In 2003, Thailand, under the government of Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, declared the anti-drug policy as a “national agenda,” commonly known as the “War on Drugs.” During the period of this policy (February 1, 2003 – April 30, 2003), there were 2,604 murder cases recorded, a number significantly higher than the usual rate compared to the same period before and after the policy was announced.1https://www.thaipost.net/x-cite-news/240753/ 2https://lms.nhrc.or.th/ulib/document/Summary/S09696.pdf
During the war on drugs, ethnic minority groups in the North had to endure pain and wounds from various forms of human rights violations, especially enforced disappearances and extrajudicial killings that affected both individuals across generations and entire communities. One of the major reasons was discrimination and societal stereotypes that linked ethnic groups with drugs. Because of this, these people were forced to struggle in silence against human rights violations in the dark black hole of Thai society, which may never even have acknowledged their stories.
That is why Sila Jahae, President of the Lahu Association for the Development of Quality of Life, has never stopped trying to speak out about the problems and demand justice for the victims, to ensure that this nightmare will never again fall upon the Lahu and any other ethnic groups.
The Beginning of Something Abnormal
“If some drug dealers die, it’s normal. Sometimes they’re shot dead, and then their property must be seized as well. I think we must be ruthless enough.”
This was one of the sentences uttered by former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, the “commander-in-chief” of the War on Drugs, showing the violence and brutality in carrying out the anti-drug policy in 2003.
No one knew whether actual drug dealers really died or not. But for the Lahu community, they knew very well that their fathers, mothers, children, brothers, and sisters were unjustly killed or disappeared without answers. That was the truth.
No one knew whether such cruel intentions really solved the drug problem. But for society, the destruction of citizens’ rights and freedoms and the collapse of the rule of law was the undeniable truth.
Sila’s initial work to help his community did not begin with human rights issues. Back in 2002, the Lahu people gathered to support each other in livelihood matters and forest conservation. At that time, Sila worked as a coordinator for the Lahu Forest Conservation Network. However, in 2003, his work inevitably changed when the northern region became an area plagued by severe human rights violations, with many Lahu families being among the victims.
Sila recalled that during this time, ranger special task forces raided villages in the mountains:
“They entered the village areas and randomly arrested people without arrest warrants, without search warrants; whoever they wanted to take, they took. Some were arrested, tortured, and then disappeared. If someone was caught and mentioned another name as being involved in drugs—just casually—sometimes villagers, shocked and not knowing what to say, would accuse others. Then the officers would go arrest those people next, seizing property arbitrarily: cars, money, necklaces.”
A key tool of the anti-drug policy was the “blacklist”, where the state rushed to compile names of suspects to achieve its operational targets. But the hastiness and lack of verification or evidence led to arbitrary arrests and property seizures, bypassing all judicial processes. This had devastating impacts on innocent people who had nothing to do with drugs, leaving them victims of severe, unjust human rights abuses.
Many villagers faced violations: family members were taken away, tortured, detained in underground pits. Many families had relatives who disappeared without a trace and never returned. Not knowing which agencies to complain to, they turned to Sila, who could coordinate effectively and was fluent in Thai. This was how Sila began to witness the problems happening to his community due to a reckless, violent, and hasty anti-drug policy.
Memories in the Pits
Sila’s assistance to villagers soon drew the attention of state authorities. Once, he himself was arbitrarily detained in a military camp for over ten days. Officers told him the reason was that he was “too cunning” after he helped his younger brother file a police complaint to reclaim seized property.
“The first time, I was arrested on the road while helping villagers with a case. They searched my brother’s house and found nothing, so they took his necklace, his car, and his money. I took him to file a complaint at Fang Police Station. On the way, rangers in 3–4 vehicles ambushed us. I was arrested and detained in a pit. The first time was 10 days. Being detained in a pit meant urinating and defecating in there. And it wasn’t just me. One pit held about 7–10 people, and there were several pits. In the camp, I saw around 50–60 Lahu people.”
A report by the Justice for Peace Foundation on enforced disappearances in Thailand also documented these underground pits during the war on drugs. It described them as places where people from several districts in one northern province were held together. Newly arrested individuals were tortured before being forced down a ladder into pits 2 meters deep, with only one entry and exit—by lowering and removing the ladder.
