil, Ardashev had this to say: “Poum is an industrious and well-bred student. But his results cannot be compared to the prince’s. It takes him two days to learn the lesson, which the prince learns in two . But I am sure, that he will make progress, as he expresses a sincere desire to learn...”57

With wild thoughts of adventure crowding their minds, in May 1898

Chakrabongse and his companion Poum proceeded on to St. Petersburg, where they were received by the Tsar and provided a lavish apartment in the imperial residence at the

54 Petrova Maria Igorevna, 202. 55 Petrova Maria Igorevna, 201. 56 Prince Chula Chakrabongse, 236-37. 57 Petrova Maria Igorevna, 204. 42

Winter Palace.58 A few later both were admitted into the Imperial Corps of Pages.

Under the guiding eye of the tsar and a team of carefully selected tutors, the two Thai students received instruction in an arduous curriculum of mathematics, science, and foreign languages. They were coached in gymnastics and , and endured, apparently without complaint, the exhausting daily drudgery of drilling, along with the occasional dance and music lesson.59 Chakrabongse responded to this daunting program of study with vigor. In 1902, his last year as a page, Chakrabongse not only placed first in the final exams but scored the highest marks in the history of the Corps. Perhaps even more impressive, Poum, one of only a very small minority of students, Russian or otherwise, ever admitted into the Corps who were not of noble descent, recorded the second highest marks. In keeping with tradition, Chakrabongse’s name was inscribed on a grey marble plaque and prominently displayed in the capacious White Hall in Vorontsov Palace along with the other plaques bearing the names of all the previous pages who had finished first in their respective classes going back to 1802.60 In recognition of their remarkable achievements, Chakrabongse and Poum were commissioned as sub-lieutenants in the

58 Prince Chula Chakrabongse notes that more than a few Russian aristocrats and courtiers suspected that Poum, whom they knew to be a mere commoner, was afforded such lavish attention and appointments that he must be an illegitimate son of the King. Chula Chakrabongse, 237. 59 Eileen Hunter and Narisa Chakrabongse, 32. 60 Thomas E. Berry, 110; Eileen Hunter and Narisa Chakrabongse, 39. Also see Tongerloo, Alois Van, “The Prince and Katya,” in Soldatjenkova, Tatjana, and Emmanuel Waegeman, eds., For East is East : liber amicorum Wojciech Skalmowski (Dudley, MA: Peeters and Department Oosterse Studies, 2003), 527-535. 43

Hussars of the Imperial Guard. Both men were later accepted into and graduated from the

Russian Staff College.61

We can only guess the extraordinary pride and satisfaction King Chulalongkorn must have felt upon receiving word of his son’s notable achievements. Similarly, he could not but react with bitter disappointment and anger when, in early 1906, rumors began making the rounds in Bangkok that Chakrabongse, second in line to the throne after his elder brother Prince Vajiravudh, had secretly taken a Russian wife. By taking a foreign bride, one Ekaterina Ivanova Desnitsky (Katya for short), Chakrabongse had violated the ’s time-honored tradition of consanguineous among royalty, thereby precluding any of his future offspring from ascending the Siamese throne. Chakrabongse’s decision to elope with Katya hurt the King deeply.

Chulalongkorn never entirely forgave him.62

At about the same time that King Chulalongkorn discovered Chakrabongse’s awkward secret, he also learned, much to his exasperation, that Poum Sakara had informed the authorities in Russia that he had decided to renounce his Siamese

61 Chula Chakrabongse, 237. 62 Eileen Hunter and Narisa Chakrabongse, 65-66. To compound Chulalongkorn’s woes, not long after Chakrabongse’s secret was revealed, the King learned that M.C. Thong Thikayu Thongyai, the third and final Thai student to be accepted into the Russian Imperial Corps of Pages in 1898, had also taken a Russian wife. Although Thong Thikayu was not a prince, and so there was very little chance that either he or any future offspring would find themselves in line to ascend the throne, there can be no doubt that King Chulalongkorn was angry. See Nangsu makruk kon, 24; also see the Thai military site below, which features biographical information on prominent Thai army veterans, including Mom Chao Thong Thikayu Thongyai. http://www.vrdarmy.com/th/index.php/2013-02-22-06-05-50/2013-02-25-06-00-50. 44 citizenship in order to become a Russian citizen.63 Understandably, Chulalongkorn was beside himself. Having been awarded the prestigious King’s Scholarship, Poum’s actions were seen not only as sign of ingratitude but an unpardonable act of betrayal to his country. The King, who felt the insult with a special acuteness, refused to send any more students to Russia during his reign.

In 1910 tragedy visited Siam. After a prolonged period of illness, Chulalongkorn succumbed to kidney disease. Upon his father’s death, Prince Vajiravudh, the eldest son of Chulalongkorn and Queen Saowabha, took the throne.64 Prince Chakrabongse retained his rank as an Army General and the position of Chief of the General Staff of the Royal

Siamese Army. It was in this capacity that Chakrabongse reestablished relations with

Russia and resumed sending students abroad to study in Russia.65 King Vajiravudh, who almost certainly had strong reservations about the initiative, grudgingly acquiesced, with

63 A facsimile of the letter from Poum Sakara to Russian officials, dated June 1906, appears in 100 Pi Khwamsamphan Sayam-Ratsia: khamplae ekkasan prawattisat, 148. There is no indication that there was any further communication between Poum and the authorities in Siam. Nor is there any reason to believe that he ever returned to Siam. He was deemed persona non grata. 64 To his last breath, the King refused to acknowledge Katya’s very existence. As to his grandson, Chula Chakrabongse, born to Chakrabongse and Katya in March 1908, the aging King was more charitable. Upon meeting him for the first time in 1910, the toddler is said to have melted the King’s heart. Chulalongkorn died a few months later. See Eileen Hunter and Narisa Chakrabongse, 80-81; and Chula Chakrabongse, 266-67. 65 In a letter dated June 20, 1913, from the Russian Ambassador to Siam to the Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs, Chakrabongse is credited for restoring foreign relations with Russia. The Russian Ambassador obliquely acknowledges that the so-called “Poum incident” was the reason of the suspension of relations between the two . See 100 Pi Khwamsamphan Sayam-Ratsia: khamplae ekkasan prawattisat, 172. 45 one notable stipulation: he issued an edict prohibiting any royal from marrying while overseas on a government scholarship.66

It was against this background that Prince Chakrabongse sent Surawutprawat and his three compatriots off to Russia for schooling in May 1913.

To make these events comprehensible, we must backtrack a little in order to flesh out the historical context within which Siam allied herself with Russia. This was not an isolated or coincidental happening, but rather, the product of specific concrete historical circumstances, a few of which were unique and others not.

Tsarevich Nicholas’ much-anticipated visit to the court of King Chulalongkorn of

Siam in 1891 was set against a backdrop of Anglo-French imperial rivalry and conquest.

All of the mainland, save for Siam, had been carved up. In 1886, Great Britain annexed

Upper Burma, Siam’s longtime enemy, effectively bringing the entire kingdom under

British control. Not to be outdone by the British, in 1887 France established a over Annam, Cochinchina, and . Hemmed in by the British to the

West and the French to the East, King Chulalongkorn viewed the arrival of the tsarevich as a golden opportunity to court the heir to the Russian throne as a potential ally in his struggle against imperial domination. The hope was that an alliance with imperial Russia,

66 Vajiravudh’s motivation in issuing this edict was mixed. While it appears to be a rational solution to an irksome problem that had plagued the Siamese government in the past, the law was also a product of the king’s outlook. Apparently, long after Chulalongkorn and Queen Saowabha accepted Katya as Chakrabongse’s wife, Vajiravudh refused to acknowledge her very existence. Nor does it seem that it was personal. According to contemporary accounts, he resented her simply because she was a foreigner. See Stephen Wakeman Greene, Absolute dreams : Thai government under Rama VI, 1910-1925, 23-4. 46 a great world power in its own right, would put a damper on British and French designs on Siam.67

Alexander III’s motivation in sending the tsarevich on an expedition to Asia was mixed. Broadly speaking, the grand tour was a customary rite of passage, whereby young noblemen, having led decidedly regimented and cloistered existences throughout adolescence, were sent forth to explore the world. Its chief aim was pedagogical, intended to broaden horizons, build strength of character, and cultivate the mind.68 A young nobleman had much to learn before assuming the responsibilities of adulthood, and in

Nicholas’ case more than most. It was no secret that Alexander III regarded his son as unworldly, simple-minded, and something of a milksop.69 Concerned that Nicholas was wholly unprepared for the tasks of government, Alexander III hoped that the grand tour would inculcate in the tsarevich a sense of duty of service to the empire and a self- confidence in his ability to rule.

67 R. Quested, “Russian Interest in Southeast Asia: Outlines and Sources, 1803-1970” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 1, 2 (1970): 52; Chalong Soontravanich, Rutsia-Thai samai ratchakan 5-6, 53-4, 62-3; and Esper Esperovitch Uchtomskij, Czarevitch Nicolas of Russia in Siam and Saigon, xi. 68 David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the rising sun : Russian ideologies of empire and the path to war with Japan (DeKalb, Ill. : Northern Illinois University Press, 2001), 15-16. 69 Alexander was not one to mince words or mollycoddle his children, least of all the heir to the throne. In his masterfully written history of the Russian Revolution, Orlando Figes recounts a revealing exchange between the Tsar and his Minister of Finance, Sergei Witte, who suggested that the time had come to educate Nicholas in the affairs of state. ‘Tell me,’ the Tsar replied wryly, ‘have you ever spoken to the Imperial Highness, the Grand Tsarevich?’ After Witte acknowledged that he had, the Tsar retorted, ‘Then ’t tell me you never noticed that the is a dunce!’ Orlando Figes, A People’s Tragedy: A History of the Russian Revolution, 17. Also see Hélène Carrère d'Encausse, Nicholas II: the Interrupted Transition, trans., George Holoch (New York : Holmes & Meier Publishers, 2000), 28-32. 47

But there was more at work here than that. The conspicuous fact about the grand tour of 1890-91 is that of place. Never before had a Russian tsar or tsarevich travelled to the Far East, let alone Southeast Asia. Since the reign of (1682-1725), the royal perambulations of the Romanovs had not extended beyond continental .70

Nicholas’ expedition, which included visits to the Dutch East Indies, , Siam,

Indochina, , Manchuria, and Japan, thus represented a sharp departure from the past. The purpose of Nicholas’ voyage to the Far East was not immediately apparent.

Some contemporary observers speculated that Alexander sent the tsarevich away on an extended tour of Asia to put an end to his son's misguided affair with the lovely Polish- born ballerina Mathilde Ksheshinskaya, with whom he had been carrying on since meeting her at a ball in the summer of 1890. Intriguing as this hypothesis is, it cannot withstand historical scrutiny. Even someone completely ignorant of Russian court life would find it inconceivable that the Tsar would begrudge his son the opportunity to “sow a few wild oats,”71 which was expected of a tsar-to-be, much less send him to the farthest reaches of the Orient to expiate his youthful indiscretions.72 A stronger case can be made

70 To be clear, never before had a tsar or tsarevich traveled to the foreign Far East. As a young man Alexander II, Nicholas’ paternal grandfather, toured both the European and Asian parts of the , including a penal in . Unlike his grandson, however, Alexander never stepped foot off Russian soil. See Edvard Radzinsky, Alexander II : the last great tsar, trans., Antonina W. Boius (New York : Free Press, 2005), 60-62; and Richard Wortman, “Rule by Sentiment: Alexander II’s Journeys through the Russian Empire,” The American Historical Review 95, 3 (June 1990): 747; and David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the rising sun : Russian ideologies of empire and the path to war with Japan, 15-16. 71 David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, 15. 72 See Miranda Carter, George, Nicholas and Wilhelm: Three Royal and the Road to (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2010), 100. Also see Mohammed Essad-bey, Nicholas II, prisoner of the purple (London, Hutchinson & co., ltd, 1936), 29; 48 for the argument that the tsarevich’s Asian mission marked the beginning of a new era of imperial wanderings, building on yet subtly diverging from earlier patterns of Russian expansion in Asia.

Although the tsarevich himself had little more than a nodding acquaintance with

Asia, Russians were no strangers to the continent. Russia’s long and stormy engagement with Asia dates back to the late Kievan period, when the Mongol hordes drove across the exposed eastern steppe at will, sacked Kiev and, after a series of victories, subjugated all of Rus. The period of Mongol domination, lasting roughly from 1240 to

1480, exerted a profound influence on Russian history and the imagination of posterity.73

It traumatized the Russian people and imbued in them an instinctive fear of all things

Asiatic. Asia became synonymous with the darkest, most barbaric manifestations of the human spirit, and Russia, an oppressed society with much to avenge. The defense of

Russian civilization against the barbarism and destructive violence of steppe invaders was one of the chief arguments the Russians used to justify centuries of imperial depredations and territorial aggrandizement in the East. In the years following the end of

Mongol rule, waves of Russian conquerors and Cossack colonists swept east from

Krairoek Nana, Buanglang kanyuan Krung Sayam khong Makutratchakuman Ratsia: miti kanmuang mai samai Ratchakan thi 5 (Krung Thep: Silapa Wattanatham, 2009), 21; and Dominic Lieven, Nicholas II: Twilight of the Empire (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 1993), 37. 73 Renowned Russian historian Nicholas Riasanovsky described the period of Mongol occupation as “the most traumatic historical experience of the Russian people.” See Hauner, What is Asia To Us? Russia’s Asian Heartland Yesterday and Today (: Unwin Hyman, 1990), 21. 49

Moscow, penetrating the Urals in 1581 and reaching the North Pacific in 1639.74 Another line of Russian expansion extended southeastwards across the Volga into the Kazahk steppe. Gradually and fitfully, during the next two centuries Russia consolidated its hold over vast stretches of Siberia and Central Asia.75

The era of Russian expansion in Asia had begun. Yet at this point Asia was not the only, or even the most important, object of Russian imperial ambitions. Historically,

Russian foreign policy had been staunchly oriented toward Europe. The “eastern question” had preoccupied Russian geopolitical thought since the beginning of the 18th century. Asia, by comparison, was more or less peripheral to Russian interests and Russia peripheral to Asia.76 After Russia’s debacle in the Crimean War (1853-56), matters stood very differently. Defeat in the was a bitter pill to swallow. For Russian nationalists, who had long labored under feelings of inferiority to Britain and France, the war only further underscored the deep-seated backwardness of their country and the

74 See Michael Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier: the Making of a Colonial Empire, 1500-1800 (Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2002); E. Sarkisyanz, “Russian Attitudes Toward Asia,” The Russian Review 13, 4 (Oct. 1954), 245; Milan Hauner, What is Asia To Us? Russia’s Asian Heartland Yesterday and Today, p. 54; G. Patrick March, Eastern Destiny: Russia in Asia and the North Pacific (Westport, Connecticut: Praeger, 1996), 18-21; and Peter Waldron, “Przheval'skii, Asia and Empire,” The Slavonic and East European Review 88, 1 2 (Jan. / April 2010): 316. 75 David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, 112; G. Patrick March, Eastern Destiny: Russia in Asia and the North Pacific (Westport, Connecticut: 1996), 11-36; Taras Hunchak, ed., Russian imperialism from Ivan the Great to the revolution, intro., Hans Kohn (New Brunswick, N.J., Rutgers University Press, 1974), 255-56; and Michael Khodarkovsky, “From Frontier to Empire: The Concept of the Frontier in Russia, Sixteenth-Eighteenth Centuries,” Russian History 19, 1-4 (1992): 115-127. 76 Susanna Soojung and R. D. Clark, “Whose Orient is it?: Frigate Pallada and Ivan Goncharov’s Voyage to the Far East,” The Slavic and East European Journal 53, 1 ( 2009): 21-22; and E. Sarkisyanz, “Russian Attitudes Toward Asia,” The Russian Review 13, 4 (Oct. 1954): 245-54. 50 snobbish contempt with which the European great powers viewed Russia. In addition,

Anglo-French military intervention on the side of the Ottoman Turks was regarded not just as an affront to Russian interests but a flagrant betrayal of the mandate of the tsar, as

God’s anointed, to defend Orthodox Christians against Ottoman oppression.77

Victory over the Ottomans in the Russo-Turkish War (1877-78) vindicated Tsar

Alexander II and briefly restored the glory of the Russian military. Yet the Slavophile dream of liberating Constantinople, the cradle of Orthodox Christianity, from Muslim rule eluded Alexander II just when it seemed to be almost within his grasp. This setback, together with the resolutions of the Berlin Congress (1878), which thwarted Russian imperial designs on the crumbling and dashed all hopes of uniting the

Western and Eastern Slavs under the banner of a greater Pan-Slavic Russia, led Russians to turn away disillusioned from Europe and shift their attention to Asia.78

If the indignity of having been elbowed out of the Balkans by Europe’s great powers left Russians with an overwhelming sense of despair and opportunity lost, Asia opened new vistas of hope. It conjured up romantic images of a new world. With its

77 See W. Bruce Lincoln, The Great Reforms: Autocracy, Bureaucracy, and the Politics of Change in Imperial Russia (Dekalb: Northern Illinois University, 1990), 36-7; Edvard Radzinsky, Alexander II : the last great tsar, 94-95; and Dominic Lieven, “Dilemmas of Empire 1850-1918. Power, , Identity,” Journal of Contemporary History 34, 2 (April 1999): 170. 78 See Taras Hunchak, Russian imperialism from Ivan the Great to the revolution, 304; Edvard Radzinsky, Alexander II : the last great tsar, 271; Mark Bassin, Imperial visions : nationalist imagination and geographical expansion in the Russian Far East, 1840-1865 (New York : Cambridge University Press, 1999), 66-67, 131; Peter Waldron, “Przheval'skii, Asia and Empire,” 320; Dominic Lieven, “Dilemmas of Empire 1850- 1918. Power, Territory, Identity,” 170; David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, 114, 117; and Robert F. Byrnes, “Russia and the West: The Views of Pobedonostsev,” The Journal of Modern History 40, 2 (June 1968): 235. 51 exoticism, vastness of reach, and rugged wilderness, Asia did for Russian expansionists what untamed America did for European and early American explorers and colonists during roughly the same period.79 It stirred the imagination and lifted the country’s sagging spirits. The unconquered eastern frontier stood as a symbol of adventure, self- determination, and the hope for national redemption and renewal.80 The idea that mastery over Asia, abounding in rich, unexploited natural resources, was the solution to Russian backwardness and catching up to the West was perhaps its main appeal.81 The novelist

Fyodor Dostoevsky rhapsodized about the import of Russia’s turn to the East in Diary of a Writer (1881):

In Europe we were hangers-on and slaves, whereas to Asia we shall go as masters. When we turn to Asia, with our new vision of her, in Russia, there may occur

79 The parallels between Russian patterns of territorial expansion in Asia, especially the Far East, and the colonization of North America were noted by more than one contemporary, among them the celebrated American historian Frederick Jackson Turner, the architect of the famous “Turner thesis,” eminent Russian historians V. O. Kliuchevskii and Paul Miliukov, and a host of intrepid Russian explorers, such as Petr Petrovich Semenov and N. N. Murav’ev. See Donald W. Treadgold, “Russian Expansion in the Light of Turner’s Study of the American Frontier,” Agricultural History 26, 4 (Oct., 1952): 147-152; Philip E. Mosely, “Aspects of Russian Expansion,” American Slavic and East European Review 7, 3 (Oct., 1948): 197-213; Michael Khodarkkovsky, “From Frontier to Empire: The Concept of the Frontier in Russia, Sixteenth-Eighteenth Centuries,” Russian History 19, 1-4 (1992): 115-28; John Ledonne, “The Frontier in Modern Russian History,” Russian History 19, 1-4 (1992): 143-54; and Mark Bassin, “The Russian Geographical Society: the “Amur ,” and the Great Siberian Expedition 1855-1863,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 73, 2 (June 1983): 244, 247. 80 The Far East, in particular, inspired Russian hopes of economic exploitation. See Donald W. Treadgold, “Russian Expansion in the Light of Turner’s Study of the American Frontier,” 149; Mark Bassin, “Inventing Siberia: Visions of the Russian East in the Early Nineteenth Century,” American Historical Review 96, 3 (June 1991): 763-794; and Willard Sunderland, “The ‘Colonization Question’: Visions of Colonization in Late Imperial Russia,” Jahrbuch für Geschichte Osteuropas 48, 2 (2000): 219-21. 81 Mark Bassin, “The Russian Geographical Society: the “Amur Epoch,” and the Great Siberian Expedition 1855-1863,” 249. 52

something akin to what happened in Europe when America was discovered. Since, in truth, to us Asia is like the then undiscovered America. With our aspiration for Asia, our spirit and forces will be regenerated… Our civilizing mission in Asia will bribe our spirit and drive us thither.82

Such visions of imperial destiny and purpose were the spur to a series of further, and far more ambitious, explorations and conquests in Siberia, the Amur , Central

Asia, and Inner Asia.83 Russia’s dominions soon extended far afield. By the end of the century, the Russian empire occupied an area of roughly eight million square miles — stretching from the Carpathian Mountains to Kamchatka and from the Arctic Ocean to the frontiers of Persia, , Afghanistan, and China — making Russia the largest contiguous political unit in the world.84

It was, after all, the age of empire, when imperialist expansion was taken not only to be morally unproblematic but historically inevitable and an indispensable adjunct to progress. As in nineteenth century and Europe, so too in Russia, advocates of colonialism accepted as axiomatic the cultural and intellectual superiority of the

Occident over the Orient. Russians, like their American and European counterparts,

82 Cited in Ladis K. D. Kristof, “The Geopolitical Image of the Fatherland: The Case of Russia,” The Western Political Quarterly 20, 4 (Dec., 1967): 946; and Milan Hauner, What is Asia To Us? Russia’s Asian Heartland Yesterday and Today, 1. 83 See Donald W. Treadgold, “Siberian Colonization and the Future of Asiatic Russia,” Pacific Historical Review 25, 1 (Feb., 1956): 47-54; Willard Sutherland, “Peasant Pioneering: Peasant Settlers Describe Colonization and the Eastern Frontier,” Journal of Social History 34, 4 (Summer, 2001): 895-922; Eva-Maria , “The Siberian Frontier between “White Mission” and Yellow Peril,” 1890s-1920s,” Nationalities Papers 32, 1 (March 2004): 166-181; Taras Hunchak, Russian imperialism from Ivan the Great to the revolution, 264-72; Peter Morris, “The Russians in Central Asia, 1870- 1887,” The Slavonic and East European Review 53, 133 (Oct. 1975): 521-538; and Peter Waldron, “Przheval'skii, Asia and Empire,” 309-27. 84 Taras Hunchak, Russian imperialism from Ivan the Great to the revolution, ix. 53 seized on this doctrine because of the significance it gave to the role of the West in

“civilizing” the savage lands and races of the non-. Imagining themselves as bearers of Western civilization, Russians took romantic inspiration from the idea that it was the historical mission of Russia to colonize and civilize the great Eurasian plain.85

The eastward thrust of the Russian empire in the second half of the nineteenth century coincided with, and doubtless contributed to, fresh ideological ferment and new, oftentimes conflicting, currents of thought concerning Russian perceptions of self, history, and cultural identity in relation to East and West. Traditionally, it bears repeating, Asia figured in the Russian national consciousness as a mere periphery of the civilized world. Although he may have had one foot in Europe and the other firmly planted in Asia, it had long been an article of faith in St. Petersburg aristocratic circles that the Russian was at heart a European. The Romanovs, in particular, were enamored of all things European (save for parliamentarianism, to which they were always and unremittingly opposed). They envied and sought to emulate virtually all aspects of

European culture. Russians bristled at the contemptuous suggestion that their country was

Asiatic (an alleged French-inspired calumny).86

During the latter half of the 19th century, however, Russian perceptions of their own cultural identity underwent a curious, contradictory, and yet inimitably Muscovite shift. Instead of rejecting the assertion that Russia was an Asiatic culture, many Russians,

85 Willard Sunderland, “The ‘Colonization Question’: Visions of Colonization in Late Imperial Russia,” 219-22. 86 Peter Waldron, “Przheval’skii, Asia and Empire,” 320, 322; W. H. Parker, “Europe: How Far?” The Geographical Journal 126, 3 (September, 1950): 285. 54 particularly those who espoused imperial expansion in Asia, began to embrace it.

