Dolls that bring luck—and drugs

DOWN a buzzing lane in Bangkok’s Chinatown, a child is being born. Payau, a middle-aged lady perched on a stool, has just finished assembling a plastic doll which she has dressed in silk and adorned with pink lipstick. She will take 4,000 baht ($110) for it, she says, while brushing tangles from its hair.

Payau’s doll is not a toy but a luk thep, or “child angel” —a factory-moulded moppet which some believe can be imbued, through a blessing, with the spirit of a child. Luk thep are increasingly being seen out and about in Bangkok, the capital, with their grown-up owners, who feed, water and dress them in the hope of receiving good fortune in return. The fad has not amused Prayuth Chan-ocha, the former general who leads Thailand’s nannying government, which came to power in a coup in May 2014. He implied on January 25th that adults ought not to waste money on plastic kids.

Luk thep became fashionable last year, boosted by endorsements from soap stars and other minor celebrities. The trend has burst into the headlines again with Thai Smile, a budget airline, declaring that passengers who object to stewards shoving their little darlings into overhead lockers may now buy them tickets of their own. Child angels are also welcome to their own seats at a forthcoming production of “Disney on Ice”, according to its organiser. A buffet restaurant has announced that luk thep may dine at children’s rates—though patrons must pay for any uneaten food.

A backlash is brewing, however. Aviation authorities have realised that nervous travellers may not want to sit next to another passenger’s haunted mannequin. Mental-health officials suggest that Thais who seek spiritual comfort would be better off adhering to established religions. Buddhist bigwigs say they are investigating whether monks who bless dolls are breaking religious codes of conduct. And now police warn that the dolls may be being used to smuggle drugs and contraband (with miscreants betting that security guards will be too tactful—or squeamish—to prod and poke them).

Some wonder whether Thailand’s falling fertility rate—at 1.5 children per woman among the lowest in South-East Asia—explains the strong demand for magic dolls. But even if the craze will soon blow over, no government has succeeded in taming rampant superstition in Thailand, where charm-peddling is a lucrative trade and even the royal family uses soothsayers. Child angels are more palatable than necromantic amulets which were once made from bits of stillborn babies and sometimes still turn up in grim emporia. Given a stumbling economy and the coup leaders’ stifling rule, it is no surprise that some Thais think they deserve a little more luck.