Introducing Field-marshal Phibun Songkhram, Asia’s most successful Führer, and why we need to look beyond Europe to understand Fascism.

Alessandra Barrow, Culture Editor, United Kingdom

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Phibun in Hyde Park, New York, USA, 1955, Image Credit hyperlinked to image

Fascism. It is probably one the most overused and antagonistic words to plague our collective vocabularies since its inception over a hundred years ago. In today’s partisan political climate, everyone and everything appears to be ‘fascist’. Type” Trump” and “fascism” into your browser and you’ll find hundreds of articles, ranging from the New York Times to the Daily Mail, confirming or denying if the US president is a fascist  (Douthat 2015 ; Doughty 2017). Modi’s fascist, Brexit’s fascist, even Angela Merkel has been called a fascist (Anderson 2017) . A charge that was once the preserve of frustrated left-wingers is now widely used across the political spectrum. Fascists are the bogeymen of our society’s consciousness, from Marvel’s Hydra to James Bond’s scarred Ernst Blofeld, we all know who fascists are and what fascism is. Yet our conception of facism is still very eurocentric, dominated by the images of Nazis, neo-Nazis and Mussolini (Reynolds 2004, 113). Moreover, in world of white supremacists and right-wing, or even left-wing, populism, some have suggested we shouldn’t use the ‘F word’ (Sanbonmatsu 2017). Sadly, for quite some time this unfortunate view has been held by accademia and fascism scholars.

For most scholars during the Cold War period, fascism was seen as only applicable to Italian Fascism, Nazi Germany was National Socialism, and Japan, if touched on at all, was Imperial Japan (Griffin 2012, 2). This position is exemplified by Gilbert Allardyce’s comment in his 1979 article, What Fascism Is Not: Thoughts on the Deflation of a Concept, that “there is no such thing as fascism. There are only men and movements that we call by that name.” In the same article, Allardyce also helpfully clarifies that fascism is not generic, a political ideology nor a personality type, leaving very little that fascism can be (Allardyce 1979, 368). This is not to say that all academics held the same views as Allardyce, those such as George L. Mosse and Stanley G. Payne did attempt to define the concept and expand fascism beyond the borders of Italy. However, the general scepticism of the period toward non-Italian forms of fascism led to a distinct lack of literature on non-European varieties and the influence of fascism globally (Hedinger 2013, 141). However, by the 1990s European academics had begun to realize that limiting fascism to Italy and defining fascism by what it is not was actually quite unhelpful. Thus, fascism began to be seen not as a ‘name to call men and movements’ but as an ideology and culture of revolutionary and totalisting ultra-nationalism. There are, of course, many definitions of fascism, but the takeaway here is that we now can define it and fascism definitely was and is a ‘thing’ (Griffin 2012, 9).

hitler-and-mussolini1-189x300Benito Mussolini (left) and Adolf Hitler (right) in Fascist Italy

Unfortunately, despite the revelation of fascism’s existence, fascism was still only accepted as applicable to European and post-soviet Russian varieties (Hedinger 2013, 141). This was, naturally, quite vexing to scholars of Imperial Japan, who had seen Japanese fascism dismissed as a primitive copy of European fascism, where it was characterised as elite fascism implemented by an all-powerful government of a semi-feudalistic state (Mark 2015, 17). However, this is a characterisation rife with eurocentrism and orientalism. Hence, Anglophone scholarship is quick to forget Hitler’s idealisation of Teutonic Knights (no connection to feudalism here) or Mussolini’s Italy as the ‘heir’ to the Roman empire. However, thanks to greater awareness of orientalism in earlier scholarship and Japanese writers’ continued application of fascism to Imperial Japan, some have branched out to look  at other Asian regimes during the second world war (Mark 2015, 8). One such regime, previously lost to the annals of history, is Plaek Phibunsongkhram’s Thailand from 1938 to 1944 (and then from 1948 to 1957).