Whereas the mere mention of the vile exonym once made the Russian’s blood boil, now he wore it as a badge of honor. Owing to this profound, imagined ancestral connection to the Orient, this group of messianic ‘Asianists,’ better known as the Vostochniki

(Easterners), became convinced that Russia was marked by providence to rule over

Asia.87

One of the of this school of thought was the famed orientalist-cum- explorer V. V. Grigor’ev, who in 1840 wrote:

Who is closer to Asia than us? … Which of the European tribes preserved in itself more of the Asiatic element than the Slavs, who were the last to leave their primeval homeland? … Yes, if the science and state life [grazhdanstvennost] of Europe must speak to Asia through the mouth of one of [the West’s] peoples, then of course it will be us … It is not clear that Providence preserved the population [of Asia] as if intentionally from all foreign influence, so that we [the Russians] would find it in a virgin state and therefore be more capable of, and more inclined to accept those gifts which we will bring to it!88

A standard-bearer of what we might call the second generation of Vostochniki, or perhaps more appropriately, an offshoot, was Prince Esper Esperovitch Uchtomskii, who exerted tremendous influence over the future Nicholas II, first as his tutor and confidant during the tsarevich’s grand tour, and later, as a foreign policy advisor during the first years of the Tsar’s reign. Reflecting on the special communion between Russians and

Asians, Uchtomskii declared: “When Europeans encounter native elements in the East,

87 Marlene Laruelle, ‘“The White Tsar”’: Romantic Imperialism in Russia’s Legitimizing of Conquering the Far East’” Acta Slavica Iaponica 25 (Jan. 2008): 113-134. 88 Cited in Mark Bassin, “The Russian Geographical Society: the “Amur Epoch,” and the Great Siberian Expedition 1855-1863,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 73, 2 (June 1983): 243. 55 they seem to be people from another planet, but Russians, on the other hand, are acquainted with the customs of the East, so that in the end we do not have any critical attitude toward the East because we are a part of its existence, live its same order and interests and our geographical position allows us to be more conscious of its existence.”89

Uchtomskii was clearly something of an oddity. He believed, and appears to have successfully convinced the tsarevich, that Russians shared a unique kindred spirit with

Asians because both had a strong, instinctive for autocracy. “Without this

[primordial connection to autocracy],” Uchtomskii postulates, Asia is not able sincerely to love Russia and identify with it painlessly.”90

It seems doubtful that Uchtomskii’s peculiar views and overbearing demeanor were on full display in March 1891, when the royal yacht Apollon, carrying the tsarevich and his retinue, sailed up the Chaophraya river toward the large Siamese landing party, which included a beaming King Chulalongkorn himself. As a matter of fact, contemporary sources suggest that the Russian delegation made a fine impression on the

Siamese. The five-day visit went swimmingly, which only goes to show that the late nineteenth century often made for strange bedfellows. To all appearances, Chulalongkorn and Nicholas struck up a fast and dear friendship. According to Uchtomskii,

Chulalongkorn reminded them of Ludwig II91 Having not yet visited Europe himself,

89 Cited in Karen , “St. Petersburg’s Man in Siam: A.E. Olarovskii and Russia’s Asian Mission, 1898-1905,” Cahiers du Monde russe 48, 4 (2007): 614. 90 Marlene Laruelle, ‘“The White Tsar”’: Romantic Imperialism in Russia’s Legitimizing of Conquering the Far East,’” 133. 91 Esper Esperovitch Uchtomskij, Czarevitch Nicolas of Russia in Siam and Saigon, 1891, 3-65, 9; Chalong Soontravanich, Rutsia-Thai samai ratchakan 5-6, 52-59.

56

King Chulalongkorn may not have understood that Ludwig was widely reputed to be insane.

Ironically, Uchtomskii may not have been off the mark, at least not entirely, when he hypothesized that Asians and Russians enjoyed a special camaraderie due to their shared patrimonial heritage and common tradition of autocratic rule—a tradition that was coming increasingly under attack. Although both considered themselves to be renaissance men, throughout their lives they remained skeptical of constitutional rule. Neither were willing to renounce their autocratic prerogatives.

Still other, more practical, reasons for forging a closer relationship between the two countries were at work as well. The tsarevich’s principal order of business in Asia had been to preside over the ground-breaking ceremony of the eastern segment of the

Trans-Siberian Railway line in , a herculean project which, when completed, would link European Russia with its far-flung dominions in the Far East. As envisioned, the Trans-Siberian would serve as a mechanism of accelerating industrial growth for the metropole and flooding foreign markets with Russian goods and manufactures. Equally significant, the railway would finally give Russia secure access to an ice-free port in the

Far East.92 As an important adjunct to this ambitious enterprise in the Far East, Russia

92 Krairoek Nana, Buanglang kanyuan Krung Sayam khong Makutratchakuman Ratsia: miti kanmuang mai samai Ratchakan thi 5, 21; Clarence B. David and Kenneth E. Wilburn, Jr., eds., Railway Imperialism, with Ronald E. Robinson (New York: Greenwood Press, 1991), 140; David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, 20-1, 69-70. Construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway got underway in earnest in 1891 and was completed in 1916. Stretching 5,867 miles, the Trans-Siberian Railway still remains the longest continuous railway line in the world. Richard Pipes, A Concise History of the Russian Revolution, 35. 57 was keen on expanding its sphere of economic influence and developing trade in

Southeast Asia. To this end, in 1890 Russia established a consulate in Singapore. The hope was that Siam would act as an intermediary in promoting Russian trade in the region, including China.93

As has already been noted, Siam’s motivations were quite clear. At the simplest level, King Chulalongkorn was intent on finding a European ally to counter the growing influence of Great Britain and France in Southeast Asia. Ever since Chulalongkorn was a , the importance of defending the sovereignty of Siam at any cost had been drilled into him. For years he had watched with growing alarm each of Siam’s erstwhile rivals and neighboring states succumb to colonial subjugation. Since there was no evidence to suggest that Russia had aspirations of extending its colonial reach into Southeast Asia,

Chulalongkorn was inclined to throw in his lot with Russia. Being an astute student of

European foreign relations, the king understood well that alliances were impermanent, foreign policies changed as the political circumstances dictated, and that personal loyalties shifted as capriciously and erratically as the wind. In spite of all this, King

Chulalongkorn had few options at his disposal.

So in July 1891, the king dispatched the first official Siamese delegation to

Europe, led by his half-brothers Prince Damrong and Devawongse, to try to assess

Russia’s position. Although the delegation visited several countries before returning to

Siam, Russia was clearly the priority, the objective of the mission being to obtain, if possible, Tsar Alexander III’s assurance that Siam’s interests would be protected.

93 Chalong Soontravanich, 52-4. 58

By all contemporary accounts, the Siamese envoys charmed their way into the hearts of Tsar Alexander III and his entire family. In a magnanimous gesture of goodwill, the tsar vowed to vigorously defend the sovereignty of Siam. What the tsar did not divulge was that while Russia was favorably disposed to serve as a bulwark against

British territorial expansion in the region, she was not nearly so ebullient about intervening on Siam’s behalf in the event of a conflict with France, Russia’s closest

European ally. As a matter of fact, only a few short weeks after hosting the Siamese delegation, Russia had agreed to a military alliance with France. Siam was apprised of this development, but held out hope that Russia would honor its pledge of support.

Needless to say, this hope was soon dashed.94

In 1893, following a minor altercation between French and Siamese authorities in

Laos, France threatened to invade Siam. King Chulalongkorn called upon the tsar to intercede, but to no avail. Instead, Russia temporized. Thus faced with the prospect of military defeat and French occupation of Siam, Chulalongkorn conceded the whole of

Laos to the French.95 France was appeased, temporarily, but the loss of the entire east

94 Russia and France exchanged letters of agreement in late July 1891. The resulting Franco-Russian Alliance was concluded in 1893. See Chalong Soontravanich, Rutsia- Thai samai ratchakan thi 5-6, 52-90; Ekaterina Vladimirovna Pugacheva, Personal Contacts Between the Russian Imperial Family and the of Siam in the late 19th-early 20th Centuries, Research Monograph Series on Southeast Asia. Southeast Asia Studies Program Graduate School, in cooperation with the Rockefeller Foundation. (Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University, 2011), 62-71. 95 Siam ceded the equivalent of 176,000 square miles of territory to France. David K. Wyatt, Thailand: A Short History (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1984), p. 208. Although it is not without its share of flaws, including the complete omission of any discussion of Russia, Patrick Tuck’s, The French Wolf and the Siamese Lamb: The French Threat to Siamese Independence, 1858-1907 (Bangkok; Cheney: White Lotus, 1995), is one of the most comprehensive account of the Siamese crisis of 1893. 59 bank of the was a heavy cross to bear for the king, who suffered a mental breakdown, followed by an undisclosed, debilitating physical illness. Awash with rumors that the king is dying, the entire kingdom began preparing for the ascension of the crown prince.96 It was only after a long period of convalescence that the king emerged from seclusion.

Although a critical interpretation of the historical record suggests that Siam’s confidence in the goodwill of Tsar Alexander III may have been misplaced, it is difficult to find fault with the Siamese. Once Russia had determined to make common cause with the French, the Tsar was effectively ham-strung. At the risk of alienating the French and seriously jeopardizing the future of their new alliance, Russia simply could not afford to intervene in the territorial dispute between France and Siam. Correspondingly, when

France threatened to launch a full invasion of Siam, the dictates of self-preservation necessitated that Chulalongkorn agree to France’s limited demands. Whatever the truth of the matter, King Chulalongkorn clearly earned the sympathy of posterity.

Historians have not been so forgiving of Nicholas II, who ascended the throne in

1894. In stark contrast to his pragmatic, sober, and strong-willed father, Nicholas was undisciplined, irresolute and highly susceptible to “chimerical ideas.”97 These foibles, which would eventually lead to his own demise and that of the Romanov dynasty, first became apparent during the events leading up to the Russo-Japanese War in 1904.

96 It was even reported that the king contemplated suicide. See Noel Alfred Battye, “The military, government and society in Siam, 1868-1910 : politics and military reform during the reign of King Chulalongkorn” (Ph.D. diss., Cornell University, 1974), 369-70. 97 David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, 125. 60

By the turn of the 20th century, and indeed long before, the Middle Kingdom’s political weaknesses were obvious to all. Unresolved conflicts in Chinese society had undermined the strength of the Qing, leaving China vulnerable to imperial conquest.

Throughout the second half of the 19th century, Russia watched with fascination and suspense the working out on center stage of the tug-of-war between the Western

European powers for hegemony in China. The “Great Game” enthralled Russians and filled their heads with visions of imperial glory. Even Tsar Alexander himself, a man of staunchly conservative instincts and practicality, had slowly come round to the view that

Russia’s future lay in the Far East. Where Alexander and Nicholas’ opinions sharply differed, however, was the extent to which Russia should involve itself in East Asian matters.

The events leading up to the Russo-Japanese war in 1904 have been documented in detail elsewhere. Suffice it to say that whereas Alexander III would have almost certainly proceeded with extreme caution, Nicholas II, opted to throw caution to the wind. The cause of the war was almost trivial. The conflict arose over a railway concession that Russia had secured from the Chinese. The Japanese, who disputed the legitimacy of the concession, purposefully provoked Russia into declaring war. The immediate result was a humiliating defeat for Russia. Less than a year later, Tsar

Nicholas II, whose reputation had been badly tarnished, was forced to relinquish his autocratic privileges and agree, grudgingly, to the heightened demands of Russian constitutionalists in 1905.

61

THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION AT THE TIME OF THE FIRST WORLD WAR

I originally aimed to recount the story of the revolution that occurred in Russia during the first World War in the [Theravada] Buddhist year 2460, or 1917-1918 of the

Christian era, which I experienced and observed at first hand while I was abroad studying soldiering in Russia.98 All the Thai students there were forced to return to Siam as a result of this event, despite having not completed the full course of study required to graduate as officers. I wanted to relate the experience to my Thai countrymen and family for the sake of posterity and to preserve my memory of life [in Russia] and the living conditions, including the countless hardships and dangers I encountered while studying there.

However, as I turned these thoughts over and over in my mind during the voyage home, I realized that, seeing as Siam was still ruled by an absolute monarchy (sovereign power resided solely in the royal hands of the king), if I were to write about this event, and publicize it widely, it might encourage some people, perhaps many, whose loyalty to the crown was in doubt, to conclude that Siam ought to adopt a democratic form of government. In that event, I might find myself in grave danger, reminiscent of [the perils that befell many Thais] in Rattanakosinsok 130 (2454 B.E.).99

98 What follows is my translation of M.C. Surawutprawat Thewakun’s Kanpatiwat nai Ratsia mua songkhram lok khrang thi 1(Krung Thep Maha Nakhon: Rongphim Suan Thongthin, Krom Kanpokkhrong, 1974). Unless otherwise specified, all of the accompanying footnotes are mine. 99 Adopted by King Chulalongkorn, the Rattanakosinsok calendar years from 1782, the year of the founding of the Chakri dynasty and the Bangkok period. Rattanakosinsok 130 (1782 + 130) is equivalent to 1912 CE. Here the author is referring to the abortive coup of 1912. 62

The immediate cause of that upheaval was trivial: an article appeared in the newspaper announcing that a rebellion had erupted in China involving Dr. Sun Yat-sen and his followers, and that they had seized power from the Chinese Emperor. At that time, there were disparate factions within the ranks of government officials in the [Thai] military and the civil service who were dissatisfied with the government of King

Vajiravudh, Rama VI, and were conspiring to rebel. Prince , Secretary of the

Army,100 had gotten wind of the rebellion and suppressed it. This became known as the

Kek Meng rebellion.101 I still remember this incident well, even though I was only twelve or thirteen years of age at the time, studying in my second year at the army cadet academy (nowadays it is called the cadet academy).

Apart from this, when I first returned from Russia, a few of my closest friends, some of whom were majors and lieutenant-colonels in the army who, in 2475 B.E. played leading roles in the coup d'état against King Prajadipok,102 begged me to tell them about the revolt in Russia. I gave a few the abridged version [of these events]. I never imagined that they would set their minds to overthrowing the government in 2475 B.E., particularly since they served as members of King Prajadipok’s Royal Guards. When the commander of the 1st Army discovered that I had confided my tale to some of my army friends, he gave me a stiff reprimand and threatened me with swift punishment if I ever spoke of this to anyone again. After that, I held my tongue.

100 Otherwise known as Prince Chakrabongse Bhuvanath. 101 Kek meng is a Taechiu dialect rendering of the term Kuomintang. 102 This refers to the 1932 People’s Party coup, which resulted in the overthrow of the government of King Prajadipok, changing it from an absolute to a . 63

Fifty years have since passed, and Thailand has undergone a change in government from an absolute monarchy to a . And yet we still have witnessed countless revolutions, coups, and power struggles.103 The regime changes and revolutions that have occurred in Thailand parallel in some respects the events in Russia. In the light of all this, I [see no harm in] presenting my account to the members of the King’s College

Society, and publishing it in Sansawet, the Society’s newsletter.

Kerensky and his Men Seize Power from the Tsar

Before I tell my story, I would like to impart to the reader an understanding of the factors making for revolution in Russia. The chief cause of the revolution in Russia, as I understand it, lay in the following factors.

One factor making for revolution in Russia was its system of government. Russia was ruled by an absolute monarchy, embodied in the person of Tsar Nicholas II of the

Romanov dynasty. Notwithstanding the fact that Russia had a legislative assembly, the

Duma, which was an advisory body, absolute power resided solely in the hands of the tsar, because the members of the legislative assembly were appointed by the tsar, not popularly elected. The function of the assembly, then, was merely to make recommendations and give counsel. The ministers and judges were appointed by the tsar.

The tsar governed according to his own will, including enacting and exercising

103 Between 1933 and 1971, Thailand witnessed no fewer than six coups d'état: 1933, 1947, 1951, 1957, 1958, and 1971. See David Morell and -anan Samudavanija, Political Conflict in Thailand: Reform, Reaction, Revolution (Cambridge, Mass: Oelgeschlager, Gunn & Hain, Publishers, Inc., 1981), 5; and Likhit Dhiravegin, Thai Politics: Selected Aspects of Development and Change (Bangkok: Tri-Sciences Publishing House, 1985), 267. 64 judicial powers. Absolute power was concentrated in his person. He availed himself of the right to exercise sovereign power. It was not bestowed upon him by the people.

In addition, the majority of the Russian people [at the time of the revolution] were uneducated. A vast number of Russians could not read or write. When compared to the population of Siam, it is my understanding that the number of uneducated people in

Russia was higher.104 As a corollary to this, we can say that those who are well educated were in a position to guide the less educated however they deemed fit.

Apart from this, liberty, self-determination, and equal rights were all but nonexistent. For instance, commoners who completed secondary school were able to continue their education at the university level only with the very greatest of difficulty.

One had to have the backing of a powerful patron and adequate financial resources. [By comparison], the sons and of civil servants and nobility had easy access to education. Similarly, graduates of the military academy were typically appointed to whichever department or division they wish, presumably because they received high marks on their exams and were thus entitled to select the posting of their choice over those who scored lower on the exams. The truth was otherwise, however. [Irrespective of

104 By 1910, almost 80% of the population of St. Petersburg was literate. See W. Bruce Lincoln, Sunlight at Midnight: St. Petersburg and the Rise of Modern Russia (New York : Basic Books, 2000), 164. By the time of the First World War, an estimated 40% of the entire population of Russia could read and write. Orlando Figes, A People’s Tragedy: A History of the Russian Revolution, 93. In the case of Siam, in 1910, only about 29% of the total population was literate. David K. Wyatt, The Politics of Reform in Thailand: Education in the Reign of King Chulalongkorn, 374-75. By 1937, the literacy rate in Siam reached 47%. Sombat Suwapitak, “Thailand’s Path to Literacy,” International Review of Education 54, (2008): 763.

65 one’s exam scores], the commanding officer of the department or division in question had first to inquire into the background [of each candidate] to ascertain if he was knowledgeable and able, how he conducted himself, and whose son he was. Furthermore, there had to be an officer in the same department or division who knew and was willing to vouch for the candidate in order to receive an appointment. Without a patron or knowledge, or, if the candidate’s ability or his conduct was found wanting, he would most likely be posted upcountry. Hence, what we saw [in Russia] was the existence of class distinctions, social inequality, and varied forms of entitlement.

Secondly, when Russia went to war against Japan in 1904-1905 (2447-2448

B.E.), and was defeated, rebellion broke out [in Russia]. This time, the government of

Tsar [Nicholas II] was able to put down the uprising. Many people were arrested and punished. Many others were able to avoid arrest because the government’s investigation did not implicate them. Perhaps, too, there was insufficient evidence. In any event, many

[rebels] escaped and fled the country, including Lenin (Lenin’s full name is Ulianov; it appears that he was a lecturer at one of the in ). Lenin slipped away to Switzerland and . There he had the opportunity to learn about ’s communist ideology. It was Lenin whom the German government sent back to Russia to foment unrest and introduce communism by means of the Bolshevik party (The word

“bolshe” may be translated as ‘great’ or ‘more’. Thus the term “Bolshevik” means the large group. As for the minority party, they were called “Mensheviks,” which translates as ‘small group.’ 66

The membership of the Bolshevik party consisted mainly of workers, peasants, and poor farmers, whom Lenin indoctrinated in Karl Marx’s ideology, that is, communism, which is based on the premise that all property belongs to the state. Not a soul owns private property. The citizens, one and all, are laborers of the state. It is up to the central committee to organize and manage [state labor]. Whether one works in the government, the economic section, the military, in health, or wherever—it is entirely up to the central committee. This type of government is referred to as an oligarchy, since sovereign power rests solely in the hands of the central committee.

The upshot of the 1905 Revolution was that those who had evaded arrest still had malice in their hearts and continued to look for opportunities to make revolution. Thus, when the first World War erupted they seized the opportunity to overthrow the government once again. This they accomplished quietly; there were no rumors, no forewarning whatsoever that revolution was close at hand. And this time the Revolution was successful, carried out inconspicuously and effortlessly.

Third, when Russia entered the war against Germany and -Hungary in accordance with its agreement with France to contain Germany [on the continent] in 1914 or 2457, the Russian populace was subjected to acute hardships and distress because the food prices increased precipitously. There was also a shortage of goods, which led to rationing. Bread, meat, milk, butter, sugar, and vegetables could be procured, but in such meager amounts that a person could not buy enough to eat. Moreover, one had to wait in line for several hours. I still recall the time when we were permitted only four lumps of sugar per day, which, since there were four meals a day, meant that we could take only 67 one lump of sugar per meal. If a person added only one lump of sugar to their tea of coffee it would not be sweet at all because one typically added three or four lumps per cup. Thus, because we were allowed only one lump of sugar per meal, the method we adopted was to suck on the lump of sugar and then drink the tea [in one gulp]. That way it tasted sweet. This was one reason why the Russian citizens wanted a quick end to the war.

A fourth factor [making for revolution] was Rasputin, an ascetic and holy man, who enjoyed the patronage of the tsar and tsarina. He was a person of influence, the sort who could make anything happen. He could have someone dismissed at will or appointed to the rank of general or any other such high position, provided that the individual was prepared to entrust his own wife to Rasputin’s tutelage and appeal to him for assistance.

[Notwithstanding the tsar’s patronage], Rasputin disgraced and deeply shamed the

Romanov dynasty. On one occasion, Rasputin, thoroughly intoxicated, leapt up onto the dining table in the middle of a [formal] reception before a large gathering of guests and, pointing at his privates, shouted “this… this is what rules Russia.”105

Apart from this, Rasputin [is believed to have] conducted espionage on behalf of the Germans. These and many other activities displeased the Russian people immensely.

Thus it happened that Prince Yusupov and his associates conspired to murder Rasputin.

[After] carrying out the plot, the conspirators tossed Rasputin’s body in the river.

105 Far-fetched as this account may seem, it is entirely plausible. Orlando Figes cites a similarly shocking incident involving the Empress herself, with whom Rasputin was rumored to be having an affair. See Orlando Figes, A People’s Tragedy: A History of the Russian Revolution, 32. 68

The police investigated the murder exhaustively, but never uncovered the identity of the killers. What was [generally] known was that Prince Yusupov and his accomplices fled to the south of Russia.

Not long after Rasputin was murdered, perhaps two or three months, Kerensky and his followers seized power from the tsar. The matter of Prince Yusupov quietly went away. Subsequent to these events, Lenin led a coup d'état, this time seizing power from

Kerensky. Prince Yusupov fled the country, apparently to Great Britain. Kerensky, too, slipped away. He took up residence in America, where he passed away only four or five months ago as reported in the Thai press.

[Thus far], we have discussed the chief factors making for revolution in Russia.

What follows, then, is an account of the methods used by the Bolsheviks to overthrow the government and make revolution. All this they accomplished within the space of one year, i.e. 2460 [1917]. The narrative is divided into two parts. Part one concerns the rebellion or change in government initiated by Kerensky and his party, when they seized power from Tsar Nicholas II and introduced a democratic system of government by calling for the tsar to relinquish his royal powers, yield to the rule of law, and turn over sovereign power to the people. Part two deals with the revolution led by Lenin and his party, who seized power from Kerensky, and replaced the democratic government with

Karl Marx’s communist system, which we may call an oligarchy.

Part one thus begins with the events of May-June 2460 (1917). I cannot recall the exact dates because I lost the notebook in which I recorded these particulars. So what I am about to relate is only what I remember, what I experienced at first hand, what I 69 learned from my friends and teachers, or what I was able to glean from the [Russian] newspapers from the period.

At the time that this event took place, Russia, then allied with France and Great

Britain, had been at war with Germany and Austria-Hungary for some two or three years already. I was then studying in my seventh and final year at the Aleksandrovsky Cadet

Corps (Tsar Alexander II).

