Monarchy has proved a remarkably persistent institution in the modern world, and especially in Asia. Despite attempts to confine the power of monarchy within European-style constitutional constraints, the description “constitutional monarchy” fails to capture accurately the role and status of monarchs in contemporary Asia. Interest in these monarchies is growing, and it is generally found that Asian monarchies have largely not just maintained their power, but in some cases have increased it. This is in contrast to European monarchies, which a recent study shows to “have witnessed a growing gap between the formal political power conferred on them by the constitution, and the actual power they wield in reality” (Hazell and Morris, Reference Hazell and Morris2020, p. 269).
In this article we explore the role of monarchy in the context of modernization as evidenced by two narratives of built environment, namely urban development in Bangkok, Thailand, and the development region Iskandar Malaysia in Johor, Malaysia. Our finding is that the King of Thailand and the Sultan of Johor both play significant roles in development. This finding contradicts Weber’s notion that modernization arises via the adoption of legal-rational authority, as the authority of the monarchy is classified as traditional in Weber’s formulation (Weber, Reference Weber, Roth and Wittich1978, pp. 226–37). The succeeding sections set out the narrative of, first, Bangkok, and secondly, Johor. We then draw our conclusions.
1. Thai monarchy and urban development
As one of the largest urban centers in Asia, effective management of urban spaces is vital for the modernization of Bangkok, Thailand’s capital city. Since 1936, various comprehensive town planning legislations and building control laws have been adopted to support these objectives. Despite entrusting the executive branch with a leading role in shaping the dynamics of city growth, these legal instruments have not only preserved the traditional concept of city space (“TCCS”), centered as it has always been in Bangkok on the sanctity of the monarchy, but their functioning is, in fact, dominated by this very idea. This approach effectively facilitates the Weberian “traditional authority”—the King, as a constitutional monarch whose powers and position are circumscribed by constitutional limits, and his networks—to influence the city’s modernization (Weber, Reference Weber, Roth and Wittich1978, pp. 226–37). Such influence reinforces the entrenchment of royal political dominance, making the monarchy “an almost unchallenged source of legitimacy and object of legitimation” within the Thai polity (Dressel, Reference Dressel2010, p. 449).
Below, we first provide details of the TCCS, then examine how it fundamentally differs from and is challenged by the Western-oriented concept of space (“WCS”). In the last section, we assess how urban spaces has become a battleground for political dominance between the monarchy and reformists, and how building control and planning laws bolster the monarchy’s efforts to both restore and sustain its political hegemony.
1.1. Bangkok as a microcosm of the universe
The social structure of pre-modern Siamese (Thai) society was intrinsically shaped by the Hindu-Buddhist cosmography known as the Traiphum (Chua, Reference Chua2021, pp. 19–20). According to the Traiphum, the universe is divided into three realms—heaven, human, and hell (Chua, Reference Chua2021, pp. 19–20). The realm to which one belongs is determined by their past and present actions (karma), which, in turn, affect the extent of their accumulated merits (bun) (Zeamer, Reference Zeamer and Hoover2016, p. 130). Styled as Rama (the incarnation of Vishnu), the King was deemed to be the semi-divine supreme ruler of this cosmological universe (Devaraja), believed to possess the highest degree of bun in the kingdom (Dhammaraja) (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana, Harding and Pongsapan2021, p. 218; Mérieau, Reference Mérieau2022, p. 86). This idea of stratified, religious-oriented social order profoundly influenced the original planning of Bangkok and thereby the TCCS.
Founded as the capital of the Chakri dynasty in 1782, Bangkok was originally conceived as a “microcosm of the universe” (Holt, Reference Holt2017, p. 32). As the supreme and most virtuous ruler of this microcosm, the King’s abode—the Grand Palace—deemed to be Khet Phra Racha Than (the royal precinct) symbolizes Mount Meru, the central axis of the Traiphum, with the heavenly realm Dawadoeng at its pinnacle (Desai, Reference Desai1980, p. 45). One of its main throne halls represents this divine paradise (Prasertsiri, Reference Prasertsiri2012, pp.37–8). Regarded as “the center of divine power,” the Grand Palace determined the physical layout of pre-modern Bangkok (Teeraviriyakul, Reference Teeraviriyakul and Wongsurawat2016, p. 127). Surrounding roads were subsequently built not only to showcase “its grandeur” but also to “segregate the Grand Palace from the commoners’ residential area,” which were considered as the earthy domain (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, pp. 7–8; Youmangmee, Reference Youmangmee and Wongsurawat2016, p. 49).Footnote 1 These insights into the layout of pre-modern Bangkok enable us to derive the rationale behind the TCCS.
Fundamentally, the TCCS is grounded in the idea of “sacred topography,” a realm that is intrinsically “religious” and “imaginative,” and therefore “does not … correspond to the earth’s surface [in reality]” (Winichakul, Reference Winichakul1994, pp. 24, 33). Additionally, the TCCS integrates city planning primarily with the pre-eminence of the monarchy rather than the public good and legality. More specifically speaking, central to this concept is the idea of a heaven-earth division, wherein the royal precinct is envisioned as the celestial domain around which all other structures, considered earthly, must revolve. These earthly structures cannot intrude upon the royal domain but remain subordinate to its influence.
1.2. The traditional concept of city space in modern Thailand
The adoption of the WCS during the reign of King Chulalongkorn (1868–1910), in response to European imperialism, posed significant challenges to the TCCS (Winichakul, Reference Winichakul1994, pp. 47–61). While the TCCS hinges upon the sanctity of the monarchy, its Western-oriented counterpart is based on the belief that the process of rationalization entails demystification—in other words, individuals’ ability to “master all things by calculation” (Weber, Reference Weber and Weber2009, p. 139). This emphasis on calculability and rationalism highlights the notion of “defined and governed territories” as a rationale for modernization at both national and local (Bangkok) levels (Winichakul, Reference Winichakul1994, pp. 47–56).
At the national level, the introduction of the WCS marked the emergence of the Thai nation-state—a sovereign entity with centralized authority in Bangkok capable of exercising control within its clearly defined boundaries under an absolute monarchy (Heng, Reference Heng2019, pp. 68–76). However, our primary focus is on the context of Bangkok, where this introduction catalyzed the development of urban spaces. Since the late 19th century, Western-influenced urban designs have become emblematic of modernization, with their construction carried out through more rational practices, notably systematic urban planning and land acquisition (Navapan, Reference Navapan2014, pp. 6–10). Two issues arise in this context, which will be briefly outlined here and examined in more detail in the following section.
