Introduction

The COVID-19 pandemic has laid bare some of the fundamental flaws and fractures in our globalized society. These range from environmental degradation and climate crisis, broken healthcare systems, increasing political polarization, and historic levels of economic and social inequality. In addition, we can see a highly concentrated economy that enriches big corporations to the disadvantage of smaller businesses. This discourages innovation and bolsters a financial system dissociated from the real economy, one that values the extractive over the productive, with all the attendant ecological degradation that implies. In short, we are faced with multiple crises, the cumulative effect of which is that human existence, and the civilizations they depend on, are under threat.

These crises present an opportunity for public debate, with a reassessment of the role of the market and a re-examination of how the economy became a market economy and how society became a market society. We need to question the personal, social and environmental consequences that are intrinsic in a market economy and a market society, and while we are at it, reformulate the goals of what they ideally should achieve.

In this chapter, we distinguish between the concepts of the market, a market economy, and a market society. The market has been around in different forms for centuries, and for the foreseeable future we still need to live with it. But we argue that certain goods and spheres of life should not be subject to market forces. The way the market is embedded in society needs an overhaul. Similarly, finance needs to be restructured to better serve the real economy. This calls for a two-pronged approach, reining in large profit-oriented financial institutions, while simultaneously encouraging the growth of alternative financial institutions. To achieve this, the role of civil society needs to be strengthened and the market needs to be disentangled from politics. We will consider the prospects for change, looking at the dynamics and interaction between the forces of marketization, social protection, and emancipation, and the possible political-economic outcomes.

Concepts Of The Market, The Market Economy, And The Market Society

The concept of the market has different meanings to different people, partly because the term is employed loosely and contains several nuanced definitions.

Introduction

This chapter examines Indonesia’s foreign policy after the fall of Sukarno and the rise of the military represented by General Suharto. Both eras share many characteristics, but there are also differences. This chapter shows the continuity and change in Indonesia’s foreign policy. Special attention will be given to the decision-makers in foreign policy and their institutions, as well as the conflict between the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the military establishment. The dominant role of the military will also be highlighted.

The Rise of the Military in Foreign Affairs

The political history of Indonesia entered a new phase known as the New Order after the 1965 coup. The army, in assuming power, became the most significant socio-political force in the country.

The involvement of the military in politics did not begin with the 1965 coup. In the 1950s, the military was already very politicized. In 1958, for example, General H.A. Nasution put forward a doctrine known as the “Middle Way”. He argued that the military “neither seek to take over the government nor remain politically inactive”. The military claimed the right to have representation in the government, legislature, and administration. This concept, defined the role of the military in both security and non-security fields and served as the origin of the dual-function (dwi fungsi) concept which is now used as the basis for military involvement in politics. In fact, the non-security role of the military continued to grow during the Guided Democracy period and, in 1965, when the Army held its first seminar, the dual function concept was formally proposed. According to this concept, the Indonesian military is both a “military force” as well as a “socio-political force”. In other words, it is legitimate for the military to be involved in both the military and political fields.

After the 1965 coup, the “socio-political” role of the Army was further refined. At the second army seminar held in Bandung in August 1966, military involvement in all aspects of Indonesian life was detailed. In fact, this was the beginning of the large-scale “militarization” process. Government positions at both national and sub-national levels were taken over by military officers. Military personnel even moved into the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

In order to understand the roots of the current crisis under King Vajiralongkorn (also styled as Rama X), it is necessary to go back nearly a century in time to 1932, when a small group of officers and civilians launched a coup and forced the absolute monarch King Prajadhipok, or Rama VII, who reigned from 1925 to 1935, to accept a constitution. For the last ninety years, Thailand has been a nominal constitutional monarchy, but its evolution has been complex and significantly different from any other comparable regime. The decades of an often-tortuous relationship between the two core institutions—constitution and monarchy—and particularly the reign of the late King Bhumibol (Rama IX) from 1946 to 2016, have created the system that is now being directly and publicly challenged for the first time since 1932.

