Thailand is on the brink of civil war after Abhisit Vejjajiva, its British-born prime minister, rejected a deal with angry Red Shirt protesters.
He came to power as the decent leader: a smooth British-born and Oxford-educated Thai aristocrat who promised to end political turmoil and restore democracy.
But Abhisit Vejjajiva was cowering behind razor wire in a military barracks in suburban Bangkok as his capital, turned into a smoking battlefield by mobs in red shirts, braced itself for an expected bloody crackdown.
Eighteen months after becoming prime minister of Thailand, once a bulwark of Asian calm and prosperity, Mr Abhisit is still in office but is only just in power.
Anti-government protesters who support one of his ousted predecessors, Thaksin Shinawatra – the telecoms billionaire who once owned Manchester City FC – were preparing for new and ugly clashes with the Thai army after Mr Abhisit rejected a compromise designed to end weeks of increasing violence.
Last week foreigners were among the 80 injured by grenades apparently fired from behind Red Shirt lines during street battles in Bangkok's tourist districts.
The clashes, in which three Thais died, led the Foreign Office to warn Britons to avoid all but essential travel to the city, normally one of the world's favourite exotic holiday destinations.
On Friday, alarmed by the pace of events, Red Shirt leaders offered to end their occupation of Bangkok's central shopping district, normally awash with foreign tourists, in return for elections within the next three months.
But when Mr Abhisit, who knows he would probably lose such a poll, was asked if he accepted the protesters' proposal, he replied bluntly: "No, I don't."
His refusal to give ground spells an almost certain escalation of trouble. If the army does not move in to confront the red-shirted crowds, rival bands of yellow-shirted supporters of the government have threatened to take matters into their own hands.
The barricades were on Saturday drenched in petrol and ready to be set alight by black-clad "security men" when the army attacks. Banks of loudspeakers blared out fiery speeches as listless bar girls hung around nearby – their business has suffered during the protests.
And for the first time Thais are beginning to face up to the possibility that their prosperous nation stands on the brink of civil war.
Changindra Chatchai, 42, a garment maker and supporter of the anti-government protesters, said he feared fighting between factions and the security forces. "Civil war could happen," he said. "The situation is so combustible it's possible between ourselves and the government, who might call out the Yellow Shirts to stir things up. But if I die, I'll die protecting my people."
The normally sober Bangkok Post ran an editorial warning that "volatility could spark civil war", and predicted many casualties if troops attempt to crush the Red Shirts.
The stockmarket edged downwards, protesters armed themselves and tourists fled. The mayhem is badly damaging Thailand's international reputation.
"I no longer want to live in Bangkok and I've been here for more than 10 years," said Australian Lee Williams, 41, who was just yards away from one of the grenade explosions. "Everything has changed."
So how did Thailand, a mostly Buddhist nation of 66 million, come from economic success to such a stark political precipice?
The country, officially a constitutional monarchy, has experienced 18 military coups since 1932 – but continues to hold elections.
Its most recent troubles began soon after the election of Mr Thaksin, the most successful Thai leader of modern times, in 2001. For the first time, the country had a leader from its newly rich business class who made the old elite feel deeply threatened.
Mr Thaksin's brilliantly successful electoral strategy was to woo the poor in the countryside who had always been ignored – and who still yearn for his return. But many among Bangkok's middle class feared him as a dictator-in-waiting, and millions of Thais considered him a threat to their revered King Bhumibol Adulyadej, the world's longest-serving monarch. Antagonism grew until he was ousted by a bloodless army coup in 2006, and has lived in exile ever since.
Over the next two years there were fresh elections and a series of prime ministers followed one another as the rival factions jostled for power – the ranks of their angry supporters on the streets swelling with every twist and turn.
Anti-Thaksin yellow-shirted protesters, drawn from the urban middle classes, first staged demonstrations and then occupied Bangkok airport to try to force out a Thaksin ally who was briefly elected prime minister.
Then a red-shirted movement sprang up in support of Mr Thaksin, who now lives in exile, pursued by the government on corruption charges.