First, Bangkok’s expanding urban spaces have become a battleground for political dominance between the monarchy and reformists (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, pp. 7–12). Having acquired a significant portion of land, the King and the royal family emerged as “[pivotal] agents of urban development” at the start of the modernization process, with structures such as the French-style Ratchadamnoen Avenue and the Italian-style Anantasamakom Throne Hall of the Dusit Palace constructed between 1899 and 1908 (Navapan, Reference Navapan2014, pp. 2–6). The areas surrounding the avenue replaced the Grand Palace as Bangkok’s city center (Dovey, Reference Dovey2001, p. 265). In terms of their political significance, these edifices represented “the modernized image of the [monarchy]” (Mega, Reference Mega2013, p. 235; Navapan, Reference Navapan2014, p. 14), allowing the King to project his political pre-eminence beyond the sacred sites, such as the Grand Palace (Chua, Reference Chua2021, p. 24). However, despite providing a more rationalized view of urban spaces in Bangkok, their presence did not result in the rationale behind the TCCS—the Traiphum—being wiped out. Rather, as Ratchadamnoen Avenue, literally translated as “royal progress,” connects the city’s modernized space with the Grand Palace and the Dusit Palace, it retained “the enchantment of the [pre-modern] era,” while envisioning the modernization process as the product of the traditional idea that city landscape revolved around the King (Chua, Reference Chua2021, pp. 23–4; Peleggi, Reference Peleggi2017, p. 141). Following the Revolution of 1932, which brought the end to royal absolutism, a parliamentary democracy with the King as its head was inaugurated. Control over the process of modernization—particularly through defining urban landscapes and architecture—was crucial for the revolutionary group composed of mid-ranking civilian and military officials, known as the People’s Party (“PP”), in integrating this Western concept into local life and culture in 1932 (Fuwongcharoen, Reference Fuwongcharoen2018). Importantly, we will demonstrate below that Thailand’s transformation to a nominally constitutional monarchy in 1932 was incomplete as the process of democratization did not fully override the Buddhist-royalist culture. Instead, the PP had to rely on the technique of sacralization previously adopted by the monarchy to promote their political ideology, thus unintentionally allowing the TCCS to remain a part of the Thai constitutional landscape. The aforesaid control was also vital for the monarchy in restoring its political prominence under the Traiphum cosmology, a goal that achieved full success by the 1970s.
Second, where the King’s orders (Phrabrom Rachaongkarn) were the main source of authority for implementing urban development during the absolute era (Royal Gazette, 1889, p. 339), political liberalization, along with the expansion of urban areas in Bangkok and other cities—especially from 1932 onward—prompted the government to increasingly recognize the importance of building control and legal-rational town planning. Simply put, although the revolution of 1932 did not completely replace the traditional mode of legitimacy, this incident remains crucial in the study of urban development as it marks the formal transition from traditional to more legal-rational authority. Legal-rational tools, especially town planning legislation, have since played an important role, including in the restoration of the TCCS, which was key to reinstating the political preeminence of the monarchy in post-absolutist Thailand.
The first law on construction control was passed in 1936 and was later replaced by the current Building Control Act of 1977 (“the BCA 1977”). Meanwhile, Thailand’s first comprehensive planning legislation, the Town and Rural Planning Act, was introduced in 1952 (“the TRPA 1952“) during the premiership of Field Marshal Phibunsongkhram (“Phibun”). The act was influenced by the English Town and Country Planning Act of (1947) (Tapananon, Reference Tapananon2018). The current Town Planning Act (2019) (“the TPA 2019”) builds on its 1975 predecessor (“the TPA 1975”), which was itself based on two American planning statutes: the Standard State Zoning Enabling Act (1926) and the Standard City Planning Enabling Act (1928) (Tapananon, Reference Tapananon2018). These laws outwardly accommodate what Swati Jhaveri describes as “an idealized planning regime” (“IPR”) (Jhaveri, Reference Jhaveri2022, p. 1). Generally, the IPR seeks to reconcile the classic tension between the need for organized town planning in the public interest and its potential adverse effects on individual rights and interests, such as the right to private property (McAuslan, Reference McAuslan1980, pp. 11–75). It is assumed that if the town planning process is carried out in accordance with pre-established legal rules, allows for public participation, and is subject to review, it is more likely to be deemed effective, democratic, and accountable, thereby minimizing the aforementioned tension (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, pp. 4–5; McEldowney, Reference McEldowney and Zartaloudis2017, p. 191). Therefore, in contrast to the TCCS rooted in karma and royal privilege, the IPR links urban spaces and modernization with the public good and individual rights. It simultaneously signifies a belief in human capacity to “appropriate a spatial object” (Winichakul, Reference Winichakul1994, pp. 54–5). especially through “technocratic” methods and “engineering tools” to steer cities towards order and prosperity (Padawangi, Reference Padawangi2022, pp. 3–4).
The monarchy’s success in restoring royal political dominance in post-absolutist Thailand prompts us to inquire how its sacred status under the Traiphum is projected through urban architecture, despite the presence of building control laws, the IPR, and the democratization process introduced by the PP. In other words, as modernization renders the “legal-rational” form of legitimacy—where authority is derived from a formal, impersonal law —undeniable, we aim to explore how the royalist-conservative faction co-opts the WCS to advance their development visions, which are centered around the TCCS (Weber, Reference Weber, Roth and Wittich1978, pp. 217–20).
1.3. Bangkok’s urban spaces as a battleground for political dominance
The story of modernization in Bangkok illustrates how urban architecture makes a political ideology—an abstract set of beliefs to which a polity must commit—publicly visible and concrete (Morrice, Reference Morrice1996, p. 75). This visibility helps these ideas become ingrained in the public consciousness (Evers and Korff, Reference Evers and Korff2003, p. 17). Ostensibly. the ability to define the meaning of Bangkok’s modernization and its course of development in the late 19th century facilitated the Thai monarchy’s consolidation of political hegemony. In this section, our focus is on the efforts of the PP to seize control of this definition in order to replace royal hegemony with Western concepts such as constitutionalism and democracy, as well as the monarchy’s subsequent success in regaining this control in the democratic era.
As discussed, the monarchy envisaged Ratchadamnoen Avenue as the anchor of Bangkok’s modern urban landscape. In their effort to embed the concepts of constitutionalism and democracy into the public discourse, the PP sought to visualize these principles by redefining the symbolism of the avenue. This endeavor culminated in the inauguration of the Democracy Monument at its center in 1939 (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, p. 10). Due to the absence of a long-cultivated constitutional culture, many Thais at the time nonetheless misunderstood Ratthathammanun (constitution) to be a child of Phraya Phahonphonphayuhasena, one of the military leaders of the PP (Banomyong, Reference Banomyong, Baker and Phongpaichit2000, p. 170). The lack of an embedded understanding of constitutionalism made the design of the Democracy Monument particularly challenging at the time.
The architecture of the Democracy Monument clearly represents the transition of power from the absolute monarchy to a constitutional regime on 24 June 1932 (Peleggi, Reference Peleggi2017, p. 134). To enhance its mystique, the replica of the constitution, positioned at its zenith, is auspiciously displayed as “a thick accordion-style codex called Samutthai [which is] placed on a two-tiered golden pedestal tray” (Fuwongcharoen, Reference Fuwongcharoen2018, p. 624). Regarding its location, the monument not only became the new “focal point” of the avenue, but also manifested the interruption of “the monarchy’s urbanistic vision of modernity” (Peleggi, Reference Peleggi2017, pp. 137–40). Additionally, the then Prime Minister and member of the PP, Phibun, who was educated in France, intended the Democracy Monument to symbolize “national unison” and to serve as “the milestone of national progress” (Speech inaugurating the Democracy Monument on the National Day, 1940, pp. 876–81). Instead of using prerogative power as in the pre-absolutist era, Phibun opted for a legal-rational approach to town planning. The Land Appropriation Act was passed in October 1939 to organize building control and urban planning and development around the Ratchadamnoen precinct, resulting in many European-style edifices and facilities being constructed along the avenue (Peleggi, Reference Peleggi2017, p. 140).