Historical Background

The history of the Thai constitutional monarchy can be periodized in various ways, but at least five important stages or phases can be identified. The first stage, lasting from the June 1932 coup until Prajadhipok’s abdication in March 1935, witnessed a prolonged tussle between the new regime led by the commoners of the People’s Party and the royalists loyal to the king and the ancien régime. Although the overthrow of the absolute monarchy had little to do with Siamese public sentiment and there was no significant current of republicanism, the People’s Party represented a critical mass of middle- and lower-ranking officers and officials who resented royal privileges and princely domination of the military and the government. The policy of sending large numbers of Siamese overseas (mainly to Europe) for education, which dated back to the reign of King Chulalongkorn from 1868 to 1910, had produced two generations of well-educated and cosmopolitan officers and civil servants of both royal and non-royal backgrounds. When the two groups returned to Siam and entered government service, the princes generally outranked the commoners, regardless of individual merit, and this unmeritocratic system sowed the seeds of dissent.

Although the 1932 coup occurred without bloodshed and Prajadhipok verbally accepted his new status as a constitutional ruler, the next three years were a tug of war for power between himself and the new regime. In 1933, a “parliamentary coup” by conservative royalists and an anti-government rebellion were both suppressed by the regime.

Vietnam was officially reunified in 1976, and in December that year the Vietnam Communist Party (VCP) held its 4th National Congress. Since then the VCP has held national party congresses every five years. The 13th National Congress was held in early 2021 and its deliberations shaped domestic politics in Vietnam in the years to come.

The national party congress has seven main duties: (1) to approve the Political Report of the outgoing Central Committee; (2) to adopt short and long-term socioeconomic development plans; (3) to revise the party’s platform; (4) to amend the party’s statutes; (5) to elect a new Central Committee, which will then elect a new Politburo; (6) to decide on any other matters put before the congress; and (7) to issue a final resolution on the proceedings.

This chapter provides an overview of the 13th National Congress and the resulting turnover in party and state leadership in Vietnam. This chapter is divided into four parts: leadership transition, party-building, combating COVID-19 and a conclusion.

Leadership Transition

Leadership transition in Vietnam is a carefully orchestrated process that culminates every five years in a national party congress that elects new leaders and holds elections for the National Assembly, which in turn selects new government officials. Preparations for a national party congress generally start during the second half of the incumbent Central Committee’s five-year term; this includes the often-contentious task of determining the general composition of the new Central Committee and selecting who is qualified to stand for election. The Central Committee is composed of sectoral groups that are given bloc representation, including local party and government officials, the military, officials who hold senior positions in the government, officials who hold senior posts in the party, and members of the Politburo.

Quotas are set for three age groups: under fifty, fifty to sixty, and sixty-one and over. This is to ensure an orderly generational transition. Party rules also stipulate that Central Committee members should retire at sixty-five years of age and that they cannot serve more than two consecutive terms in the same office. Party rules also provide for a limited number of exemptions to these stipulations based on exemplary performance. In the final year of its term, the outgoing Central Committee often holds a series of plenary sessions where straw polls are conducted before confirming the final list of candidates.

Executive Summary

• • On 28 April 2021, the Indonesian government, under President Joko Widodo, dissolved the Ministry of Research, Technology, and Higher Education (Kemenristek-Dikti). Since then, the management of higher education has been taken over by the Ministry of Education and Culture, while research and innovation are now the responsibility of the National Research and Innovation Agency (Badan Riset dan Inovasi Nasional, or BRIN).

• • Based on Presidential Regulation (Perpres) Nos. 33 and 78 of 2021, various research institutes, such as LIPI, BATAN, LAPAN and BPPT, and research agencies in some ministries have been or will be merged into BRIN, making it a “super-government agency” with an “overarching” role.

• • With a Rp26 trillion budget allocated by the government for research per year and with a large number of researchers, BRIN is expected to boost national research and innovation, and help the country catch up with countries such as Singapore and South Korea.

• • BRIN, however, faces some serious challenges. It is not related to budget, infrastructure or human resources, but to the research ecosystem and research culture of Indonesia. Technocratism, which has been restricting research in the country, will be its first challenge. Politicization of research institutions as indicated by the involvement of political parties in research supervision is another issue. Achieving an environment that makes good and healthy research possible built around an effective system of funding, academic rewards, and a vibrant academic community, will be the third challenge.

• • If BRIN manages to overcome these challenges sufficiently, it will be in a good position to enhance the capacity and competence of Indonesian researchers as the foundation for an advanced Indonesia by 2045.

