"I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to."
Đăng ký: Tieng Anh Vui
Nguồn tin Việt Nam bằng tiếng Anh
IN 1987, when he was 27, Benigno “NoyNoy” Aquino was in Manila when plotters attempted a coup against the president, his mother Corazon Aquino. Recalling a promise to his late father to look after his mother and sisters, he rushed towards Malacanang, the presidential palace, to join them. He and his four guards were ambushed. Three were killed and one lost his eyesight. Mr Aquino himself still carries a bullet, along with his guilt.
Mr Aquino, president himself since 2010, recently recounted this incident to The Economist, to explain the lesson he took from it: not to act impulsively. He said this in the context of rows with China over the South China Sea. “Responsible for the future of 98m people”, Mr Aquino owes it to them to remain “level-headed, as calm as possible”, even when provoked. Mr Aquino’s critics say he has learned the lesson too well, accusing him of too much deliberation and not enough decisiveness.
The story of the ambush, however, also draws attention to the transformation of Philippine politics. His mother became president in 1986 after a people-power revolution. In her first term coup attempts occurred more predictably than scheduled elections. As late as 2001, a president was ousted unconstitutionally when people took to the streets to topple Joseph Estrada. Now the army is in its barracks, and although Philippine politics remain rambunctious, few doubt that Mr Aquino will complete the final two years of his term. The Philippines is not Thailand.
The anecdote also sheds light on Mr Aquino himself. Known affectionately as “PNoy”, blending his title, his own nickname and the national one, he is often portrayed as an amiable, rather happy-go-lucky loafer who drifted into Malacanang on a wave of nostalgia and popular sympathy following his mother’s death. Since then, critics have chuckled about his ruling style and the “student council” of young enthusiasts that surrounds him. An obvious comparison is to India’s Rahul Gandhi, another politician who appears to owe his position more to dynastic clout than to personal inclination. Yet, just as for Mr Gandhi, being born into national politics has brought personal anguish for Mr Aquino. Both men lost their fathers to assassins. Perhaps partly as a result, both are thoughtful types. Both can adopt a rather wonkish approach to policy. But unlike Mr Gandhi, a so far ineffective and rather desultory aspirant to national leadership, in office Mr Aquino seems to have acquired an appetite for it.
He is still uncomfortable with the trappings of the job. He does not like travelling abroad; his aides say that he finds Malacanang “oppressive”; and his office wall sports a calendar counting down the days until he leaves office. But he cannot remember how many it now shows. He seems in a hurry as much to get things done as to retire to an easier life. He knows the three big achievements of his presidency are all provisional.
The first is the acceleration in the country’s economic growth—to 7.2% in 2013 and not much less in 2014. South-East Asia’s tortoise has become its hare. In the coming decades the economy might grow faster even than China’s. The government finances and banking system are sound. A vast army of 10m overseas workers—a quarter of the workforce—provides a wealth of foreign-exchange inflows. Above all, the economy is entering a demographic sweet spot of falling fertility rates and a large working-age population. Here, however, high rates of growth are not just possible but essential if the Philippines is not to be forced to send even more young people abroad to earn a living.
Mr Aquino can point to fast-growing job opportunities in outsourcing and other businesses, drawing some overseas workers home. But the numbers overseas are still expected to keep growing. Colleagues have expressed disappointment over how poverty is not falling as fast as they hoped with such high growth. Yet the president professes himself “kind of proud” of what his government has done for the poor, with big increases in spending on education and health care, and 2.9m Filipinos lifted out of poverty. He also defends its record on diverting more of the budget into building infrastructure. But he himself notes that some unfinished road projects have been promised since the 1970s. Logistics remain one of foreign investors’ big concerns and critics joke that “PPP”, as in the government’s high-profile public-private partnerships, in fact stands for “Post-PNoy Project”.
