Anarchist Intervention

[Bossza007]

A sequel to the "Monarchist Intervention," this thread is open to all kinds of response, whether harmful or innocent, from all roleplaying members.
Not all relevant posts might be posted in this thread, this is a chronological list of order: First Scene, Second Scene​

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February 7, 2005
Tha Yang, Thung Yai, Nakhon Si Thammarat

Bhumibol Adulyadej sat on his favorite sofa, the soft glow of his 4K OLED television casting shadows across the room. The others at the retirement home mostly stuck to the usual news channels, but he had grown tired of their narrow view of the world. Once, he had ruled the vast Rattanakosin Empire, a reign stretching across Indochina. Now, he was just another elderly resident, his wisdom often lost on younger ears. Power, he reflected, had once been as intoxicating as a fine wine—rich and complex. Yet, there was a strange comfort in the socialist system now, where people were encouraged to self-govern and care for one another. It was soothing, though it dulled the sharp edges of the past.

But this past week felt different. Darker. His mind wandered back to the noon news on Thai PBS, the calm voice of the female anchor still fresh in his memory. “We return now to the latest reports from the National Assembly. Today marks the sixth straight day of rising calls for state abolition, with 378 out of 75,086 community assemblies nationwide forming a coalition. They argue that the time has come to dismantle the state, which they view as a clear embodiment of class oppression. Independent investigations have pointed to growing political campaigns led by Radical Participatory Socialist groups in these areas. The NIA also reports a noticeable shift toward anarcho-socialism, influenced by successful local movements.”

He raised an eyebrow, skeptical about the sustainability of such a movement. Now identifying as a Conservative Socialist, he couldn’t shake the doubt: could people really self-govern without the state’s support? Wasn’t that the very reason nation-states existed? Yet, many of his fellow elders seemed open to the idea of abolishing the state—though not entirely. They debated the consequences and momentum behind the movement, wondering if they should present it at the community assembly on Saturday. Still, a few shared his unease. Stability-Oriented Socialists like them believed that dismantling the state too quickly and decentralizing power could lead to chaos. His attention shifted to a female elder, her raised voice cutting through the chatter.

“There’s some merit to this libertarian socialist trend,” she began, “but I’m not convinced it’s time to dismantle the state. How can we run a communist society when we’re still bound by material limitations like resource scarcity? Without the state, how would we manage international trade? The world still runs on a capitalist system that exploits billions of workers. Instead of rushing to abolish the state, we should focus on making it more efficient—combining decentralization with central guidance. That way, other nations will follow, seeing that democratic socialism is not only practical but morally superior to free-market liberalism.” Another elder jumped in to debate her point. Bhumibol observed that she likely represented the Pragmatic Socialist view, rooted in the center of Thai politics.

He glanced at the serene garden outside the window, framed behind the curved television. Younger residents were helping the older ones tend to the shared space. As his wealth had become meaningless in Thailand’s moneyless society, the simplicity of gardening had somehow registered in his mind as comforting. It wasn’t something he would have done before—that had always been his wife’s domain. She was now a regular at the local community assembly. The world had shifted dramatically since the collapse of the United Nations and other international organizations in 1995. The Global Assembly had stepped in to fill the void, though not always successfully. Or maybe it was just that the changes in Thailand felt more pronounced. His thoughts drifted back to the days when he’d taken advantage of global chaos, seizing control of Laos and Cambodia, crowning himself emperor of the Rattanakosin Empire. He was jolted from his memories when a middle-aged social worker joined the elders' conversation.

“They do have an interesting perspective, don’t they?” the man remarked. “The Radical Participatory Socialists are known for their impatience. Personally, I prefer the Progressive Socialists. Sure, they also aim for a communist utopia, but they’re more cautious—working toward decentralization at a pace that plants the seeds for future change, not chaos. Oh, and yes, I’m a Progressive Party voter,” he added with a grin. “I still can’t believe the People’s Front elected its leader as the new Secretary General this month. They say Thanathorn has close ties to Prime Minister Thaksin. I’d call it elitism if the cabinet actually had any executive power.” He chuckled, then fielded a few more questions from the elders about his political stance.

After a few more rounds of discussion, Bhumibol felt his patience wearing thin. He stood from the sofa, drawing a few glances from his fellow elders. It was time for a walk. The sun blazed through the leaves of old and newly planted trees, casting dappled light across the lush landscape surrounding the retirement complex. Southern Thailand had always been rich with natural beauty, but the state’s sustainability efforts had made the greenery even more abundant, spreading through towns and cities across the nation. As he stepped out of the garden, he noticed the conversation about the community assemblies had spilled outside. A small group of adults in their fifties stood nearby, deep in discussion. One woman’s voice stood out.