According to the 6th Assessment Report (AR6) by the Inter-Governmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), human-induced climate change is affecting weather and climate extremes in every region, evidenced by the increasing number of adverse weather events around the globe in the past few years. There is no single inhabitable region of earth that has not been affected by climate change, but its impacts differ across regions. For Southeast Asia, the prediction is for more extreme cyclones, uneven increases in temperatures and rainfall, and attendant flooding and inundation in some parts of the mainland.

Climate change is not an anticipated threat but a present and real crisis that has already been affecting Southeast Asia. Tropical cyclones, extreme rainfall, floods, loss of biodiversity, temperature increases and rising sea levels are happening with increasing frequency and high intensity. Some are slow-onset events that take place over extended periods of time (such as temperature increases, rising sea levels, and ocean acidification), while others are fast-onset events (such as tropical cyclones, extreme flooding, and landslides).

The prevailing advice from the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) is to retire the names of tropical cyclones that were particularly deadly or costly. In the list of fifty-four tropical cyclone names that have been retired, twenty-four of them are associated with countries in Southeast Asia; namely, the Philippines and Vietnam. Names of super typhoons like Haiyan and Mangkhut, familiar to millions of residents in the region, are no longer in use because of the massive casualty numbers and extensive economic damage they have caused.

Southeast Asia suffers disproportionately from climate change. Disproportionality comes from two aspects. First is the region’s disproportionate exposure to the number of climate disasters and extreme weather events. Southeast Asia is already predisposed to natural hazards, with high exposure to multiple geophysical hazards that are not related to climate change. It is prone to earthquakes and tsunamis, such as the 2004 Aceh-Andaman earthquake. It is also one of the most volcanically active regions. Climate change will compound these hazards. Three countries in Southeast Asia—Myanmar, the Philippines and Thailand—suffer the greatest long-term risks of climate change and, according to the Global Climate Risk Index 2021, were listed among the top ten most affected countries from 2000 to 2019. The burden on Southeast Asian countries to adapt to climate change is therefore exceptionally high.

Part I of this book examines the historical evolution of Peranakan communities in three countries, namely Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore (IMS), their development, decline and recent revival in the era of globalization and the rise of China. This chapter focuses on Indonesia. It will be followed by the next chapter on Malaysia and Singapore. A subsequent chapter will address recent developments of these communities provided with a general conclusion.

Introduction

There are a few books on the study of the Peranakan Chinese in Indonesia, one of them was Peranakan Tionghoa Indonesia: Sebuah Perjalanan Budaya (The Chinese Peranakan in Indonesia: A Cultural Journey), which was published in 2009. This is a coffee table book, written by a few Indonesian Peranakan scholars such as Mona Lohanda, Myra Sidharta, David Kwa and Handinoto etc. It covers Indonesian Peranakan literature, architecture, clothing, and food.

However, the most comprehensive coverage of the Indonesian Chinese history and culture is Tionghoa dalam Keindonesiaan: Peran dan Kontribusi dalam Pembangunan Bangsa (Chinese in the Indonesianess: Roles and Contributions in Nation-Building). The book consists of three volumes, covering the role and contribution of the Indonesian Chinese in more than ten areas such as language, literature, press, culture, arts, sports, designs, food, real estate, banking, economy, health, medicine, architecture, education, military, and politics. This book is not about Peranakan Chinese per se, but the majority of the chapters are in fact related to them.

Origins of the term Peranakan and Baba

No one is certain about the first appearance of the term Peranakan in Indonesia. However, in Dutch publications, Peranakan was already used during the eighteenth century to refer to the offsprings of mixed marriages between foreign males and Indonesian females on the Java Island. However, the term was specifically used by the Dutch to refer to the locally-born Chinese who were Muslim. The Dutch even appointed the Peranakan Kapitan so that Chinese Muslims could be distinguish from the “indigenous Muslims”. However, since 1832 the Peranakan Kapitan in Jakarta was abolished, as the Muslim Chinese were assimilated into the indigenous population. The meaning of Peranakan had also changed. Since then the term was more frequently used to refer to the offsprings of mixed marriages without any religious connotation.