The internal power struggle within the PP itself, coupled with post-Second World War corruption scandals involving the civilian government supported by its civilian wing, created an opportunity for the monarchy to gradually recover from its nadir, beginning with a coup in 1947. With the assistance of two military generals—Field Marshal Sarit Thanarat and General Prem Tinsulanada, the monarchy succeeded in fully reinstating its lost prestige by the 1970s (Winichakul, Reference Winichakul2008, pp. 15–30). Interestingly, instead of restoring the absolute monarchy, the royalist-military alliance—described by McCargo as “the network monarchy”—opts to maintain its political dominance through the system of tutelage democracy, formally known as “the Democratic Regime with King as Head of State” (“the DRKH”) (McCargo, Reference McCargo2005). Central to this regime is “the concept of neo-royalism,” under which royal sacredness is merged with democratic legitimacy, with the “down-to-earth” and “citizen-centric” Dhammaraja seen as the embodiment of democracy (Chachavalpongpun, Reference Chachavalpongpun2015, p. 1194). Moreover, the DRKH restores the “sacred and inviolable” status of the King, with every Thai constitution since 1949 unwaveringly enshrining the “inviolability clause,” which immunizes him from any legal liability (Section 6, the Constitution of the Kingdom of Thailand, 2017). This prerogative effectively reinforces the concept of Devaraja. Meanwhile, every post-1947 constitution further preserves his prerogative to appoint the key figures of the network monarchy—the members of the Privy Council (Sections 10–11, the Constitution the Kingdom of Thailand, 2017). With the royal status re-sacralized, electoral politics is permitted only to the extent that it does not undermine the powers and privileges of the network monarchy. Royally sanctioned coups serve as a primary means of vetoing demands for fully participatory politics (Winichakul, Reference Winichakul and Chachavalpongpun2014, p. 84).
To embed the sacredness and inviolability of the monarchy, along with the ideology of neo-royalism, in public consciousness, it is essential to re-sacralize royal symbolism, with the re-emphasis of the TCCS being one of the means to fulfil this intention (Peleggi, Reference Peleggi2017, pp. 141–42). Nonetheless, employing Phrabrom Rachaongkarn for this purpose would contradict the plan to integrate the monarchy with democratic legitimacy. Therefore, achieving such a goal must rely on the legal-rational structure, as demonstrated below (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, p. 12).
To begin with, as discussed earlier, the PP pursued urban planning through modern positive law in order to supplant “the monarchy’s urbanistic vision of modernity,” with the TRPA 1952 adopted to mainstream the IPR as the primary mode of urban development (Peleggi, Reference Peleggi2017, p 137). However, following the restoration of the restoration of royal hegemony, the rationalized TPA itself has been turned into a vehicle that accommodates room for the TCCS. In 2006, a ministerial regulation was passed under the TPA 1975 during the government of Thaksin Shinawatra, who was at the time alleged to have shown “disloyalty to the throne”—perhaps in an attempt to “regain trust from the monarchy”—exempting Khet Phra Racha Than from Bangkok’s comprehensive town plan (Crispin, Reference Crispin, Montesano, Chachavalpongpun and Chongvilaivan2012, p. 111; Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, p. 16; Ministerial Regulation enforcing Bangkok Comprehensive Plan, 2006). The exemption clause was carried over into the new regulations promulgated in 2013 under the premiership of Thaksin’s sister, Yingluck Shinawatra, and it is expected to continue in the upcoming regulations enacted under the TPA 2019 (Ministerial Regulation enforcing Bangkok Comprehensive Plan 2013). As a result of this, a zone traditionally separate from the commoners’ areas has now been legally recognized as the exception to the IPR, as stipulated by modern planning legislation itself. Ostensibly, this embodies the rationale behind the Triaphum, which holds that the royal realm is sacred and impenetrable, akin to a divine heaven. Its presence, coupled with the revised legislation on royal assets, facilitate the current monarch, King Vajiralongkorn (2016-present), in actively influencing Bangkok’s urban development and modernization in a way that simultaneously bolsters royalist dominance (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, pp. 19–22, 25).
Amid rising anti-establishment movements, the military junta that seized power in May 2014 sought to reinforce royal prestige by replacing the crown property law enacted in 1936 with the Royal Assets Structuring Act (2017) (“the 2017 RASA”), which was later repealed by the His Majesty’s Assets Structuring Act (2018) (“the 2018 HMASA”) (The Nation, 2017; Vienne, Reference De Vienne2022). Passed following the revolution of 1932, the Crown Property Act of 1936 (“the CPA 1936”) distinguished crown property, which is held by the King as the head of state, from his private properties (Section 4, the CPA, 1936). Amended in 1948, the CPA (1936) established the Crown Property Bureau (“CPB”), and tasked it with the responsibility of managing crown property (Section 4 bis and ter, the CPA, 1936). Both the 2017 RASA and the 2018 HMASA however grant the King the exclusive prerogative over all royal properties (Section 6, the RASA, 2017; Section 6, the HMASA, 2018). Following the promulgation of the RASA (2017), King Vajiralongkorn instructed the CPB to transform the venue classified as royal property, previously the site of a racecourse, into King Bhumibol Memorial Park to commemorate his father’s life work and to enhance green urban space in Bangkok (Thai PBS, 2022). Its surrounding area is also designated as Khet Phra Racha Than, referred to as “the 901 Land,” and is therefore exempt from Bangkok’s comprehensive town plan (Thansettakij, 2024).
By excluding throne halls and palaces from its application, the BCA (1977) too embraces the Triaphum rationale (Section 6, the BCA 1977). Given the growing tendency for royal prerogative over royal property to be exercised in support of urban development, this legislation therefore provides another potential legal vehicle for the monarch in pursuing this goal (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, pp. 19–22).
The Triaphum rationale not only underlies their exemption but also provides the fundamental basis for enforcing building control and town planning in Bangkok. The urban layout surrounding the Grand Palace serves as a pertinent example. Enacted in 1985 under the BCA (1977), Bangkok Regulation on the Prohibition of Construction, Modification, Use, or Alteration of Certain Types of Buildings in the Inner Ratanakosin Grand Palace Sub-District, Phra Nakhon District, Bangkok establishes rules for the construction and modification of certain types of structures in the vicinity of the palace. Put more theoretically, while the Grand Palace, classified as Khet Phra Racha Than, remains exempt from both the building control and town planning laws, it has nonetheless emerged as the epicenter that determines the trajectory of urban development and modernization in its surrounding areas. Much like the late 18th century, this celestial realm functions as a fulcrum around which structures built by ordinary people must revolve. This approach to legally entrenching urban organization ultimately symbolizes the socio-political predominance of the monarchy.
Outside the royal precinct, building control and town planning in the vicinity of royal development projects (“RDP”) are also informed by the rationale underlying the TCCS. King Bhumibol (1946–2016) was particularly recognized for his influence on the construction of key public facilities in Bangkok, including the Silver Jubilee Road in 1971 and the Rama IX Park in the late 1980s. Interestingly, despite his formal status as a constitutional monarch, no specific legislation has ever prevented the King from initiating the RDP. In fact, royal influence on urban development began nearly two decades before Bangkok’s first comprehensive town plan was implemented, following the enactment of a ministerial regulation no.127 under the TPA 1975 in 1992 (Robinson, Reference Robinson, McGee and Robinson1995, p. 91; TDRI, 2022). Due to his significant impact on Thailand’s development, King Bhumibol continues to be celebrated, even posthumously, as “the development king” (Seo, Reference Seo2020, p. 44). Additionally, as their names suggest, these RDP clearly project the sacred and altruistic image of the monarchy (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, pp. 17–9; Winichakul, Reference Winichakul2008, p. 21).