At first light on that day, my fellow cadets and I woke up, dressed, and went downstairs for breakfast. Peering out at the street adjacent to the cadet corps, and the boulevard in front, named Sadovaya, we saw people milling about and darting to and fro in disorderly haste. A [runaway] street car with no operator or passengers onboard barreled down the tracks, plowing into a crowd of people. Someone leaped aboard the street car and cut the engine to bring it to a halt. About a kilometer away, a tall plume of smoke billowed from the prison. A rumor went around that someone from the outside had set fire to the prison to free the prisoners. There was also talk of rioting in the streets and demonstrators demanding bread and other foodstuffs. It still was not clear, however, who was behind the rebellion and the street demonstrations. The cadets were instructed to remain calm and carry on with our studies as usual. We were in no mood to study, however. Instead, we sat tight and listened to the demonstrators in the street below demanding bread. By nightfall, my schoolmates and I were about to turn in for the evening when we heard that a group of rebels were preparing to the gates of the academy. Alarmed, we raced downstairs to beat back the rebels but were blocked by the 70 captain-on-duty who instructed us to remain in our rooms. To ensure that we did so he stood guard outside our door all night.

The following morning, after getting dressed, we all went downstairs to eat. As it turned out, our breakfast consisted of only one slice of bread, no butter, a cup of tea, and two lumps of sugar, which [was unusual], since we had always had much more for breakfast than this in the past. After breakfast, the commander of the academy called a meeting to inform the students about the events of the previous night. We learned that during the night a band of rebels had assembled outside the gate of the academy and that the commander had met with them. The leader of the rebels asked the commander which side the students were on and whether they would be taking up arms against them. The commander replied that the students would not be going into battle against anyone. The only struggle the students were engaged in, he added, was with their textbooks, and this for the sake of their future. The rebel leader remarked that it was good that the students would not be fighting. That being the case, however, the rebels informed the commander that they would be seizing all weapons and ammunition from the academy’s armory.

After confiscating the arms, the rebels returned at around 3:00 AM to avail themselves of the academy’s provisions, including flour, sugar, and so on. They took everything, save for what they left for us to eat the next morning.

The commander thanked us for the discipline we showed by heeding his instructions and not engaging the rebels. Otherwise, he speculated, there may have been bloodshed. With this, the commander ordered the academy closed and sent the students home. We were to wait a or so to see how events unfolded. If nothing else 71 happened, the academy would re-open. I was thus given permission to return home later that morning.

On the way home that morning from school, I saw groups of people here and there marching in the streets clamoring for food. Mounted police and patrolmen were engaged in dispersing the crowds. Some flailed the demonstrators with whips. Others sprayed the crowd with fire hoses. But the crowd would disperse only to re-assemble.

The police thus resorted to armed force to suppress the demonstrators. Sabers were used; sometimes firearms were drawn to intimidate the demonstrators; in some instances the police fired into the crowd. The crowd [retaliated] by hurling bricks and rocks at the authorities. Some demonstrators had clubs. On almost every street, the scene was one of chaos and confusion.

My living quarters were located on the grounds of the Imperial Corps of Pages, about a ten or fifteen minute walk from the Aleksandrovsky Cadet Corps. I lived with

Colonel Fenu [A.N. Fenu, (А.Н. Фену)], the regimental commander and an instructor at the Imperial Corps of Pages. Upon returning home, I asked Colonel Fenu, my guardian, whether any serious incidents had taken place at his school. I discovered that his school had witnessed similar happenings. I further learned that the cause of the disturbance was

Kerensky and his cohorts, who seized the opportunity to topple the government while

Russia was at war and the tsar was off at the front to rally the troops. In the midst of the takeover, some ministers were apprehended, some eluded capture. After seizing power,

Kerensky formed a new cabinet to govern the country, vowing to draft a constitution, extract from the tsar his pledge to submit to the rule of law, and hold elections for the 72 legislative assembly within the span of six months. In addition, Kerensky promised that the Russian citizens would have sufficient food to eat. He still was unable, however, to

[unilaterally] withdraw Russia from the war because of its military pact with the Allies. is for the tsar, he returned to St. Petersburg (which had been renamed Petrograd [in 1914] and later still, following Lenin’s rise to power, Leningrad, the name by which it is still known up to today). Upon arriving in St. Petersburg, the Imperial Guards escorted the tsar, along with the tsarina and the prince and princess, to Tsarskoye Selo,106 where they remained under the protection of the Guards. Two to three days thereafter, order returned as the new government began to win the masses over through its actions. Consequently, I returned to school to resume my studies.

By this point, the political unrest had subsided. The shortage of food, however, persisted, despite the government’s assurances to the contrary. Also, the war dragged on without any sign of progress. The Russian military campaign against Germany and

Austria-Hungary had reached a stalemate. [The combatants] were merely trading blows.

Only during the initial stages of the war did the Russian army gain any ground. For example, Russian troops in the northeast, commanded by General Samsanov, invaded

Poland [East Prussia], which served as a buffer zone, and advanced to the German border before encountering resistance. [The Russian advance] prompted a change in leadership.

That is to say, the German Army Commander and the Chief of the General Staff were replaced by General Hindenburg and General Ludendorff [respectively], who launched a

106 Tsarskoye Selo, literally “the Tsar’s village,” is a restricted imperial enclave within St. Petersburg. 73 counter-attack utilizing superb battlefield tactics, and drove General Samsanov’s entire division back into the [Masurian] Lakes. Heavy-hearted, General Samsanov took his own life. Generals Hindenburg and Ludendorff, meanwhile, received high praise for their actions (one of our generals [a Thai general] gave a lecture about this battle to the officers and may have published it as a treatise on military strategy).

General Hindenburg was hailed as a hero because [his war-time victory mirrored the outcome of] a mock battle carried out on the same soil before the outbreak of the first

World War. The , who led the mock invading army, advanced from the east exactly as General Samsanov did. General Hindenburg, who commanded the opposing army, repulsed the kaiser’s simulated invasion and drove his troops into the [Masurian] Lakes, the same fate met by General Samsanov. Rankled at having been bested on the battlefield by a subordinate, the kaiser protested that had it been an actual battle General

Hindenburg likely would not have emerged victorious. So annoyed was the kaiser that he disciplined General Hindenburg. Whether he had him drummed out of the military or reassigned to a different division I cannot recall. In any event, once World War I broke out the German military summoned General Hindenburg to return to service as commander of the [Eighth] Army, which he led to a second victory in his campaign against the Russians.

As regards the Russian troops in the southeast, this division, commanded by

General Brusilov, launched an invasion of Austria-Hungary. However, they were stopped dead in their tracks at the Austrian-Hungarian border because they ran out of provisions and military matériel. When supplies were not forthcoming, the invasion foundered. Why 74 the breakdown? The former Minister of Defense and an untold number of other high- ranking Russian officers were on the German payroll. Hence the indifference with which they prosecuted the war.

With respect to the contest between Germany and Russia, the Germans entered the war with an air of insouciance. If they blundered, if they met with failure, they resolved to dispatch agents to Russia to instigate popular unrest and violence. And this is precisely what happened. That is, the Germans sent Lenin back to Russia to stage an uprising. He succeeded in this endeavor because Kerensky granted dissidents in exile permission to return to Russia. He welcomed them home.

Lenin Makes Revolution

What follows is a description of the events involving Lenin and his associates, who led a putsch and brought down the government of Kerensky, changing it from a democratic to a communist regime as conceived by Karl Marx. Lenin justified [his coup] on the grounds that after four or five months in power the Kerensky government was still unable to solve the critical problems that plagued [Russia], including widespread famine and inflation, which showed no signs of abating, and the acute shortage of food, all of which were brought on by the mass departure of Russian citizens [to the front] to fight in the war. As it happened, many soldiers died on the battlefield each year. In addition, [the treasury] expended enormous sums of paper money [to fund the war]. No one was able to earn an adequate living. So the economy tumbled.

The fundamental question was this: should Russia withdraw from the war without regard to any pact it may have made with another signatory? In that event, the Russian 75 masses and soldiers at the front could return [home] to ply their chosen trade or vocation once again. There would be enough food and goods to fulfil the needs of the people.

Also, the price of goods and other foodstuffs would decline. These were the assertions made by Lenin and fellow Bolsheviks to instigate the [Russian] citizens to come around to their plan of action. [Such statements], made at the urging of German officials who arranged for Lenin’s safe return to Russia, also advanced the German cause. The advantage the Germans gained was this: when Russia ceased all hostilities, Germany would be free to withdraw its troops from the Eastern front and concentrate all of its military might against the French and British [in the West], thus forcing them to surrender and sign an armistice.

The poor, such as the factory workers and peasants, those with little or no education, and above all, those who had grown weary of the war and longed for it to end—all gave credence to and agreed with Lenin’s position. But there were also those who were at variance with Lenin. It seems to me that they were supporters of the

Kerensky government.

On the day the incident [i.e. the Bolshevik seizure of power] occurred — it seems like it was a Saturday in October, though I cannot recall precisely which day of the month it was — I was out taking a leisurely stroll on Nevsky Prospekt (it is similar in appearance to ). I saw people standing in groups talking excitedly running almost the entire length of Nevsky Prospekt, and other nearby streets as well. There was the clamor of voices in the streets arguing in the same tones Lenin used when instigating and exhorting the masses to join him and his cohorts. Some groups 76 engaged in vigorous debates, at times leading to quarrels and fist fights. Some cried out for Lenin. They were desperate to know of his whereabouts; they wanted to know Lenin the person. The authorities also sought Lenin, but to no avail. One minute he would disappear, only to turn up in another place, then another still. Sometimes Lenin would engage the authorities in a game of cat and mouse. He would made an announcement from the Russian countryside [intentionally revealing his location], then escape. In the end, the authorities were unable to nab him.

Once Lenin saw that his party ranks were swelling, which had much to do with his own growing popularity with the masses, he appealed to the workers to stage a walkout and organize street demonstrations, demanding bread and other foodstuffs, and an immediate end to the war. The government ordered all remaining police officers and soldiers to suppress [the demonstrations]. Initially, the authorities were successful in dispersing the crowds. [Before long, however], the bands of protesters would form anew, marching and cursing the government at the top of their lungs. Whenever the police used excessive force, the masses retaliated with violence of their own, causing the police to turn heel and run. This was not always the case, however.

On one occasion, the police took up positions on top of the buildings along both sides of Nevsky Prospekt (I am speaking specifically of the events that took place in

Petrograd, because I have no first-hand knowledge of events elsewhere, except for what I heard from friends). As soon as the marchers approached, the police sprayed the crowd with bursts of machine gun fire from the rooftops, leaving many dead. Those able to escape went off in search of guns. In the meantime, the workers at the munitions factory, 77 having taken their foremen captive, removed the weapons and ammunition, dividing it all up among them. [Next], the workers “dealt” with the police officers who had fired upon the crowd from the rooftops, dispatching them quietly.

When Lenin and his associates were able to win over sufficient numbers of non- commissioned army officers from various units and divisions, together with the soldiers and sailors returning from the front, he launched an armed attack against the police and soldiers loyal to the Kerensky government positioned on the other side of the Neva river

(it would be analogous to fighting a battle from opposing sides of the Chaophraya river, with Lenin and his followers on the Thonburi side, and loyalists to the Kerensky government on the Bangkok side). In the end, Lenin ordered a battleship to sail up the

Neva river and bombard the (located near the Thai Embassy). For two nights straight, the ship’s cannons pounded the Winter Palace, where the Kerensky government was headquartered. Many parts of the Winter Palace were reduced to rubble, as were many private homes.107 The [Kerensky] government was routed.

That day, I had returned from the Aleksandrovsky Cadet Corps and was resting at the home of my guardian [Colonel Fenu] at my residence at the Imperial Corps of Pages.

The thunderous sound of artillery fire shook the windows and doors all day long. That

107 This is a gross exaggeration. In fact, the Bolshevik assault on the Winter Palace was something of a comedy of errors. The battleship Aurora, which the Bolsheviks commandeered to lead the assault against the Winter Palace, set sail without a single live shell onboard. After firing a single blank salvo, the Aurora sailed off. Pro-Bolshevik forces mounted a separate attack against the palace from the Peter and Paul Fortress. Although this time they used live shells, only two out of thirty-five shells actually struck the Winter Palace, causing only minimal . See Richard Pipes, The Russian Revolution (New York : Knopf, 1990), 494. 78 night, I barely got a wink of sleep because I kept wondering when a shell would come plummeting down on the roof of the house. At first light, I went for a walk along the streets. I saw several buildings lying in ruins. Many shops, especially restaurants and groceries, had been plundered for sweets, milk, butter, flour, bread, vegetables, and meat.

Lenin had incited the masses to appropriate food and distribute it to the people [gripped by] hunger. Due to rampant looting, shops were forced to close their doors for blocks on end, which upset the capitalists or the well-to-do because they had a difficult time buying food.

While I was out walking, whenever I heard machine gun fire erupt, I had to make a run for it and duck into the nearest shop to avoid danger. When the gunfire subsided and I ventured back out into the street, I saw many wounded, some mortally, including both children and adults, male and female. In some places, I saw government soldiers lying flat on the street, four or five abreast, rifles fixed. When the mob approached, the soldiers opened fire. Scores of people were wounded or killed in such a way. However, ambulances were always summoned to collect the wounded and dead posthaste. The bodies were not left unattended for long lest the sight of them arouse pity or become offensive to the eyes.

In the late hours of the night, pillaging and thievery was commonplace. One evening, while I was out looking for a few things to buy, I met one man standing on a secluded corner. He fished out a long string of pearls from a bag and offered to sell it to me for a mere five rubles (one ruble was then roughly equivalent to two baht). I knew for certain that the necklace was worth several hundred rubles and that the man had almost 79 certainly stolen it. I replied that I did not have enough money, and bid him farewell with the obligatory expression, “perhaps another day.” Aside from the string of pearls, the man also had wristwatches and several rings. After I arrived home, I felt a slight twinge of regret, because high-quality merchandise offered at cut-rate prices happens but once in a lifetime. However, when I thought about it more carefully I realized that if I were arrested for possession of stolen goods it would tarnish the reputation of the Thai people and Thailand, too. And so I suppressed such thoughts and the desire disappeared.

Notwithstanding the fact that Russia was then in the midst of an upheaval, there were not enough police officers on hand to investigate and apprehend the street gangs involved in these illegal activities. The police were more preoccupied with suppressing the riots.

I learned that there was one fellow, a man of apparent social standing and wealth judging from the handsome fur coat he wore, who was held up and robbed of that very fur coat and various other items on his person. The man yielded to the thief’s demands.

However, he told the man that if he were deprived of his coat that he would likely freeze to death. He thus asked the thief to give him the coat he was wearing in exchange. The thief agreed and both went their separate ways. When the man who had been robbed arrived safely home, he discovered that both pockets of the coat he was wearing were filled with diamonds and pieces of gold. Therefore, all things being equal, the man profited from the robbery, since what he acquired was of greater value than that which he lost. 80

In this time of upheaval and chaos in Russia, late at night [the streets] seemed quiet. The electricity and lights went dead. Very few people went for strolls. Some nights a lone black car mounted with machine guns sped up and down the street firing

[indiscriminately] in all directions. I asked but never learned to whom or to which faction the car belonged or why they did this.

Once Lenin’s faction had subdued the government soldiers and police, they sent detachments to various schools to inquire as to which side they would join and whether they would fight against them. At the school in which I studied, they came around a second time. As before, when the commander informed them that we would not resist them in any way and tend only to our studies, they moved on.

As regards the Imperial Corps of Pages, where I lived, my guardian, Colonel

Fenu, informed me that two tanks had rolled up in front of the school and fired two or three rounds from their machine guns into the foremost part of the school. It turns out that many doors and windows were shattered. Fortunately, no one was killed or [seriously] wounded except for a small number of students, who received minor injuries to their hands as a result of flying glass. And when the school [administration] signaled surrender and made it known that it would not put up a fight or hinder the communists from carrying out their work, they moved the tanks on down the road. There was one military academy upcountry which resisted, and was therefore vanquished at the hands of the communists. They levelled several buildings with their heavy cannons. Many small school children were thrown from the top of a four-story building. After plummeting to 81 the ground, the soldiers ran them through with their bayonets. It was dreadfully cruel.

Finally, the school was forced to capitulate, and eventually close.

In addition, there was one infantry division of Imperial Guards which refused to band together with the revolutionaries. The revolutionary forces were thus mustered to suppress the Imperial Guards. The fighting lasted only two days, when the latter was forced to surrender. It turned out that many lost their lives.

Apart from this, many more divisions were taken over by non-commissioned army officers, who were sympathetic toward Lenin’s group. [Acting individually], the non-commissioned officers confined their commanders to the lock-up and placed the soldiers under the command of Lenin and his associates.

Whenever Lenin’s men happened upon anyone in the streets dressed as a soldier, they would crowd around them and kick and punch them severely and tear off the epaulette from their uniforms. I personally witnessed one fellow get roughed up in such a manner on Nevsky Prospekt. It was most pitiful.

As for the well-to-do merchants and capitalists, they were apprehensive about being robbed and physically assaulted. Many fled. If they had the means, they went abroad. One of my classmates, whose birth-place was near the Polish border, came from a very wealthy family that owned a large manor, vast land holdings, and countless head of livestock. All of their possessions were confiscated by their own tenants, who burned and pillaged [the estate] and molested the family and drove them from their home. Each fled in a different direction. With regards to my classmate, he escaped with only a little money in his pockets and a pearl necklace. He recounted this story to me with tears in his 82 eyes. He further remarked that he faced great hardship. His hope to graduate as an army officer now seemed out of reach. He did not know where he would go. His parents and siblings, from whom he had been separated, had scattered to the four winds. He had no knowledge of their whereabouts or fate.

The upheaval lasted for about seven or eight days, after which time it subsided.

The revolutionaries handed the [provisional] government a crushing defeat. No one dared to stand in their way. Some elements allied with the Kerensky faction were apprehended.

Some escaped, including Kerensky himself, who fled overseas, having passed away only very recently in America as mentioned in the first part.

Once Lenin had achieved victory, he established a committee to govern the country and drafted a new constitution in accordance with the [tenets of the] communist system. The tsar, together with the tsarina, the children and their attendants, were apprehended and securely confined to prison upcountry under strict conditions. They were no longer permitted to reside at Tsarskoye Selo. After returning to Siam, I learned that the communists had eliminated each and every member of the royal family. In particular, I learned that when Anastasia was shot the first time she did not expire straightaway. For good measure, the executioner ran her through with a bayonet. For whatever reason, about five or six years later there were reports that Anastasia had turned up in England. Perhaps the reports were fabrications. Perhaps, too, someone of similar build and appearance was masquerading as Anastasia for one purpose or another.

Nevertheless, these reports have died down. To my knowledge, Anastasia was in fact killed. I know this because my brother’s (Mom Chao Anandarachai Thewakun, being the 83 author’s brother) mentor’s son — who accompanied and protected the tsar on a regular basis, and who escaped from Russia to live in China after the communists took the tsar captive — recounted these events to my brother.108

Once events had run their course, Lenin and his associates took power. They set up a committee to govern and drew up a ruling constitution modelled on their own political ideals. The regime went to great lengths to curry favor with the peasantry and the workers. For example, whoever wanted something from the capitalists they [were encouraged to] appropriate it by force. No one tried to put a stop to this. In addition, it was announced that women between the ages of 17 and 35 were considered common property. As a result, there were many instances of women being abducted and sexually assaulted. Women thus confined themselves to their home. No one dared to venture out.

If something happened, no one would come to their assistance or charge [the perpetrators with a crime]. Such pandering [to the base interests of the peasants and workers] was commonplace during the transitional period. Once the country quieted down order returned. Notwithstanding this [positive trend], based on communist ideology it was said that one day family relations would become distant. Respect, love for another, and gratitude would deteriorate. The tendency toward inciting one against another gave rise to

108 Anantanorachai Thewakun (1898-1968) was Surawutprawat’s half-brother, born to Prince Devawongse and Mom Yai. Up until fairly recently, the details of the murder of Tsar Nicholas II and his family were fragmentary and unreliable. Information about the brutal killings first surfaced in 1920, when George Gustav, Robert Wilton and N. A. Sakolov published a book based on a translation of the evidence obtained in an investigation of the murder of Tsar Nicholas II and his family by N. A. Sokoloff of the Kolchak government. See Gustav Telberg, Robert Wilton, N. Sokolov, eds., The Last days of the Romanovs (New York, George H. Doran Co., 1920). 84 constant doubt and suspicion. Understanding this [culture of mass suspicion] made it easy for the members of the [Central] committee to rule and to suppress those who opposed them. We may conclude that those who joined forces with Lenin were occupied in leading various [political] activities. Whoever disobeyed, disbelieved, opposed, or accused Lenin of evil deeds, was apprehended and imprisoned, exiled to a remote region such as Siberia, or deported to work in a labor camp in the same manner as a slave. There was food, albeit of poor quality; after eating, there was a bed. A man worked as he was ordered.

Capitalists or the well-to-do, and even the civil servants, faced grave hardships.

They were removed from the civil service. Anyone with the means to flee the country to live abroad, fled. For those who had no choice but to remain in Russia, their world was turned upside down. [The new Russia] became a world in which the “decent man walked the back alleys, and the slave walked in the street.” Everyone became the property of the state. All capital and land belonged to the state. Every citizen was a worker of the state.

The practice of religion and various ideological beliefs was strictly prohibited, save for communism. Churches were abandoned; religious patronage was non-existent. Some churches were converted into industrial factories. Bank depositors were prohibited from withdrawing large sums of money at one time. Finally, the refused to allow depositors to withdraw any money at all. I myself had deposited 300 pounds in a Russian bank. I thought I would withdraw this money when I was ready to return to Siam, but I was not allowed to. In the end, I had to forfeit my savings on account of the revolution. 85

The only people who were free from hardship were those who had joined Lenin in making revolution from the beginning.

Once Lenin and his men had subdued their enemies, they organized grand funerals for those who had sacrificed their lives and called for a truce with Germany and

Austria-Hungary. The soldiers returned home from the front in successive waves. As for the Germans and Austrian-Hungarians, they seized the opportunity to shift their armies to the Western front. As a result, the Allies were easily defeated by the Germans. A number of schools [in Russia] re-opened. I returned to school to resume my studies. Three or four months later examinations were held. After passing my exams, I thought about enrolling in the military academy to study infantry or . At about that time, however, a classmate of mine was murdered. He had left his house for school. When he stepped off the trolley he was met by a group of communist soldiers, who senselessly stabbed him from behind with a bayonet. He died on the spot. The student was killed because the school uniform he was wearing bore an insignia of the letters A. II on the shoulder, the monogram of Tsar Alexander II. The soldiers involved in the stabbing assumed that the student was a loyalist of the tsar. Hence they assaulted him. The [other] students at the school, together with the Thai nationals who studied there, were greatly alarmed and asked permission to not wear the school uniform. The school administration acquiesced.

As for the Thai students, we realized, having completed the examinations, that the school term was coming to an end. We also understood that we might not be able to continue our studies due to the fact that the [revolution] had brought about significant change in the government of Russia and that the [new regime] might not allow foreigners to study in 86 the country’s most prestigious schools as had the former government. (I learned that

Thailand had made an agreement with [tsarist] Russia, whereby Russia permitted

Thailand to send ten Thai students to study soldiering, and an additional five to study naval science in any of Russia’s finest schools. For example, Thai nationals were allowed to study at the Staff College the same as Russians. There was no discrimination whatsoever. This contrasts sharply with the situation in France, England, and Germany, where Thais were denied permission to study).109

And so it happened that we all paid a visit to the Thai ambassador to seek advice on what our next move should be. That is, should we leave Russia and continue our studies in another country, or return to Thailand. The majority were of the opinion that we should return to Thailand straightaway, because even if we wanted to study in another country in Europe, traveling there was impossible on account of the war, which was still raging. The only alternative was to study in Japan. There, however, we would be forced

109 This is not entirely accurate. Although it does seem that Russia was more accommodating to Thai students seeking entry into its military academies than other European countries, it must be remembered that Prince Paribatra Sukhumbhand, a son of King Chulalongkorn and Queen Sukhumala, was taken under the wing of German Emperor William II and educated at the Prussian Military academy at Groß-Lichterfelde. He was later accepted into and graduated from the German Staff College. This was quite rare, however. Out of all the Thai students educated in Europe during the fifth reign, only Paribatra, Chakrabongse and the commoner Poum Sakara were accepted into a Staff College. It is also worth mentioning that Prince Paribatra was instrumental in the development of Siam’s military aviation program in the 1910’s. See Chula Chakrabongse, 234, 237; and Edward M. Young, Aerial nationalism : a history of aviation in Thailand, foreword by William M. Leary, (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995), 17, 50-51.