At the close of Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte’s administration, we look back at how his centrality in almost all aspects of policymaking and sustained populist appeal has shaped Philippine politics. With its official script and actual actions closely aligned, his government has put in danger many democratic precepts that were painstakingly created after 1986. International indices classify the Philippines under the Duterte government as being in a state of democratic backsliding and an electoral autocracy. Its abysmal human rights record on the war on drugs is the subject of a United Nations report and an International Criminal Court inquiry. Despite the stringent COVID-19 pandemic measures imposed, it has been one of the worst performing governments in the world in reducing the infection rate among its population.

On civil-military relations, three things were evident: (1) the enhanced control of the military by the president; (2) the president’s reliance on the police and the military as preferred policy implementors; and (3) the broadening and institutionalization of the military’s reach into civilian affairs at the subnational level. The balance of civil-military relations was firmly tipped in favour of the presidency, under whose authority the military has been mobilized and deployed domestically on many occasions. President Duterte has deployed (or in local legal parlance, “called out”) the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) to wage war against the ISIS-linked terrorists in Marawi, implement martial law in Mindanao, enforce the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns, and support the police in the war on drugs. The tasks given to the military in these call-outs do not match their supposed warfighting skillset, or they extend beyond them, and encroach upon domains better performed by government civilian agents. Without contest or opposition from Congress or the Supreme Court, President Duterte successfully instrumentalized the armed forces to carry out controversial government policies. The AFP’s influence in internal security operations was enhanced with a commander-in-chief who trusted and relied on the armed forces more than their civilian counterparts. The domestic deployments of the military expanded and deepened its involvement in local affairs, enabling the armed forces to arrogate for itself tasks previously under the care of civilian agencies, such as provisioning direct humanitarian assistance, gaining it a formal foothold in decisions to end rebellion beyond kinetic operations and to acquire more leverage vis-à-vis local authorities to accomplish their internal security missions.

One of the objectives of Suharto’s foreign policy was to make Indonesia the leader of the Southeast Asian region and beyond. Although Indonesia’s leadership position was more in form than in substance, there was no doubt that Suharto’s Indonesia had played a leading role, at least in Southeast Asia, if not in Asia-Africa.

However, with the 1997 Asian economic crisis and the fall of Suharto in May 1998, Indonesia’s leadership position in Southeast Asia has also declined. In addition, the President is no longer the sole foreign policy maker. The role of parliament becomes important. This postscript examines Indonesia’s foreign policy from the final years of the Suharto period until the early years of Joko “Jokowi” Widodo’s second-term presidency. The discussion in this postscript will follow the general structure of the book, i.e., it begins with Indonesia and ASEAN, followed by Jakarta’s relations with the six other ASEAN states, especially with Malaysia and Singapore. Its relations with other medium powers and superpowers such as Australia, Japan, the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and the United States are also examined. The last section deals with the Middle East, in which Islam in Indonesia’s foreign policy is addressed. This order is mainly followed in accordance with the geographical proximity to Indonesia, which simultaneously reflects Indonesian geopolitical concerns.

Foreign Policy Decision-Making in Post-Suharto Indonesia

Let us look briefly at foreign policy decision-makers in Indonesia. During the New Order period (March 1966 to May 1998), foreign policy was initially in the hands of the military and President Suharto, and over time came to be concentrated in the hands of the president. The parliament was more a rubber stamp than the real decision-maker. Suharto often used his presidential power to decide on foreign policy issues, and his appointed ambassadors did not have to be endorsed by the parliament. However, during the post-Suharto period, especially after the fall of President Habibie, the presidential power was curtailed and ambassadors have to be endorsed by the parliament. This implies that the parliament began to play a role in foreign policy-making. The parliament could also refuse to rectify a treaty signed with a foreign country by the president. This context should be borne in mind when discussing post-Suharto Indonesia’s foreign policy.

Introduction

In recent years, there have been several important new findings of Cam inscriptions. Dated inscriptions in particular have provided relevant information about the contemporary temple groups on the basis of a comparison with their art styles. As Cam temple sites are rarely associated with dated inscriptions, these new findings help to clarify some issues related to the temples’ dating. The new dates suggested here for relevant instances of Cam temple architecture will also provide a new comprehension of the relationships between the art of the Cams and their neighbours, namely pre-Angkorian Cambodia and Central Java.