In terms of the authority for their implementation, the late King seized opportunities such as his birthday or the anniversary of his coronation to articulate his vision for urban development, with the government and the network monarchy—particularly the military and royalist elites (especially members of the Privy Council)—tasked with carrying out his will (Horayangkura et al., Reference Horayangkura, Pimonsathean, Weesakul, Lertpocasombut, Romratanapun, Wongsawatgul and Klinmalai2007, pp. 7–8, 12). In the presence of the inviolability clause in the constitution, the royal wishes “were typically treated as if they were the binding Phrabrom Rachaongkarn of the absolutist era” (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, p. 13). However, rather than using the King’s orders to sanction the construction of these RDP, modern positive laws—such as land expropriation decrees (as seen in the case of the Silver Jubilee Road) and the regulations on foundations enshrined in the Civil and Commercial Code (as exemplified by Rama IX Park)—were applied for this purpose (Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, pp. 17–9). Similar to the Grand Palace, these structures—sacralised by their status as “the royal gifts”—have emerged as a fulcrum for shaping the direction of urbanisation and modernisation in their vicinity. Since the 1980s, a number of Bangkok regulations were passed under the BCA (1977) to impose rules on construction and modification of buildings and other structures surrounding the Silver Jubilee Road and the Rama IX Park.Footnote 2
1.4. Royal authority, planning law, and Bangkok’s city center
Against the IPR, the above section demonstrates how Thailand’s modern building control and town planning laws help integrate the TCCS into Bangkok’s modernization and urbanization trajectory, thereby projecting royal hegemony to the public. However, since the monarchical influence over urban spaces predates the promulgation of Bangkok’s comprehensive plan in 1992, the Thai experience also reflects how the royal court itself shapes the design of city planning. The case of Siam Paragon, one of Bangkok’s largest shopping malls located in the Ratchaprasong area, is a notable example.
The estate on which Siam Paragon stands is a royal property adjacent to the residence of Princess Sirindhorn, the younger sister of King Vajiralongkorn (Ünaldi, Reference Ünaldi2016, pp. 149, 155–56). It is operated by the Siam Piwat group, a business conglomerate, with Princess Sirindhorn and the CPB, now under the exclusive supervision of the King by virtue of Sections 6–8 of the RASA (2017) and Sections 6–8, the HMASA (2018), as the main shareholders (Minutes of the Annual General Meeting, 2008). This estate has long been leased to foreign companies and Thai business tycoons, making it Bangkok’s business heart even before 1992 (Ünaldi, Reference Ünaldi2016, pp. 144–90). As a result, the current Bangkok planning regulation, in effect since 2013, designates this area as the Red Zone, a commercial business district, where the construction of industrial factories, transportation stations, and waste disposal sites, as well as the use of land for agricultural purposes, are prohibited (Map of Bangkok, 2019). The theoretical conclusion here is that the monarchy appears to “lend its [legitimacy]” to the development of the city centre of Bangkok and the design of town planning regulations (Ünaldi, Reference Ünaldi2016, p. 160). Again, this reflects the Triaphum rationale, under which the monarchy serves as the epicentre of urban development.
1.5. Malay monarchy and the Iskandar Malaysia project
The Malay monarchies (there are nine of these) share some features with the Siamese/ Thai monarchy, but are in several essential respects very different, due to their different history and constitutional as well as symbolic status. Thus the Malaysian case study presented in this section, takes a different form. Like the case study on Thailand, it concerns the process of modernization via physical or spatial development, illustrating strongly the role of monarchy (in the shape of Sultan Ibrahim Ismail of Johor) in modernization. But we move here from the urban development in Bangkok’s TCCS to very non-traditional spaces and red-earth development in rural Johor.
First, we need to understand the different evolution of the Malay monarchies compared to that of Thailand.
1.6. The Malay monarchies in history
The states that emerged from the fragmentation of the Malacca empire in the 16th century each had their own Ruler who was connected to the Malaccan dynasty. This dynasty traced its origins to the Arab world and even to Alexander the Great. “Iskandar” itself, the name of the region discussed in our case study, is the name of the present Sultan of Johor’s father and is derived etymologically from “Alexander” (Al-Iskandar).
Nonetheless, the Rulers enjoyed the highest social status in Malay society. The state was inconceivable without a Raja; government itself is kerajaan in the Malay language (Milner, Reference Milner1982). This concept involves the notion of daulat (sovereignty), which the Ruler ‘ruled by the grace of Allah, who had given him blessings and legitimized his reign (Suwannathat-Pian, Reference Suwannathat-Pian2011, p. 12).
Ideas of monarchy in the Malay world have complex origins, and can be seen as syncretic, having Hindu and Buddhist, as well as Muslim, influences (Harding and Kumarasingham, Reference Harding and Kumarasingham2023). For example,
The actual structure of government prior to British rule owed much to Hindu ideas, for example in the astrological obsession with multiples of four. Perak had four great, eight major, and 16 minor chiefs, and 32 territorial chiefs. Even the throne was 16-sided, while the palace had 32 pillars for each section of the building, and salutes were given in number eight, 16, or 32 (Andaya, Reference Andaya2018; Harding and Kumarasingham, Reference Harding and Kumarasingham2023, p. 402).
Even traditional magic had a role to play. Winstedt recorded in 1874 that ‘Perak folk saw nothing strange in their Sultan “Abdullah, sitting at a séance on the shaman’s mat and becoming possessed by the genies of the State, who prophesied the death of the British Resident destined soon to be murdered. (Winstedt, Reference Winstedt1958, p. 64)”
Anthony Milner expresses in the following terms the relationship between ruler and subject in kerajaan ideology
royal subjects understand what we might call their identity and purpose in terms of rajaship … we must be cautious even of using language which assumes the subject’s distinct and separate identity. The notion of lives “contained within custom” and the image of namas embedded in royal ceremonial structure suggest that, according to Kerajaan ideology, individual Malays were seen almost as portions rather than subjects of kingship. In these circumstances the expression of anxiety about being ‘raja-less’, the fear of the ‘utter confusion’ which reigns in the absence of kingship, is understandable. It is equally important to examine the terms in which Malay texts make strong injunctions against treason (derhaka) (Milner, Reference Milner1982, p. 114; Miner, Reference Milner1994, p. 24).
Yet unlike the Kings of Siam, the Malay Rulers were not in general absolute monarchs, but were held in check by their officials and the state’s territorial chiefs. Rulers were obliged.
to consult their senior officials in matters of government, and prominent ministers felt it was their prerogative to offer words of advice or admonishment when they felt tradition or protocol had been disregarded—sometimes high-ranking ministers exercised more influence than the ruler … without their support the sultan was virtually powerless (Andaya, Reference Andaya2018, pp. 5–6).
