Living Silence in Burma (41 page)

In the 1990s, some skilful writers such as Dr Tin Maung Than tried to get around the censors and also encourage people to refine their analytical skills by presenting a thorough discussion of an issue, and then have the readers do the work of comparing the current situation in Burma with that. For instance, he once wrote a long piece about the educational system under colonial rule. He wanted his readers to contrast that system with the current system and consider what changes needed to be made. Similarly, writers such as Kyaw Win have sought to introduce readers to current global trends and political theories in order to help them broaden their views and think about how to apply these ideas in Burma.

Writers have also tried to express themselves through public talks, or
haw pyaw bwe
. Writers typically travel around the country to give talks in the cold season. Talks are given in urban as well as rural areas and are much anticipated by audiences, who are eager to hear the writers’ reflections on society and the issues of the day. Some talks contain implicit commentaries on the political situation, but they are also usually full of humour and wordplay, giving writers a chance to display their wit. At one such event in 1990, a well-known writer got the audience laughing when he recalled his reaction to a news item in one of the government-controlled newspapers which announced that the government’s department of heavy industry had produced 300,000 spoons and forks. He asked, ‘If the department of heavy industry produced 300,000 spoons and forks, what did the department of light industry produce?’
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In recent years, however, it has been difficult for writers not favoured by the authorities to get permission to speak. Township authorities say no either because they dislike such writers or they are afraid they will get in trouble. Writers giving public talks are severely warned not to make anti-government comments, and their talks are taped by intelligence agents.

The Writers and Journalists Association should provide a space for critical discussion and reflection, but it does not, because it is led by pro-regime writers. But in their informal get-togethers, writers can and do talk freely. Meeting frequently at certain tea shops or writers’ houses, they can discuss literature and current events and privately circulate more political essays, poems and cartoons among their close colleagues.

With the advent of CDs, thumb-drives and the Internet, writers and poets have also been able to pass on censored work or pieces they know the censors would reject to other friends in Burma and in exile. In some
cases, these pieces are posted on exile websites with a different pen-name. While the authorities cannot completely suppress such activity, it’s also true that the most uncompromising writers tend to end up either in prison or in exile. Nevertheless, by attempting to circumvent the censors when possible and seeking solace and confirmation in the company of like-minded friends, many writers, poets and journalists in Burma attempt to contribute to society as best they can.

Film-makers and censorship

Like writers, film-makers are also subject to a thorough censorship process. First, a film-maker must submit approximately twenty pages detailing the storyline and scene descriptions to the censorship board. If its members see anything they perceive as possibly anti-regime, they demand an explanation or simply stop the project. U Sein, a well-known film-maker in the 1980s, explained: ‘If there was a scene with a tree on a mountain, for instance, they might be suspicious about why the tree was situated on top of the mountain.’ In addition, the Forestry Department representative would be called on to check that the forest was going to be properly depicted.

In the past, if the storyline was approved, the film-maker would then be issued permission to buy a certain amount of film. Because the film had to be imported, U Sein said, the regime rationed its distribution to limit the amount of foreign exchange leaving the country. Thus, film-makers were typically given only 25,000–30,000 feet of film to produce a 10,000-foot feature film, which was far less than the 100,000 feet they felt they needed. Because they could shoot only two or at most three cuts of a scene, the quality of the films was often uneven. Film-makers were also hampered by poor equipment. U Sein recalled: ‘Most of the cameras I used were older than me, and I was forty at the time.’

By the time a film-maker received his film, as much as a year might have passed. U Sein said: ‘At first, you feel very enthusiastic about your story, but after waiting a year, you lose the feeling, your mood is gone, and your ideas have changed. But you have to go through with it, or the financier will kill you.’

Starting in the 1990s, many film-makers moved to shooting and producing on video and then later to digital recording and DVDs. With access to better technology at lower prices and no restriction on the materials used, film-makers could improve the technical quality of their productions and increase the distribution. Actors and actresses make much of their money, however, from doing advertising, calendars and other
work, so they do not give much time to the shooting and often don’t put much effort into developing their characters. Moreover, their creativity is limited by all the rules they must follow regarding how they can dress and behave and what kinds of stories are acceptable.
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No matter how the movie is made, before it can be released, it must be presented to the censorship board. Censors can challenge the movie on any number of grounds. Moreover, the criticisms that are made by the censors are often considered arbitrary or even absurd by the film-makers. For decades, there has been a rule that film-makers should promote traditional culture whenever possible in their films. U Sein agreed with this rule, so in one film he included a scene with a mother singing a nursery rhyme to her newborn baby. He placed toys around the room, including a traditional set of small puppets, one of which was Zaw Gyi, a legendary alchemist-wizard. The censors rejected the scene; U Sein appealed, and they rejected it again, saying that since the regime was a socialist one, wizards were not allowed.