“Most detainees stayed in the pit for seven consecutive days. Others who had their shackles temporarily removed would bring food twice daily. Soldiers never went into the pits. Once, about 40 new detainees were brought in, and since there weren’t enough pits, the existing detainees were forced to dig more.”
What Sila described matched the report3http://justiceforpeace.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/Enforced_Disappearances_in-Thailand_Thai_version.pdf
“The ones I knew of were 3–5 pits, now all filled in—now parking spaces for the hospital. Each pit held 5–10 people. In mine, there were 7 of us, shackled together. We had to urinate and defecate inside. When relatives visited, they lowered the ladder for us to climb out.”
Throughout his detention, Sila was never interrogated. He believed the authorities only wanted to intimidate him into stopping his help for villagers. But while inside, he spoke with others who told him they were detained just because of accusations of drug involvement. They said they were taken up for questioning, tortured with electric shocks, revived with water if they fainted.
Sila was detained a second time while preparing to meet with a Lahu villagers’ network. That day, officers drove him to the military camp, where he was held for two nights. This time, though not in a pit, he was not allowed to leave until a local MP negotiated his release. Having been detained twice and witnessing everything with his own eyes, Sila decided that he could not let this pass.
“This was something everyone saw and could not ignore. I felt that if we did nothing, it would happen again. So I thought I must work for society.”
Fighting with Wounds and Memories
After his second release, Sila began connecting with human rights organizations, the National Human Rights Commission, and the Rights and Liberties Protection Department under the Ministry of Justice. He learned how to pursue justice, bringing stories from his community to raise awareness among many organizations, becoming a source of support for the Lahu people. Later, to formalize these efforts and strengthen their ability to work with authorities, the Lahu network registered the Lahu Association for Development to help address human rights violations, discrimination, and also cultural and religious issues.
“I never gave up, because what’s happening here is not a joke. It’s not something we can just laugh about. I want society to know that in Thailand, under the same constitution and laws, discrimination and severe human rights violations are truly happening.”
In Thai society, ethnic groups are often in vulnerable positions due to multiple factors: lack of citizenship, which blocks access to basic rights; lack of opportunities to participate in policymaking that affects their communities due to remoteness and language barriers; difficulty accessing public resources like healthcare and education; disputes with the state over land; and, on top of that, social discrimination from stereotypes that portray them as forest destroyers or drug-involved. These factors make them constant targets of accusations and unfair treatment by authorities and society.
Sila reflected that the fight for human rights among ethnic groups has never been easy. Their vulnerable status is already a burden. Communication with victims is hard due to transportation issues; some have no phones. Another obstacle is that the Association has no operating budget. Their work continues only because the Lahu people hope it can be their refuge.
“Sometimes we want to hold forums or gatherings, but we have no budget for food or expenses—not even for my own work. Also, though the Lahu Association has a board of directors, with me as president, many of them are not literate. They’re there just to keep the association going, to be a source of support for our people.”
Complaints filed eventually led to investigations into the impacts of the war on drugs, with reports from the Independent Committee to Study and Investigate Drug Suppression Policy, the National Human Rights Commission, Human Rights Watch, and state agencies.
“We proposed support for affected families, like returning seized assets, but nothing happened. No help, no confirmation, no action. Everything we submitted seemed to vanish. The only positive thing is that torture, pit detentions—those practices stopped.”
Though the investigations reduced some severe violations, accessing justice remains extremely difficult. That is why the voices of victims have never fallen silent—they still face discrimination and live with deep-seated fear.
“(The discrimination problem) still exists quietly. Sometimes when officials do wrong to villagers, they threaten them not to tell anyone. So villagers stay silent.”
The impacts of the “War on Drugs” remain wounds on many levels: families who feel they never received justice, communities that feel like third-class citizens. The pain has been passed from generation to generation through collective memories that cannot be erased.
“For families, it’s passed down. Some children still remember when their father was arrested and disappeared. Wives, husbands are still alive and tell their children and grandchildren that your father, your grandfather, was taken away by officers. That memory is carried down.”
The wounds and collective memories are all they have left, the only tools to fight so their stories are not forgotten, in the hope that one day justice will arrive.
Because in times of war, it is always the most vulnerable who bear the burdens and losses. The story of Sila and the Lahu community reminds us that the War on Drugs was no different.
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