The second achievement is both to maintain a fairly clean image and to punish corruption elsewhere. But Mr Aquino’s anti-corruption credentials suffered when he was slow last year to endorse reform of the system of scandalously plundered discretionary funds available to legislators (the “pork barrel”). Many suspected him of wanting to keep his party sweet.
Mr Aquino also put a lot into bringing closer this year the end of a long and bloody Islamist insurgency on the southern island of Mindanao. He can claim that the “only people not championing the peace agreement are those profiting from the turmoil”. He concedes, however, that there are many such. The hope is that the prospect of peace will make support for them wither.
Legacy issues
The president has done better than many expected but must know he cannot safeguard any of his reforms from a future government that chooses to be profligate or corrupt. He hopes voters will treat politics as they would a restaurant: have a good meal once and you might come back again. But one of his ambitions, to transform Philippine politics from a personality-based system into one based on parties—and, presumably, platforms, policies and even ideologies—still appears a long way off. His party’s man is not even the favourite to succeed him in 2016. He hopes to count as his legacy a change in Filipinos’ mindset from “don’t dream; it will never happen”, to one in which they believe their dreams can come true. But maybe Filipinos need to aim higher, and demand more of their country’s leaders.
IT IS official. On May 26th General Prayuth Chan-ocha secured the royal imprimatur for his coup four days earlier. Dressed in a white army uniform, sword at his side, General Prayuth knelt before a portrait of King Bhumibol Adulyadej as he formally took up his royal appointment as head of the National Council for Peace and Order, the junta that now runs the country. That the frail 86-year-old king was not there in person hinted at anxieties over the royal succession that have played their part in recent political ructions as well as in the coup itself.
General Prayuth has since disbanded the Senate, the only remaining semblance of constitutional government. In its tone and actions, the coup is a throwback to a time when patronage and deference were Thailand’s organising forces. A curfew has been imposed. The army has summonsed hundreds. Those detained are released only on condition that they do not speak out. Politicians and intellectuals have fled the country or gone underground. One military decree rules that no one should voice opinions that will further “divide the public”. The army has shut television and radio stations and muzzled the press. It is, says Human Rights Watch in New York, a concerted effort by the military regime “to enforce acquiescence”. It comes on top of Thailand’s draconian lèse-majesté laws that forbid any discussion of the monarchy, including the succession.
In particular, the army has gone after members of the previous government or those thought sympathetic to it. Until February it was led by Yingluck Shinawatra, who won a general election in a landslide in 2011. She is the sister of Thaksin Shinawatra, himself ousted in a coup in 2006 and, from self-imposed exile in Dubai, the power and money behind Ms Yingluck’s Pheu Thai party. Among those rounded up are former cabinet ministers and “red-shirt” activists and organisers, especially in the north and north-east of the country, the Shinawatras’ heartland. Sixteen senior police officers have been removed, along with a dozen provincial governors. Prominent politicians have been well-treated, but more obscure activists have been held in solitary confinement.
Among many ordinary Thais in Bangkok the coup is popular—for now. Residents were fed up with the political bickering that paralysed the capital for months. It began last year with protests against a bill that would have granted Mr Thaksin amnesty for corruption charges that hang over him. When the Senate unanimously voted the bill down, the protesters’ leader, Suthep Thaugsuban, formerly from the establishment Democrat Party, scented blood. He sought to bring the government down by setting up street camps, occupying government offices and shutting down key areas of the capital. He said he wanted an appointed government to draw up political reforms that would forever preclude the “Thaksin regime” from winning office again in elections. About 28 people have been killed in confrontations between Mr Suthep’s lot, the People’s Democratic Reform Committee (PDRC) and the pro-government red shirts.
In the days before the coup, Mr Suthep’s programme appeared to be flailing. Although the courts had first ruled as invalid an election in February called by Ms Yingluck and then ordered her to step down for supposedly abusing her power, the Pheu Thai caretaker government that survived her refused to resign. The political impasse continued. But then General Prayuth declared martial law on May 20th. He locked all the political protagonists inside the Army Club to knock heads together.