The kerajaan ideology was of course deeply disrupted by colonialism. Unlike the Thai monarchy, the Malay monarchies were subjected to colonial influence in a system of indirect rule. Following the Pangkor Engagement in 1874, a treaty between Britain and the state of Kedah, a residential system was developed in which the traditional Ruler or Sultan was obliged to act on British advice except in matters involving Islam and Malay custom. Under the residential system, government represented a careful balance between British advice and the observance of traditional norms, protocols, and symbolism (Suwannathat-Pian, Reference Suwannathat-Pian2011, ch. 2). This means that (paradoxically, one might think) the residential system asserted the absolute power of the ruler over the territorial chiefs in order to increase the power of the coloniser as against those whose power had previously constrained the Rulers’. This supported the system of indirect rule (Suwannathat-Pian, Reference Suwannathat-Pian2011, p. 23). The symbolism of monarchy was thus required to be maintained in order to disguise the reality—namely, the essentially invasive nature of British rule. The British had already established Crown colonies in Penang, Malacca and Singapore, and these were unified as the Straits Settlements in 1826. The residential system extended British rule ultimately, over the half century following Pangkor, to all of the Malay states, while Johor itself was the first state to enact its own constitution in 1895, and the last to adopt indirect rule (in 1914) (Milner, Reference Milner1982, pp. 197ff). It did not join the Federated Malay States as a number of other Malay states did under the British idea of centralising administration (Milner, Reference Milner1982, p. 227). Its independence was recognised even in the British courts when the then Sultan Abu Bakar was sued and claimed sovereign immunity, supported in his claim by the British government (Mighell v. Sultan of Johor [1894] 1 QB 149). These are not merely historical facts. Even the present Sultan insists on Johor’s exceptionalism; the 1895 Constitution of Johor as foundational; and the people of Johor (of all races) as his people, the “bangsa Johor” or Johor nation (Hutchinson and Nair, Reference Hutchinson, Nair, Hutchinson and Rahman2016, p. 3). As we will see, the modernisation of the state is a prime objective of the Sultan’s reign.
As with the Thai monarchs under Thai constitutions since 1932, the Malaysian Federal Constitution imposes formal restraints on the Malay rulers. These restraints, which include the requirement to act on government advice and assent to bills passed by the legislature, are in line with the Westminster-type constitutional conventions (Federal Constitution, 1957, Article 40, 66). To examine the positions from a purely constitutional perspective, the Malay monarchies are framed both by their State Constitutions and by the Federal Constitution, Article 181(1) of which preserves the “sovereignty, prerogatives, powers and jurisdiction of the Rulers … within their respective territories as hitherto had and enjoyed”. This of course begs the question, what exactly are the matters that are preserved in Article 181(1): the scope of the prerogative power as a matter of law remains uncertain (Hickling, Reference Hickling1975; cf. Harding, Reference Harding1986), but in practice the definition has been noted to have clearly expanded considerably over the last twenty years or so (Harding, Reference Harding2022a, chs. 2, 5; Suwannathan-Pian, Reference Suwannathat-Pian2011, pp. 378ff). In addition, Article 71(1) guarantees the right of a Ruler “to succeed and to hold, enjoy and exercise the constitutional rights and privileges of Ruler of that State in accordance with the Constitution of that State”. Article 38 prohibits any legislation that directly impacts the “privileges, position, [honors] or dignities of the Rulers” without the approval of the Conference of Rulers—a constitutionally significant body made up of Malaysia’s nine traditional monarchs. In 1971, the constitutional provision (Article 159), which deals with constitutional amendments, was itself amended to require the consent of the Conference of Rulers to the passing of any constitutional amendments or ordinary laws that related to the “sensitive issues” that form what is referred to as Malaysia’s “social contract”. This contract embraces citizenship; the special privileges of Malays and natives of Sabah and Sarawak; the national language; the position of the Rulers themselves; and laws governing the questioning of policy on all of these issues. This means nothing less than the entrusting to the Rulers themselves the guardianship of the constitutional privileges of the Malays under Article 153; what the same Article refers to as the “legitimate interests” of non-Malays; and the entire social contract. Thus the collective monarchy performs a specific policy-political function that goes beyond the notion of constitutional monarchy (Harding, Reference Harding2022a, ch. 3).
However, the Federal Constitution as noted above also codifies the Westminster-type conventions requiring the King to assent to bills passed by the legislature, and act on government advice. The matters designated in the Constitution for the exercise of discretion by the King are limited, but include the appointment of the prime minister on the basis of the confidence of a majority of the members of Parliament, the refusal of a request for a dissolution of Parliament, and summoning a meeting of the Conference of Rulers (Harding, Reference Harding2022a, pp. 34ff). Schedule 8 of the Federal Constitution requires the state constitutions to be in conformity with these Westminster conventions so that the Rulers acting at the state level are also formally required to observe them (Federal Constitution, Schedule 8, para. 1). Essentially under the residential system this had been the position since the late nineteenth century, excepting matters relating to religion and Malay custom.
The Federal Constitution also created the new office of Yang di-Pertuan Agong (Supreme Head of the Federation, or simply King). The King is elected by the Conference of Rulers once every five years from amongst its own number so that the office rotates between the various states (Federal Constitution, 1957, Article 38). Traditional epithets and social status still largely apply to the Ruler at the state level; for example, he acquires daulat on his accession to the throne, and derhaka or treason against the Ruler is still regarded, by some at least, as a social if not a legal matter, of some seriousness (Malaysia Now, 2021; Milner, Reference Milner1982). The office of King at the federal level, although a neologism only a few decades old, is nonetheless endowed socially and conceptually with the attributes of the traditional monarchy at the state level (Harding, Reference Harding2020). The King is powerful as the Ruler of his state but also as the de facto leader of the Rulers collectively. And their collective influence is also noted to have been increasing (Harding, Reference Harding2020; Harding, Reference Harding2022b). This has occurred despite efforts by the former Prime Minister Tun Mahathir Mohamad in the 1980s and 1990s to curb royal powers by abolishing royal immunity and the royal power to refuse assent to bills (Harding, Reference Harding2022a, pp. 113ff). It is important to note here that the revival of royal power finds a parallel in Thailand, as discussed above, although in the Malaysian case it occurred rather later.
In spite of what seem to be clear constitutional prescriptions, the view is now prevalent that the powers of the Rulers are not in fact entirely contained within the constitutional text. As Sultan Nazrin of Perak has put it
The King is not a monumental ornament—without life—without soul … everything that happens is in the vision and hearing of the King … it is a mistake to think that the role of a constitutional monarch is just like a President, limited to what is written in the constitution. The role of the constitutional monarch is beyond what is contained in the constitution (The Sun Daily, 2017).
This notion is especially true in Johor, where
[The] Sultan … has also weighed in on policy matters and issues affecting public life, from religion and culture to inter-ethnic relations, and from land management to education. He and the Crown Prince have frequently commented on the historical and cultural specificity of the state, encapsulated in the term Bangsa Johor, which implies an identity based on territory and local culture—as opposed to ethnicity. The Crown Prince has provocatively stated that Johor could imagine seceding from the Malaysian Federation, under certain conditions (Hutchinson and Nair, Reference Hutchinson, Nair, Hutchinson and Rahman2016, p. 3).
Some of the Sultan’s remarks seem to hark back to what he calls “the order,” or an ideal state of affairs that existed prior to the Federal Constitution in which the Ruler exercised far greater powers than he does today (Hutchinson and Nair, Reference Hutchinson, Nair, Hutchinson and Rahman2016, pp. 30–31). In this, again, we find parallels in Thailand.
