On 19 September 2006, Thailand experienced another military coup, the first in my lifetime, though not the last, as another would come in 2014. I was an elementary school student then, which meant only one thing: a day off from school. Yet behind that childish joy lay the beginning of a pattern that would define Thai politics for the next two decades. The coup, led by General Sonthi Boonyaratglin, Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Thai Army, and the junta that followed, revealed how normalised military intervention had become. It also set the stage for institutions deliberately designed to weaken civilian authority over the armed forces. Changing this design is now one of Thailand’s most urgent democratic tasks.

Civilian control of the military is a cornerstone of liberal democracy because it ensures that elected leaders, not the armed forces, govern the country. Political scientists define it as the subordination of the military to civilian institutions accountable to the people, usually the legislature and the executive. This principle protects democracy in two ways. First, it prevents the military from becoming a political actor that can dictate policy or overthrow governments. Second, it strengthens professionalism within the armed forces by giving them a clear mission: defending the country against external threats, not shaping domestic politics. In consolidated democracies such as Taiwan, Japan, or Germany, civilian governments appoint generals, legislatures approve defence budgets, and the military is regarded as politically neutral. In these contexts, coups are unthinkable because the rules of the political game are clear: the military serves but never governs. Such arrangements make democracy durable by assuring voters that tanks will not overturn their choices at the ballot box.

Thailand stands as an outlier in civil–military relations. Unlike in consolidated democracies, the Thai armed forces have long resisted subordination to civilian institutions and instead present themselves as “guardians” of the nation and the monarchy. This guardian ideology has repeatedly justified coups, from 1947 to the most recent intervention in 2014, and it continues to shape political imagination. The military often frames its role as stepping in to correct corrupt or divisive politicians, suggesting that it alone can protect the national interest. This narrative weakens the democratic norm that voters, not generals, should decide who governs. As a result, the Thai military does not merely defend the state; it competes with elected representatives for ultimate authority. Every civilian government must therefore calculate not only how to win elections and pass policies but also how to avoid provoking the men with guns. This constant shadow of intervention undermines Thailand’s ability to build a stable democracy where civilian control is unquestioned.

Weak civilian control in Thailand is not accidental but deliberately designed. A central example is the 2008 Defence Act, which shifted power over military promotions and appointments away from the civilian Minister of Defence and into the hands of the Defence Council, a body dominated by generals. In democracies, personnel control is one of the most important tools of civilian oversight: if elected leaders cannot decide who becomes commander, they cannot truly control the military. By stripping away this authority, the Defence Act entrenched military autonomy. Civilian ministers remain in office, but they exercise little influence over who rises to the top ranks, ensuring that even when governments change through elections, the armed forces remain beyond democratic reach.

The Internal Security Act of 2008 further expands the military’s reach by granting it a permanent role in domestic security, expanding its authority beyond the barracks and into everyday governance.

Other laws reinforce this autonomy by granting the military sweeping authority over civilian life. The 1914 Martial Law Act, inherited from the absolute monarchy era more than a century ago, was originally intended for wartime emergencies but has become a tool of domestic politics. It allows the armed forces to detain citizens without charge, censor communications, and suspend rights without parliamentary or cabinet approval. Moreover, martial law can be lifted only by the king or the military itself, leaving elected officials powerless once it is declared. Far from being a rarely used exception, martial law has often paved the way for coups, including in 2006 and 2014. In most democracies, martial law is strictly temporary and subject to civilian approval, but in Thailand, it remains an open-ended instrument of military dominance. In addition to martial law, the Internal Security Act of 2008 further entrenches military authority in domestic affairs. Unlike martial law, which is an extraordinary measure invoked during crises or coup-making, the ISA is a more routine tool that empowers the Internal Security Operations Command (ISOC), a body formally under the Prime Minister’s Office but heavily influenced by the military, to address internal threats. It allows curfews, restrictions on gatherings, and enhanced surveillance, all of which are subject to cabinet approval, giving the appearance of civilian oversight while extending the military’s influence into day-to-day governance. The coexistence of the ISA and martial law enables the armed forces to operate at both preventive and coercive levels, deepening their reach into political life even in the absence of obvious emergencies. More recently, the 2019 Royal Decree on the Transfer of Military Units placed elite army regiments directly under the King’s command through the Royal Security Command. This bypassed both the Ministry of Defence and the Cabinet, creating a chain of command entirely outside civilian oversight.

The 2017 Constitution tied these elements together into a system that normalises military and monarchical supremacy. Section 15 explicitly allows the King to organise royal agencies as he sees fit, providing the legal foundation for transferring military units outside civilian authority. On top of this, coup-makers are shielded from accountability, as past constitutions have granted amnesty to those who overthrow governments. Instead of limiting military interference, the Constitution institutionalised it, leaving civilian leaders boxed in by rules that strip them of oversight powers. In this way, the Thai state has been engineered to ensure that democracy remains subordinate to the armed forces and the monarchy.

The institutionalisation of military autonomy has normalised coups and hollowed out Thailand’s democratic governance. Far from being exceptional, coups have become part of the political rhythm, always possible and always looming in the background of civilian rule. The armed forces retain a permanent veto over elected governments. No matter how strong a mandate a civilian leader may win, generals hold the capacity to intervene if they feel threatened. Cabinets must therefore govern cautiously, balancing not only voter expectations but also the moods of men in uniform. This constant risk shifts the centre of political accountability away from the electorate and toward unelected bodies.

