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But is a military junta really the best way to repair the fabric of democracy? Sonthi has promised to hold fresh elections, though not for at least another year. Within two weeks, he said, the CDR would install an interim Prime Minister and begin drafting a new constitution to sew up the loopholes Thaksin exploited. Whom the generals choose—and how much autonomy he's allowed—may dictate whether the coup will be regarded by Thais as a necessary evil or just a power grab by ambitious generals. So far, candidates for the caretaker job include: Supachai Panitchpakdi, former head of the World Trade Organization; the Supreme Administrative Court president Ackaratorn Chularat; central-bank governor Pridiyathorn Devakula; and Chatumongkol Sonakul, a past central-bank governor. With the economy already slowing, much is riding on the generals' choice. "Thailand has to pick someone who meets international standards," says Sompop Manarangsan, a political economist at Chulalongkorn University. "If it doesn't, our economy will be affected because any instability gives foreign investment a reason to look elsewhere."
The CDR and the new Prime Minister must also deal with the intensifying sectarian violence in Thailand's largely Muslim south. Just three days before the coup, bombings in the city of Hat Yai claimed five lives. Although separatist Muslim groups have been operating in the region for decades, bloodshed has escalated in the past couple of years, not least because of Thaksin's confrontational approach—he ramped up troop numbers and eschewed dialogue with local Muslim leaders. By contrast, Sonthi, who is the country's first Muslim army chief, has advocated negotiation over force. The general's rise to power last week drew approval from several insurgent groups. "Sonthi is a Muslim, therefore we believe we can negotiate a fair deal with him," Pak Abu, head of internal affairs for PULO Bersatu, one of the main insurgent groups, told TIME. "This turn of events will have a positive impact on the problems in southern Thailand." Still, Sonthi and the new caretaker leader will have to convince more hardline generals of the virtues of a policy that favors carrots over sticks. Thailand's Buddhist majority may need convincing, too. "To solve the southern problem, you need to bring the public on board and have a debate," says Duncan McCargo, a southern Thailand expert at the University of Leeds. "But having a coup and clamping down on the media is not the way to promote openness because it gets people nervous about what they can and cannot say."
For all the relief in Bangkok and the south, disappointment reigned in parts of Thailand's countryside, where Thaksin draws his most vociferous support. Even his detractors concede he enjoyed vast popularity in the countryside because of his village-investment funds, debt-relief schemes and health-care programs. Perhaps fearing a backlash against the coup, the CDR has specifically banned "farmers and laborers" from organizing political activity. "I feel sorry for Thailand's poor people and farmers," says sausage seller Ong-art Pamonata, who lives in Nakhorn Ratchasima in the northeast, a Thaksin stronghold. "Nobody will take care of us like Thaksin has." Chances are the new government won't be able to match Thaksin's reputation as a savior to the poor. "In six months, if the farmers think the money is going back to the rich in Bangkok instead of to the countryside, they will be very angry," says Wichai Turongpun, director of the National Institute of Development Administration in Bangkok.
If the Thai peasantry expected an immediate counterattack from their populist hero, they were disappointed. By week's end, Thaksin—photographed looking strangely cheerful—was holed up at a luxury London residence, where he said he was taking a "well-deserved rest." But he may not stay quiet for long. Unlike other victims of Thai coups, he still enjoys the devotion of large swathes of society. "If there were an election tomorrow, he'd win," says political scientist Thitinan Pongsudhirak. "Thaksin has exploited this raw nerve in Thai society [by talking] to the rural poor and saying 'I'll give you what you want.' Unless this raw nerve is addressed ... you can write the perfect constitution but someone like Thaksin will come along."
In the past, deposed Thai strongmen have been allowed to return quietly from exile without threat of prosecution. But the current junta may not be so forgiving. As long as Thaksin maintains his rural popularity, they may be loath to offer him legal immunity. Last Friday, the CDR announced the formation of a nine-person panel charged with investigating alleged corruption within Thaksin's administration. The country's auditor-general, whom he had earlier tried to remove, also announced that she was expediting an inquiry into the tax-free sale of Shin Corp., the Thaksin family telecoms firm, last January. As the potential for legal action against Thailand's last elected leader mounted, Sonthi promised again that his military council was committed to restoring democracy. Few in Thailand, so far, have voiced skepticism over Sonthi's vow. On Friday, an anticoup rally near Bangkok's glitziest mall drew just handfuls of supporters. Even as foreign leaders condemned the putsch, staunch defenders of civil liberties in Thailand found themselves hoping that a democracy could somehow be birthed under martial law. "I'm against the very principle of a coup," says Adul Khiewboriboon, whose 20-year-old son was among those gunned down by the Thai military in 1992. "But I just don't see any other way out of this mess." Like many Thais, Adul can only hope that this coup ends as gently as it began.
With reporting by Robert Horn/Bangkok and Parvaiz Bukhari/Kuala Lumpur