A Thai activist offers advice and reflection on his years of standing up to injustice.
As a student activist from Thailand, I have spent the past decade involved in movements for educational reform, democracy, and anti-gentrification. I am also Thailand’s first conscientious objector to military service, and I am currently facing up to three years in prison for my refusal to serve. In 2019, under the military junta, I was also charged under the sedition act for demanding free elections—a charge that carried a potential sentence of seven to nine years before the court ultimately dismissed the case. Along the way, I have also been (accidentally) credited as one of the pioneers of the Milk Tea Alliance.
I never set out to become a leader or public figure. I simply saw injustice in the world around me and felt compelled to act. In this piece, I share ten lessons from my ten years of activism. My hope is that students around the world will find strength in these stories, take what resonates, and apply these insights to their own struggles.
In Thailand, activism can carry serious consequences. Speaking out may lead to disciplinary action, court cases, or even jail time. Still, many young people continue to resist. Bravery is a virtue—but if it is not grounded in hope, it can turn into despair or recklessness. We believe that our small actions can grow into something greater. This article is both a reflection and a guide: a way to pass on what I have learned, and to encourage others to keep going.
1. Find Your Example
Every activist needs inspiration. For me, that came from Sulak Sivaraksa, a Buddhist intellectual who dared to criticize both political power and religious orthodoxy. He co-founded the International Network of Engaged Buddhists and has been charged with lèse-majesté multiple times for his outspoken views. As a teenager, I read his books, attended his talks, and eventually worked with him. Through Sulak, I learned that dissent can be rooted in compassion—and that good friendship (kalyāṇamitra) is not only a spiritual principle but also essential to living an ethical, courageous life.
I also found strength in music, especially the songs of Pete Seeger and the American civil rights movement. Inspiration may come from unexpected places. Stay open to it—but don’t stop at ideas alone. Try to find the people who embody those ideas. Theories and slogans can be exciting, even seductive, but they should point us toward ways of living better, not just thinking wiser.
Many people today are fluent in critique and protest, but we must also ask: do our ideas help us live well, with dignity and kindness? If they don’t, we should be cautious. Good ideas should not just grow in the mind; they should grow alongside us, helping us become more whole.
In Thailand, activism can carry serious consequences. Speaking out may lead to disciplinary action, court cases, or even jail time. Still, many young people continue to resist. Bravery is a virtue—but if it is not grounded in hope, it can turn into despair or recklessness. We believe that our small actions can grow into something greater. This article is both a reflection and a guide: a way to pass on what I have learned, and to encourage others to keep going.
2. Investigate the Injustice Around You
Big change often starts small. Many injustices surround us, but we grow up treating them as normal. The duty of a student—and of any engaged citizen—is to notice them, to make them visible, and to question why they exist. Injustice usually hides behind what we take for granted, and those in power always prefer the status quo.
I was considered a good student in school and once accepted haircut rules without question. In Thai schools, boys are often required to keep their hair extremely short—no longer than 3–5 centimeters on top, with shaved sides and back—similar to military-style cuts. Girls are usually forced to keep their hair no longer than shoulder length or tie it tightly with ribbons. These rules, rooted in authoritarian discipline, are strictly enforced. Students who disobey may be scolded, have their hair cut by teachers in front of others, or face other humiliating punishments. But when I listened to classmates who were punished or humiliated for their appearance, I began to ask: why should they suffer? Why should I obey something that doesn’t make sense? That moment changed everything.
What started with my small campaign grew into a national conversation. Over time, younger students continued the fight. Eventually, the haircut rule—introduced during military dictatorship more than 50 years ago—was found unconstitutional and abolished in many schools. When you notice the unjust, ask why it exists. Questions are the beginning of transformation.
3. Try to Maximize in Neglected Areas
In Thailand, Chulalongkorn University is known for being conservative. Many liberals are hesitant to go there, fearing the environment might change them. But why should we be afraid? Some thought Chula would change me—instead, people now say I helped change Chula. Some outdated rules were relaxed, students began to challenge long-standing norms and a culture of unquestioned obedience, and more socially conscious activities emerged on campus. I don’t claim credit alone, but I saw that sometimes, the places most in need of change are exactly where we should go.