87 to start our studies all over again, which would be a waste of time, not to mention a considerable sum of money. The Thai ambassador informed Bangkok [of these matters] and solicited advice. In the end, Prince Phitsanulok, Chief of Staff of the Army, responded by directing all the Thai students to return to Siam. The Thai ambassador thus divided the students into two groups and sent us back, one group at a time.

The first group consisted of six people: Mom Ratchawong Sewatawong

Wachirawong (subsequently known as Police Major General Luang Senironoyut, Deputy

Commander of the Provincial Police); Colonel Mom Chao Niwatthawong Kasemsan; Nai

Fawn Ritakanee (who later became Major-General Luang Yotawut, ambassador to

Spain); myself (later known as Inspector, Ministry of Interior, Special Class Civil

Servant); Mom Chao Chaloemsi Sawatdiwat; and Mom Chao Anantanorachai Thewakun.

The latter group consisted of three individuals: Nai Thep Phumirat (later known as

Colonel Luang Anumanmettha, who presently holds an appointment with the Survey

Department and is studying mapping at an upcountry school); Mom Chao Laksanalœt

Chayangkun; and Mom Chao Nikonthewan Thewakun. This second group returned to

Thailand roughly seven or eight months after my group, [partly] because they had been studying upcountry. Some were ill; some were close to graduating. Tracking everyone down took considerable time as well. Thus, all nine of us could not return at the same time.

From what I have thus far related in the last two sections, the reader will see that

[the style of] governance in Russia and Thailand are remarkably similar. With regards to education, the poverty of the populace, and [the existence of] equal rights, the similarities 88 are quite striking. In some respects, however, conditions in Siam are somewhat better.

Yet a span of only fifteen years separates [Russia and Siam] in terms of initiating a change from one system of government to another.110 The Russian masses’ experience with democracy lasted only four or five months before it was replaced by a communist system of government. Therefore, we need to be very cautious. If the [Thai] ruling class

— starting with the village headmen, chiefs, provincial , and higher- ups, including other government officials — does not reach out to the masses, if they turn a blind eye to the well-being of the citizenry, fail to ease their suffering or cultivate contentment; if they neglect to assist them to secure a means of subsistence or providing them with an education sufficient to earn a living; if they persist in exploiting the people and deny them justice in times of need; or if they persevere in deluding the masses about

[the professed altruism of their motives] all the while pursuing their own self-interests and those of their clique, the economy and the development of the [Thai] nation will not move forward.

Today the danger of communism is becoming more and more menacing all the time. It is frightening to think that what happened to Russia could one day befall

Thailand. Luckily, at present we have a revered monarch [on the throne] to uphold the ten virtues. He understands the suffering and poverty of the people. He regularly visits and looks after the well-being of his subjects. He introduces them to [various] ways in which to earn a livelihood and promotes [public projects] and activities when natural disasters

110 Here the author is referring to the number of years separating the Russian Revolution from the People’s Party coup. 89 strike, such as floods, fire, windstorms, and the danger presented by those who instigate communism. He organizes relief efforts to alleviate suffering by distributing money, basic necessities, and consumer goods. [Such acts] inspire a tremendous feeling of warmth and admiration for the mercifulness of the King, which in turn mitigates the perils which torment the people. If every single government official tried to conscientiously follow in the footsteps of his Majesty our citizens would be happy. The country would prosper apace. Indebtedness would be a thing of the past.

At the other extreme, Tsar Nicholas II, together with the tsarina, the prince and princess, were savagely executed by the communists, despite having committed no great personal affront against them, failed to uphold the ten virtues,111 or treated the Russian masses with deliberate cruelty. It was a pitiable affair, and thus a black mark on [the moral character] of Lenin. He ought to have been condemned. Had the Kerensky government still been in power, it is likely that the tsar would have been given his freedom and allowed to live in exile overseas. Alternatively, he could have remained in

Russia, perhaps functioning as a monarch under the newly established constitution. To sum up, then, the ruling class should conduct itself in an honest and moral manner; they should win over and devote themselves completely to the care and service of the people.

This is the way to defend against the advance of communism.

What follows is the story of my and my compatriots’ return trip to Thailand, during which time we encountered our share of difficulties and hazards. We even

111 This is a reference to the Thotsapitratchatham. An explanation of this term appears in the Introduction. 90 wondered if we would ever see our native land again, all because the Russian government was overthrown by those who espoused the ideology of communism.

The Journey Home

When the Thai Ambassador (Phraya Wisanpotchanakit) conveyed the royal order of Prince Phitsanulokprachanat instructing him to arrange for the transport of all the Thai students back to Thailand, the Ambassador divided the students into two groups as previously mentioned in part two. For the first group, made up of six students, M. R.

Sewattawong Wachirawong was designated head. We were scheduled to leave at the beginning of March 1917 [1918].112 Each student received a modest allowance in the amount of 600 rubles to cover the cost of a train ticket on the Trans-Siberian Railway from Petrograd to Vladivostok, as well as a little pocket money to purchase food during the trip. Additionally, each person received a check in the amount of 50 pounds to be cashed at a specified bank in Vladivostok to pay for passage to Japan and Thailand. We were issued checks because the Russian authorities prohibited anyone from withdrawing large sums of money from the banks. Furthermore, the ambassador issued all the students a diplomatic passport and arranged for an embassy official (who appeared to be Phra

Lipikornkoson, the first secretary) to escort our group to the Russian Ministry of Foreign

Affairs to process our exit visas. Upon arriving at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (it was quite an old building, and not very large) we saw that it was heavily fortified. There were large caliber machine guns positioned on both sides of the entrance gate. They were fully

112 As previously discussed, based on the post-1941 reckoning of the Thai Buddhist calendar, the correct date of Surawutprawat’s return to Siam was March 1918 . 91 loaded, each manned with a machine gunner and a re-loader standing ready to fire at all times. It made anyone who approached [the Ministry] feel intimidated and skittish. Apart from this, there were soldiers, arms slung over shoulders, patrolling the perimeter of the building. [The authorities were on high alert] because the new regime was still in a transitional period. Lenin and his associates had seized power only four or five months earlier.

When we met with the officer [responsible for] issuing the exit visas, he informed us that we were all required to meet Lenin himself, because he had authority over the operations [at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs], and wanted to see each one of us in person. So the officer escorted us to meet Lenin. We found him in a rather large and stately room, seated at an immense desk in an upholstered chair with a tall backrest. On the pinky or perhaps ring finger of his right hand, Lenin wore a ring with an inordinately large black stone surrounded by diamonds. It was said that the ring once adorned the royal hand of the tsar. Lenin’s dress was impeccable, dapper, and cut in the current

Western style. His countenance, however, was severe. When the official from the Thai embassy announced the purpose of our visit, Lenin called us to present ourselves one at a time, and to put our signatures to our passports. Nothing more was said. No questions, nothing. He simply examined our faces and our passport photos. When he was finished, we left.

After returning home, we visited our teachers, guardians, and friends to bid them farewell. The heartache and sense of loss was felt on both sides. We did not know when we would meet again; it was as if death was parting us. [After saying our goodbyes], I 92 arranged to buy a few things, including several books and textbooks. I sold my fur coat for eighty rubles and purchased a wool overcoat instead, because I didn’t think it would be too terribly cold during my journey [home]. Even though I was unable to withdraw the three hundred pounds from my personal savings account, I still had a little money left to buy a few odds and ends.

However, as the day of our departure drew near, I learned that we were allowed only one travel bag per person (whatever the weight restriction was I have long since forgotten) and one medium-sized attaché case. [In addition], the ambassador entrusted us to deliver an envelope containing official embassy documents, bearing the official seal of the Royal Thai Embassy in Russia, to the Thai Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Given the stipulation that we pack as little as possible, I was unable to take some items, including, among other things, the books I had purchased. These and other personal effects I boxed up and left at the embassy. I figured that once events had run their course I would ask the embassy staff to ship my belongings to me. Yet a year passed, then another, and I still did not receive my things. When I met with the returning students [from the second group] I inquired about my things, but there was no word as to their whereabouts or whether anyone had picked them up for me. It meant that my things had completely disappeared.

When the day of our scheduled departure arrived, we counted ourselves very lucky to be able to arrange for three first-class cabins on the train. We split up, two people in each cabin. M. R. Sewatawongse Wachirawong bunked with M. C. Niwattawong

Kasemsan in one cabin, I and Mom Chao Chaloemsi Suwattiwat took the second, and Nai

Fon Ritthikani and Mom Chao Anandanorachai Thewakun stayed in the other. Many 93 people were at the train station to see us off, including officials from the Thai embassy, our guardians and their families with whom we lived, and several friends. All lamented our parting because we didn’t know when or if we would ever meet again. I felt strangely depressed.

The train on which we were travelling rattled along the tracks ponderously because [every car] was overcrowded with soldiers and civilians, men and women, even the corridor in front of the first-class sleepers. There were soldiers on their way home from the front. Some were seated, some slept [on the floor], others remained standing.

The train overflowed with them. Just getting to the toilet or the galley was very difficult; the corridor was completely blocked. In the end, I seem to recall that we did not try to go to the galley (whether there was any food there or not I do not know), because we bought food at the railroad stations whenever we stopped to pick up passengers or fill up with water and fuel. What food there was to be found [at the railroad stations] typically consisted of buttered bread stuffed with meat or cheese and a quart of fresh milk, tea or coffee — enough for one meal and no more. Luckily, the soldiers and workers did not attempt to commandeer our sleeping compartments or bother us in the slightest. They seemed quite normal. They showed no signs of harboring wild ambitions or any readiness to resort to savage force. Their only intent was to reach their homes as quickly as possible. Once we had befriended one another, whatever food we had we shared with them. Sometimes we relied on the soldiers to perform small tasks. Yet they stank to high heaven. They had been traveling since Petrograd. Many more soldiers had boarded the train at each stop since then. The Siberian express typically took seven days to reach 94

Vladivostok, the last stop. In our case, however, it would take fourteen or fifteen days just to reach the station at . Vladivostok was another two to three days away.

After passing through the city of Moscow, our train was detained at the next station (I cannot recall the name). Soldiers boarded the train and proceeded to inspect with painstaking thoroughness every single sleeping compartment, every class, and every car. We inquired as to who the soldiers were searching for and whether there had been an incident. They informed us that the tsar and his attendants had escaped from custody with the help of another group of soldiers and were suspected of having stowed away on board our train. Hence the authorities were summoned to investigate. Every nook and cranny of our sleeping compartments were thus inspected, including our beds. Yet the inspection was carried out in a respectful manner. The soldiers were by no means uncivil; they did not muck up our food. The inspection took about two hours. When the search failed to turn up evidence of the tsar or his attendants, the train was allowed to continue on.

Having passed through the Ural mountains, we pulled into a station, presumably

Tomskoe, where we encountered the locomotive of another [east-bound] train, which had left [Petrograd] one day ahead of us. The locomotive stood silent in the turnout, broken down. [The mechanics] had spent many hours trying to repair the locomotive but it was still inoperable. Consequently, as our train approached the assemblage of soldiers and civilians who had been passengers on the [now] broken-down train, they undertook to commandeer [i.e. uncouple] our locomotive on the grounds that since they had embarked on their journey ahead of us they should be allowed to continue on ahead of us. Once the broken-down locomotive was repaired, we would bring up the rear. 95

And their attempt at hijacking our locomotive nearly succeeded. We Thais believed that they must not be allowed to get away with this. Otherwise our return to

Thailand would be seriously delayed. A great deal of time would be wasted. We had no idea how long it would take to fix the locomotive. Moreover, the cash we had received from the ambassador was running low. If we had to spend many more days travelling we would surely starve. We thus resorted to inciting the soldiers onboard our train to recover the locomotive by any means necessary, asserting that it was not our fault that the other locomotive had broken-down. Besides, we too wanted to reach home as quickly as possible. Seizing our locomotive in the first instance was unfair. The soldiers [with whom we were traveling] were of the same mind. They jumped down from the train to argue this very point and reclaim the locomotive. [The dispute] very nearly led to an altercation.

But because the soldiers on our train enjoyed the advantage of superior numbers, the other soldiers capitulated and surrendered the locomotive. Notwithstanding the fact that

[this episode] set us back two to three hours, it is evident that the good will and camaraderie we showed towards the soldiers, who sat sprawled in the corridor in front of our sleeping compartments, paid dividends. Namely, we were able to rely on them to recover the locomotive.

Once the locomotive was re-coupled to the train, we resumed our journey in a timely fashion. As the train passed Lake Baikal, the scenery was spectacular—every bit as beautiful as we had been told. While travelling through Siberia, the coldness persisted.

It snowed; the landscape was completely blanketed in white. I learned that the temperature stayed between zero and thirty-five degrees below zero. 96

As we were approaching the railway station in Harbin, we mulled over the idea of not continuing on to Vladivostok because we had very little money left. In addition, we asked the other passengers about the bank in Vladivostok, where the ambassador had indicated we should go to cash our checks, and were told that there was no such bank [in

Vladivostok]; it was in Tiansin []. Thus, we had to take a different route. That is, we would disembark at the station in Harbin, travel to Chaenchun [], and thereafter, Mukden [Shenyang] in Manchuria. In Chaenchun, we stayed at a third-rate inn. We could not stay at a first-class hotel because we had to save money for the trip to

Tiansin, where we would be able to go to the bank and cash the checks the ambassador issued us.

In Chaenchun, we were detained by Japanese immigration and customs officials for inspection. They checked our persons, luggage, and passports. When the search uncovered the parcel of documents the ambassador had entrusted us to deliver, the agents asked to open the parcel for further inspection. We refused, stating that [since] the documents were the property of the Thai embassy and we carried diplomatic passports, we therefore enjoyed immunity to search. We argued about this for quite some time. In the end, however, the agents conceded the point and returned the parcel to us without conducting a search.

That [same] day we lodged at a third-rate inn, a two-story wood cottage. Upstairs there were maybe eight or ten bedrooms. Two rows of windows [adorned the front of the inn]; the rooms had one or two windows each. There was no fireplace, however; frost stuck to the window panes. Downstairs there was a parlor, a counter, a dining room, and a 97 staircase leading upstairs. The bedrooms were extremely cold. Each of us had our own room. There was an additional room occupied by two Russian Jews. I barely slept a wink; the cold was unbearable.

In the morning we woke up, took our breakfast, and went for a stroll to admire the country. In the afternoon we returned to the inn, where we met up with the two Russian

Jews who were staying in the room across the hall from ours. They greeted us and said they had important business that they wished to discuss with the head of our group. But because they thought it was inappropriate to speak downstairs, they invited us up to their room to talk, thanking us [for understanding]. We decided to send M.R. Sewattawong up to their room. As for the five of us, we agreed to wait in our rooms. M.R. Sewattawong stepped into the Jews’ room for a short while; when he came out he summoned us to his room to inform us of the outcome of his conversation with the Jews.

We learned that the two Jews knew we carried diplomatic passports, and therefore asked for our assistance in transporting a quantity of opium to Peking. If we agreed to deliver their opium as requested, they would pay us a fixed amount sufficient to cover our travel expenses from Petrograd to Thailand. Over and above that, they offered to pay an extra fee, which was wholly negotiable, to defray any other expenses. [At this point]

M.R. Sewattawong informed them that he needed to confer with his companions since we were all travelling together. If everyone was in agreement, he would inform them of our decision that afternoon. They accepted this and allowed M.R. Sewattawong to leave their room to meet with the rest of us. After deliberating on this matter, it was unanimously agreed that we should not take part in the Jews’ proposed scheme in any way. Even 98 though we found ourselves in straitened circumstances, it was better to protect the reputation of the Thai people and Siam, because we were not sure if our diplomatic passports would shield us [from search and seizure] in all places. If the immigration and customs officials in China refused to acknowledge or accept [our credentials] and search our persons and things, we would surely be sent to prison, and the opium we carried confiscated.

Additionally, we still had our doubts as to whether the Jews actually had in their possession the large sum of money they offered to pay us. [Even supposing they did], when would they pay us? They might drag their heels, ask us to sell the opium first, then pay. Would they make us wait a long time? Would they put off paying us until after we returned home, or maybe never pay us at all? If they cheated us, which was a possibility, to whom could we complain? We’d be completely at their mercy. In view of this, we sent

M.R. Sewattawong to inform the Jews [of our decision], and urged him to be cautious. If he sensed that their demeanor was becoming unpleasant, we told him to call out to us for help; we would be waiting just outside the door. With that, M.R. Sewattawong went into the Jews’ room, reemerging roughly half-an- later to offer us this account. When

M.R. Sewattawong told the Jews that we had decided to decline their request for the various reasons outlined above, he caught sight of one of the Jews reaching for something in a bag as though he were about to draw a pistol. He stated in a threatening manner that since we already knew about their secret plans, they could not allow him to leave the room until he agreed to follow through [with the proposed scheme]. At this point, M.R.

Sewattawong thrust his hand into a satchel as if he, too, were going to pull a gun (the 99 truth is not one of us carried a firearm), and asserted that such threats were of no consequence because his companions were waiting outside the door, ready to come to his aid in the event an incident occurred. “If I called out this very moment,” M.R.

Sewattawong vowed, “they would beat you to a pulp, and nothing more. So let’s not end things on bad terms. It would be better not to. As to the claim that we knew about your secret and that you are afraid that we will betray you by going to the police, you need not worry because I assure you that we won’t say a word about this to anyone. We want to get home as quickly as possible, and by this afternoon we will be on our way.” With that, the Jew removed his hand from the bag and invited M.R. Sewattawong to leave the room.

Subsequently, that afternoon we went to purchase our tickets to travel on to

Tiansin. [However], there was no train to Tiansin that afternoon. We would have to wait until the following afternoon. We thus had to stay another night at the inn, and be extra cautious in order to avoid another run-in with the two Jews. The next day we left at dawn.

Because we had very little money left over, we had to sit in third-class, which was terribly dirty. The vast majority of the passengers were Chinese; most were workers or peasants. There were virtually no foreigners on board. It was also extremely cold.

Everywhere [people] hawked and spat on the floor. It was truly disgusting, but we had to put up with it. At nightfall, the train pulled into Tiansin, where we found lodging at a first-class hotel. When we asked the staff at the hotel about the bank where the ambassador had instructed us to go to cash our checks, they informed us that it was indeed in Tiansin. The next day, we managed to cash the checks. Once this was settled, we mulled over the journey ahead. If we were to retrace our steps back to Harbin in order 100 to travel to Vladivostok and on to Japan as the ambassador had instructed, we would probably meet with disaster. What money we had left was not nearly enough. It would be rough going. We therefore agreed to take our chances and travel to Peking, because it occurred to us that the older brother of Mom Katterin (the older brother of her Highness

Mom Chakrabongse) still worked at the Russian embassy in Peking.113 If we were short on cash, we would probably be able to borrow enough money to tide us over until we reached . And so we left Tiansin for Peking that very afternoon.

We had stayed in Tiansin only one night and perhaps seven or eight hours the next day, which gave us very little time to admire the city. Yet we felt as if it was not such a small after all. It had a certain charm. Our meals were perfect. In contrast to

Russia, there was no shortage of food. For instance, for our dinner on the night we arrived at the hotel, not to mention our breakfast and lunch, there were six or seven different Western dishes. The flavor was very good, the prices inexpensive, and the a little more mild.

Leaving Tiansin, we boarded a second class train. We noted that it was superior to first class [in Thailand]. It was very clean. Every passenger had a seat and a bed that reclined, making for a pleasant ride. There were beverages and refreshments set out, and a waiter for every car; it was also warm. We discovered that the train was operated by the

113 Here Surawutprawat is speaking of Ivan, Katya Desnitsky’s older brother by two years. A Russian diplomat and quite the polyglot, who purportedly spoke fourteen languages, Ivan’s diplomatic career came to an end after the Bolsheviks seized power. He was subsequently appointed Director of the Chinese Eastern Railway. After her from Prince Chakrabongse, Katya left Siam to live with Ivan in Peking. Katya & the Prince of Siam, 51, 163-64. 101

Japanese. The next morning we arrived in Peking and went straight to the Russian embassy. We asked for the older brother of Mom Katterin (I have forgotten his name) and were able to meet with him. When we advised him of the purpose of our visit, Mom

Katterin’s older brother graciously offered to help, even loaning us money to cover our travel expenses to Hong Kong, and contacting the Russian consulate in to ask for their assistance in escorting us to Hong Kong to ensure that we arrive there safe and sound. It was necessary to contact the Russian embassy in Peking or the Russian consulate in Shanghai because there was no Thai embassy in Peking or a Thai consulate in Shanghai. Additionally, we spoke only a little English, and what little we knew could hardly be considered formal English, because in Russia there was no English language instruction. It had only begun to be offered during the last days of World War I, and limited even then, since Russia was at war with Germany, having entered the conflict on the side of the Allies. Before that, apart from the Russian language, we had studied only

German and French. So we were more skilled in the use of these three languages than

English.

We stayed in Peking three days and three nights. The older brother of Mom

Katterin was a most gracious host and took care of us splendidly well. He took us on various outings, including a visit to a museum of ancient Chinese artifacts. We saw fine jade crafted into vases, various animal shapes, and many other pieces, all of which were priceless and very old. Admiring these works was a great gift to the eyes. By now it is hard to say how much has changed, how much has been lost or destroyed. 102

After staying [in Tiansin] for three nights and three days, we bid farewell to Mom

Katterin’s brother and travelled on to Hankow [Wuhan] and then Shanghai. The Russian consul received us at the boat [landing], and subsequently escorted us to the consulate.

He welcomed us [to Shanghai] with warmheartedness. We were hosted with a lunch and tea in the afternoon. He invited his daughter and wife to meet us. His daughter was about my age. Her face and figure were beautiful, actually quite lovely. We chatted with delight, played the piano, and sang Russian songs. Our sojourn in Shanghai lasted about ten hours. At dusk we had to return to the boat to resume our journey to Hong Kong. The consul remarked that it was such a pity that our visit had to be cut so short, and that he had not been able to give us a tour of the country and its many sights. He gave us his blessings and bid us a safe journey home, because at that time there was still great danger on the open seas seeing as the German U-boats were constantly on the rampage. They ranged the seas firing upon Allied freighters and passenger ships, sinking more than a few. We bid each other a fond farewell, torn, and very deeply saddened. About a year or two after we had returned to Thailand, we received an invitation to attend the wedding of the consul’s daughter. We were unable to go, however. All we could do was send a gift, along with our best wishes. After that, we never heard from them again. We came to believe that he was probably discharged from government service; he likely stayed on in

China.

The next morning, or perhaps the morning of the second day, we arrived in Hong

Kong. We stayed at a first-class hotel, named the Hong Kong Hotel. The nightly rate for one room was twelve Hong Kong bank notes [i.e. pounds], excluding meals. Initially, we 103 understood that there would be a ship leaving for Bangkok any day. However, when we checked into this matter further, we learned that it would be fourteen days. To stay at the

Hong Kong Hotel many more days would be an imprudent waste of money. When we calculated what it would cost us to stay in Hong Kong, plus the expense of returning to

Thailand, we realized that we would go through what money we had fast. Thus, the next day we moved out of the Hong Kong Hotel and checked into the Hotel Trocadero, built at the base of a mountain in Hong Kong. Thereafter, we contacted the Thai consul in Hong

Kong for the purpose of borrowing some money to cover incidentals. The Thai consul, along with the staff, were not Thai at all. Most were Indian or Chinese.