Field-marshal Plaek Phibunsongkhram, or as he is charmingly referred to in the West, Phibun, was the 3rd Prime minister of Thailand and a massive fascist. Well, it’s not clear how massive he was but he can be described as a fascist and, if it’s not too bold to say, perhaps Asia’s most successful Führer (Reynolds 2004, 115). It is perhaps worth clarifying that this is debatable, as some writers have dismissed such claims as “leading to an academic-cul-de-sac” (Suwannathat-Pian 1995, 103). But, since that’s an argument as lacking in evidence as it is unclear, this article will attempt to persuade you why Phibun was a fascist.

Now, when you think of fascism, one common image would be of the ideology’s racism and Social Darwinism. For example, Nazi Germany’s use of race to justify its worst excesses and the atrocities of the Final Solution. Phibun’s Thailand was not lacking in this ‘feature’ of fascism. In fact, one of Phibun’s first proposals in 1939 was to change the country’s name from Siam to Thailand. This reflected Phibun’s desire to bring Siam under the rule of the ethnic Thais and lay claim to Thais in neighbouring Indochina (Reynolds 2004, 119). But, Phibun’s most abrasive ‘race’ policy was his Thai-Buddhist assimilation drive, where the ethnic Chinese, Catholics and Southern Malay muslims were painted as the ‘other’ in Phibun’s new Thailand. The government’s anti-Chinese rhetoric came to a head following Japan’s invasion of China in 1937 when there were anti-Japanese boycotts conducted by Bangkok Chinese.

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Witchit (center) greeting delegates in Thailand from Nazi Germany, 1943

During this time, Phibun’s advisor and fascist ideologue Luang Witchit Wathakan, during a speech at Chulalongkorn University, suggested that Thailand would do well to follow Hitler’s policies towards Jews in combating the Chinese ‘problem’. Comparisons between the ethnic Chinese and the Jews of Europe as enemies within or a potential ‘fifth column’ was not actually uncommon at this time (Reynolds 2004, 110). In 1914, King Vajiravudh had written an article titled “the Jews of the Orient” where the King analysed the ‘Jewish problem’ in Europe and pointed to parallels between Jews and the Chinese; they were only allied to themselves, they believed themselves to be racially superior and shared the Jewish money making instinct, their devotion to which led to the Chinese being without morals, conscience or pity (Vella 1978, 193-194). These stereotypes were repeated by Witchit and Phibun’s government during this time to justify the assimilation of ethnic Chinese into the Thai-Buddhist ‘race’. However, the government’s deportation of and restrictions on ethnic Chinese were barely comparable to the realities of Nazi Germany’s Final Solution. The predominant issue Phibun had with the Chinese could be seen as cultural rather than racial-religious, in the most part because many influential Thai figures were ethnically part Chinese, including Phibun’s adviser Witchit himself (Reynolds 2004, 111).

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Thai propaganda poster of the period warning citizens not to speak carelessly

Although, Phibun’s treatment of Malay Muslims and Catholics could be seen as more aggressive than the Chinese, in part because of the long history of antagonism between these groups and Thai authorities and in part because of the specter of colonialism. For example, Phibun’s promotion of Buddhism had begun to aggressively target Catholics when his troops prepared to recapture lost Thai territories in French Indochina (Strate 2011, 64, 68). French priests were deported, churches and schools closed down, catholic services banned and congregations arrested. Moreover, this drive for assimilation also included calls for Catholics and Muslims to ‘return to Buddhism’ from the foreign and colonial religions that they practised. Organisations like the Thai Blood Party issued pamphlets instructing Buddhist Thai’s on how to interact with Catholics (Ibid, 69, 75). These pamphlets encouraged ordinary Thais to watch  and exclude Catholics, often through economic boycotts. Such boycotts were justified through openly bigoted language which conflated Buddhism with Thainess, as shown in this excerpt from a Thai blood party pamphlet:

 

…[Catholics] are enemies of the nation and people who worship the doctrines of our enemy. We hold they have forgotten their nation, forgotten their religion, the true religion because they are drunk on the faith of our enemies … (Ibid,68).