When you see an issue already being addressed effectively by others—perhaps with more skill or creativity—look elsewhere. I started with student rights, haircuts, and protests for democracy. But as younger activists emerged, I shifted focus to neglected areas like cultural heritage, transnational solidarity, and refugee rights. Thailand is home to many political exiles, but few speak up for them.
I began making documentary films in a country where documentaries are rare and underfunded. Our film, The Last Breath of Sam Yan, brought attention to gentrification and won a national award. By stepping into neglected spaces, you can make a meaningful impact—sometimes greater than you expected.
4. Find Inspiration to Keep Fighting and Stay Fresh
I began my activism during a difficult time—when the military junta had taken control of Thailand and severely restricted freedom of speech. Even peaceful seminars could be canceled at a moment’s notice by soldiers. It was easy to feel hopeless.
But during those dark times, I found light in unexpected connections—with Hong Kong’s Joshua Wong, with Taiwanese dissidents, and with South Korean housing and peace activists. I first read about Joshua in the newspaper and admired how young people in Hong Kong, despite having more freedom than us at the time, stood up against an even greater threat: the Chinese Communist Party. Their energy, hope, and determination inspired me. I realized that although our countries are different, we share a common experience under authoritarianism—and we can learn from each other.
So I went to Hong Kong with the hope of meeting him. I didn’t know where or how, but eventually, I found him on the street, helping his friend campaign for public office. That moment reminded me that we are not alone. We are part of a global and historical struggle. And solidarity across borders and generations can give us strength.
Literature also helped. Books made me feel that, even if people around me didn’t understand what I stood for, someone in the history of humankind might. Good writing sees you across time and space. It reminds you that your struggle is not isolated, and that someone, somewhere, stands with you.
This sense of connection also compelled me to start Sam Yan Press—a student-run press that has lasted nearly a decade. We wanted to share the resilience of activists from other countries and offer strength to those struggling here in Thailand. Through books, we could show that courage, creativity, and resistance exist everywhere—and that we can learn from each other. We’ve published works on civil disobedience by Martin Luther King Jr. and Gene Sharp, feminist writings by Rebecca Solnit, and animal rights literature by Peter Singer and Martha Nussbaum. We’ve also brought attention to Chinese underground dissidents through the work of Ian Johnson, and to critical reflections on nonviolence through Judith Butler. Our list continues to grow, with forthcoming titles on urban justice and higher education critique—such as The Death and Life of Great American Citiesby Jane Jacobs and In the Shadow of the Ivory Tower by Davarian Baldwin—as well as philosophical writings by Isaiah Berlin and Hannah Arendt.
Beyond translations, we’ve also collaborated with students to document the lives of janitors on campus and create people’s histories of the surrounding neighborhood—amplifying voices often overlooked in official narratives. Through these efforts, we hope to build a culture of solidarity, reflection, and resistance grounded in everyday life.
Another turning point for me was attending the Oslo Freedom Forum. There, I met like-minded people from all over the world—activists, writers, exiles, and dissidents—who reminded me that our struggles are deeply connected. Just knowing they exist gave me renewed energy and direction. That stage, both literal and symbolic, helped me realize that even when we feel isolated, we are part of a global family of resistance.
5. Fight Within the System
Many activists don’t want to engage with institutions—they fear being co-opted or hurt by the system. Even more, student politics can seem self-serving. But maybe that’s precisely why idealistic people should step in. If no one with vision participates, how can we expect anything to change?
I ran for student elections at a time when many believed students were too indifferent to care. But I won three elections: at the faculty level and later as president of the student union—by a historic landslide. It was not easy. I had behavioral points deducted, faced disciplinary action, and was even removed from office. But struggle means carrying hope.
We shifted the student union’s direction. It became more socially engaged, releasing statements about politics and international events. We advocated for disability rights on campus and made real improvements. Our voice grew louder. When Myanmar’s military staged a coup, our union’s statement of solidarity gave Burmese people strength.
Some of the initiatives we began like the Human Rights and Humanitarian Affairs division still exist. They’ve become lasting spaces for new activists to grow. Change from within is slow, but it can reshape the institution itself. Authority figures often struggle to understand the role of student unions unless they function in a way that aligns with official interests. But the student union is not meant to be a mouthpiece—it is a platform for student voice, action, and ideals. Reclaiming it reminds institutions that students are not passive recipients of education but active participants in shaping society.