Upon arriving at the Thai consulate, we notified the staff that we were Thai students who had been sent to study in Russia but were now being recalled to Thailand by the Thai government on account of the revolution in Russia and the fact that we were not able to continue our studies there. [We further stated that] the Thai ambassador had given us a sum of money on which to return to Thailand, but that it was not enough due to the limit on the amount of cash one could withdraw from the banks in Russia. We told [the consul] that we were now flat broke and, seeing as we had to stay in Hong Kong for many more days, we needed to borrow some money to tide us over [until we were able to return to Thailand]. At first, the consul’s demeanor gave us the impression that he did not believe our story. Additionally, our clothes were the worse for wear, which further raised suspicions. In the end, he asked to look at our passports. [Upon examining our passports], the consul inquired as to which of us were the children of the Minister of the Thai

Ministry of Foreign Affairs (i.e. Phrachao Borommawongthoe Somdet Krom Phraya 104

Devawongse Varodaya). Mom Ratchawong Sewatawong gestured to me and Mom Chao

Anandarachai Thewakun. At this point, the Consul remarked, with a broad smile, “by coincidence, I just received a telegram from the Minister of the Ministry of Foreign

Affairs (i.e. my father) instructing me to provide you with any and all assistance to ensure that you have a smooth journey back to Bangkok.” The Consul thus ordered the secretary to pay out however much money we wished to withdraw and to make [the necessary] contacts on our behalf with all expedience whenever we requested [assistance].

While biding our time in Hong Kong for 14 days, waiting for an outbound ship, we had the chance to take various day trips to many different places, including up into the mountains. We travelled in the mountains by automobile, tram, and seated in a palanquin

(covered litter). However, the palanquin [bearers] did not take us up very high. The people of Hong Kong keep the country clean and organized in a very orderly manner. It is a lovely [country]. There are several tall buildings and an abundance of shops with an endless variety of merchandise. Whatever you may want, almost anything can be bought there. All that they ask is that you have money. We had a splendid time. High atop the mountains, there were hundreds of houses. At night, the lights [over the city] shone radiantly. Waking up in the middle of the night, I found myself looking out the window of [our room] in the Hotel Trocadero at the foot of the mountains; I saw the shimmering lights [over the city], one by one, glistening like stars drifting down from above. The traffic at that time [of night] was light. There were not many automobiles [on the streets].

I saw only rickshaws and palanquins in great numbers. For instance, in front of the Hotel

Hong Kong there was a queue [of palanquins and rickshaws]. Whenever a hotel guest 105 went out, the doorman would ask if they required a rickshaw or a palanquin. Whenever we informed [the doorman] that we wished [to step out], he would either a rickshaw or a palanquin, whichever was in front, to come pick us up. The drivers were not allowed to crowd [the prospective customers] or jostle for fares. If the drivers refused to obey [the law], they received a reprimand from the police. If they remained recalcitrant, the police would slap them across the cheek or crack them over the head with a baton. Most of the police officers in Hong Kong were Chinese or Indian. The police chief was a Westerner, who wielded absolute power. I [remember] seeing a Chinese rickshaw [driver] flout the law. He was struck on the face several times and forced to roll his rickshaw back to the designated parking area.

In the gulf of Hong Kong, there was a profusion of rowboats taking tourists out sight-seeing, flitting across the water to and fro. The rowers used two oars, however.

There were oars on both sides of the boats; there was no steering or paddling. [And yet], the boats seemed to move at a good clip. This differs [from the customary method of rowing] in our country, where, [using but one oar], we row on the left side of the boat only, and both steer and paddle simultaneously. It takes someone with considerable adeptness to be able to row both well and swiftly.

After staying in Hong Kong seven or eight days, it so happened that a Russian warship [came in to port]. Onboard the ship were navy cadets who, in between conducting training exercises at sea, were stopping at various ports of call to procure food and fuel. The ship’s commander gave the cadets leave to come ashore for pleasure. By coincidence we bumped into one of the group of cadets, among whom was someone we 106 once knew. We chatted [naturally], like we spoke the same language, and took a leisurely stroll, visiting various places, until it was dark. Each of us took turns treating the others to food and drinks. That night I was invited to drink whiskey, and partook too much, until I was soused. I have no idea what time I got back to the hotel. The next morning the navy cadets set sail again. I did not wake in time to see them off.

Fourteen days after arriving in Hong Kong, we boarded a ship [for Bangkok], the name of which I cannot recall. Officials from the Thai consulate came down to the pier to send us off. We were at sea for perhaps two or three days, approaching the city of Sua

Tao [Shantou], when the ship’s engines developed trouble; something was amiss with the rudder; the propeller was rotating but at less than full power, faltering. We proceeded at a gingerly pace until we reached the city of Sua Tao, where we docked to take on additional cargo and passengers, and more importantly, brought the ship in for repairs to make for a smooth journey.

The captain told [the passengers] that the repairs would take twelve hours or more. We thus had a chance to spend several hours touring the coastal city of Sua Tao before returning to the ship. In those days, Sua Tao did not seem like a large city. The streets were narrow; when passing another person [on the street] your shoulders almost touched. [The streets] were also quite dirty. There were many pole-bearing peddlers hawking their wares. Some people shouldered shit buckets; the stench hung in the air up and down the street. It was unbearably disgusting. There still were no tall buildings.

Since then, I have learned that Sua Tao has developed. Nowadays there are tall buildings.

The streets are wider, and the city is much more pleasing to the eye. Today it is also a 107 large and important port. It is a real shame that I have not had the opportunity to see the city again for myself. I have only heard about it from others who have visited [Sua Tao] in recent years.

Once the ship was repaired, we continued on to Singapore. After the cargo and passengers had been unloaded [in Singapore], the ship set sail again, entering the Gulf of

Thailand, and thereafter Bangkok. It took seven or eight days to complete the voyage from Sua Tao, Singapore, and then Bangkok. I remember that we arrived [home] at the end of March 1918. I do not recall, however, if we sailed from Singapore to Bangkok aboard the same ship or if we boarded a different ship in Singapore.

Throughout our voyage, we counted ourselves extremely lucky that we were not harassed or put into grave danger by German submarines. This certainly was not the experience of other Thai students, such as Mom Chao Akaphan Kasemsri, Mom

Ratchawong Praphut Kasemsri, and Phraya Chindarak (Chamlong Swastdi-chudo, an older classmate of mine at the King’s College, and a very talented football player; in school he went by the name Kuan-u). While returning to Thailand, the passenger ship on which they were aboard was torpedoed and sunk by a German submarine. Akaphan

Kasemsri and Praphut Kasemsri drowned at sea; they never made it home. With respect to Phraya Chindarak, he struggled to stay afloat on the open ocean for several hours until a large ship arrived and rescued him. 114

114 Thanks in part to the William J. Gedney Collection at the University of Michigan, and partly to the marvel of Worldcat and Interlibrary loan, I was able to track down an important source to confirm the veracity of this story. The title in question is Muang kæo yam mahasongkhram, a first-hand account of wartime England, written by Phraya Chindarak (Chamlong Sawat-Chuto), the survivor of the German submarine attack 108

In addition, there was a [similar incident involving] my older brother and his family. Phra Warawongthoe Krommun Thewawongworatai (at the time he was still known as Mom Chao Traithotpraphan Thewakun) served as minister plenipotentiary to

Germany.115 He was recalled when Siam issued a declaration of war against Germany.

While returning to Siam, the ship on which he was aboard was [intercepted] by a German submarine and ordered to halt, which struck fear into the hearts of the captain and the passengers because it was not known if the [Germans] would sink the ship or not. When the commander of the submarine radioed to inquire as to whether the Thai envoy was in fact on board, and the ship’s captain radioed back in the affirmative, the commander ordered his crew to board the ship to investigate. Once it had been confirmed that the

described above. According to Phraya Chindarak, on October 2, 1918, M.C. Akaphan Kasemsri, M.R. Praphut Kasemsri, and himself, set sail from for Siam aboard the Japanese-owned steamer Hiranomaru. Only a few hours into the voyage, the Hiranomaru fell under attack off the southern coast of Ireland. A German U-boat fired two torpedos into the ship’s hull. Amid the ensuing chaos, the passengers, including Akaphan and Praphut Kasemsri, scrambled for the life boats. But before the crew was able to launch the life boats, a third torpedo slammed into the Hiranomaru, sinking her, and sending the life boats and the majority of the ship’s 300 passengers to the ocean bottom. As luck would have it, the ship went under before Phraya Chindarak was able to reach a life boat. He jumped (or was thrown) overboard. For the next 24 hours, he survived the frigid North Atlantic waters by clinging to a wooden plank. At last, on October 3rd, Chindarak was rescued by the crew (an African-American seaman, according to the author) of the USS Sterett, a Paulding class destroyer based in Queenstown, Ireland (this last detail was confirmed by an obliging archivist at the Department of the Navy, Naval Historical Center). See Phraya Chindarak (Chamlong Sawat-Chuto). Muang kæo yam mahasongkhram. (Phra Nakhon : Rongphim Yimsi, 1940). Also see Phraya Chindarak’s cremation volume, Anuson ngan phraratchathan phloeng sop Phraya Chindarak (Krungthep: Sarayutkanphim, 1966). 115 M.C. Traithotpraphan Thewakun (1883-1943) was the first-born child of Prince Devawongse and Mom Lamai. He succeeded his father as the Thai minister of foreign affairs in 1923. Interestingly enough, another of Surawutprawat’s full older brothers, Damratdamrong Thewakun (1886-1944), was appointed minister plenipotentiary to Germany in 1929. 109

Thai envoy was indeed on board, the Germans freed the ship, allowing it to continue on its course without molestation. The passengers thus escaped with their lives. The submarine released the passenger ship without further ado because when the Germans recalled their envoy [to Thailand] they vowed that if their envoy was allowed to return to

Germany in one piece, they would likewise ensure that our envoy returned to Thailand safe and sound. So [the Germans] kept their word. [In spite of the fact that] the German submarines were on a rampage, torpedoing one ship after another, they closely coordinated [with each other] and obeyed orders well, otherwise the submarines would operate at will and resolve problems as they deemed fit. If that were the case, it is doubtful that the crew of the submarine would have conducted an investigation [i.e. to determine if the Thai envoy was on board] as thoroughly as they did.

The Siamese minister plenipotentiary was thus allowed to return to his own country unharmed. The other passengers were afforded safe passage as well. I know about this incident because my brother told me about it. Actually, both groups of Thais

[i.e. those from both of the voyages described above] set sail for Thailand only five or six months after my return.

Only two days after returning home to Thailand, we were summoned to an audience with Prince Phitsanulokprachanat to present him with a report. He inquired about the events that had transpired in Russia; he asked about the triumphs and tribulations we faced during our return voyage. He commiserated with us for having not completed our studies before being recalled, but stated that he would issue a decree conferring upon us the rank of army officers. Subsequently, he commissioned (1) M.R. 110

Sewatawongse Wachirawong as a first lieutenant, 11th Infantry Regiment, King’s Guard;

(2) Mom Chao Niwattawong Kasemsan, first lieutenant, 1st Infantry Regiment, King’s

Guard; (3) and Nai Fon Ritthikani as a first lieutenant, 1st Artillery Regiment of the

King’s Guard. [Nai Fon Ritthikani] had already graduated from the Army Cadet

Academy in Thailand and had been commissioned as a major [in the ].

None of the three [officers] received extra remuneration because they did not graduate from a particular military academy overseas.

As for myself and M.C. Anandarachai Thewakun, my brother, we were both commissioned as majors by Prince Phitsanulokprachanat and assigned to the Army

Directorate of Education and Training. In addition, we were admitted into the Army

Cadet Academy to study Military Science at the second-year high school level. It was our last year before graduating as officers. When we graduated one year later, he promoted us to the rank of second lieutenant. I was assigned to the 6th Infantry Regiment in Nakhon

Sawan , and M.C. Anandarachai Thewakun, the 7th Infantry Regiment,

Phitsanulok province. As for M.C. Chaloemsrisuwattiwat Suwattiwat, he did not receive a permanent appointment. M.C. Chaloemsri was no longer considered a cadet, because he had requested to be transferred to a civilian school in the middle of his sixth year at the

Aleksandrovsky Cadet Corps.

In addition, when my compatriots and I first returned home to Thailand we happened to meet several Russians (Whites), including Russian Embassy personnel, as they had not been recalled yet. Apart from [embassy personnel], there were others who had fled Russia for Thailand while we were still abroad. We thus had an opportunity to 111 become acquainted and visit with some of the Russians living in exile in Thailand. We helped a few of them find jobs; some were able to find work as lawyers, because they had previously studied law. Some took jobs working in shops; others found work with life insurance companies. We helped out those who were penniless by giving them money.

During this time, we had ample opportunity to speak Russian. Later on, when Thailand and Russia both recalled their respective ambassadors, there were fewer White Russians

[living in Thailand]. I myself moved upcountry to accept a new government post. I no longer had the chance to use Russian; in time I forgot much of the Russian language. Of the small number of Russians who remained in Thailand, most were Red. It would have been inappropriate to consort [with the Reds].

Many years later, when Police General Phao Sriyanond was Director-General of the Police, I had another chance to speak Russian. Police General Phao Sriyanond organized the annual Police Day celebration every year (October 13th). One year Police

General Phao delegated myself and Police Major General Luang Senironoyut (M.R.

Sewatawong Wachirawong) to receive the Russian ambassador and his entourage, who were invited to attend the celebration. I thus had the chance to once again speak in

Russian to the Russian ambassador. We sensed that the ambassador of Russia was very taken with M.R. Sewatawong and myself because we could speak Russian. The ambassador asked how it was that we spoke Russian. We responded that it was because we had studied there during the time in which Russia was still ruled by the tsar. After that

I had the feeling that he was chary of speaking about the new Russia and how it had come 112 into being. Whatever was asked, the ambassador neatly sidestepped the question. And so we merely watched and talked about the evening’s festivities, organized by the police.

In addition, roughly 15 or 16 years ago, five or six of my friends from student days in Russia and I received a letter from the manager of the Hong Kong-Shanghai

Bank, or Charter Bank, inviting us to meet and Lady Reed at a house on Sathorn

Road. The home belonged to the bank manager. All of us proceeded [to the home] in accordance with our appointment. Initially [however], we thought it was strange that we did not know why we had been invited, because the letter merely stated that Sir and Lady

Reed wished to meet us. [Yet] we did not know who Sir and Lady Reed were. However, when we finally met them I remembered that Lady Reed was the second daughter of my

[former] mentor and guardian Colonel Fenu. Her name was Tatsiana. She had married Sir

Edward Reed and went to live in Great Britain around the time we left Russia some thirty years before. We were delighted to meet her again. She introduced us to her ; she mentioned that he had come to inspect banking operations in Thailand and that she had taken the opportunity to accompany her husband so that she could visit her two sons, who were military officers serving in Singapore, as well as the Thai students whom she had known and lived with [in Russia], because a long time had passed [since we last met]. We had lost contact with each other long ago; she had no way of knowing if we were alive or dead or what fate had befallen us. And so she gave the bank manager in Thailand our names and asked him to help track us down in order that we could meet again.

This time when we met we were both overcome with joy, because we never thought that we would ever see each other again. We asked about each other’s triumphs and travails. 113

At one point, Tatsiana told us that not long after we left Russia her father was discharged from government service. Initially, the family went to live with Tatsiana’s maternal in Bargo, Finland (which is where I spent one summer vacation). After a

[brief] period, when World War I drew to a close and the situation returned to normal, the family relocated to Germany, where her father formed an orchestra (Colonel Fenu was an exceptional musician). His orchestra toured and performed at a number of venues

[throughout Germany]. Music eventually became his chief occupation and principal means of supporting his family. 116

Later on, Tatsiana chanced to make the acquaintance of Sir Edward Reed. The couple fell in love and were married, whereupon Tatsiana went to live with her husband in Great Britain. As for her eldest , Yelenna (born the same year as myself), she married a Finnish merchant. Nina and Rita, her fourth and fifth-born younger , both married Finnish men and settled down in Finland. With regards to her third-born younger sister, Dzenya, she married a Spaniard and went to live with her husband in .

116 Until recently, I could find no real historical evidence to confirm Colonel Fenu’s existence. With only the Thai spelling of his name to work with, I could only guess as to the original Russian spelling. Simply by trial and error, I found the evidence I had been searching for in an online Russian history discussion room, the Discussion Forum (http://www.alexanderpalace.org/palace/), which eventually led me to a magnificent online museum exhibit, НАША ЭПОХА [Nashaepoha] (http://www.nashaepoha.ru/?page=home). Between the online discussion forum and Nashaepoha, I was able to piece together some biographical information on Colonel Fenu, as well as uncover a photograph of the man, taken in 1913 with Prince V. P. Paley, who was presumably killed by the Bolsheviks in 1918. I learned that Fenu’s full name was А.Н. Фену, or A.N. (plausibly Alexander Nicholas) Fenu. He was born in 1873; he taught at the Imperial Corps of Pages, and was named director of the school in 1917. In the wake of the , he emigrated to Finland, never to return to Russia. He died in Finland in 1954. All this—including his passion for the orchestra—is consistent with Surawutprawat’s recollections of his guardian and mentor. 114

Tatsiana gave me Yelenna’s address, as well as her own. All five sisters and I were very close; we loved each other like brothers and sisters. Both Colonel Fenu and his wife also showed me their love, tenderness, and generosity as if I were one of their own children,

[perhaps] because unfortunately they had no sons of their own. Tatsiana informed me that her father had passed away about three years before her visit to Thailand. Her mother had been deceased for quite some time.

When Tatsiana left Russia [i.e. when her family fled to Finland], the living conditions were rather harsh, unlike the life she knew in Russia. When she married, however, her welfare and quality of life improved a great deal, because her husband pampered and cherished her completely.

Apart [from family and personal matters], Tatsiana and I had the chance to talk about the course of events that had transpired in Russia since leaving [Russia]. We spoke mainly in Russian. If one of us was at a loss for Russian words, we weaved in a little

English. Even Tatsiana herself admitted that she had forgotten a great deal of Russian, because she did not have the opportunity to speak it much in Great Britain. The day on which we met Tatsiana served us hot tea. We chatted for almost two hours before it was time to bid farewell again. Before parting company, we invited Tatsiana [and her husband] to join us for dinner and go sight-seeing and souveniring. She declined our invitation, however, citing that they had only two days [remaining] in Thailand. Her husband had much [unfinished] business to attend to, as well as prior engagements and various other people yet to meet. They did not have time to spend [the day] at leisure with us. As for our group, many of us held government positions upcountry, and needed to 115 hurry back to carry on with our duties. Consequently, we did not have the chance to pick up souvenirs [for our guests]. Nor were we available to give them a proper send-off the next day when they travelled back [to Germany]. We had only a very brief while to visit, then we parted reluctantly.

Having thus recounted the story of our safe return to Siam, I will end here.

For my readers, I wish you happiness. If my story has inspired [my readers] to serve the nation, to bring about prosperity and well-being, then join hands in defense [of the nation] against the menace of communist agitators, and help to advance the nation to be as developed as the civilized countries, thereby ensuring our sovereignty forever.

116

AFTERWORD

Surawutprawat Thewakun’s account of the Russian Revolution begs several serious questions. Indeed, it takes an effort of will to resist the urge to try to answer them all. In an attempt at a compromise, and to avoid overburdening the reader, I decided to refrain from addressing questions that are relatively straightforward, and concentrate on those that defy easy explanation.

To start with, the astute reader will almost certainly have questions about the correctness of Prince Chakrabongse’s judgement in sending Surawutprawat and his fellow compatriots to Russia in May 1913.117 More inexplicable still was his decision to send additional students to Russia in July 1914, because even if we make allowance for the possibility that Chakrabongse misjudged the proximity of revolution in Russia, it still does not explain how he could have underestimated the prospects of a major conflagration on the continent, since much of Europe was already mobilizing for war before the students had even left Siam. Upon their arrival in Berlin at the beginning of

August 1914, the students were informed by the Siamese authorities that Germany and

Austria-Hungary had declared war on Russia and that it was deemed too risky to travel to

Russia at that time. It was not until the early winter of 1914 that the students were finally allowed safe passage to Petrograd.118

117 Surawutprawat was accompanied by Mom Chao Niwatthawong Kasemsan, Nai Fawn Ritakanee, and Mom Chao Chaloemsi Sawatdiwat. Nangsu makruk kon, 24. 118 This seventh and final group of Siamese students included Mom Chao Laksanalœt Chayangkun, Mom Chao Nikonthewan Thewakun, and Mom Chao Anantanorachai Thewakun. Nangsu makruk kon, 24, 20-1. 117

Even leaving aside for the moment the broader question of the war in Europe,

Russia itself was in turmoil. Rife with internal contradictions and dissensions, pent-up political pressures and ideological conflict, a number of Russians had begun to sense that revolution was practically inescapable. Petrograd literati characterized the growing crisis metaphorically as “a bomb ticking in the heart of Russia.”119 Of course, it could be argued that these conditions did not appear in the same bold relief to contemporaries in

Siam. Still, it seems doubtful that Chakrabongse was unaware of the deadly earnestness of the situation. He was known to have a deep understanding of Russia. In addition, he himself had witnessed the 1905 Revolution less than a decade earlier, and the political and social conditions in Russia had certainly not improved since then.

In a candid and cogent letter to his father, dated November 6, 1906, Chakrabongse wrote extensively about the increasingly precarious political situation in Russia since early 1905. The crux of the problem, as Chakrabongse saw it, was the intractable and bitter conflict between the radical intelligentsia and the government. From

Chakrabongse’s perspective, the Russian intelligentsia was not only uncompromising in its opposition to the Romanov regime but impervious to reason. As for the regime, it suffered from gross ineptitude, indecisiveness, and an inability to grasp the gravity of the mounting political crisis. In October 1905, following a bloody clash between demonstrators and the Russian authorities (January 9), the tsar reluctantly conceded a constitution. Still, the new constitutional government faced a herculean task. It encountered insuperable difficulties asserting its authority over a divided country,

119 See Richard Pipes, A Concise History of the Russian Revolution, 55. 118 implementing much-needed reforms, and addressing scores of seemingly insurmountable problems, including widespread food-shortages, labor strikes, and continuing political violence. At times, Chakrabongse remarked, St. Petersburg was paralyzed. The trains stopped running, factories and shops closed down, basic goods were scarce, and crime was spiraling out of control. The old regime was breaking down and the new order was in complete disarray. The intelligentsia vehemently criticized the constitutional government on the grounds that it was dominated by the old privileged class. The intellectuals, peasants, and workers were given no representation in the Duma. The government, in turn, asserted that the intellectuals neither understood nor represented the interests of the

Russian workers or general masses. In describing this conflict and the various points of contention to his father, Chakrabongse seems far from sanguine about the prospects for reconciliation. To him, the future of Russia appeared decidedly bleak.120

Set against this backdrop, one has to wonder why Chakrabongse persisted in his decision to send the Siamese students to Russia. Although contemporary sources are frustratingly vague on this point, the history of the sixth reign, and Siam’s involvement in

World War I in particular, offer tantalizing clues.

First, it cannot be stressed strongly or often enough that Siam’s loss of territory to

France in 1893 was a profoundly traumatic experience—almost as painful as the Burmese sacking of Ayutthaya in 1767. The Siamese vowed to never let their guard down again.

To this end, the outbreak of world war in Europe redounded to Siam’s advantage. The

120 Letter from Prince Chakrabongse to Rama V, St. Petersburg, November 6, 1906, British Library Digitized Manuscripts, 15749/8.12 http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/Viewer.aspx?ref=or.15749!8.12_f001r 119

Siamese viewed this period as a breathing spell. As long as the Western imperial powers were engaged in war on the continent, they posed no threat to the sovereignty of Siam.

