Police with guns check vehicles at the gate, and inside the perimeter a siege mentality prevails. Yet this is no army camp: it's a school in the Thai village of Tak Bai. Since Islamist extremists launched a bloody separatist campaign in Thailand's south in 2004, schools and other government outposts have become targets, forcing them to fortify themselves.
Unlike the rest of Southeast Asia, fundamentalist violence here is getting worse. The region is now a patchwork of "red zones"—the military term for areas where insurgents kill with impunity. Experts say that Thailand, a mostly Buddhist country, now faces the worst unrest since it annexed the Muslim region bordering Malaysia in 1902, and that the violence could spread north. Rebels who used simple pipe bombs three years ago have now started deploying much larger Iraqi-style remotely detonated IEDs. "I don't think there's an insurgency outside Iraq that's as lethal," says Zachary Abuza, a professor of international relations at Boston's Simmons College.
The rebels, members of two groups (known by their Thai acronyms, BNR-C and GMIP), want to create an independent Islamist state in Thailand's three Muslim provinces, Narathiwat, Pattani and Yala. In Narathiwat alone, beheadings, bombings and drive-bys now account for an average of four deaths per day. Radicals have gunned down 18 teachers since 2004 and forced 56 schools to close. "They want to destroy our government system," says Sangaun Intarak, chief educator in the area, "and schools are the most obvious symbol of the government."
So far, the country's military leaders—who have staked their legitimacy on the ability to impose order—have been reluctant to acknowledge the scope of the problem; officials blame drug traffickers and criminals, not insurgents, for most of the violence. Now the junta has started hinting it might make an aggressive push to regain control over the south, which could raise the level of bloodshed. Experts fear it could provoke the terrorists to strike tourist sites in the rest of the country.
The ethnic-Malay south has suffered bouts of violence since World War II, but the current insurgency is "qualitatively different," says Abuza. Ultrasecretive and horizontally integrated into autonomous cells, the insurgents are now thought to number 3,000. Their leaflets call for jihad against Buddhists and the imposition of Sharia. While their leaders are unknown—as are their links to outside groups—authorities have noted an uptick in travel by young Thai Muslims to the Middle East and worry about a Qaeda connection.
Bangkok's policies haven't helped. A 2005 study by the International Crisis Group said Thai Muslims have felt discriminated against for a century. Tensions boiled over after soldiers raided a 14th-century mosque in 2004, killing 33 suspected militants. That same year, 78 unarmed Islamist protesters suffocated when the military stacked them like logs in the back of closed trucks. The brutality alienated moderate Muslims and drove the extremists to launch bigger attacks.
Since then, outnumbered southern Buddhists have clustered in armed enclaves to resist ethnic cleansing by the rebels. The Thai military has set up scores of bases in Buddhist temples while leaving the Muslim population largely to fend for itself. Poorly trained paramilitaries have increased resentment; few speak the local language and they're known for shooting first and asking questions later. Local Muslims have been further angered by the Thai junta's recent efforts to make Buddhism the country's official religion. "Not a good idea," says Yanah Salaimae, a 49-year-old ethnic-Malay village leader near the border. "It makes us feel like kids of a minor wife."
An offensive in the region could be disastrous. Thailand's tourism industry is worth billions annually, and the Bali bombings showed how damaging terror attacks can be. A new rebel campaign could also delay the country's return to democracy, scheduled to follow elections late this year. Locals fear Balkanization, even civil war. "When I was young we all studied and played together," says Salaimae, the Malay leader. But such contact is becoming increasingly rare. Her nieces and nephews now attend a religious school for Muslims, while the few Buddhists who remain in the vicinity huddle in their homes after dark.