On 1 February 2024, Sultan Ibrahim of Johor commenced a five-year term as King at the federal level. In this situation the Crown Prince (known as the Tunku Makhota Johor or TMJ) became Regent of his state. Sultan Ibrahim is by any standard a remarkable figure. He is one of the richest three or four people in Malaysia, with assets reportedly exceeding $5.7 billion (Tan, Reference Tan2024). The Sultan is a “notable private investor … and runs a vast personal business spanning property, shipping, oil and gas and power” (Nadalutti, Reference Nadalutti2019, p. 24). He is ostentatious in his lifestyle, being for example the owner of 300 antique cars and a Boeing 737. He is the only Ruler allowed to maintain his own armed forces (Hutchinson and Nair, Reference Hutchinson, Nair, Hutchinson and Rahman2016, p. 2). Before taking office as King, he stated in an interview that he was “not interested in being a puppet King,” and that the Malaysian Anti-Corruption Commission and the national oil company Petronas should report directly to the King rather than to parliament or the prime minister. He continued: “I’m going to hunt all the corrupt people. I will make sure I bring results. People contribute hundreds of millions before elections. How do you pay them back? Giving them mega projects. That’s not going to be the case the moment I’m there” (The Star, 2023). The TMJ stated that his father would be “hands-on” as King and would give the Prime Minister a “hard time” (Basyir, Reference Basyir2023). The King also stated he would scrutinize all military equipment procurements (FMT Reporters, 2024). At the state level the Sultan has been able to secure his own choice of Chief Minister, and check state government decisions (Straits Times, 2022).
If such statements seem at variance with constitutional texts that appear to require adherence to “Westminster” norms, the monarchy as now conceived adopts a notion of prerogative that appears to precede the adoption of those texts (Harding, Reference Harding2020).
1.7. The Sultan of Johor and the Iskandar Development Region
The Malaysian government has experimented developmentally with the element of spatial geography to spark economic activity. Examples are the creation of the Multimedia Super-Corridor and Cyberjaya as Asia’s answer to Silicon Valley, and the moving of the federal government itself to a new capital at Putrajaya in the same area, to the South of Kuala Lumpur, providing a link to another major project, Kuala Lumpur International Airport (Likosky, Reference Likosky2005, pp. 237ff). It has also experimented with growth corridors, growth triangles, special economic zones, special development authorities, and development regions. This approach was first taken by China in the 1980s, and has been copied elsewhere across Asia in more recent times (Huang, Reference Huang2008, p. 225). In some formulations such zones, as in Johor, are deliberately placed so as to take advantage of the proximity of an international border.
Unlike the Thai case study above, these initiatives take place not on sacral land in an pre-modern city conceived as a cosmic capital, but on red-field sites in undeveloped agricultural or rural or semi-rural locations far outside the capital city. A major example of this is the Iskandar Development Region, now referred to as “Iskandar Malaysia” (IM) in the state of Johor. While initially the zone was named South Johor Economic Region (SJER), it was renamed “Iskandar” to show respect to the present Sultan’s father, Sultan Iskandar, who was Ruler of Johor from 1981 to 2010, and King from 1984 to 1989.
IM lies mainly to the West and North of the state capital of Johor Bahru (JB). Unlike Bangkok, JB is not a traditional space having sacral significance. Johor, as the most important of the states that splintered from the Malacca empire, has moved its capital on many occasions, and JB (meaning “New Johor”) was founded only in the mid-nineteenth century, coming under British influence and urban design norms soon after that. It therefore lacks a deep cultural or religious concept of space, resembling most other large Malaysian cities, with a center mainly created by Chinese developers in the nineteenth or early twentieth century. It has also been governed almost exclusively from the beginning by British-style planning laws and local government laws, and its suburban reach latterly by British-style regional development laws (Nadalutti, Reference Nadalutti2019, p. 6).
IM was established in 2007. It occupies an area at the very Southernmost tip of the entire Eurasian land mass, with Singapore just one kilometer away across the strait that separates it from Johor. It is however connected to Singapore by a modern bridge, known as the second link, which is close to IM’s epicenter, and an older causeway connecting Singapore to JB’s city center. It contains five areas that overlap geographically with the local authority areas of Iskandar Puteri, JB itself, and Pasir Gudang. IM’s “main purpose is to attract foreign and local tax-break-induced investment in the region by cooperation both between federal, state and local governments, and with other countries, especially Singapore”. As Kheng Koon Ng has put it, “[m]odelled ostensibly after the Pearl River Delta Economic Zone, Iskandar Malaysia seeks to maximize spillover effects for business and industry from land-scarce Singapore as well as other destinations. In its wake, the SEZ brought an unprecedented building boom and speculation in the international property sector” (Ng, Reference Ng, Hutchinson and Rahman2020, p. 407).
Under section 4 of the enabling act, the Iskandar Regional Development Authority Act (2007), the objective is to “develop the region into a strong and sustainable metropolis of international standing”. Its precise functions, defined extensively in section 5, are essentially to develop policies and plans for development, and give advice to the actual legal decision-makers. Since IM is co-chaired by the Prime Minister and the Chief Minister of Johor, and the federal Finance Minister is also a member, its influence is obviously very strong, despite its lack of legal decision-making powers.
Studies of this project acknowledge that the Sultan of Johor has much interest in, and influence over, IM. As an official interviewed in one study in 2017 stated: “We adopt a persuasive strategy because the final decision goes to the local council and the Johor state. Sometimes they have their own plans, and sometimes they have their hands tight [sc., “tied”] because there is someone bigger behind them, so it is not a forward straight engagement” (Ng, Reference Ng, Hutchinson and Rahman2020, p. 20). While interviewees have been “very reticent to talk about [the Sultan’s] role in the IM building process” and his name appears nowhere in promotional literature concerning IM, it is “apparent that the Sultan’s interests and decisions influence the kind of governance that emerges and leads the building of this zone. In terms of the Sultan’s network with businesses, he has strong relationships with key figures in the economic business sectors” (Ng, Reference Ng, Hutchinson and Rahman2020, p. 24). The reticence in acknowledging the Sultan’s role is obviously very different from the King of Thailand’s overt role in Bangkok’s urban development, and perhaps reflects different historical and constitutional assumptions concerning the role of the monarchy in a modern democratic and constitutional system of government.
Given the various interested parties in IM, and the Forest City project, a major development within IM, in which the Sultan also holds a large stake, it seems clear that his influence is large and can also be seen as beneficial in terms of bringing relevant parties together in order to create economic growth in Johor. In this sense, IM is partly, but not simply, the personal project of the monarch (Leng and Mavroeidi, Reference Leng and Mavroeidi2014, p. 6). Sultan Ibrahim has always displayed a great interest in his state’s development, and has invested large sums in major projects in the state. These include IM and the Forest City project; the proposed high-speed railway linking Singapore to Johor/ IM and Kuala Lumpur; and Maharani Energy Gateway, an oil and gas company in Johor (Friel, Reference Friel2024). In September 2024 he visited the People’s Republic of China together with the TMJ, his three other sons, and the federal Minister for Housing and Local Government (who is, one notes, himself ethnically Chinese). He met with President Xi Jin Ping, and negotiated a deal involving Malaysian and Chinese companies to move forward the stalled high-speed rail project, which will benefit Johor, and the presently languishing Forest City project (Astro Awani, 2024). It is also reported that the Forest City project will benefit from a newly established Special Financial Zone based there (Medina, Reference Medina2024), as well as the investment of US$1 billion by a Korean company (Bernama, 2024). The involvement of the Ruler as well as economic imperatives seem to entail the impossibility of the project being allowed to fail.