In effect, he offered Pheu Thai a deal that the leader of the Democrat Party, Abhisit Vejjajiva, had recently peddled: have a popular referendum on political reforms and then hold elections. One account of what took place suggests that the general asked a Pheu Thai leader whether the government would resign to make this happen. The leader, after Mr Thaksin had been consulted by phone, replied: “As of this minute, no.” At which, General Prayuth replied: “As of this minute, I’m taking over.”
The move represents a massive failure of the political classes. It is a disaster not just for the Thaksinites but also for the Democrats, even if they are not languishing in jail. In opposition, Mr Abhisit surrendered the initiative to Mr Suthep’s mob politics. One politician reflects: “How did we allow this outcome to take place?…We really blew it. It’s a…failure of politicians that so many people can come to terms with a coup.”
Only Mr Suthep and the PDRC are smiling. He is the street-level embodiment of the establishment and the court surrounding King Bhumibol. He sees the Shinawatras not only as corrupt but also as an existential threat to the nation. His campaign has drawn much of its urgency from the knowledge that the king’s reign is drawing to a close. There is much speculation that Mr Thaksin is close to the king’s 61-year-old son and heir, Prince Maha Vajiralongkorn. A martinet, he is immensely unpopular among Thais. The crown prince and his entourage sat out the coup at an English country hotel—not the first time he has taken his pleasures elsewhere as a political crisis unfolded at home.
The idea of Mr Thaksin being cosy with the crown prince horrifies Mr Suthep and probably the generals. As one analyst puts it, “they wanted to be in power to manage the succession.” It seems unlikely that the generals would actively seek another royal to succeed the king when the time comes. But, crucially, they will be in charge of the process, not Mr Thaksin. And so the junta is finishing off what the PDRC started.
What next? The coup may bring stability in the short term. And though the generals remain in charge, they have shown the nous to recruit former politicians with reformist experience—some from Mr Thaksin’s early governments. Yet Chaturon Chaisaeng, a minister under Ms Yingluck, suggests that the army will use support for reforms as a pretext to “redesign the system so that the parties they don’t like cannot run the government.”
After the last coup in 2006, the generals stayed for a year. But a growing concern is that they may dig in for longer this time. The soldiers made a mess of ruling last time, yet their own assessment is that they did not stay long enough to sort out everything that is wrong with Thailand—not just the pesky politics, but the economy, infrastructure and the tax system as well. General Prayuth, says one person who knows him well, is a reluctant coup-leader, but “he’s the kind of character who will want to finish the job.”
And that is where things can go wrong. If, for instance, the generals launch ambitious infrastructure and other plans, corruption could flourish and dissatisfaction rise. As a top politician says, the longer the junta stays in power, “the greater the chance—and it’s exponential—of this ending badly.” Mr Chaturon was making the same point, calling before assembled journalists for democracy and the rule of law and predicting that army rule would entail “more conflict, more violence”, when the soldiers burst in and arrested him. Despite the mess that prevailed before, this is no way to run a modern country.
AT FIRST glance, it looked like good news for Afghans who are increasingly nervous about what will happen when the American-led coalition of international forces ends its combat mission in December. On May 27th, a couple of days after he made a surprise visit to Bagram airfield north of Kabul (his first for two years), Barack Obama made a long-awaited announcement about the size of the American force that will stay on to train and assist Afghan security forces and conduct counter-terrorism operations against “the remnants of al-Qaeda”.
Mr Obama said that the residual force would number 9,800—down from 33,000 currently and 100,000 in 2011. The figure is close to what had been suggested by General Joseph Dunford, America’s senior commander in Afghanistan, and a long way above the so-called “zero option” favoured by some White House aides. A further 2,000-3,000 troops are likely to be provided by NATO allies, principally Germany and Italy.