On Art Styles Of Cam Temple Sites

Henri Parmentier was the first to list and classify Cam temple architecture in his classic two-volume book Inventaire descriptif des monuments čams de l’Annam, published in 1909 and 1918. In his work, Parmentier (1918: 19–20) categorized Cam architecture into six forms, as follows:

• 1. ‘L’art primitif’: Mỹ Sơn A1 style, around the early 7th century, along with the Po Nagar Northwest tower and the Po Nagar main tower (restored in 813 and 817 CE);

• 2. ‘L’art cubique’: Hòa Lai style, around the early 8th century, along with Mỹ Sơn F1 tower and Po Nagar West tower (third half of the 9th century);

• 3. ‘L’art mixte’: Đồng Dương style, around the year 875 CE;

• 4. ‘L’art classique’: Tháp Bạc Tower style, around the 11th century, along with Mỹ Sơn E4 tower;

• 5. ‘L’art dérivé’: Po Kloong Garai style, around the 12th century, along with Mỹ Sơn B1 (1114 CE), Mỹ Sơn G1 (1157 CE), Po Kloong Garai (early 14th century), and Po Rome (second quarter of the 17th century);

• 6. ‘L’art pyramidal’: The style of Po Nagar Nha Trang South tower and Bằng An tower (900 and 910 CE), Po Nagar South tower (1145 CE), and Yang Prong tower (early 14th century).

Parmentier’s classic work has been the basis for all subsequent research works on Cam art. It was not until 1942 that the classification and arrangement of Cam temples according to artistic styles was initiated by Philippe Stern in his work L’art du Champa et son évolution. In this work, Stern applied the method of analysing decorative features of art works, known as ‘motif analysis’ or ‘decorative pattern analysis’ (analyse de motif), as was proposed by French art historians in the 20th century to study South Asian arts.

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

• • Hashtag campaigns on social media enable users to express their sentiments on various issues and mobilize people to be part of a movement or cause; they have been used effectively by disenfranchised members of society against powerful elites.

• • While some are of the opinion that online campaigns are ineffective due to “slacktivism”, such campaigns can spill over to offline protests, especially if there are strong emotions such as anger, or a sense of injustice or social deprivation, spurring people on.

• • The earlier hashtag campaigns in Malaysia—#AntaraDuaDarjat (#BetweenTwoStatus) and #DengkiKe (#AreYouJealous)—were expressions of unhappiness over perceived double standards in the enforcement of COVID-19 public safety protocols.

• • Later hashtag campaigns such as #KerajaanGagal (#FailedGovernment), #KerajaanZalim (#CruelGovernment) and #KerajaanPembunuh (#MurdererGovernment) became increasingly negative as public disenchantment grew due to the government’s weak handling of the pandemic and the consequent economic fallout.

• • Public frustration that manifested itself in the #BenderaHitam (#BlackFlag) and #Lawan (#Protest) movements soon transitioned into offline campaigns and protests against the government.

• • Apart from political hashtag campaigns, there were also welfare movements such as #KitaJagaKita (#WeTakeCareOfOurselves), #BenderaPutih (#WhiteFlag) and #RakyatJagaRakyat (#CitizensTakeCareOfCitizens), which enabled Malaysians to help the less fortunate affected financially by the COVID-19 lockdowns, by rendering food aid and other assistance.

• • A key conclusion of this study is that online hashtag campaigns have served as early warning of trending public sentiment. They also have the potential to hype up emotions online and subsequently galvanize support for offline campaigns and protests. As #Lawan and #BenderaHitam showed, these can have direct political outcomes.

There was some optimism that 2021 would mark a turn in the region’s fortunes and offer some respite after what was arguably the worst start to a new decade in living memory. Those hopes did not last long. As it turned out, 2021 was significantly much more of the same. The challenges of the previous year did not so much abate as intensify, putting the region’s resilience to the test.

Plans for a year of strong post-pandemic recovery were dashed as the region was engulfed by new waves of COVID-19 infections as a result of the more contagious Delta and Omicron variants. The reopening of borders and economies had to be delayed, as many Southeast Asian countries resorted once again to lockdowns and tried to quickly inoculate as much of their populations as possible amidst scarce global vaccine supply, especially in the first part of the year.