This all raises the question, to what extent can Malaysia’s Rulers exercise power and influence over development that goes beyond the confines of the constitutional text? Are they justified in participating personally in the process of development, or even orchestrating that process? Here we need to look more closely at the powers of the Rulers.
1.8. Business and the monarchy
The King and Queen are prohibited by Article 34(2) and (3) of the Federal Constitution from holding “any appointment carrying remuneration or actively engaging in any commercial enterprise”. Before 1976 (section 16, Constitution (Amendment) Act, 1976), Article 34 referred to “office of profit” rather than “appointment carrying remuneration”. Interestingly enough, the 1956 draft of the Federal Constitution provided more extensively than the final version for restrictions on the powers of the King and his Deputy, although not the Queen. They were prohibited from holding any office of profit, and from managing or directing any profit-making enterprise, but were not prevented from holding or managing any private property of their own. However, in the case of Johor the State Constitution of 1895 makes no mention of any such restrictions. Concerns as to royal involvement in business have been expressed, for example by the former Prime Minister Tun Mahathir Mohamad, who has openly criticised the Johor royal family, saying that “they shouldn’t be involved in business dealings because of the unfair influence it would have on the Malaysian people … [but] unfortunately, the Malays cannot say no to their rulers. Their culture is such that if the rulers want to do something, whatever the constitution or the law may say, they cannot say no” (Friel, Reference Friel2024). The Sultan has defended himself against such charges by pointing out that he has to earn a living like anyone else in business, and cannot rely solely on his civil list monthly allowance of RM27,000 (around US$6400) (Malay Mail, 2015).
Whether Mahathir’s criticism holds water legally is another matter, and in the absence of any judicial precedent it probably turns on the highly debatable distinction between actively and passively engaging in commercial enterprise. In effect, although the Federal Constitution, unlike the draft of 1956, does not mention specifically the exception of the King holding and managing private property, the Sultan of Johor as such is not prohibited from holding or managing his personal property, including strategic investments designed to modernise the state, nor from engaging in commercial enterprise. As we have seen, official documentation relating to IM does not mention the Sultan’s involvement, and similarly with Forest City project, despite the fact that news of his involvement would presumably represent a public-relations coup. Nonetheless, the Sultan’s involvement in these projects is clearly not denied. The important point is that, even if there are real doubts as to the propriety of such investments, it is inconceivable that their legitimacy would be openly challenged as a matter of law, and perhaps only Mahathir could get away with the kind of overt public challenge mentioned above. The Rulers are subject to legal process in a special court created in 1993 to try civil and criminal cases involving them. But it is difficult to see the basis on which such a case could be brought, and in any event the leave of the Attorney-General is required to file such a case (Federal Constitution of Malaysia, 1957, Article 182). The cultural norm therefore still prevails, as it does in Thailand, that it is in practice, as Mahathir himself said, simply impossible to say no to the Ruler. This remains true despite treaties, constitutions, laws, treatises, and conventions suggesting otherwise.
Nonetheless, that there are limits to the exercise of royal power were indicated by events concerning land management, a “central part of state government work, holding great implications for zoning and real estate development” that occurred in 2014 (Hutchinson and Nair, Reference Hutchinson, Nair, Hutchinson and Rahman2016, pp. 24ff). The Housing and Property Board Enactment (2014) established an agency to oversee development of housing and real property in Johor. As originally drafted, the Enactment gave the Sultan power to appoint board members, as well as to dissolve the board, and oversee its accounts. This led to concerns from some politicians and civil society leaders regarding the operational role that of the Sultan in these matters. Despite the large influence of the Rulers, it is highly unusual for specific statutory discretionary powers to be granted to a Ruler, outside the issue of religion (the Rulers are still heads of Islam in their states). One politician stated that he supported “the constitutional role of the Malay rulers as defined by the Federal Constitution … [But] efforts to give Sultan Ibrahim … executive powers should never happen”. Another criticised Johor’s Chief Minister, stating that he “should have acknowledged that the power of the people is greater than the power of the monarchy and not proceeded with the tabling [sc. of the bill].” The Malaysian Bar Council cautioned the Johor state government that granting such far-reaching administrative powers to the Ruler would expose him to criticism. Thus, at the last hurdle and in the face of statements that the bill would be unconstitutional—the relevant provision was substituted with one requiring the Sultan to act on government advice, thus restoring constitutional rectitude. Nonetheless the bill remains in limbo, not having received the royal assent (Hutchinson and Nair, Reference Hutchinson, Nair, Hutchinson and Rahman2016, pp. 347–48). Even in this episode, it was in the end impossible to engineer a direct contradiction of the Ruler’s position.
1.9. A power behind the law
Given the general lack of transparency around the IM investments, it is difficult to assess with any exactitude the importance of the Sultan’s role in Johor’s rapid development. But the studies of IM referred to above make it clear that this role is extremely important. However, to repeat, this does not entail any legal powers as such being exercised by the Sultan. All relevant decisions are taken under statutory discretion by the development authority, local authorities and the state and federal governments, within the law as laid out in the enabling legislation, the Iskandar Regional Development Authority Act (2007); the Local Government Act (1976); and the Town and Country Planning Act (1976). Thus the monarchy in the Johor case, unlike in the Thai case, operates behind rather than alongside the formal legal-rational planning system. This system, despite its elements of public participation, scrutiny of development plans, and so on, remains very statist and top-down it its practical operation (Rabe, Rushdi, and Shukri, Reference Rabe, Rushdi and Shukri2013). Given the IM enabling legislation, this is likely to be ever truer for development land outside the city.
The two laws dating from 1976 are both examples of Malaysian law following British precedents. Planning laws on the British pattern were introduced early in Singapore’s colonial history, and were largely copied elsewhere in the region. Like Thai planning laws, Malaysian planning laws are based squarely on the UK Town and Country Planning Act (1947), and the Iskandar Regional Development Authority Act (2007) bears a strong resemblance to British 1940s “new towns” legislation and other similar laws giving broad authority to statutory bodies to develop particular geographical areas (see, e.g., New Towns Act 1946 (UK)). Unlike in the case of Thailand, however, the Sultan of Johor does not exercise such powers outside the law. Rather he exercises large influence in two ways: first, as a major investor, and secondly, by influencing those who are statutorily empowered to make decisions, such as the development authority and relevant governments at federal, state, and local levels
In contrast to Thailand, the expansion of royal power, either generally or in matters of land and development, has not become an issue of controversy, largely because most citizens will be unaware of this expansion (in its economic implications), or else because they approve of it (in political terms) (Saat, Reference Saat2017).Footnote 3 The economy of Johor is undoubtedly assisted in many respects by the Sultan’s investments and exercise of influence. Johor’s links with Singapore’s are crucial. Around 300,000 Johoreans cross the border daily to work in Singapore, bringing high-value Singapore dollars into Johor’s economy (Channel News Asia, no date). In April 2024 Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim stated that Johor, whose economic growth is expected to exceed that of other Malaysian states in the next one to two years, is “set to become the most economically developed in the country … the robust growth comes in anticipation of two high-impact projects, namely the Johor-Singapore Special Economic Zone (JS-SEZ) and the Special Financial Zone (SFZ) in Forest City” (Aman, Reference Aman2024).