At the end of 2008, came Mr Abhisit's moment as he became the third prime minister in four months. The leader of the Democrat Party since 2005, he was a long-standing opponent of Mr Thaksin and his allies.
But as a fresh-faced newcomer untainted by allegations of corruption, his prime ministership raised hopes of bringing one of the most turbulent periods in modern Thailand to a close. He spoke encouragingly of restoring the economy and forging political unity.
Mr Abhisit was born in Britain to Thai parents, professionals who belonged to the social elite. He attended Eton College, where he was known as Mark Vejj. There he was a classmate of Boris Johnson, a year above his fellow party leader David Cameron. Then his fine mind won him a place at Oxford University. He still supports Newcastle United FC out of loyalty to the city of his birth.
But he came to power in a way that looked shabby to many. He was appointed by a parliamentary vote after he persuaded a rival political faction of MPs to cross the floor and join him in a governing coalition, following intense back-room horse-trading. He has never won a national election and has come to be seen as well-meaning but rather ineffective.
That is not the formula needed now.
In the past three years the mood of poisonous hatred between Thailand's factions and rivals has steadily become more violent and more dangerous.
Protests by the Red Shirts picked up pace last month, swollen by the rural poor, on whom Mr Thaksin lavished spending when he was in power – and who still love him even in his absence. They remain his power base now, willing to fight and die in street battles to bring their hero back.
Many Thais believe the tycoon is paying for the free food, transport and organisation for the protests, and pulling the strings of the Red Shirts from abroad to make trouble for Mr Abhisit.
For the last few weeks, instead of directing economic growth and planning the future as he had hoped to when he took up office, Mr Abhisit has been holed up in the sprawling headquarters of the 11th Infantry Regiment of the Royal Thai Army in a northern suburb of Bangkok.
The danger of attack by mobs of Red Shirts has forced him into a base protected by booby-trap explosives and a deep moat. It has several helipads in case the prime minister needs to make an emergency escape.
Here Mr Abhisit and a coterie of ministers, officials and advisers direct the Centre for the Resolution of Emergency Situations (CRES), an emergency body which has been searching for a way out of the crisis and trying to avert further bloodshed – so far with little success.
"It's a very small group of people in his inner circle," said Michael Nelson, a political scientist at Bangkok Chulalongkorn University. "They've become isolated in the military compound and developed a bunker mentality. The only voices they hear are their own."
A fortnight ago 19 civilians died in street battles with the army. But one of the five grenades that exploded on Thursday night killed a commuter on the Skytrain raised monorail in central Bangkok – a proud symbol of modernity since it opened just a few years ago, when Thailand was universally acclaimed as the newest Asian Tiger. It was one of the most shocking acts of violence in all the turmoil.
Yesterday posters of the prime minister's smiling face with his eyes gouged out were stuck up around the Red Shirts' encampment, above photos of dead martyrs killed in bloody clashes. The protesters' ranks were still swelling daily, as new recruits streamed in from the countryside to their home-made stockades of sharpened bamboo stakes, set up in the shopping streets where foreigners go to buy Armani and Louis Vuitton.
The United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship (UDD), as the Red Shirts like to be called, aim to force Mr Abhisit from office – and they scent blood. Last night their leaders warned that they expect a new confrontation with the army within 48 hours after the government rejected their compromise offer.
Thais are glancing nervously at the army, believed to be badly split behind a brittle façade of unity. Generals have launched 18 coups since 1932, but almost as great a fear now is that enlisted men could join protesters and help turn the protests into a full-scale uprising.
Meanwhile the capital's streets are now too dangerous for Mr Abhisit to venture out without powerful military protection, and he hasn't been anywhere near his parliament for weeks.
The Yellow Shirts – officially known as The People's Alliance for Democracy – have threatened their own action if the government does not get tough with the Red Shirts.
It was their protests that originally paved the way for Mr Abhisit's premiership. He had hoped to go down in history as the leader who healed Thailand's wounds. If his natural allies now fight with rival Red Shirts on Bangkok's streets, he may instead be remembered as the man in charge when Thailand descended into civil war.
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