The timing of the announcement was prompted in part by the second round of Afghanistan’s presidential election, which will be held on June 14th. Hamid Karzai, the outgoing president, has, to the frustration of American military planners and most Afghans, refused to sign the bilateral security agreement needed to provide a legal basis for the troops to stay. However, both of the remaining candidates to succeed him, Abdullah Abdullah, the favourite, and Ashraf Ghani, have promised to sign as soon as possible. They recognise that without continued American help with air support, logistics, communications and intelligence, Afghan forces, which number about 380,000, risk suffering a morale-sapping level of casualties in their struggle against a Taliban insurgency that shows no sign of flagging.
But Mr Obama also has an eye on how things will play at home. Despite being urged by his generals to apply “conditions-based” criteria to how long the residual force should be deployed in Afghanistan, Mr Obama announced a strict timetable that appears to owe everything to the cycle of American politics and nothing to realities on the ground. Half of the remaining troops will be withdrawn by the end of 2015; and by the end of 2016, as Mr Obama prepares to leave office, nearly all of those left will depart. A tiny contingent will stay on to provide protection for the American embassy and help with military sales. Mr Obama, it seems, has decided that “to turn the page” on Afghanistan, as he put it this week, is more important for his political legacy than doing the minimum that might be required to prevent the failure of a long and costly mission.
John McCain and Lindsey Graham, two perennially hawkish Republican senators, promptly criticised the plan and its “arbitrary date” as “a monumental mistake and triumph of politics over strategy” that risked a similar disastrous outcome to the premature withdrawal of troops from Iraq. But even allies of the president, such as Michèle Flournoy, a former Pentagon policy chief who now heads the Centre for a New American Security, a think-tank, are concerned about the pace and inflexibility of the timetable. David Sedney, a recent deputy assistant secretary of defence for Afghanistan and Pakistan, described the decision as giving with one hand and taking away with the other. As for the reaction of Afghan army officers, reports suggest they are bleakly pessimistic. They know that the big gaps in their capabilities, especially a chronic lack of air power, cannot be bridged in the time allowed. Mr Obama promised this week that he would bring the war to “a responsible end”. Many Afghans see it differently.
Copyright 2014 L. Linstruth - http://ift.tt/OvSeu9.
LT002: Showing up for English learning success
WHAT had begun as the imposition of martial law on May 20th grew into a full-blown coup by the army as The Economist went to press. On television the army commander, General Prayuth Chan-ocha, announced that the armed forces would restore order and enact political reforms—though quite what that means is unclear.
Even before his statement, the army had shut down a dozen television stations and thousands of community radio stations, and it ordered the rest of the media to suspend critical thinking—banning journalists, for instance, from interviewing anyone not holding an official position. At that point General Prayuth had indicated that the last thing on his mind was a coup. On Bangkok’s streets the troop presence was light. The commander called a meeting for May 21st of all sides of the stand-off that has paralysed Thai politics for months. They nearly all turned up at the Army Club: senior members of the ruling Pheu Thai party; the head of their grassroots movement, the red shirts; the opposition (but establishment) Democrats; and Suthep Thaugsuban, the establishment-backed leader of the street protests that since November have attempted to topple the government.
The aim seemed to be to find a path to electoral democracy. They met again at the club the following day. But, though troops sealed off the premises to concentrate minds, it appears that a political deal to the impasse was no nearer. At that point, the army detained the faction leaders. Of course, the notable absentee was Thaksin Shinawatra. In self-imposed exile in Dubai, he is the founder of Pheu Thai and the other parties that have won all the elections since 2001 when they have been allowed to take place. It is Mr Thaksin’s influence that the establishment wants to expunge from politics.
The coup will have swift ramifications. Thailand risks financial markets taking fright, cutting it off from international capital. It also guarantees more violence. The red shirts have long threatened to rise up against a coup. The idea of an appointed government—Mr Suthep’s plan that the army might conceivably back—will also meet red-shirt resistance. As it is, since November, 28 people have died in the conflict and hundreds have been injured.