Meanwhile, it could have been a triumphant year for the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN). The grouping made significant headway with its Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership Agreement (RCEP), the world’s largest trade pact. Final ratifications by Australia and New Zealand in November 2021 meant that the RCEP would go live on the first day of 2022. However, any satisfaction over this feat was overshadowed by the coup d’état in Myanmar, which sparked a violent civil conflict and caused strategic and diplomatic ripples beyond Naypyidaw. The military coup put ASEAN at a protracted impasse as the junta resisted the organization’s entreaties to resolve the crisis, including forbidding the ASEAN special envoy to meet with Aung San Suu Kyi. At the same time, ASEAN redeemed a measure of credibility for itself with the bold decision to exclude the Myanmar military leader from its year-end summit, in what Joseph Chinyong Liow views as an indication that “ASEAN was not about to allow the Myanmar crisis to paralyse the organization” (p. 16).

Furthermore, the region was subjected to more strategic headwinds, as the contest between the United States and China for influence in Southeast Asia and the broader Indo-Pacific region showed little sign of letting up.

COVID-19, combined with intensive security operations and changing international dynamics, kept most local terrorist organizations off balance in 2021. In Indonesia, arrests were high and fatalities low, with terrorists responsible for five deaths, all in Poso, Central Sulawesi. Several attempts at attacks elsewhere, including the March 2021 bombing of Makassar cathedral, resulted in injuries to bystanders, but no deaths, other than the suicide bombers themselves. Almost no one tried to go overseas to join a jihad, and no one came back from Syria or was deported from Turkey.

Malaysia continued to patrol the coast of Sabah, occasionally deporting or killing Abu Sayyaf Group suspects, but no arrests of Malysians on terrorism charges took place during the year, either in Sabah or the rest of the country. In the Philippines, the military continued to try and “neutralize” top leaders, with top pro-ISIS leaders among those killed. Singapore arrested a few citizens with violent extremist sympathies. A Singaporean teenager arrested in December 2020 remains the only Southeast Asian detained for far-right sympathies. He reportedly wanted to attack two mosques in Singapore on the anniversary of the Christchurch, New Zealand shootings.

The return to power of the Taliban in Afghanistan raised concerns of possible renewed activity of al-Qaeda in the region or of a blowback to Southeast Asia of heightened activity from ISIS–Khorasan, the so-called province of Islamic State in Afghanistan. At least in the short term, these were probably overdrawn. While many Muslims celebrated the victory of a Muslim army over the United States, there were no immediate candidates for a partnership with al-Qaeda, even if the Taliban return gave the latter state protection. Its old partner, Jemaah Islamiyah, had no interest in resuming an affiliation and in any case since 2019 had become the target of a major crackdown by police. Its immediate aim was organizational survival, not global jihad. Pro-ISIS groups in Indonesia, as elsewhere, saw al-Qaeda as the enemy. Indeed, if Indonesian authorities were worried about outside influence serving as inspiration for violence at home, the source was more likely to be ISIS–Khorasan attacks on the Taliban rather than anything al-Qaeda was doing.

Introduction

As a student of Thai history, I have always been puzzled by the change of the name of my country from Siam to Thailand in 1939. I had no love for the hybrid word Thai + land and formerly participated in Back to Siam, a sort of literary movement to revert to the former name. In the late 1960s, while studying in the United States, I joined a group of Thai students who regularly wrote brief articles that were published back in Bangkok.

These were rather well received by the public and eventually collected and printed in two paperback volumes under the curious title Kid thung muang Thai (Thinking of the Land of the Thai). In using the term Muang Thai (Land of the Thai) in our writings, my friends and I saw no contradiction in continuing to propose a movement Back to Siam. Our proposal went nowhere, in any case. Nevertheless, when I returned home I still cherished the belief that Siam was a more appropriate name. At one point I had a visiting card printed with my address listed as Bangkok, Siam. My visiting card did not advance the Back to Siam movement either.

Since 1973, I have taught history at Thammasat University in Bangkok, where my main assignment has been modern Thai political history. I often asked students about their opinions of choosing between the names Siam and Thailand. To my surprise, they always preferred Thailand; some even looked at me strangely, as if I were impossibly boran (old fashion and outdated).

Armed with this experience, from 16 to 18 December 1998, I sought to participate in an international conference on Post-Colonial Society and Culture in Southeast Asia, held in Myanmar, another country whose name had also changed. I felt that it might be timely, at least on a personal basis, to try to understand the case of Thailand and Siam nomenclature.