6. Good Friends Are Important
No one can do this work alone. I have been lucky to walk this path with friends who challenge and support me. We don’t always agree, but we grow together. Good friends are not only a source of emotional support; they help us see what we cannot see alone. Activism is a collective effort.
As the Buddha said, good friendship is the whole of spiritual life. A true friend dares to say what you may not want to hear but need to. They help you keep moving when you’re stuck. Communities matter deeply—especially those that are built around learning, listening, and challenging one another to grow. Keep friends who nourish that in you and help create those kinds of spaces for others in society.
7. Do Not Underestimate Physical Space
In an age of social media, physical spaces still matter. When I entered university, many professors and students were afraid of my activism. I needed a place to rest and reflect—and I was lucky to be offered a small room by someone who supported us. That little space soon transformed into a center for discussion, planning, even baking cookies to sell at demonstrations. It was where we held secret meetings, stored protest materials, and imagined new futures.
But the space became too well known. Authorities discovered it and pressured the landlord to shut it down. Eventually, they even sealed it off with a cement wall. The space is gone, but the memory of what it made possible remains.
Since then, I’ve always longed for places like that: spaces for activists to meet, rest, and think freely. Wherever I go, I look for ways to create them. From a small underground room to a student union building, I’ve seen how physical space can nourish unexpected results. Real change needs real places. Activism must live in the world, not only online. One example is Delicious Democracy, a small restaurant I now run in central Bangkok. It grew out of that original space, where we once baked cookies for protests. Now it sells noodles downstairs and serves as a hub for activism upstairs. It’s a place where food, friendship, and freedom meet—proving that even from modest beginnings, something powerful can grow.
8. Utilize Powerful Spiritual and Religious Values for Good
Activism isn’t only political. It’s spiritual. Becoming a monk taught me to value simplicity, silence, and moral clarity. During COVID-19, I also came to understand how much we need community and compassion to survive. Solitude can be powerful, but so is connection.
Sometimes, the most important action is restraint—listening deeply, doing no harm, letting things settle. Buddhism, with its emphasis on nonviolence and ethical conduct, offers a path toward a more compassionate and aware society.
Religious traditions provide a sense of belonging. Symbols, rituals, and festivals can nourish us—not only through belief, but through the joy and solidarity they bring. They carry stories of struggle and liberation.
Discipline aimed at deepening the happiness of self and others is especially important in a time when life advice is often reduced to personal gain. Spirituality helps shift our focus from ego to service, from personal to collective well-being.
Religious institutions may be flawed, but their teachings can still inspire transformative action. We must reclaim the spiritual roots of justice—not as dogma, but as deep sources of humility, resilience, and renewal.
9. Enjoy the Criticism, but only Take Some of it Seriously
You will be mocked. You will be attacked. Sometimes, you will be misunderstood. I’ve been bullied many times—in school, at university, and on the internet. They didn’t just attack my ideas, but also my body and my face. You will never avoid this entirely. We live in a world that can be cruel and confusing—and that’s exactly why we work to change it.
You won’t always control what others say about you, but you can choose how you respond. If someone insults you, try to find humor in it. If someone criticizes you with thoughtfulness or reason, thank them. They might help improve your activism—and your life. Not every voice deserves your attention, but some do. Wisdom is knowing which is which.
10. Think for Future Generations; Be a Good Ancestor
Much of what we do may not bear fruit in our lifetime. Still, we must act with future generations in mind. My friend and philosopher Roman Krznaric wrote about the idea of being a “good ancestor”—living in a way that considers the impact of our actions on those who come after us. This concept has shaped how I see my own activism.
I refused military service even though it came with real risks. In Thailand, young men are conscripted, and each year there are deaths and abuse in the system. As someone with the privilege of a public voice, I felt a responsibility to act. If I succeed in challenging this system, maybe fewer young people in the future will needlessly suffer. Sometimes, we must do more than we think we can.
Being a good ancestor also means caring about the long-term survival and dignity of all beings. That’s why I advocate for animal rights, worry about climate breakdown, speak out on refugee crises, and engage in discussions about the future of artificial intelligence. These are not just abstract issues—they are responsibilities we will carry for generations yet to come.
Think long-term. Your activism is part of a longer story—one that began before you, and one that others will continue after you.
Image Credit: Author