After the war, however, the Siamese fully anticipated that the Europeans would return in force to reassert their authority and expand their colonial possessions throughout Asia.121

World War I thus bought Siam a few years of breathing space to strengthen its military to counter the future threat of Western imperial aggression and, equally important, brush up its image as a modern, independent nation.

A vital part of this renewed emphasis on developing Siam’s military capacity, and presenting to the world an image of a well trained, experienced, and modern officer corps, was to ensure that its officers were properly educated, especially in the art of modern warfare. Apart from being the only world power at the time to admit Siamese students to study military science in its most prestigious military academies, Russia allowed a select number of Siamese graduates to serve in its Hussars Guard and other elite military units, thus giving Siamese officers essential practical experience as well.

Studying alongside, and in many instances, outperforming their Russian counterparts, served an important symbolic function as well. This, taken together with Chakrabongse’s special relationship with the Romanov court, explains in large part why Siam continued to send students to Russia even after the portents of world war and revolution had been long foretold.

121 Walter Vella, Chaiyo: King Vajiravudh and the Development of Thai Nationalism, 93- 109. 120

Of the many questions Surawutprawat’s account raises, few are as intriguing as the question of why he declined to publish his memoir, or even speak about the Russian

Revolution for more than five decades. As Surawutprawat recounts the story, it was a lesson he learned shortly after his return to Siam in 1918. Carried away by the excitement of the occasion and in the full flush of young manhood, Surawutprawat apparently made the careless, yet understandable, mistake of indulging some of his old Army friends, wide-eyed and eager, with stirring tales of the revolution. Trivial as his offense may seem, once word of the incident reached the Commander of the 1st Army Surawutprawat was taken severely to task for insubordination and advised not to speak of the matter again.122

Why the rebuke? It was not as if Surawutprawat was suspected of communist sympathies. Indeed, he made no secret of the fact that he loathed communism. Nor was there cause to believe that he bore political animus toward Siam’s absolute monarchy.

After all, he was cut from the same royal cloth as the Chakri . What concerned the

1st Army Commander, apparently, was that talk of revolution had a way of poisoning impressionable minds. Whether Surawutprawat opposed the Russian Revolution or not was a moot point. It was the subject itself that was seditious. The very thought of revolution was anathema to the Siamese. Revolution was something one discussed only in guarded circles and worried whispers; it had no place in public discourse. Only at the gravest peril to themselves could the Chakri rulers allow talk of revolution go unpunished.

122 Surawutprawat recounts this particular episode in his memoir. 121

Such fears were not entirely baseless. The period between the coronation of King

Vajiravudh in 1910 and the last days of the reign of King Prajadhipok was a politically precarious and ideologically tumultuous time. Almost from the very beginning, there was something of the forbidding atmosphere of treachery and betrayal surrounding the monarchy. On February 29, 1912, a group of junior military officers were discovered hatching a plot against King Vajiravudh. The conspirators, three hundred or more, were rounded up with all deliberate haste and jailed. Of these, ninety-two were formally charged with conspiring against the government. To ward off accusations of spinelessness and deter others from resorting to revolutionary action, Vajiravudh sentenced three of the plotters to death; twenty were sentenced to life in prison and the rest received sentences of 12 to 20 years.123 Order was promptly restored. Yet the abortive coup rankled bitterly in the hearts of Siam’s royals and cast a pall of suspicion over the military for years to come. In the eyes of Vajiravudh, the foiled coup may also

123 Although King Vajiravudh was shocked and deeply hurt by the plot, he decided, almost immediately, to commute the three death sentences to life in prison and the twenty life sentences to ten years. Some attribute the King’s leniency to persistent rumors that the conspiracy was much more widespread than initially thought. While ninety-two persons were actually found guilty of treason, one report concluded that as many as 800 conspirators were involved. Whatever the truth of the matter, in 1924, shortly before his own death, the King pardoned all of the convicted plotters. See Walter F. Vella, Chaiyo!, King Vajiravudh and the Development of Thai Nationalism (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1978), 53-9; Stephen Lyon Wakeman Green, Absolute Dreams: Thai Government Under Rama VI, 1910-1925 (Bangkok: White Lotus Press, 1999), 47-60; Kullada Kesboonchoo Mead, The Rise and Decline of Thai Absolutism (London & New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2004), 155; and Natthaphon Jaijing, “Sayam bon tang song phraeng : nung sattawat khong khwam phayayam patiwat ror. Sor. 130,” Sinlapawattanatham 33, 4 (Feb. 2012): 80. 122 have raised doubts about the loyalty of Prince Chakrabongse, since the chief architect of the conspiracy was Chakrabongse’s personal physician.124

Although the coup leaders were primarily motivated by personal grievances against the King—including his profligate spending, priggish temperament, schoolboy diversions, and above all, his overindulgence of the Wild Corps and blatant neglect and disregard of the military—political and ideological motives ultimately assumed greater significance still. Growing antipathy towards Vajiravudh inevitably led to probing questions about the nature of Thai society and the defensibility of Siam’s existing system of government. This spirit of inquiry, taken together with sidelong glances at developments elsewhere in the world—especially the Young Turk Revolution and the

Chinese Revolution of 1911—gave the plotters an acute sense of the impermanence of absolutism. From there, it was just a short step to concluding that Siam’s absolute monarchy was also an anachronism and must be overthrown.125

A military-led revolt against Siam’s monarchy would have been unthinkable just a few short years before. Inner palace intrigues were a commonplace in Thai history. But this was wholly different. This was a direct assault on the house of Chakri from without, effectively shattering the monarchy’s pretensions to inviolability and shaking the ground under Vajiravudh’s feet. Vajiravudh, who was resolutely opposed to abandoning his autocratic prerogatives, grasped the significance of the situation and was horrified.

124 See Rian Sichan, Prawat pattiwat khrang ræk khong Thai Ro. So. 130 (pho. so. 2454) banthuk doi Ro.To. Rian Sichan kap Ro. To. Net Phunwiwat, nakpattiwat nai Khana Ro. So. 130 thi yang rot chiwit yu (Bangkok : Leng Sichan, 1960). 125 Walter F. Vella, Chaiyo!, King Vajiravudh and the Development of Thai Nationalism, 55. 123

Throughout the remainder of his brief and enigmatic reign, King Vajiravudh was unstinting in his criticism of the naivety of those who sought to transplant Western political ideals into Siamese soil. To his mind, conditions in Siam were wholly unpropitious to the emergence of any form of Western democracy.126

Set against this background, it is no small wonder that Surawutprawat thought twice about speaking about the revolution, never mind writing about it. Also, it is important to note that Surawutprawat had more to lose than the average Siamese citizen.

He was a member of the royal family and a high level government official. Prudence dictated that he maintain a strict silence on matters as treacherous as revolution.

The 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s were different but no less dangerous or politically precarious. From 1932, when the People’s Party seized control of the government, changing it from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy, to 1973, there were few years when Siam was not shaken by political upheavals. The 1932 ‘revolution'—a modest and, ultimately, failed undertaking—was followed by a seemingly endless string of constitutional crises. By 1971, the Thai kingdom had recorded no fewer than half a dozen successful coups d'état.127 Each coup attempt unfolded in varying ways; and yet, in their

126 Vajirvudh’s thoughts on this subject were put forward, as was characteristic of the king, in the form of a play. See Si Ayutthaya, "Chuai amnat!" : lakhon phut ong dieo (Phranakhon: Samnak Phraratchawang, 1924). 127 The Thai military, often with the tacit approval or participation of the palace and leading bureaucratic figures, led successful coups in 1933, 1947, 1951, 1957, 1958, and 1971. The number of failed coups is much higher. In fact, from 1932 to 1957 alone, there were at least ten coup attempts. David Morell and Chai-anan Samudavanija, Political Conflict in Thailand: Reform, Reaction, Revolution (Cambridge, Mass: Oelgeschlager, Gunn & Hain, Publishers, Inc., 1981), 5; and Likhit Dhiravegin, Thai Politics: Selected Aspects of Development and Change (Bangkok: Tri-Sciences Publishing House, 1985), 267. 124 essentials, all proved to be remarkably uniform. A few were initiated by prominent civilians; others were staged by decorated soldiers. But all grew out of the hot and cold blowings of the military-bureaucratic elite, and invariably, each new regime, military or civilian, almost always played up the bogey of communism to justify its seizure of power.

But did communism pose a legitimate threat to Siam? It is a difficult question, but given its relevance to Surawutprawat’s story, and the profound fear communism engendered among the Siamese, it deserves an answer.

Starting in the late 1920s and ‘30s, Siam did witness the emergence of what we may call a “radical intelligentsia.” This intelligentsia bore to a degree the imprint of modern Thai history and political culture: the iconoclastic writings of the early critics of the sakdina regime, including the poet-rebel Sripard, the first martyr of the “movement,”

Th. W. S. Wannapo (Tianwan), and K.S.R. Kulap; the abortive 1911 military uprising; the ambiguous legacy of the People’s Party; and the literary heritage of the Dostoevsky- esque writers, and social critics of post-1930 vintage, such as , and Sirat

Sathapanawat.128 Yet, important as Thai political culture was in the shaping of this intelligentsia, in the end it was Marxism that gained the upper-hand.

Significantly, however, Marxism and communism, its offshoot, did not reach

Thailand from Russia or the West.129 It first came from the East, by way of Chinese and

128 Thadeus Flood, “The Thai Left Wing in Historical Context,” Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 7, 2 (1975): 57-8; and Yuangrat Wedel, Radical Thought, Thai Mind: The Development of Revolutionary Ideas in Thailand (Bangkok: Assumption Business College Press, 1987), 47-66. 129 Very few ethnic Thais, including those who were fortunate enough to go abroad to study in the 1920s and 1930s, were exposed to Marxism. Fewer still converted to Marxism. One exception was the so-called “Red Prince,” Sakol Wannakon Worawan, 125

Vietnamese political refugees, such as Liao A-ngow, and Nguyen Ai Quoc, who came to

Siam to recruit, carry out anti-imperialist and anti-government propaganda, and draw up plans for revolutionary action. The prospect of revolutionizing Siam was wholly peripheral to their thinking. Their chief object was to make revolution in their respective home countries. The first converts to communism in Siam, therefore, were not Thais but

Chinese and Vietnamese immigrants (mainly teachers, merchants, and coolies), who had fled to Siam many years earlier to escape economic hardship, civil wars, and foreign invasions. Hardly surprising, then, that Thailand’s first ‘national’ communist organization, the Communist Party of Siam (CPS), founded at the behest of the

Comintern in 1930, should be led by ethnic Chinese and Vietnamese, not Siamese. In fact, it seems that ethnic Thais took no part in these activities whatsoever.130

Only very slowly, during the 1940s and after, did ethnic Thais begin to turn to communism in increasing numbers (but only temporarily). This was partly the result of the post-war economic crisis (1946-47) in Siam, which no doubt seemed to bear out the

who joined the Fabian Society while studying in Great Britain in the early 1900s, and actively supported the communist labor movement in Thailand in the 1940s. Another was , leader of the radical wing of the People’s Party group, who converted to socialism while finishing his doctoral studies in Paris in the 1920s. Important as these political figures were to the making of the radical intelligentsia, however, neither had much bearing on its eventual course. See Kasian Tejapira, Commodifying Marxism: The Formation of Modern Thai Radical Culture, 1927-1958 (Kyoto: Kyoto University Press, 2001), 10. 130 Two points merit amplification. First, Nguyen Ai Quoc (a.k.a Old Chin and ) was the Comintern agent directly responsible for establishing the Communist Party of Siam. Second, as late as 1932 the CPS’s total membership was 325. Not a single member was Thai. All this will be discussed in greater detail in a subsequent section. See Kasian Tejapira, Commodifying Marxism: The Formation of Modern Thai Radical Culture, 1927-1958, 11-13. 126 long-standing Marxist argument regarding the inherent instability of the capitalist system.

It was also partly a consequence of Siamese educated society’s growing fascination with the international communist movement.

But Siam’s mounting interest in communism was also—and perhaps much more so—the result of broader changes leading to the naturalization of Marxism-communism.

This long and complex process, which we may characterize as the “” of immigrant communism, was too important an event not to be retold here, albeit briefly, not least because it casts a shadow ahead on the future of communism in Thailand.

In December 1942, a new communist party, organized in large part by Li Qixin (a

Chinese Comintern agent), and Qui Ji (a Chinese Communist) was formally established in Bangkok.131 At its inception, the party was designated the Phak Khommunit Thai (Thai

Communist Party or TCP). On the face of things, the founding of the TCP was so uneventful as to appear irrelevant. As with the CPS, so too with the TCP, ethnic Chinese enjoyed an overwhelming preponderance in both its directing organs and its ranks. But here the similarities end, and the differences begin. First, in contrast to CPS cadres, who fought tooth and nail to preserve their distinctive ethnic identity, the TCP recognized the importance of social cohesion and assimilating to Thai ways. Its leaders, with a few

131 Partly as a result of inept leadership, and a low membership base, and partly as a consequence of government suppression, especially after 1933, the CPS disbanded in 1936. The Vietnamese wing of the CPS never recovered from the blow. The Chinese communists, meanwhile, not only survived the ordeal but, as events would prove, gained a crucial vantage point in the Thai polity after 1936. See Kasian Tejapira, 20-21. 127 exceptions, spoke and read Thai tolerably well, which, it almost goes without saying, was a critical step on the path to Thaification.132

Second, unlike the average CPS revolutionary, who had one foot in Siam and the other on his native soil, the characteristic TCP partisan had firm roots in Thailand. Most, though by no means all, were naturalized Siamese citizens. Consequently, whereas the

CPS cadre gave pride of place to the national interests of their respective home countries, the TCP tended to be more sensitive to the national aspirations of Siam, and focused on developing policies that would appeal to the Siamese masses. Of course, the case could also be made that TCP partisans were more apt to stand for the Siamese nation, not least because they had a personal stake in it.

The Second World War, and the Japanese occupation period in particular, presented the TCP with the opportunity to win its spurs as a viable patriotic force in

Siam. In 1942, in accord with its ten-point program, the TCP proclaimed that the defense of Thai sovereignty against Japanese aggression was the supreme task of the party. To this end, the TCP mounted an intense anti-Japanese propaganda campaign and formed a string of half-open and half-clandestine workers’ associations in Bangkok for the dual purpose of organizing aid for the victims of Allied air raids, and carrying out acts of sabotage against Japanese war-related industries and other critical targets. Concurrently with this, the TCP adopted a policy of cooperation, and joint action with the pro-Pridi

132 Of course, many Chinese communists proved to be wholly unequal to the task. One Mr. Piatoe, for example, a communist who was born to a Chinese father and a Thai- Khamu mother in the Thai province of Phichit, came up short in the elections for secretary-general of the TCP in 1952, largely because he spoke Thai with a Chinese accent. See Kasian Tejapira, 23, 58, 213-14n. 128

Free Thai Movement, and other anti-Japanese, and anti-Phibun underground operations.

These efforts were accompanied by a drive to mobilize an anti-Japanese armed resistance force (the Anti-Japanese Volunteer Force), but the initiative got underway in earnest only in the closing months of the war.

Be that as it may, the wartime activities of the TCP greatly strengthened its cause.

Most importantly, its judicious gesture to Thai nationalism and rigorously anti- imperialist, and anti-Phibun program attracted a substantial following among politically active Thai intellectuals, particularly those associated with the . As a result, when the Pridi-Free Thai group unseated the discredited Phibun government at the end of the war, it rewarded the TCP with key concessions, including the abrogation of the

Anti-Communist Act of 1933/35, thereby permitting the communist party to operate freely and legally in Thailand for the first time. Attaining legal status in the Thai polity was without a doubt a critical turning point in the history of the TCP.133

No single undertaking better illustrated the growing self-assertiveness of the TCP than the establishment of the Central Labor Union in 1947. Appealing with socialist slogans to labor, and with prospects of improved working conditions, and higher wages, the TCP managed to attract vast numbers of workers to its organization. Approximately seventy thousand workers throughout Siam, most of whom were of Chinese descent, ultimately joined the Central Labor Union.134

133 See Kasian Tejapira, 53-7. 134 Although the vast majority of the Central Labor Union’s membership was comprised of ethnic Chinese, a substantial number of ethnic Thais were incorporated into the Central Labor Union leadership. Thianthai Aphichatbut, for example, served as chairman; Damri Reuangsutham, a member of the CPT central committee and politburo, served as 129

During the Pridi years (1946-47), and the quasi-liberal spell of 1955-57, print media also served as an important vehicle for disseminating radical political ideas.

Chinese and English-language editions of the classic works of Marx, Engels, Lenin,

Stalin, and Mao became widely available in post-war Thailand, though accessible only to those who possessed adequate knowledge of these languages to read (or translate) them.

More important still were the Thai-language periodicals, newspapers, and magazines that publicized radical politics to a mass audience for the first time. The TCP alone published

(or co-edited) over a dozen radical publications, including Mahachon (the masses), the chief propaganda organ of the party. In addition, a wide range of non-partisan, independently-owned publications, such as the erudite Aksornsarn (inscribed advice), and

Karnmuang (politics), which mixed foreign news analysis with literary, and theoretical writings, emerged during this period.135

All these factors contributed to the making of Siam’s radical intelligentsia. But it was not without its weaknesses. True, it managed to attract into its modest ranks a large section of the Chinese working class. It also succeeded in gaining the ear of a few Thai intellectuals. Yet its program was still too extreme (and perhaps unintelligible) for the ethnic Thai masses. At no time did the TCP enjoy anything like a mass following. Even after changing its name to the Communist Party of Thailand (CPT) at its 2nd Congress in

1952, ostensibly to assert its Thai national character, it was far from a representative

secretary; Si Anothai was head of education; Sun Kijjamnong headed the welfare section; Vas Sunthornjamorn, served as legal advisor; and Prince Sakol Wannakon Worawan served as general advisor. See Kasian Tejapira, 56-7. 135 For details on the literary achievements of this nascent Thai-language intelligentsia, see Kasian Tejapira, 59-74. 130 body. Whatever the general trend of political sympathy among the workers and the intelligentsia, lacking popular support the CPT’s prospects of revolutionizing Thailand in the ‘40s, and ‘50s were all but nil. Too much of the spadework for the revolution remained unfinished.

The question that must now be answered is did this intelligentsia pose a legitimate threat to the Thai bureaucratic state. It seems improbable. Sure enough, from 1942 to

1957, the TCP—the chief political organ of the radical intelligentsia—made notable strides. Yet its ascendancy was by no means complete. First, throughout this period ethnic Chinese and Sino-Thais continued to dominate almost all levels of the party apparatus. More and more ethnic Thais were starting to come round to communism. Yet only a handful ever joined the party. Even after the Second Party Congress in 1952, when the TCP changed its name to Phak Kommunit Haeng Prathet Thai (Communist Party of

Thailand or CPT), ostensibly to stress its national character, it is doubtful how far its composition corresponded to that designation.136 Second, the TCP/CPT was few in numbers: its total membership in the late 1950s, during the waning days of liberalism, probably did not exceed two thousand. Third, at this stage, the communist party had no fixed programs or clear-cut ideas regarding its course of action. Fourth, and most important of all, the radical intelligentsia was constantly hounded by the Thai authorities.

As the state’s fear of communism intensified, particularly during the 1930s, and 1940s, and most of the 1950s, so too did its campaign of suppression. Suspected communists were routinely rounded up by the police and severely punished, when apprehended, by

136 See Kasian Tejapira, 53. 131 imprisonment or execution. After 1947, and especially from 1958 on, successive Thai drove almost all determined leftwing opposition underground, or into exile.

The effort was undertaken on such a vast scale, and with such indubitable zeal, that the radical intelligentsia was thoroughly routed. It would take the next ten years to fully recover from the blow.

Another question, and perhaps the most important, that calls for explanation, is why, after more than five decades, did Surawutprawat finally break his silence and publish his memoir? The simplest answer is that it was always his intention to do so, and thus by 1972, when Surawutprawat had reached the age of 76, and was in failing health, he resolved to publish his account of the Russian Revolution. But this does not explain, at least not entirely, Surawutprawat’s motivation to relate his account of the Russian

Revolution. In both the third to last paragraph of the section entitled “Lenin Makes

Revolution,” and the final paragraph of the memoir, there is a distinct sense of urgency and foreboding in Surawutprawat’s voice. The late 1960s and early 1970s was a period of extraordinary political unrest in Thailand. A convincing argument could be made that it was these conditions, especially between the years 1971 and 1974, rather than his age, declining health, or even nostalgia for the past, that were the spur to Surawutprawat’s decision to publish his memoir in 1972 and 1974. Simply put, for Surawutprawat

Thailand of the late 1960s and early 1970s called to mind traumatic memories of the

Russian Revolution.

Ironically, the watershed event of this period took place in the month of October, which, to Surawutprawat, must have seemed as if the Thai were taking a leaf from the 132 book of Bolshevism. On 13 October 1973, a gray overcast day in the Thai kingdom, the nation’s youthful radical intelligentsia, middle-class university and vocational school students, buttressed by a sympathetic but wary royal family, led a massive popular demonstration against the military of , Praphat

Charusathien, and Narong Kittikachorn demanding the restoration of constitutionalism.137

The sudden eruption of mass discontent was preceded by a year or more of galloping inflation, political stagnation and administrative blundering, but these accumulated weaknesses need not have foredoomed the dictatorship. The regime might have survived the ordeal had it been willing to concede a democratic constitution without resorting to heavy-handed tactics. That did not happen, mainly because the leadership critically misjudged the latent might of the youthful opposition and the dynamism of the constitutional movement that was underway. Instead, on the morning of 14 October the movement was brutally suppressed by the police and military authorities. The regime’s draconian measures turned the peaceful demonstration into a full-blown uprising, forcing the bureaucratic regime to yield a constitution and remove the Thanom-Praphat clique from power, ending, quite unexpectedly, nearly forty years of military rule.138

137 T. D. Allman, Bhumipol: Asian phenomenon,” Far Eastern Economic Review (17 Dec. 1973): 11-12; FBIS Daily Report, , 24 Oct. 1973. Also see October 14 Thai Student Uprising 1973, ed. Charnvit Kasetsiri, trans. , 55 min., Bangkok: Thammasat University Archives, 1998, videocassette, for a photographic account of the 14 October uprising. 138 Seri Noibuatip, Rumluk prawattisat “wan maha wipayok” 14 dula 16 (Bangkok: Siam Inc., 1998): 92; Jeffrey Race, “Thailand 1973: We Certainly Have Been Ravaged By Something…,” Asian Survey 14, no. 2 (Feb. 1974): 192-203; and Sarakhadee, ruam luet nua chat cheua thai: ruam 3 hedgann somkhan tang prawattisat gan muang thai (Bangkok: Krungthep Publishing House, 1997), 22-51. 133

For the sake of comparison, and to better understand why Surawutprawat saw in the 14 October uprising shades of the Russian Revolution, it may be helpful to have a sharper perspective on the origins of this important event

From 1932, when the People’s Party seized control of the government, changing it from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy, to 1973, there were few years when Siam was not shaken by political upheavals. The 1932 ‘revolution'—a modest and, ultimately, failed undertaking—was followed by a seemingly endless string of constitutional crises.

By 1971, the Thai kingdom had recorded no fewer than half a dozen successful coups d'état.139 Each unfolded in varying ways; and yet, in their essentials, all proved to be remarkably uniform. A few were initiated by prominent civilians; others were staged by decorated soldiers. But all grew out of the hot and cold blowing’s of the military- bureaucratic elite. The average Thai citizen was altogether secondary to the historical plot.