The army will probably now clear the rally sites of both anti- and pro-government protesters. But Mr Suthep, the street-level embodiment of the civil service, the army, the judiciary and the court surrounding the frail King Bhumibol Adulyadej, had declared to his supporters that the fight to eradicate Mr Thaksin and his family from the body politic was still on.
The cost of the country’s political crisis and lack of economic direction is fast becoming clear. On the eve of the coup, the state planning agency said that the Thai economy had tipped into recession. Only a decade ago Thailand was often held up as a South-East Asian showcase combining growth and democracy.
What happens next is hard to predict. Just possibly the coup could end with a political settlement in which normal democratic politics resumes. More probably, it will lead to a framework allowing the historical elites to continue in charge of the country. Either way, it will not be up to General Prayuth. In Thailand the real decisions are made in the privy council and at the royal palace.
Charting a path out of economic stagnation, social failure and now yet another coup is greatly complicated by the imminent end of an era, the 64-year reign of King Bhumibol. He is revered and popular, unlike his son, Prince Maha Vajiralongkorn. The 61-year-old crown prince appears to be eccentric. A curious video once did the rounds showing the prince with his third wife, in a state of undress, at a party for Foo Foo, his poodle. The dog carried the rank of air chief marshal. Now that the king’s reign is in its twilight, questions over the royal succession are factors in the polarisation of Thai politics. It threatens to divide society, the army and the palace.
The twilight is rendered silent by draconian lèse-majesté laws. But the army, the force defending the throne, has recently had unpalatable news. In late November the king signed a decree mandating that all decisions by the powerful defence council were subject to veto by the crown prince. The council includes the service heads and the permanent defence secretary. The heir apparent is now, in effect, their boss.
This will make it even harder for anyone thinking of subverting the royal succession. Mr Suthep’s sponsors, like many Thais, have long prayed for a miracle that gives the throne to the crown prince’s sister, Princess Sirindhorn. Involved with royal charity, she enjoys a saintly image. Some troops on the streets this week wore a purple ribbon, the princess’s colour.
Another royal decree, on April 4th, spelled out greatly expanded powers for Prince Vajiralongkorn’s own special army: the Royal Guard 904 Corps, or Ratchawallop, an infantry regiment under the prince’s command since 1978. The corps will now protect anyone the prince chooses and engage in any mission he feels necessary to protect national security. Commanding your own army carries risks. King Vajiravudh (Rama VI) formed the Wild Tiger Corps on his accession to the throne in 1910. Two years later resentful army officers attempted a coup.
The prince’s troops are better paid than regular soldiers. Increasingly, they are recruited in Thailand’s rural north and north-east—heartland of the Shinawatra clan. That may be no coincidence. To rule, the crown prince may feel he needs to tap into Mr Thaksin’s popular legitimacy. Likewise, to become prime minister again Mr Thaksin may need the crown prince. He is thought in the past to have paid off the prince’s gambling debts.
Whether the crown prince and Mr Thaksin are working in concert is unclear. Earlier this year, when the army was slow to provide protection for Yingluck Shinawatra, Mr Thaksin’s sister and prime minister at the time, the crown prince sent her soldiers. The courts remain part of the old establishment and have since kicked Ms Yingluck out of office. The elite may reckon that clawing back power from an elected government it dislikes—which this coup is clearly intended to do—may be easier now than after the king’s death. The risks to Thailand only mount.
If you do something up to the hilt, you do it completely.
Copyright 2008 L. Linstruth - http://ift.tt/OvSeu9.
REC001 – Lori burns her arm
If you do something on the off-chance, you do it in case it works, even though the chance of success may be small.
Copyright 2008 L. Linstruth - http://ift.tt/OvSeu9.
Real English Conversations: Perfectionism and procrastination 3