 

While it may seem self evident that people who cheerily call themselves the Thai Blood Party, talk of “enemies of the nation”, it is also indicative of the militarisation of daily life initiated by Phibun. One such militarisation was Thailand’s own version of the Hitler Youth, a paramilitary organisation. Since Hitler’s rise to power, Phibun had often been highly complementary of the regime, describing Germany and Thailand as “intellectual allies” in 1941 (Reynolds 2004, 108) . Thailand’s youth paramilitaries were known as the Yuwachon (for boys) and Yuwanari (for girls). Children joined the Yuwachon and Yuwanari at fifteen, with boys conducting military training whilst girls trained to be nurses and perform other military support duties. The Yuwachon was so successful at training young Thai boys that by 1943, three years of training in the Yuwachon was equivalent to that of a non-commissioned officer in the Thai army. The Yuwachon was certainly no Boy Scouts club, as a description by Swiss journalist Dr. Lily Abegg of a Yuwachon mock battle conducted on Thailand’s National Day in 1941 reveals,

“On one side of the square a sort of Maginot Line had been constructed, with several concrete domes and artificial tank traps. This was attacked by 14 to18 year old members of the Yuwajno [sic] in a completely modern manner, with motorized troops, tanks, artillery, and airplanes. The battle lasted about 40 minutes… Finally, a large white flag appeared, the garrison surrendered, the fortifications having collapsed under the artillery fire and the bombs (Ibid, 109).”

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Phibun (right) speaking at an event in 1940

Phibun’s Thailand also featured the same personalisation of power, also known as cult of the leader, which is standard totalitarian fare and is present in other fascist regimes. For example, when Phibun came to power in 1938, he immediately suspended the upcoming elections to the National Assembly, killed eighteen rivals in the army and arrested and exiled many more, including King Prajadhipok and his supporters. Phibun and his supporters then immediately began an extensive campaign to glorify and legitimise the field-marshal’s regime. This began with the implementation of the National Day of Celebration on June 24th 1939, which celebrated Phibun as the national leader, or, the Phunam (Ibid, 116). Phibun’s birthday, July 14th, also became a national holiday, this honour, having nothing to do with nepotism, was later extended to include his wife and children (Numnonda 1978, 237). His birthday celebrations in 1940 included the induction of eight thousand members of the Yuwachon, the presentation of one anti-aircraft gun, three heavy machine guns, five aeroplanes, 130 gas masks, and 271 light machine guns (Reynolds 2004,116) . Furthermore, Phibun’s favourite colour, green, and the sign under which he was born, the cock, began to be used as symbols of the Phunam. Green became a popular colour and cocks (of the bird variety) were carved onto government buildings. Each household in the country was encouraged to hang a picture of Phibun in their homes and audiences in theatres and cinemas had to bow when the image of Phibun was projected at the beginning of every viewing. (Numnonda 1978, 237).

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An anti-Western poster from the period encouraging Thais to keep pictures of Thailand and Phibun

Moreover, Nazi Germany provided a second source of inspiration for Phibun’s censorship of the media and the monopolised radio broadcast. In fact, the Thai Publicity Department was even  directly modelled on the Third Reich’s propaganda ministry (Reynolds 2004,110). Laws were passed to ensure that the interior minister, also Phibun, had complete control over all media. This control meant that any publisher whose material was deemed to be harmful to Thai peace or public morals could be closed or seized by the state (Numnonda 1978, 244). Slogans and broadcasts encouraged support for the Phunam, with phrases, reminiscent of the German expression of ‘ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer’, such as ‘One nation, Thailand; one leader, Phibun Songkhram; one aim, victory’. Other somewhat sycophantic Thai wartime slogans included: ‘Save the Nation by Believing in Phibun’, ‘Hail Phibun Songkhram’, ‘The Nation Will Survive If We Believe in Phibun Songkhram’ and ‘Our Nation’s Security Depends on Believing in Our Leader’ (Reynolds 2004,117). But, Phibun’s glorification was not just limited to slogans, a well know radio play at the time featured a conversation between two characters, Mann Chuchartand and Kong Rakthai, praising Phibun on every episode (Numnonda 1978, 244). Even Wichit wrote a play comparing Phibun to a god capable of performing miracles (Reynolds 2004,117) .