The October uprising stood this plot on its head. The events of October 1973 represent a sharp break with the past, and this for at least one important reason: in marked contrast to their historical predecessors—all except for , whose political fortunes had been dissipated by prodigal living (he died in office from cirrhosis of the

139 The Thai military, often with the tacit approval or participation of the palace and leading bureaucratic figures, led successful coups in 1933, 1947, 1951, 1957, 1958, and 1971. The number of failed coups is much higher. In fact, from 1932 to 1957 alone, there were at least ten coup attempts. See David Morell and Chai-anan Samudavanija, Political Conflict in Thailand: Reform, Reaction, Revolution (Cambridge, Mass: Oelgeschlager, Gunn & Hain, Publishers, Inc., 1981), 5; and Likhit Dhiravegin, Thai Politics: Selected Aspects of Development and Change (Bangkok: Tri-Sciences Publishing House, 1985), 267. 134 liver in 1963)140—the Thanom-Praphat clique’s ouster was not the handiwork of intra- elite conspirators, but rather, the hitherto undreamt-of consequence of a massive student- led uprising. Thai middle and lower-middle-class youth, greatly stirred up by the agitation of a small cohort of youthful leftwing oppositionalists, and enjoying a patent measure of support from the mass of the Thai population—from discontented bureaucratic functionaries down to the lowliest worker—shattered all precedents of caution and restraint by banding together to attain by force what could not be adequately secured without it: an end to one-man, authoritarian rule. The spectacle of a being toppled by a student-led opposition movement would have been unthinkable just a few years before. But in 1973 it finally happened. Thailand heard the death-knell of the old order—and it seemed there would be no turning back.

How should one understand the triumphal achievement of the student-led Thai masses in 1973? An event of such historic import must be explainable in relation to the

Thai social formation. The political awakening of the urban Thai masses suggests wide- ranging socio-economic change. It also seems symptomatic of an intense and far-reaching ideological and cultural upheaval.141 In fact, the movement that culminated in the October uprising might best be characterized as a dramatic tale acted out by a typically diffuse cast of characters on two separate, though historically interconnected, levels: class formation and ideological-cultural turmoil. Each deserve brief elaboration in turn.

140 “Mixing one’s pleasures,” Far Eastern Economic Review (26 Nov. 1973): 18. 141 My interpretation of this important chapter in Thai history has undoubtedly been influenced by the work of Benedict Anderson, and especially his seminal essay “Withdrawal Symptoms.” 135

The most striking feature to be noted in Thai society in the years preceding the

October uprising was the emergence of new bourgeois strata. These new strata—which included an upper, middle and a lower-middle class—were the natural outgrowth of bourgeois-capitalist development and the War-era economic boom (1960-68), when the stream of private investment and American aid and military expenditures in

Thailand became a flood. It was these new strata, while still in the tentative stages of their development, still subject to all manner of unforeseen perils, that provided the structural support and the catalyst for the youthful leftwing opposition movement.

Overlapping with these dynamic shifts in the Thai social formation came fresh ideological and cultural turmoil. Very broadly, we may say that this turmoil sprang in large measure from pent-up political grievances, the expansion of American influences in

Siam, and, as the 1960s wore on, from previously unimagined economic stresses and strains as Thailand’s near decade-long economic boom began grinding to a halt. The first clear outlines of a deeper reaction to this turmoil were evidenced in the late 1960s and early 1970s in the literary and journalistic endeavors of a small cohort of left-liberal intellectuals and radical political theorists, and in the rapid burgeoning of student activist and political discussion groups on Thai university campuses in Bangkok and in the . The complex stages by which bourgeois opposition to the old feudal- bureaucratic elite crystallized can be traced in these years to the growing alienation of all these emerging leftist elements, and manifested itself, above all, in a crescendo of Hyde

Park-style rallies, constitutional-reform leafleting campaigns, and a general outburst of anti-government agitation. This opposition leaped out dramatically and unambiguously in 136

October 1973 following a series of repressive measures, which deeply offended bourgeois interests and enabled young leftists to raise their agitation to an effective social pitch.

To the extent that historical events have a distinguishable beginning, a case could be made for tracing the origins of the October movement to the 1958 pattiwat

[revolution], a misnomer, perhaps, but a watershed nonetheless, led by Field Marshal

Sarit Thanarat. In the whirlwind of that year Sarit set out on a course of revolution and development more sweeping in its scope and more extreme in its intensity than any hitherto attempted in Thailand since the fifth reign. Sarit’s ‘revolution from above’ was undertaken with two seemingly contradictory aims in mind: first, to uproot all vestiges of the Western-style constitutional democracy inherited from the 1932 coup, which he deemed ideologically precarious and politically speculative, and, modelling himself on

Ramkhwamhaeng, the legendary 13th century ruler of Sukhothai, reinvent popular autocracy in Thailand; and second, to transform Thailand from an agrarian to modern bourgeois-capitalist nation.

Underlying and permeating Sarit’s so-called revolution was a longing, shared by many conservatives, including royalists, to turn back the clock to some distant and largely imaginary golden age of paternal rule. Sarit’s notion of paternal rule, to say nothing of his knowledge of Thai history, owed its origins almost exclusively to Luang

Wichit Wathakan.142 Wichit was the picture of a quixotic genius. He was a statesman,

142 Sarit was of middling intelligence. He was a man of practical ability and resourcefulness, the sort who “gets things done.” He was not, however, a theorist. Political philosophy was not his strong suit. Luang Wichit, who possessed a stronger, 137 playwright, essayist, arm-chair ideologist, and a stanch nationalist, who was given to flights of fantasy and strange bouts of nostalgia for the bygone age of popular autocracy.

Wichit’s essay “Wattanatham Sukhothai” [The Culture of Sukhothai]143 is particularly, if subtly, resonant with the sentimentalisms of an incurable nostalgist. Here, the romantic at his boldest, Wichit argues that the reign of King Ramkhwamhaeng (?1279-1298) stands as the fullest expression of the original, ancestral way of life of the Thai, untouched by the pomp and prodigality of Angkorean culture or the decadence of the West.

Wichit harkened back to the Sukhothai period as a time of enormous material prosperity, boundless enterprise, peace, and tranquil piety. Also, Sukhothai was culturally advanced, he claimed, famed as a center for engineers, architects, artists, and religious scholars. He attributed Sukhothai’s cultural achievements to the ideals and moral virtues of Ramkhamhaeng and the qualities of character imbued in his subjects.144

The reasons why paternal rule appealed to Sarit are not hard to imagine. To start with, in contrast to his precursors, who had gone through fire and water to overturn

Siam’s absolute monarchy, Sarit viewed skeptically the whole notion of Western

more cultivated intellect, was the true inspirer and mastermind of the Sarit regime. No one exerted greater influence on Sarit than Wichit. Sarit actively solicited advice from Wichit on essentially all matters, great or small. It is indicative of the importance which Sarit attached to his esteemed mentor that on learning of Wichit’s death in 1962, Sarit was said to be utterly inconsolable. According to Scot Barmé, Sarit openly wept as he confided in Wichit’s widow that “he had lost his golden cabinet, his treasure chest.” Scot Barmé, Luang Wichit Wathakan and the Creation of a Thai Identity (Singapore: ISEAS, 1993), p. 4. Also see , Lok khrap sangkhom Thai (Bangkok: Komon Khimthong, 1984), 168; and Thai Noi, Buanglang kanmuang yuk Sarit. (Phranakhon: Krungthai Kanphim, 1965): 16-18. 143 Reprinted in Wichit Wathakan Anuson, vol. 2. (Bangkok: Ratchadarom, 1962). 144 Wichit Wathakan Anuson, vol. 2., p. 144. 138 liberalism. Born in 1908, he was too young to have experienced at first hand the 1932 coup, or the working out of its immediate consequences. He did not come of age politically until after the waning of constitutionalism had been long foretold. Nor did the atmosphere in which he was educated exert a revolutionary influence on Sarit. Trained exclusively in Thailand, Sarit knew little or nothing of the Western liberal ideals and traditions that gripped the minds of an earlier generation of Thais educated in Europe during the ‘20s and ‘30s.145 Thailand was his only model and source of ideas.

But events as well as personal experiences accounted for Sarit’s leaning towards paternal rule. By 1958, if not long before, Sarit and most other Thai conservatives had had their fill of parliamentarianism and mass politics. And there was good cause for pessimism. Thailand’s experiment with parliamentary democracy between 1932 and

1958, marred by interminable intrigues and petty bickering, more closely resembled a comic opera than a working system of government. Never before had the ruling class been so deeply torn by strife and partisan rancor. Military coups and counter-coups piled up one upon another. Government degenerated into a revolving door system for the

145 Sarit was a man of meager education. He attended primary school in Mukdahan province. Later, at the age of eleven, Sarit enrolled in the army officers’ academy in Bangkok, from which he was graduated in 1928. Life at the Chulachumkhlao Royal Military Academy was austere and strictly-regimented. In contrast to Poitiers or Fontainebleau of Phibunsongkhram’s day, which was awash with republican zeal, Chulachumkhlao was no breeding-ground for revolutionaries. For more on Sarit, see Prawat lae phonngan khong Chomphon Sarit Thanarat (Phranakhon: Samnak Lekhathikan Khana Ratthamontri : Samnak Thamniap Nayok Ratthamontri, 1964); and Chomphon So. Thanarat (Phranakhon : Kongthap Bok, 1964). 139 unscrupulous and self-interested.146 The tug-of-war between the ruling factions threw the entire body politic into confusion and chaos. The National Assembly was incapable of fulfilling the legislative duty assigned to it. Lacking strong, cohesive leadership at the top, the bureaucracy, too, floundered in a state of administrative torpor and ineptitude.

These and other insoluble problems drove Sarit to the inexorable conclusion that Western democratic ideals and institutions were wholly incompatible with Thai political culture and tradition.147 Having found democracy to be wanting, there remained no alternative but to retreat to Siam’s paternal past. In Sarit’s judgment, only strong personal authority, uncompromising but just, held out hope of unifying the nation.

Another argument advanced by Sarit to justify the return to absolute rule was the rising tide of revolution in Southeast Asia. By the late 1950s all of Thai society was astir with alarming news of mounting communist influence and control in Indochina. Equally disturbing, perhaps, were the persistent rumors of intensified communist activity within

Thailand.148 No one could contemplate these extraordinary developments soberly without a sense of fear and foreboding, least of all Sarit. Expediency bade him, or so he claimed,

146 See Saneh Chamrik, “Gan muang Thai gap pattiwat dula khom” in Charnvit Kasetsiri and Thamrongsak Petchlert-anan, eds. Jak 14 tung 6 dula (Bangkok: Thammasat University Press, 1999), 5. 147 By the 1950s, few could view the prospects of liberalism in Thailand without skepticism. And yet, whether the failure of constitutional democracy in Siam was a question of incompatibility, as Sarit claimed, or a general unwillingness among Thai elites, old and new, to embrace the spirit of democratic rule, is something of a moot point. All that one can safely say is that Sarit felt that democracy was unsuited to Thailand. 148 See Thak Chaloemtiarana, Thailand: the Politics of Despotic Paternalism, 150-51; and Prawat lae phonngan kho̜ ng Chomphon Sarit Thanarat (Phranakhon: Samnak Lekhathikan Khana Ratthamontri : Samnak Thamnīap Nayok Ratthamontri, 1964), 68, 70-73. 140 to avail himself of dictatorial powers to defend against this infiltration. From Sarit’s viewpoint, the crisis would not be resolved and the threat of a communist takeover averted unless drastic action was promptly taken. A more cynical reading of Sarit’s conduct might lead to the conclusion that he deliberately played up the bogey of communism to justify a seizure of power.149

Whatever the truth of the matter, on October 20, 1958, Sarit Thanarat led a coup.

Upon seizing power, Sarit proceeded with all deliberate haste to dismantle Thailand’s democratic system of government. He banned political parties and labor unions, tore up the constitution, dissolved parliament, and suppressed with great determination and even greater dispatch all pockets of resistance. Arsonists, opium traffickers, prostitutes, and

“hooligans” of various stripes were rounded up by the police and jailed without trial.

Political opponents, real and imaginary, were regarded a priori as “communists” and severely punished, when apprehended, by imprisonment or execution.150 In the interests

149 There are grounds to suspect the sincerity of Sarit’s motives. For one thing, contemporary sources offer almost no basis for the conclusion that communism constituted an immediate or grave threat to Thailand in 1958, as Sarit was at pains to show. Even the CIA, which seldom took the matter of communism lightly, acknowledged that a communist attack against Thailand was highly improbable. The U.S. was equally pessimistic about the prospects for an indigenous communist movement. See, for example, Memorandum For the Record on White House Meeting at 10:30, 12 May, and 1:30, 12 May (1962); Special National Intelligence Estimate SNIE 10-62, Communist Objectives, Capabilities, and Intentions in Southeast Asia, 21 Feb. 1962; and Special National Intelligence Estimate SNIE 52-61, Thailand’s Security Problems and Prospects, 13 Dec. 1961. Such information, which the United States almost certainly shared with the Thai leadership, casts doubt on Sarit’s belief in the proximity of revolution. 150 See Thak Chaloemtiarana, Thailand: the Politics of Despotic Paternalism, 200-05; and Prawat lae phonngan khong Chomphon Sarit Thanarat, 27-50; 66-69. 141 of the common good, Sarit put the “revolution” before all else, and eliminated anyone who stood in his way.151

Having managed to free themselves from accountability to parliament and the

Thai people in general, Sarit and his lieutenants presently embarked upon the task of re- inventing paternal rule in Thailand. Integral to that mission was the restoration of the

Thai monarchy.

This last point calls for comment. Up until about the early 20th century, the Thai monarchy was still the only legitimate source of authority in Siam. The Chakri dynasty was viewed as the sole repository of wisdom and truth. As the embodiment of a god on earth, the Thai king was above reproach. Matters stood very differently after 1932, when at length the reins of government slipped from King Prajadhipok’s hands. The entire political constellation ceased, almost overnight, to revolve around the Chakri ruler. After

King Prajadhipok’s abdication in 1935, which was met with surprising indifference, the kingship fell into oblivion.152

151 In the immediate aftermath of the 1958 putsch 87 suspected communists and communist sympathizers were rounded up by Sarit’s henchmen and imprisoned (four suspects were executed straightaway) without trial for years. Preeminent Thai radicals Jit Poumisak, Udom Srisuwan, Thongbai Thongbao, Suphat Sukhonthaphirom, and Sang Phatnothai were among those imprisoned in 1958. Hundreds more were driven underground or exiled. Many ultimately joined the armed uprising in the Thai countryside during mid-1960s. See Thak Chaloemtiarana, Thailand, The Politics of Despotic Paternalism, 200-02. 152 It will be remembered that between 1935 and 1950—from the abdication of King Prajadhipok to King Bhumibol’s ascension to the throne—Siam did not even have an adult reigning monarch residing in the kingdom. (Before his untimely death, King Ananda Mahidol reigned for a brief period in 1946). During this time, Thailand’s newly emerging political elite did much to undermine the power and prestige of the Chakri dynasty. Age-old royal rites—including the plowing ceremony (Chot phranangkhan) and the kathin merit-making ceremony—conceived to perpetuate the notion of the sacred 142

Sarit resolved to stop the rot. Tactical motives, and no doubt personal preference, compelled Sarit to restore the monarchy to some proximity of its former glory. As a usurper who had no recognized standing in Thai politics, Sarit needed the backing of the crown to consolidate his victory and lend an aura of legitimacy to his rule. To this purpose, Sarit gave his all—performing public acts of deference to the young king,

Bhumibol Adulyadej, replenishing the royal family’s depleted coffers, and reviving palace ceremonies and rituals of homage to the dynasty—until by 1960 or so, the monarchy was firmly back on its feet. The wheel of history had turned full circle: humbled and disgraced in 1932, the throne was once again the object of popular adulation and deification.153 Sarit’s position was, needless to say, correspondingly enhanced.

Apart from the monarchy, the regime’s principal support came from the armed forces. That Sarit, a dyed-in-the-wool army man, commanded the allegiance of the Thai military should come as no surprise. It was without question the pampered child of the clique. But this is only half the story. Seen in historical perspective, 1958 was the military’s coup de grâce over the old constitutional order.154 The military suddenly found itself elevated to a hitherto unattainable height. Not so long ago the military was dedicated to the defence of the nation, and nothing more. Now it was the undisputed

union between the Thai king and his loyal subjects, were discontinued. Equally damaging, much of the royal family’s property and other assets were seized. See Paul M. Handley, The King Never Smiles: A Biography of Thailand’s Bhumibol Adulyadej (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 2006), chapters 3,4, and 5. 153 See Paul M. Handley, The King Never Smiles: A Biography of Thailand’s Bhumibol Adulyadej, 144-55. 154 Chalœmkiat Phiunuan, Prachathipatai bæp Thai : khwamkhit thang kanmưang khong thahan Thai (2519-2529) (Bangkok : Sathaban Thai Khadisuksa, Mahawitthayalai Thammasat, 1990), 41. 143 master of government itself.155 This no doubt stirred the Thai soldier’s national pride and gave him a renewed sense of purpose.

For all his belief in the preeminence of the military, Sarit attached great, if not equal, importance to the bureaucracy.156 This, too, was understandable. The staggering enterprise upon which Sarit had embarked was far too complex for the military to carry out single-handedly. Governing the kingdom was itself a vast undertaking. Transforming it from an agrarian to a modern capitalist nation was a different matter entirely. It required conscientious and technically proficient administrators on whose loyalty and unity of purpose Sarit could count.

The loyalty of the Thai bureaucracy was all but a foregone conclusion. In theory, and largely in practice, whoever controlled the executive branch of government enjoyed the patronage of the bureaucracy. And yet it was more than mere tradition or a sense of patriotic duty that impelled the bureaucracy to bow to the authority of Sarit. The Sarit

155 Up until the last years of the absolute monarchy, the austere code and idealistic tradition of the military dictated that the professional soldier steer clear of politics. The 1932 “revolution” seriously challenged such assumptions. Henceforth the military engaged more or less freely in politics. And yet, during the 1930s and ‘40s, and for sometime afterwards, Thai militarists contented themselves to give expression to the notion of constitutional democracy by sharing power with, or even subordinating themselves to, the civilian leadership. Not so Sarit. The regime he established upon coming to power was of an altogether different kind. Under Sarit, the military alone occupied the commanding heights of government. Thak Chaloemtiarana, Thailand: the Politics of Despotic Paternalism, 294-308. 156 The civil bureaucracy quickly became one of the most important pillars of the Sarit regime. Between 1957, when Sarit overthrew the government of Luang Phibunsongkhram and Police Chief Phao Sriyanon, and 1962, the number of civil servants under his authority increased from just over 200,000 to about 340,000. See William J. Siffin, “The Essential Character of the Contemporary Bureaucracy,” in Clark D. Neher, ed., Modern Thai Politics: From Village to Nation (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Schenkman Publishing Company, 1979), 337n. 144 regime appealed to the bureaucracy largely on its own merits. The importance it attached to the role of the professional bureaucrat in the social and economic development of the nation was its chief attraction.157 Other, more practical, motives, such as the desire for social advancement and increased material prosperity, were at work as well. And when the seductive power of status and prestige was of no avail, the clique was not above bullying wayward state servitors into submission.

The picture would be incomplete without mention of another powerful patron, the

United States, which figured prominently in the making of the Sarit regime. Under Sarit and his successors, the United States’ role in Thailand’s internal affairs changed decisively from indirect and episodic dealings to direct and sustained involvement.158

Always and unremittingly, the central thrust of U.S.-Thai relations was shaped by the exigencies of politics. Most importantly, there was the stimulus of “Red

Chinese” , growing American unease over the rapidly deteriorating situation in

Vietnam, the intensification of leftist activity in Laos, and alarming neutralist currents in

157 Sarit surrounded himself with Western-educated, professional administrators of exceptional technical abilities. He actively courted and coopted hundreds of the finest Thai and Western economists, engineers, businessmen, and bankers. While previous regimes tended to belittle the role of technocrats in government, Sarit glorified them. This earned him the respect and unwavering loyalty of the bureaucracy. See Thak Chaloemtiarana, Thailand: the Politics of Despotic Paternalism, 273-92. For more on the development of the Thai bureaucracy, see William Siffin, The Thai Bureaucracy: Institutional Change and Development (Honolulu: East-West Center Press, 1966); and Fred Warren Riggs. Thailand: The Modernization of a Bureaucratic Polity (Honolulu: East-West Center Press, 1966). 158 Martha Winnacker, “The U.S. Role in Thai Society,” Indochina Chronicle 54 (Jan- Feb 1977): 2-9. Also see Wiwat Mungkandi and William Warren, A Century and a Half of Thai-American Relations (Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University Press, 1982). 145

Cambodia.159 Accordingly, Thailand came to be regarded as the last rampart against communism in mainland Southeast Asia, and its security, material well-being, and ideological conformity were given pride of place in U.S. foreign policy circles.

America could not have wished for a better ally than Sarit Thanarat. The U.S. was prepared to grant Sarit unqualified support so long as he made common cause with them in the struggle against communism. Sarit needed no goading to join the onslaught. He hated communism with every fiber of his being. Nothing short of its complete eradication would satisfy him. Sarit was willing to declare his solidarity with the Americans on almost any terms so long as they accepted definite commitments to defend Thailand and provide her with military and economic assistance.160 In this expectation he was not disappointed. Over the next decade and a half, U.S. aid to Thailand totaled 2.3 billion dollars, three times the amount ($602.1 million) allotted to Latin America as a whole.161

159 See Benedict Anderson, In the Mirror: Literature and Politics in Siam in the American Era, p. 19; George K. Tanham, Trial in Thailand, 20-22; and Martha Winnacker, “The U.S. Role in Thai Society,” 2-11. 160 U.S. commitment to Thailand was most explicitly expressed in the Rusk-Thanat agreement of 1962, in which the United States affirmed that it regarded “the preservation of the independence and integrity of Thailand as vital to the national interest of the United States and to world peace.” Cited in Raja Segaran, Arumugam, Patrick Low, and M. Rajaretnam, “Thailand in the Seventies: Challenges of Stability and Security,” in M. Rajaretnam and Lim So Jean, eds., Trends in Thailand, Proceedings and Background Paper (Singapore: Singapore University Press for ISEAS, 1973), 28 ; and Harvey Stockwin, “Toppling the Domino Theory,” Far Eastern Economic Review (25 April 1975): 36-39. In full, the 1962 Rusk-Thanat agreement provided for significantly increased military aid to the Thai kingdom, the establishment of the Military Assistance Command, Thailand (MACTHAI), and allowed the U.S. to begin stationing American troops in Thailand. For additional background on post war relations between the U.S. and Thailand, see Daniel Fineman, A Special Relationship: The United States and Military Government in Thailand, 1947-1958 (Honolulu, University of Hawaii Press, 1997). 161 Between 1951 and 1971, U.S. military aid to Thailand totaled $1695.9 million. U.S. economic aid during the same period (of which, roughly 75 percent was spent on 146

The U.S. was pressed into the herculean task of building up Thailand’s military- police strength by the heralded advance of the communist menace from the east. Weighty geopolitical considerations were at stake. Sarit doubtless shared America’s anxiety about communism. Arresting its expansion was uppermost in his mind. This said, it would be naïve to suppose that his preoccupation with militarization was motivated solely by the threat of communist aggression. Equally grave, and initially more real, was the danger of internal opposition. The introduction of one-man authoritarian rule created, in itself, a high risk of resistance. The necessity of self-preservation compelled Sarit to strengthen his defenses to counter foreign and domestic challenges. Only by way of tight political controls and vigorous repressive measures could the dictatorship maintain itself in power.

Fear was the indispensable condition of the regime’s very existence.

Whether Sarit made ‘revolution’ from patriotic motives or out of lust for power as its own objective is debatable. Whatever his thinking, one thing is clear: buttressed by a revitalized monarchy and well-nigh limitless American aid, Sarit vastly increased the power of the Thai state and his authority over it. The dictatorship he founded was as absolute in scope as any in Thai history. And yet, ironically, the Sarit era, while creating an enormous strain on Thai civil society, was accompanied by hope, and a rising

defense), amounted to $650 million. All in all, about $1.9 billion, or 80% of the total amount of U.S. aid to Thailand, was doled out during the Sarit-Thanom years. See David A. Wilson, The United States and the Future of Thailand (New York: Praeger, 1970), 144; and John L. S. Girling, Thailand, Society and Politics (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1981): 236. Combined U.S. aid to all of Latin America in the same period totaled $602.1 million. Michael T. Klare and Cynthia Arnson, “Exporting Repression: U.S. Support for Authoritarianism in Latin America,” in Richard R. Fagen, ed., Capitalism and the State in U.S.-Latin American Relations (Stanford: Press, 1979): 138-168. 147 optimism about the prospect for material progress in Thailand—and progress, most of all, meant bourgeois-capitalist development.