2. Theoretical lessons drawn from the Thai and Malaysian experiences
In this article, we have attempted to show how modernization (in this case literally the development of built environment), can occur in ways that are orchestrated, supervised or in some cases even actually executed by the monarch. Here, our focus is exclusively on the two types of “legitimate authority” as proposed by Max Weber—legal-rational and traditional domination (Bendix, Reference Bendix1977, pp. 294ff). Under the first type—the legal-rational system, political power is formally derived from bureaucratic rules and parliamentary law, under the ultimate supervision of the judiciary. In contrast, the legitimacy of the traditional ruler, including the monarchy, stems from “the basis of long-standing custom” or “the belief in the sanctity of the [dynastic] past” (Beetham, Reference Beetham1985, p. 68; Schiel, Reference Schiel2005, p. 9). There is an assumption that modernization is expressed through the superseding of traditional authority by legal-rational authority. In Weber’s construct modernization in its complete sense can only be achieved through, and is notably expressed by, the legal-rational (Fong, Reference Fong2009, p. 675). Despite belonging to the traditional form of authority, the legitimacy of the monarchy can clearly only exist under the legal-rational in the narrow case where the monarch’s role is almost purely symbolic. Here he acts on the advice of the agents of the legal-rational (that is, democratically elected, parliamentary accountable political leaders), who are in turn advised by expert civil servants, who keep the state on a legal and rational footing, with one or other degree of judicial control to ensure the rule of law operates in fact, not just in theory (De Visser and Harding, Reference De Visser and Harding2022, p. 347).
In our case studies, the interesting issue we discover is not only that there are political settings in which modernization does not result in traditional authority being completely replaced by its legal-rational counterpart, but that in these settings, the monarch may act in ways that are inconsistent with, and even disregard, the primacy of legality. This remains true even where the monarch is, formally speaking, subject to constitutional constraints normally described as a state of “constitutional monarchy” (Malaysia) or the DRKH (Thailand). To be clear, the monarch acts under his own power alongside but independently of a system of decision-making concerning the built environment (Thailand); or he acts to support but also to influence and advance such decision-making (Johor). The formula of “acting on advice” does not capture the actuality of either the Thai or the Malaysian system. Even where the monarch’s interventions are seen as constitutionally legitimate in some sense, where the text is extended in meaning or else ignored in practice, the role of the monarch is a proactive one. Our case studies also demonstrate how royal authority shapes and influences the design and implementation of laws related to town development. Our findings can be theorized more specifically as follows.
On the one hand, the Thai experience reflects how modernization of urban spaces serves as a battleground for the struggle for political dominance between the monarchy and the process of democratization. Two issues emerge from the Bangkok experience illustrated above. First, it supports an observation made by Rita Padawangi that “[u]rban development in Southeast Asia is a manifestation of power contestations. (Padawangi, Reference Padawangi2022, p. 4)” As a domain where the struggle for political dominance between the monarchy and reformists takes place, the power to define modernization through urban architecture has a constitutional significance. Designs of urban architecture visually convey the country’s dominant “constitutional identity”—that is, the fundamental characteristics of its constitutional system (Jacobsohn, Reference Jacobsohn2010, pp. 2–8; Leelapatana, Reference Leelapatana2023, p. 2). Put simply, apart from the revival of traditional rituals and customs, urban development has been another avenue for the monarchy to visualize its political dominance (Fong, Reference Fong2009). Second, power struggles in Thailand manifest not only through the physical design of modern urban structures but also through the manner of their legal implementation. Ostensibly, the PP introduced Bangkok to a legal-rational approach to town planning. The adoption of modern legislation in place of Phrabrom Rachaongkarn for planning implementation signifies the subservience of the monarchy to a more legal-rational governance. Although the revolutionary group did not succeed in firmly establishing constitutionalism and democracy, it at least made the legal-rational framework a primary mode of town planning in post-absolutist Thailand. Consequently, to restore royal hegemony through the neo-royalist ideal in post-1932 Thailand, the TCCS cannot entirely reject the IPR. Rather, it must be revived and implemented in a more legal and rational manner. However, this also means that while modern building control and town planning laws have effectively replaced Phrabrom Rachaongkarn as the main vehicle for urban modernization in Bangkok, they do not fully supplant the TCCS. In fact, their enforcement falls under the aegis of the TCCS, succumbing to its logic and rationale. The Thai experience ultimately reflects how town planning-related laws facilitate the monarchy’s alignment with modernization in a way that enables it to preserve its sacral past.
In contrast to the Thai case, the Malaysian experience suggests how modern rational laws aimed at spearheading “futuristic architecture” link the monarchy to the capitalist global market (Purwani, Reference Purwani2023). Moreover, in contrast to the IPR, which emphasizes the connection between urban development and civic participation, Thai and Malaysian civil society tends to be acquiescent to royal-sponsored development projects. In fact, anyone questioning their legitimacy may face charges of lèse-majesté (Thailand) or sedition (Malaysia). Their interventions cannot in any but extreme cases, and perhaps not even then, be obstructed or even gainsaid, because it is virtually impossible to say no to their demands. This is, we suggest, especially the case where the monarch has a personal property or supervisory interest (Bangkok’s civic district, or the Johor economy) in the manner in which development of the built environment occurs. It is doubtful whether any appropriate language even exists in Thai or Malay that can express the idea of simply saying “no” to the monarch’s desires.
2.1. Conclusion
The lesson drawn from Bangkok and Johor is that modernization may be achieved and even represented by different sources of legitimation. According to the political and social context, traditional and/ or legal-rational authority may be in evidence, and may exist in varying relations and proportions to each other. There appears to be no obvious progression over time from one to the other. In Thailand, modern legal-rational instruments, particularly building control and town planning legislation, have even turned a royal space like the Grand Palace into an epicenter of modern urban management in old-town Bangkok, thereby symbolically reinforcing the royal political pre-eminence. In the Johor case the status of the Ruler is enhanced by the visible rise of a vast area of new development and transport infrastructure. In fact, our case studies are both contemporary, ongoing development exercises affecting the built environment much more than would have occurred in previous decades. A case can be made that the power of monarchy in both cases has increased, not decreased, over time. The Thai King appears to exercise more power than his father and predecessor. Malay Rulers come and go and the office of King is filled anew every five years. But the present incumbent clearly assumes the exercise of great power and influence than his predecessors. The issue remains to what extent this situation is tolerated in changing times. In Thailand there have been extensive public protests concerning the King’s exercise of personal power. No such protests have as yet been made in Malaysia, beyond the slight cavilling of a few politicians, and it appears from the evidence that the general public either supports the King’s occasional interference in political matters, clearly a breach of constitutional norms, but one that seems legitimate. Or else the public is simply not aware of these issues in the case of behind-the-scenes use of a combination of property and influence. But even those who would undoubtedly be aware of these matters, such as leaders of the bar or those competing for contracts, do not in essence seriously challenge the legitimacy of the monarch’s interventions.
Where this all ultimately ends remains uncertain. It is possible that the monarch is ultimately confined within the bounds of constitutional action. It is equally possible that the matter is fudged in such a way as to attempt to reconcile contradictory norms, which in Southeast Asian societies would be highly usual. It is equally possible that the present status quo will continue indefinitely. For the moment it is necessary to study and remain alert to the multiplicity of agencies (we have addressed only one) that are in practice conceiving and building the megacities and global economies of the future.
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