But perhaps Phibun’s most unusual policy, and the feature that makes Thai fascism unique, is the focus on ‘civility’. Phibun’s ‘cultural revolution’ accepted the common charge of Western colonial powers that the Thai were ‘uncivilised’ and, as such, Phibun sought to adapt Thai culture to what he saw as western standards of ‘civility’ and nationhood through militarism. Thai militarisation of ordinary life was instigated through cultural mandates which were introduced from 1939 to 1942. The focus of many of these mandates and derivative policies was on health, exercise, etiquette and dress code (Suwannathat-Pian 1995, 104).

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A poster from the period telling Thais how to to divide their day into 3

On the subject of health, the government encouraged Thais to change their dietary norms, so, to stop eating rice, nam-prik, leaves and salt and opt for nutritious foods such as meats, vegetables and eggs (Numnonda 1978, 239). People were encouraged to divide their day into three periods, those for working, leisure time and sleeping. The government also paid close attention to when people ate and slept, decreeing that four meals should be eaten a day and that Thais should sleep between six and eight hours. Exercise was also stressed, having been inspired by Japanese policies, government officials and ordinary people had to take part in long routine marches, learn basic military drill and practise gymnastics (Ibid, 239).

When it came to etiquette, correct posture was paramount, Thais were instructed to walk straight, sit upright and stand to attention when the flag was hoisted (Suwannathat-Pian 1995, 127). Correct etiquette was also prescribed for all aspects of daily life; which included clapping after performances, using a fork and spoon and washing your hands before you eat. But queue-jumping, spitting, betel leaf-chewing, sitting on the pavement or roadside, and superstitions were not acceptable to the government (Ibid, 114).

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A poster showing what ‘uncivilized’ (left) and ‘civilized’ (right) Thais look like, circa 1938-1945

Lastly, the cultural mandate on dress code, issued in 1941, was probably the most controversial legislation put into paper  at the time. It is important to understand that when Phibun came to power, it was common for men to wear a Pamuang (loincloth) or just trousers. Women would often wear a sarong and it was not uncommon for women to go topless.(Numnonda 1978, 238). Such ways of dressing were uncivilised according to the Phibun regime and were seen to “damage the prestige of the country” (Suwannathat-Pian 1995, 118). Under Phibun’s new cultural mandates, men were now required to wear a hat, shoes, socks, jacket and long trousers, whereas women were required to wear a hat, skirt, blouse and shoes. All clothing had to be coloured either grey, indigo, khaki, beige or navy blue, all colours predominant in military uniforms. Phibun’s emphasis on hats, an item many Thais were not used to wearing, became an obsession for the regime. For example, on the same day that Phibun declared war on the allies he also thought it important to included that,

“Our dear ladies must not think that it is not necessary to wear hats in times of

War. Now more than ever is it essential to go on wearing hats…” (Numnonda 1978, 238).

Thus, Phibun’s fascism may come across as more unusual and bizarre, in particular in the context of hats, it was as equally part of the global fascist movement as Italy, Germany, or Japan. But the lack of awareness of Thailand and Thai fascism during this period is part of a wider problem in how we perceive WWII and fascism, which is predominantly in a European context. With all the talk of fascism in today’s partisan world, it is worth understanding that, first, our conceptions of fascism need to change and that we need to expand our horizons beyond Europe. It is also perhaps easier for us, historians, or academics to look back in retrospect and see Phibun as just another Thai military leader, of so many others — fits nicely into our image of a ‘third world’ run by dictators — but he was part of the global movement of fascism. Fascism is more than Hitler’s moustache, Mussolini’s posture, and Trump’s tweets, it is and has always been a global phenomenon.

Categories: History