Sarit was something of a paradox. Politically, he seemed more at home in the bygone age of autocracy than the period of emerging democracy in which he was born.

Vain and jealous of his unlimited powers, Sarit harbored an instinctive, plebian mistrust of constitutional rule. And yet, for all his political inflexibility, Sarit was no relic of the past. He was unshakable in his belief in progress and the power of capitalism.

To achieve the scale of economic growth that Sarit saw as the ultimate goal, he dismantled Siam’s antiquated state enterprises, abolished statutory restrictions on landownership, imposed strict wage limits, and actively promoted all the appurtenances of Western-style free enterprise, including exemptions, and capital repatriation privileges to foreign investors and guarantees against nationalization. Here at last the

Thai dictatorship found what seemed the perfect formula—whatever its merits or demerits in the long view—for forging a new bourgeois order. Thanks in part to the foresight and diligence of Sarit, partly to the prodigious influx of foreign investment, and partly, and perhaps even most importantly, to Thai entrepreneurial initiative and capital, from 1960 onward the triumph of middle-class capitalism profoundly transformed virtually all aspects of economic and social life in Thailand.162

162 The turn to private investment was key to Thailand’s economic success. However, whether the great prosperity Siam achieved in the 1960s came about primarily because of, or in spite of, the dramatic increase in foreign investment is a very difficult question to answer. In 1963, the net inflow of foreign capital was 153.7 million Baht (US$7.6 million), peaking at 973.5 million Baht (US$48.6 million) in 1968. See Raja Segaran Arumugam, Patrick Low, and M. Rajaretnam, “Thailand in the Seventies: Challenges of Stability and Security,” in M. Rajaretnam and Lim So Jean, eds., Trends in Thailand, 148

The fortunes of bourgeois-capitalist development worked significant changes in the Thai landscape. Urbanization and industrialization accelerated. The metropolitan complex of Bangkok-Thonburi expanded with feverish haste, engulfing the adjacent countryside and transforming rice farms into sprawling housing developments, middle- class suburbs, and teeming slums. All over Bangkok, as well as the major provincial capitals, high-rise office buildings, condominiums, banks, and shopping malls sprang up at a spectacular rate.163 But of all the material signs of change in post-1960 Siam, few were more tangible or inexorable than the expansion of the kingdom’s network of roads and highways, which brought the first massive intrusion of urban culture into the somnolent Thai countryside, and thus wide-ranging changes to the life of the rural majority.

This important transformation was accompanied by another, which was in effect the other side of the same coin—the ‘great boom’. As providence would have it, this drama was to have an even longer run than the Sarit dictatorship itself. In

1963 the shrewd but dissolute autocrat succumbed to liver disease. Under Sarit’s immediate successors—Field Thanom Kittikachorn and Praphat Charusathien, who merely, if understandably, extended the system—the fate of Siam became

Proceedings and Background Paper (Singapore: Singapore University Press, ISEAS, 1973), 26. Clearly, then, the total inflow of foreign capital to Thailand was substantial. At the same time, (and despite Benedict Anderson’s influential analysis of the critical role of foreign capital in his “Withdrawal Symptoms”) when judged against the massive amount of indigenous capital invested in the Thai economy (both Thai and Sino-Thai), the level of foreign direct investment seems comparatively inconsequential. Ivan Mudannayake, ed., Thailand Year Book, 1975-1976 (Bangkok: Temple Publicity Services, 1976), N10. 163 See Benedict Anderson, “Withdrawal Symptoms,” 143. 149 increasingly bound up in the complex history and changing character of the United

States’ involvement in Indochina. Accordingly, in a striking parallel to Lyndon Johnson’s intensification of the war effort in Vietnam, between 1963 and 1968 the American military presence in Thailand was greatly expanded—until at last, no fewer than 48,000

U.S. servicemen were stationed on Thai soil.164

This vastly intensified American military presence impinged on the daily lives of the people of Thailand in many important ways. Above all, to an extent inconceivable in the past American capital poured in and the Thai economy expanded posthaste. Massive

U.S. war-related expenditures stimulated, first and foremost, the construction and service industries that built the military installations and furnished off-base housing, entertainment, and other requirements of the U.S. troops and military advisors.165

164 According to the United States MACT Public Affairs Office, in the peak year 1968 there were 44,400 American servicemen stationed in Thailand, and an added 4,000-5,000 troops on R & R. Cited in David Elliot, “The Socio-Economic Formation of Modern Thailand,” in Andrew Turton and Malcolm Caldwell, (eds.) Thailand, Roots of Conflict (Nottingham: Spokesman Books, 1978), 42. According to The Nation, 2 Oct. 1967, there were 46,000 troops, and 7,000 or so additional U.S. servicemen engaged in economic development and propaganda activities. Cited in Benedict Anderson, “Withdrawal Symptoms,” 146. 165 All told, the U.S. military built and operated seven major air bases, nine major strategic communications centers, six special forces headquarters, and one naval base in Thailand. Of course, the primary purpose of these installations was to coordinate and launch aerial attacks over neighboring Vietnam and Laos. Between 1963 and 1969, the United States spent $850 million for the construction and maintenance of these installations. (The U.S. Congress was not informed of the construction of these bases until they were nearly completed.) William Shawcross, “Legacy of Revolt,” Far Eastern Economic Review (Nov. 19. 1973): 31., estimated that the U.S. spent more than $2,000 million on base construction between 1958 and 1968. Largely as a result of these U.S. expenditures, the growth rate of the Thai construction industry averaged 12 percent per year throughout most of the 1960s. In 1967, it peaked at 18.7 percent. Next, between 1965 and 1969, American servicemen spent an estimated $81 million on R & R in Thailand. See Raja Segaran Arumugam, Patrick Low and M. Rajaretnam, “Thailand in 150

In sum, what we see henceforth in Thailand is dynamic economic growth on a scale so vast that it seems fair to describe it as unprecedented.166 More interesting perhaps than this shift in the economic fortunes of the Thai state is the far-reaching social transformation it engendered. As in economic life, so in the realm of class structure, the late 1960s and early 1970s wrought notable change. The most striking manifestation of this transformation was the emergence of a wholly new Thai bourgeoisie. It need hardly be said that this nascent Thai middle-class did not leap out full-blown overnight. On the other hand, with the hindsight of history it seems that its incipient physiognomy had by the early 1970s already begun to reveal itself.

If the political creed of Sarit and his heirs was heavily skewed in favor of autocracy, it accorded well with the temper of the times—so long as the windfalls of the boom redounded to the emerging bourgeoisie’s advantage. This was accepted as axiomatic. Hence, a major expansion in higher education was promoted as an indispensable adjunct to the state’s economic development programme. In terms of sheer

the Seventies: Challenges of Stability and Security,” 29-30; and Ivan Mudannayake, ed., Thailand Year Book, 1975-1976, pL83. We also have it on the authority of the MACT Public Affairs Office that the U.S. military (officially) employed on average 30,000 civilian Thai nationals (mainly construction workers, drivers, clerks, maintenace workers, etc.) per year from 1966 to 1971. It was even rumored (falsely, it seems) that the U.S. military was then the single largest employer in Siam. Nevertheless, it is true that U.S. military expenditures in Thailand exceeded 40% of the country’s export earnings. See David Elliot, “The Socio-Economic Formation of Modern Thailand,” in Thailand, Roots of Conflict, 42. 166 Between 1960 and 1965, the GNP of Thailand grew by an average of 7.2% per year. From 1965 to 1969, the growth rate increased annually by 8.5%. See M. Rajaretnam and Lim So Jean, eds., Trends in Thailand (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 1973): 81. Clark D. Neher, “Stability and Instability in Contemporary Thailand,” Asian Survey 15 no. 12, (Dec. 1975): 1100-01, reports that Siam’s GNP increased by an average of 8.6% between 1959 and 1969. 151 size and scope, the expansion of the Thai educational system ranks among the most outstanding achievements of the era.167 Whereas in 1962, Thailand had a total of six universities with an enrollment of 16,793, by 1973 there were 111,505 students enrolled in 13 universities and 7 private colleges.168 A corresponding expansion in vocational education also took place, albeit on a comparatively smaller scale. The total number of vocational school students in the kingdom increased from 37,024 in 1962 to 104,147 in

1972.169

More striking still is the fact that the growth in higher led in time to a fundamental shift in Thai ideas about education. Whereas up until the 1960s,

Thai university students were characteristically members of the privileged nobility, from the 1960s onward the sons and daughters of first-generation, middle-class Thais began to gain access to institutions of higher education in significant numbers for the very first time. If, moreover, a university education was once merely intended to add a touch of refinement to young gentlemen already destined for an honored place in government, in the 1960s and 1970s, the ideal of an expanded, Western-style higher education system helped give shape to tens of thousands of bourgeois dreams.170 At the root of such dreams

167 Neher, 338 168 See Phya Srivisar, ed., Thailand Official Year Book, 1964, 485-489; Ivan Mudannayake, ed., I.23-25; and Saeng Sanguanruang, Development Planning in Thailand: The Role of the University (Singapore: Regional Institute of Higher Education and Development Singapore, 1973). 169 See Howard Hayden, Higher Education and Development in South-East Asia vol. 1 (: Unesco and the International Association of Universities, 1967), 202; and Ivan Mudannayake, ed., I.10. 170 In contrast to his (or her) historical predecessors, furthermore, the characteristic Thai university student of the 1960s and 1970s was as likely to look forward to earning a respectable living as a professional in the private sector as aspire to a life of government 152 was a growing belief in the liberating and ennobling power of education—the power, most of all, to achieve social advancement.

But it was Sarit’s objective of preserving the prerogatives of autocracy indefinitely—which, after his sudden death in 1963, fell to Sarit’s successor, Thanom

Kittikachorn—that proved a much more difficult task. Bourgeois-capitalist development, in particular, raised a huge dilemma for the Thai dictatorship: just as it inspired hopes of prosperity and social betterment, to which the regime was favorably disposed, so it also engendered expectations of political reform and the restoration of constitutionalism, to which the regime was resolutely opposed. The very circumstances of its success militated against the dictatorship’s survival. Reform alone could save it. Yet one-man authoritarian rule is nothing if not absolute. Authoritarianism was imbedded in the very premises of the regime Sarit and his associates founded. Reforming that regime was essentially no different from squaring a circle: it could not be done. Here lay the roots of the conflict— the conflict that Surawutprawat witnessed in the years leading up to 1973, and just before his death in September 1974.

service. According to a survey conducted by the Bureau of the State Universities in 1974, nearly half of all newly employed university graduates in 1973 found positions in the private sector. In terms of occupation, a significant percentage of the employed university graduates (41.8 %) were in technical and professional fields. The next highest (32.2%), found employment in the fields of administration and public services. See Amnuay Tapingkae, Higher Education and Economic Growth in Southeast Asia (Singapore: Regional Institute of Higher Education and Development Singapore, 1976): 72-73. In retrospect, perhaps the most important socioeconomic (and political) consequence of this development was that the new generation of university graduates enjoyed a far wider range of economic opportunities, thereby alleviating their vocational dependence on the state. 153

Communist revolution in Thailand did not, as Surawutprawat feared, materialize during his lifetime, but the mid and late 1970s demonstrated that such fears were not without justification.

In the aftermath of the “October Revolution,” the possibility of achieving a truly democratic and vibrant civil society in Thailand became a general article of faith.

Restrictions on freedom of expression and assembly were all but eliminated. For all intents and purposes, the military was divested of political power and the Thai masses enjoyed “the two freest elections in history”—January 1975 and April 1976.171 The advancing tide of democracy had begun to transform the face of Thailand and the character of its people with unprecedented force. In retrospect, however, the rapidity of the movement’s success was a mixed blessing. For the all-too-sudden plunge into mass politics ushered in a period of acute instability and fratricidal violence.

From 1974 onward, the burgeoning Thai leftwing continued to agitate vigorously for far-reaching social and political reform. In the meantime, few could ignore the that was developing swiftly on the political right. For one thing, the bureaucratic elite, which had conceded grudgingly to the forceful (one might say revolutionary) demands for a constitution in 1973, was growing increasingly restive under the accelerated tempo of social and political change.172

171 Benedict R. O’ G. Anderson and Ruchira Mendiones, trans., In the Mirror: Literature and Politics in Siam in the American Era (Bangkok: Duang Kamol, 1985), 37. 172 See, for example, Charnvit Kasetsiri, Tha than mai pen suan nung khong kankae panha than k pen suan nung khong panha (Krung Thep: Samnakphim Praphansan, 1975), 1-35; and Thongchai Winichakul, Kham hai phon prachathippatai bæp lang 14 tulā. (Krungthēp: Mūnnithi 14 Tulā, 2005). 154

The reactionaries’ position, which hardened with every passing year, was greatly strengthened by the rapidly changing international situation. Communist victories in

Indochina in 1975 and the abolition of the six-hundred-year-old Lao monarchy in 1976 panicked Siam’s royals and other conservatives, and produced a stunned silence among many others who had shared in the great expectations of the kingdom’s remarkable interlude of democratic rule.173 Already highly disturbed by the steady expansion of the armed insurgency in the Thai countryside, and the growing intensity of leftist-student protest, much of it utterly irresponsible, the Thai majority soon became convinced that the leftist movement was unpalatable to the native temper.174 To an important extent, these tendencies were patently reinforced by the propagation of such slogans as “Right

Kill Left,” which had become standard grist in the rightist publicity mills by 1976.175

These polarized conditions triggered a right-wing campaign of execution and purge that was as decisive and bloody as any in modern Thai history: from March 1974 to

February 1976, at least sixty-five peasant leaders and leftist political figures, including

173 Benedict R. O’ G. Anderson and Ruchira Mendiones, trans., In the Mirror: Literature and Politics in Siam in the American Era, 39; and, Martha Winnacker, comp., “The U.S. Role in Thai Society,” Indochina Chronicle 54 (Jan-Feb 1977): 2-9. 174 See, for example, Norman Peagam, “The ingredients of a fresh conflict,” Far Eastern Economic Review (4 Oct. 1974): 12-13; Philip Bowring and Richard Nations, “Kukrit’s Fight for Farmers,” Far Eastern Economic Review (30 Jan. 1976): 34-39; and “Kukrit Bows to Mass Protests,” Far Eastern Economic Review (16 Jan. 1976): 13-14. 175 Benedict R. O’ G. Anderson and Ruchira Mendiones, trans., In the Mirror: Literature and Politics in Siam in the American Era, 39; Sarakhadee, ruam luet nua chat cheua thai: ruam 3 hedgann somkhan tang prawattisat gan muang thai, 93; Wirawan Tatnudakul, “Prawattisat 6 dula: jak bantuk lae khwamsangjum” in Coordinating Committee for the 20th Anniversary of 6 October, Rao mai luem 6 dula (Bangkok: Chonneeyom Ltd., 1996), 109-24; and Somporn Sangchai, “The Rising of the Rightist Phoenix,” Southeast Asian Affairs 8, no. 10 (1976): 357-93. 155

Dr. Boonsanong Punyodyana, the popular Secretary-General of the Socialist Party of

Thailand, were gunned down by professional assassins.176 The intensification of political tensions culminated on 6 October 1976, when thousands of heavily armed police, right- wing supporters, and hired thugs brutally assaulted and killed hundreds of leftist student demonstrators at Thammasat University in Bangkok. The immediate result was a massive flight of scores of left-wing intellectuals, student, labor, and peasant leaders into the maquis—and into the arms of the Maoist-inspired Communist Party of Thailand (CPT)— in an effort to escape the intensified wave of reaction and repression.177

The communist underground existed as a refuge. But more importantly, after 6

October Thai dissidents viewed their flight into the hills as the vindication of their political ideals and long-frustrated aspirations for a new order in which they would play a key role. For years, they fought a pitched battle in the jungle; and for a time, victory seemed within their grasp. However, the optimistic expectations of the CPT and its followers were, perhaps it goes without saying, never realized. Between 1978 and 1980, an unforeseen convergence of circumstances began to unfold which, in hindsight, led to the CPT’s defeat.

176 See Sarakhadee, 92; and Michael Morrow, “The Toll of Terror,” Far Eastern Economic Review (12 Mar. 1976): 8. 177 All told, as many as four to six thousand leftist and liberal students, activists, intellectuals, and politicians joined the Communist uprising in the jungle. See Prayoon Ahkropwan, “6 dula khom: sattana tang prawattisat Thai” in Rao mai luem 6 dula, 41. Also see, David Morell and Chai-anan Samudavanija, “Thailand’s Revolutionary Insurgency: Changes in Leadership Potential,” Asian Survey 19, no. 4 (April 1979): 315- 332. 156

The first, and doubtless the most significant, blow to the CPT’s hopes of achieving revolutionary victory was the Sino-Vietnamese dispute. This wrangle, which had its origins in the deeper Sino-Soviet split, came to a head in late 1978, when the

Vietnamese, allied with the U.S.S.R., invaded Cambodia in reprisal for (a

Chinese-backed party) excesses and a long record of ideological antagonism and armed aggression. A Chinese counter-offensive, mounted against northern Vietnam in February

1979 after some hesitation, proved unavailing. By January the Khmer Rouge was already in disorderly retreat.

Vietnam’s conquest of Democratic Kampuchea (DK) had grave consequences for the Thai revolution. First, CPT guerrillas and partisans were expelled from long- established sanctuaries in Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, and chocked off of supplies from China, thereby seriously weakening their fighting capacity.178 Second, the fall of

DK, which had acted as a buffer against the Soviet-Vietnamese faction, changed the balance of power in Indochina to the CPT’s (and thus China’s) disadvantage. The prospect of a two-front war, against the Thai state, on the one hand, and the Vietnamese, on the other, threw the CPT into disarray.179

178 See Grant Evans and Kevin Rowley, Red Brotherhood at War: Indochina Since the Fall of Saigon, (London: Verso, 1984), 80-81. Tom Marks, Making Revolution: The Insurgency of the Communist Party of Thailand in Structural Perspective (Bangkok: Studies in Contemporary Thailand, no. 3, White Lotus, 1994), 99; John McBeth, “Hazards along the neutral path,” Far Eastern Economic Review (19 Sept. 1980): 43-47; Martin Stuart-Fox, “Tensions within the Thai Insurgency,” Australian Outlook 33, no. 2 (Aug. 1979): 182-97; and Pho. Kho. Tho. bon sathanakan patiwat (Krung Thep: Athit: Sưksit Sayam, 1980), 65. 179 Khongchet Phromnamphon, Banthưk luat Phanom Dong Rek (Krungthep: Samoson ’19: Chatchamnai doi Chonniyom, 1999), 107-112. 157

Third, and more debilitating still, the three-cornered struggle between China,

Vietnam and Cambodia touched off an intense controversy within the Thai communist movement over the CPT’s proposed road to socialism. For many young Thai revolutionary intellectuals (among whose numbers Tienchai Wongchaisuwan and various other post-1976 recruits came to be counted), it brought into question the correctness of

Maoism and the CPT’s conventional pro-Chinese line. Dissension among the new generation of Thai revolutionaries had been a thorn in the side of the ‘Old Guard’ since at least 1978. After the collapse of DK, however, the conflict reached its climax.180

Much of the newcomers’ antagonism was directed against the CPT’s rigid adherence to the Maoist revolutionary strategy: namely, “create rural base areas, use the rural areas to encircle the , and use these bases to advance a high tide of country- wide revolution.”181 They argued, if as yet warily, that the tactic was seriously flawed, not only because it was a heretical departure from Marxism-Leninism, but also because it was in conflict with the existing objective conditions of Thailand. The newcomers accused the CPT of overrating the revolutionary pluck of the Thai peasant, on the one hand, and grossly underestimating the level of capitalist accumulation in Thailand and the

180 John McBeth, “Insurgencies: Ideological Crossroads,” Far Eastern Economic Review (8 Feb. 1980): 32-34. 181 This tactic was spelled out in “Problems of Strategy in China’s Revolutionary War” (Dec. 1936), in Selected Works of Mao Tse-tung (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1965), v. 1, 179-190. 158 degree of political ripeness of the urban proletariat, on the other. Analyzing this error, they urged the CPT to carry the revolution to the cities.182

But it was not only in matters of tactics that the CPT Central Committee and its young disciples were at odds. A much broader dilemma—one which many viewed as the rot at the heart of the Thai communist movement, was that of doctrinarianism. The senior party leaders swore by the “thought of Mao Tse-tung,” or so the dissenters protested, as if it were holy writ. To the new generation of Thai communists, who were accustomed to taking no authority for granted, the Old Guard’s unquestioning, half-mystical faith in

Maoism was altogether out of keeping with the accepted outlook and discipline of the professional revolutionary. And last but not least, the dissidents fretted over the CPT’s dependence on China. With no other irons in the fire, what would happen if, to save their own skins, the Chinese betrayed the Thai revolution?

Whatever the merits of the newcomers’ claims, they fell on deaf ears. To suggest that the party resist subordinating itself to Maoist doctrine (or to the will of China) was at best fool-hardy. At worst, it was heresy.183

What happened next exploded the CPT’s illusions of internationalism Socialism and the resolve of China. Terrified by the threat of isolation, and hard-pressed to protect their diminishing in Asia, the Chinese gradually began to free themselves from their political and military commitments to the CPT, despite a long

182 See Patiwat song næothang (Krungthep: Athit Chatchamnai doi Sưksit Sayam, 1981), 79-107; and Yuk Siariya. Banthưk Kabot (Krung Thep Maha Nakhon: Senthang, 1980), 190-91. 183 Yuk Siariya. Banthuk Kabot, 204-09. 159 record of solidarity, and concluded a pact with their erstwhile enemy, the Thai state.184

The consequences of this stunning reversal can hardly be exaggerated. China’s volte face, followed by the closing of the CPT’s clandestine radio station, the Voice of the People of

Thailand (VOPT) in southern China, discredited the CPT leadership, and strained to breaking-point the already-flagging morale of CPT veterans and young cadres alike.185

At almost the same time, the Thai authorities, anxious to restore order in the kingdom, and under increasing pressure from the more liberal elements within the army to attempt a rapprochement with the CPT, openly began suing the insurgents for peace.

The culmination of these efforts came in 1980, when the government of General Prem

Tinsulanon issued a general amnesty (order 66/2523) to communist defectors.186

The Thai state’s desperate gamble paid handsome dividends. Between 1979 and mid-1981, hundreds of former student, peasant and labor leaders renounced the revolution and withdrew from the jungle. They drifted back to town sick with shame, self-loathing and despair. Most were still in their twenties, although they had already actively participated in—and lost—two major struggles since spearheading the “October

Revolution.” Some contemplated suicide. A few went abroad and earned reputations in

184 See Larry A Niksch, “Thailand in 1980: Confrontation with Vietnam and the Fall of Kriangsak,” Asian Survey 21 (2 Feb. 1981): 223-231. 185 The VOPT, the mouthpiece of the CPT, went off the air on July 11, 1979. See John McBeth, “Hazards along the neutral path,” 43; and Insurgencies: The ideological Crossroads, Far Eastern Economic Review (8 Feb. 1980): 32-4. 186 See Chai-anan Samudavanija, Kusuma Snitwongse, and Suchit Bunbongkarn, From Armed Suppression to Political Offensive (Bangkok: Aksornsiam Press, 1990), for an excellent account of these events. 160

Western intellectual circles as martyred heroes and revolutionary theorists. Others endured quiet, ruminant lives in exile.187

One has to wonder how Surawutprawat would have viewed these events.

187 See Thongchai Winichakul, “Remembering/Silencing The Traumatic Past: The Ambivalent Memories of the October 1976 Massacre in Bangkok” (paper presented at Ohio University, Athens, Ohio, 25 May 1998), 15-16. 161

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