“Did anyone hear the news about those radicals on social media again?” she asked, her tone edged with concern. “I saw the number of community assemblies supporting them is close to four hundred now. They’re calling for the dissolution of the state! Can you believe it? I thought communism was supposed to be a utopian ideal, a moral framework, like the one our founding fathers built into the Constitution. My son loves his job at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs—what’s going to happen to him if his work becomes irrelevant? Maree, you don’t agree with this, do you? Your daughter works for the regional economic planning board, right?” Bhumibol nodded to himself, a hint of irony tugging at his lips. The woman’s alarm over the anarcho-socialists struck him as amusing—she was defending a far-left socialist state, yet still considered them radicals.

As Bhumibol continued down the street, he watched as people cycled past and engaged in lively conversations. The community buzzed with life—neighbors discussing their day, the weather, and, most importantly, the upcoming decisions to be made at the next community assembly. Former convenience and grocery stores had shifted their operations; with private ownership abolished, those running the stores—often the same people who once owned them—now distributed resources based on labor tokens, reflecting the Marxian Labor Theory of Value. However, his calm observation was interrupted by a sudden, jarring sound from a group gathered near the town center. Dressed in black shirts, they drew a small crowd.

“People of Tha Yang! The time has come to reject the state, the very symbol of class oppression!” one of them shouted, causing startled reactions from the onlookers, Bhumibol included. “We, former members of the Libertarian Socialists who helped overthrow the monarchy and liberate Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia, are here to reclaim the people's rule—just like during the six months of anarchy before the 1998 Revolution. It’s been seven years, and we will no longer accept control by state socialists and democratic socialists! We proved a stateless society could work for over six months because it’s the purest, most natural form of human organization. Join us in creating a truly just and egalitarian world, where communal ownership shapes our relationships. The future is now!” As the man finished, smartphones captured the scene, quickly ensuring the moment would reach far beyond Tha Yang.

Thanathorn Juangroongruangkit I've been following the recent trend in the community assembly for the call to dismantle the Thai state. As the General Secretary of the People's Front whose moral authority is vested in the will of the people, it is my honest expression that I hold deep reservation that the immediate abolition of the state is both impractical and dangerous. While common ownership of the means of production, abolition of capitalist markets, and the eradication of class divides are key to communism, Karl Marx also emphasized that such a material condition must be met globally. I urge my fellow comrades to be patience so that we don't risk undermining the very socialist project we have worked so hard to build. @Thanathorn_PP

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[Bossza007]

February 8, 2005
Tha Yang, Thung Yai, Nakhon Si Thammarat

Bhumibol woke at six, the smart bed beneath him adjusting automatically to ease him into consciousness. He shared the room with his wife and another retired couple, each of their beds separated by thin curtains. The new pillowtop mattresses, infused with cooling gel memory foam, were a symbol of comfort in what felt like an unwarranted retirement, at least from his perspective. The social workers had mentioned that recent advances in technology, particularly from the Advanced Manufacturing Cluster in Rayong, had made luxury beds like these affordable for the masses. Once, such comfort was reserved for him alone in the palace, perhaps shared with a few trusted elites—though trust, he now realized, could be easily misplaced. One such man, once his close ally, was now revered as the founding father of the socialist republic.

That man was Chuan Leekpai, a name Bhumibol would never forget. Chuan had led the transitional government for a year before overseeing the first election of the new republic. During the chaotic six months of anarchy that followed the fall of the monarchy, Bhumibol never imagined Chuan, now a Secretary of the Government, could unite the entire left—every faction and shade of red—to build this new nation. But here they were, and there was nothing he could do now, no way to take revenge. Going after someone as revered as Chuan in this egalitarian society would be like trying to catch a fish in the ocean with bare hands and no boat. With that thought lingering, Bhumibol rose from his bed, pulling back the curtain to take in the quiet, shared space around him.

The room was still in shadow, faint light filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow. Bhumibol noticed his wife’s bed was empty; she had already left. A low hum of activity stirred beyond the door, reminding him that he was never the first to rise. He found it curious how others could leave the comfort of their new beds so easily, especially the early risers who embraced their morning routines with fervor. Stepping through the door, now equipped with a biometric lock, he wondered why the state insisted on such technological excess. Did a socialist regime need all this? Why not honor those who preferred simplicity? Or perhaps, he mused, it was his nostalgia for the past, clinging to the old luxuries of power—luxuries others had never known.

He wandered into the exercise facility, where the morning yoga session was already in full swing. His wife had insisted he come along, though he wasn’t participating. He sat on a bench, watching the young trainer guide the elderly residents through long, deliberate poses. Everyone, it seemed, wore smartwatches now, monitoring their health. A few medical staff hovered nearby, observing. For a moment, Bhumibol felt the weight of a few lingering glances, a flicker of concern in their eyes. His suspicion was confirmed when a young male nurse approached him, sitting beside him on the bench. The man’s expression was a mix of uncertainty and a quiet but firm resolve.