Coups are also legalised and their perpetrators shielded from accountability. Nearly every constitution written after a military takeover grants amnesty to coup-makers. This practice creates a culture of impunity. Seizing power at gunpoint is not only possible but also protected by law. The message to the public is unmistakable: elections can always be nullified without consequence.

The fragility of civilian governments further undermines policymaking. Civilian administrations often avoid challenging the military’s prerogatives for fear of provoking confrontation. Instead of pursuing ambitious agendas, leaders focus on survival. The result is stagnation: elected officials are visible but constrained, while real power remains elsewhere.

Public trust in elections and democracy erodes as well. When citizens see their votes overturned by tanks or decrees, disillusionment deepens. Some retreat into apathy, doubting that elections matter. Others radicalise, convinced that change cannot come through the ballot box. Either way, democratic legitimacy weakens. The broader consequence is that Thailand remains trapped in a cycle of “elect, intervene, rewrite, repeat.” While neighbours such as Indonesia and South Korea have moved from military guardianship to stable civilian oversight, Thailand’s democracy remains fragile, provisional, and perpetually incomplete.

Since the 2008 Defence Act stripped civilian leaders of authority over military promotions, successive governments have had opportunities to roll back military power. Yet most chose not to act. Civilian cabinets prioritised survival, coalition bargaining, and short-term reconciliation over the difficult task of reform. The 2023 election seemed to offer a turning point. Pheu Thai, fronted by Paetongtarn Shinawatra during the campaign, pledged reforms such as reducing the number of generals, making conscription voluntary, and increasing transparency in defence spending. These promises suggested a reformist outlook, although less radical than the Move Forward Party’s platform. Once in office, however, Srettha Thavisin’s coalition, which included several conservative and military-aligned parties, quietly sidelined the issue. By the time Paetongtarn took office as Prime Minister in 2024 after Srettha’s removal, the momentum had already been lost. Proposals to abolish conscription were watered down, procurement oversight was limited, and the Defence Council’s entrenched autonomy remained intact.

By avoiding confrontation, civilian leaders once again missed the chance to reshape civil–military relations. Instead of dismantling the architecture of intervention, governments learned to live with it. Each deferral strengthened military prerogatives and signalled that democratic reform is negotiable. Unless an elected government is willing to take on this challenge directly, military autonomy will remain a permanent feature of Thai politics.

Although civilian control remains weak, Thailand’s institutional design can be changed if there is sufficient political will. Laws and constitutions that entrench military autonomy were written by humans, and they can be rewritten by humans. The challenge is not impossibility but requires courage. Pro-democracy advocates and the reformist People’s Party should press any new administration under Anutin Charnvirakul of the Bhumjaithai Party to pursue military reform. This means not only abolishing conscription but also changing the legislation and policies that keep the armed forces beyond civilian oversight. The first step is legislative reform. The 2008 Defence Act must be amended to restore the Prime Minister and the Minister of Defence’s authority over promotions and appointments, ending the generals’ monopoly inside the Defence Council. The Martial Law Act of 1914, inherited from the absolute monarchy era, should be revised so that extraordinary powers cannot be invoked indefinitely in domestic politics. The Cabinet should hold the authority to declare martial law, subject to review and reversal by the House of Representatives. The Internal Security Act of 2008 should also be repealed, and all of its responsibilities should be transferred back to civilian government under full parliamentary oversight. The 2019 Royal Decree transferring key military units directly under the King should be revoked, bringing the armed forces back into the constitutional chain of civilian oversight.

Second, constitutional reform is essential. Thailand’s charter must be rewritten to remove the military and monarchical veto over democratic institutions. Coup-makers must no longer be granted automatic amnesty. Without these changes, every election will remain provisional and vulnerable to being overturned by tanks.

Third, the armed forces themselves must be professionalised. A military that sees its mission as defending the nation, not governing it, is a military that serves democracy rather than competes with it. Reducing the number of generals, abolishing political indoctrination, and focusing on external defence are all part of this shift.

Comparative experience shows that reform is possible. Taiwan, South Korea, and many Latin American states once lived under the constant shadow of military guardianship, yet over time they rewrote laws, imposed civilian authority, and redefined their armed forces as professional institutions. Indonesia, once hailed as a model of post-authoritarian reform, also illustrates the fragility of progress. Its recent revival of military influence is a cautionary reminder that reform must be defended continuously, not just declared once. For Thailand, the lesson is clear: civilian control will not emerge automatically, but with sustained citizen pressure and political leadership, it can be built and preserved.

Nearly two decades have passed since I was the child who treated a coup as a day off from school. Since then, the cycle has repeated, reshaping every government and every election. Thailand now stands at a crossroads. The country can continue to live under recurring coups, where generals write the rules and ballots are provisional. Or it can summon the courage to reform, to place the military firmly under elected authority, and to make civilian control of the military the unquestioned norm of politics. Civilian control of the military is not a distant dream. It is the unfinished task of Thai democracy, and it will decide whether future generations treat coups as holidays or leave them to history.