"Mr. Lek," the young man addressed him by his nickname—something Bhumibol, in his former life, would never have tolerated. The nurse continued, unfazed by the tension in Bhumibol’s gaze. "I've noticed you always come to watch your wife during the yoga sessions, but you never join in, despite the others inviting you." He paused, meeting Bhumibol’s eyes as though he were a therapist probing for deeper insight. "We're concerned you may be isolating yourself from the rest of the community here. It’s important to stay engaged—your mind, like your body, needs connection." The sincerity in the man’s voice was almost unsettling to Bhumibol. He had never been spoken to this way—so candidly, with no deference. "We also understand your need for privacy, Mr. Lek," the nurse continued. "But it’s now required for all residents to wear a smartwatch to track basic health data. I assure you; the information is only accessed by our medical staff. Our only goal is to make your time here as comfortable and peaceful as possible." The nurse smiled, but there was no power dynamic between them. For the first time in his life, Bhumibol felt neither above nor below someone. Just equal.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. It wasn't often that the staff approached him so directly—at least not before the new bed had arrived yesterday. "No," he replied bluntly. "I choose not to participate in the yoga sessions. They’re boring and a waste of my energy." He shifted slightly, avoiding the nurse’s eyes. "I get enough entertainment from the TV and my wife. My mind is still sharp, and that's all the social interaction I need." He hesitated for a second, then added, "And I hate that smartwatch. It’s terrifying to think it can track my health. If someone calls or messages me, I have no way to ignore it. The thing's practically a phone strapped to my wrist." He finished, his voice tinged with frustration, realizing he sounded like every other grumbling old man.

Despite Bhumibol's clear disgust, the nurse’s smile remained warm and steady. “I’m sorry to hear that you don’t enjoy the yoga lessons,” he said, his tone still gentle. “We only want the best for your health, but I understand if you prefer some alone time. It’s good to know you find enough entertainment with your wife and the TV. That’s what matters—whatever makes you feel comfortable.” He paused, then handed Bhumibol the smartwatch. “At least keep this with you, Mr. Lek. We care about your well-being, and it’s important that you enjoy this stage of life in the best health possible. If I’ve caused you any discomfort, please let me know. I want to make sure I’m doing my part to take care of you properly. Now, I have to check on a few other residents. I hope you have a wonderful day ahead, Mr. Lek.” He smiled again before walking away. Bhumibol’s heart raced. He silently thanked the Buddha that the conversation was over and that he didn’t have to respond again.

Feeling unsettled by the atmosphere of the exercise facility, Bhumibol stood up and made his way to the dining area for breakfast. It had become a habit for him to choose an outdoor seat, where he could take in the fresh air of southern Thailand. After ordering a simple dish of kai palo from the chef, he walked toward an empty table outside the communal hall. The gentle chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves provided a soothing backdrop. Sitting alone, he gazed at his meal—a well-prepared stew of pork belly and hard-boiled eggs in a mildly sweet broth, infused with five-spice powder and soy sauce. The dish, a Thai Chinese classic, traced its roots back to Chaoshan, China. As he ate, the flavors brought a quiet sense of comfort. Halfway through his meal, another resident, around 30 years younger, quietly sat across from him. The man’s eyes, sharp and clear despite his years, met Bhumibol’s with an intensity that hinted at unspoken thoughts.

“How does a former monarch like you feel about calls to abolish the state, Lek?” the man asked without hesitation. Bhumibol was caught off guard. Who was this man? He’d never seen him before at the retirement complex, yet the stranger carried himself as if he’d been there forever. “Your wife is with the Progressive Party, right? The one pushing for gradual decentralization until the state just fades away?” The question stung, but the man didn’t stop. “Once, you were discussing propaganda and expanding territories. Now, here you are—a resident in this so-called workers’ paradise. Ironic, isn’t it?” The man chuckled, his mocking tone and graying hair making Bhumibol grit his teeth. “And don’t get too upset, Lek,” the man continued with a grin. “Weren’t you once in talks with that Congolese dictator? The one who fired a missile from a nuclear submarine and hit Don Muang Airport? That airbase is still packed with military aircraft. And what about Congo? The Thai state crushed them. Then, in '99, they tried to make you king again—a 'crowned republic' to pacify the old royalists. But the socialists stripped you of the throne for a second time. How pitiful.” He laughed, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, as Bhumibol sat in stunned silence.

Before Bhumibol could respond, let alone gather his thoughts amidst the oppressive air of authority, the man continued speaking. “Confused about the identity of the man before you, old man?” He laughed again, the sound bordering on confrontational. “Let it go, Lek. I may not matter in this socialist state anymore, but history will remember the first year of the transitional government.” The unsettling smile on the man’s face made Bhumibol uneasy. “What a lax security setup. You’d think a place housing such historical relics would have top-notch surveillance.” The man tossed a smart card into the air—belonging to the chief of security—before slipping it back into his pocket. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, my dude. Morning is coming; victory is near. There’s always a sunrise after the darkest night. But tonight? Not even a hint of darkness yet.” Just then, a loud explosion reverberated through the hall, echoing from outside the retirement complex. Before Bhumibol could process what had happened, the mysterious man vanished. Bewildered, he turned to find his wife rushing toward him, leading him back into their bedroom. ​