U Sein appealed yet again and pointed out that the Burmese national dance troupe routinely performed the Zaw Gyi dance around the world. He was told that the dance fell under the Culture Department while his film came under the Information Department, and their policies were not the same. Still, he was informed he could get a letter of recommendation from the Culture Department and resubmit his appeal. He did so, but this time he was accused of suggesting metaphorically that the regime was merely a set of puppets. After wasting six months on this, he gave up and cut the scene. As is so often the case, the problem was that none of the censors wanted to risk trouble with their superiors and therefore no one dared to stand up for him. U Sein was known to hold anti-government views, so his work came under greater scrutiny than that of other, less politicized film-makers, but still the unpredictability of the process was a burden on everyone.

In some cases, U Sein intentionally tried to produce movies that could be interpreted as imparting a political message. He made a film about a poor man who owes a debt of gratitude to a rich man. The rich friend invites the poor man and his family to come and live in his compound and pays for the poor man’s son’s education. Over time, he starts making greater and greater demands on the son, including that he marry a young relative who is pregnant out of wedlock. When the rich man makes yet another extreme demand, the young man and his family lose control and go after the rich man. A bloodbath ensues, and everyone dies, except for the young woman’s newborn baby.

Soon after the film reached the censorship board, the authorities called U Sein in and demanded an explanation. They told him they suspected the rich man symbolized the military, the poor man and his family stood for the people, and the baby represented the students. The military may have saved the country during the independence period, but the demands it was now making on the people were unacceptable and were causing unnecessary tragedy and suffering. U Sein admitted that the film could be interpreted in that way, but said that it could also refer to the problems that arose when married couples or family members took advantage of debts of gratitude to make excessive demands.

Despite the fact that U Sein never mentioned the government in his film, he was almost arrested. In the end, he was allowed to distribute the film, but only after changing the title and the ending. In the revised conclusion, most of the characters survive, implying that the rich man’s actions do not have widespread negative consequences.

Still, U Sein said, audiences easily grasped the real meaning of the film because they invariably related what they saw on the screen to their current suffering. Moreover, the scandal surrounding the film made it extremely popular, and elaborate descriptions of the real ending spread around the country. As U Sein recalled delightedly: ‘The audiences had imaginations, so they participated in completing the film.’

In Burma, people grow up reading between the lines. This helps film-makers, writers and poets, who cannot criticize the regime directly. At the same time, film-makers may not always intend a political message, but the audience naturally relates the film’s content to the national mood. As U Sein put it: ‘The government was the common villain, so you couldn’t avoid it.’

U Sein saw himself as particularly unlucky in this regard. He explained:

    Burmese believe that the position of the planets when you are born influences your fate. I have been born into a situation where people can easily read my hidden meanings. Sometimes I only have one or two messages, but people interpret it ten ways of their own. The military intelligence overhear these interpretations in tea shops, so it made it difficult for me.

Even if a movie has no anti-government overtones, the censors may try to find fault with it in order to extract bribes from the producer. Censorship board jobs are coveted because gifts of whisky and cash are virtually guaranteed in return for agreeing to sign off on a movie.

Film-makers have also had to contend with censors who come to think
of themselves as art critics. One of U Sein’s films was about a psychopath who killed six people. The censors decided the film would be even more thrilling if the psychopath killed nine people. U Sein was ordered to add three killings and even given more film, a rarity. U Sein felt that six killings were sufficient, but he had to do as they demanded. Commenting about the censors’ intervention in his and others’ work he said: ‘They thought they had the right to decide this. These foolish things piled up, and we almost went crazy.’

From time to time, U Sein agreed to direct government propaganda films with storylines written by the regime. He said he didn’t mind doing anti-drug and anti-smuggling films, and in return he was viewed with less suspicion by the authorities. Similarly, actors and actresses who agree to work in government propaganda films find their chances of winning Academy Awards vastly improved while those who decline are passed over. A well-known actor, Kyaw Thu, refused to participate in a propaganda film in 1993. In 1994, he made a film that received popular acclaim, and the film board wanted to give him the Academy Award. But, said a friend of his, the military interfered, so neither he nor the film was honoured. Later, he agreed to make one film with the government, and for that he received the Academy Award.

Much of the talk in the artistic community revolves around determining what level of cooperation with the regime is acceptable. Mo Mo Myint Aung, a famous actress who has won five Academy Awards, is seen as having gone too far by many of her peers. Besides appearing in government films, she wrote letters for the government newspapers declaring her support for soldiers on the front lines. Each time a well-known person agrees to a higher level of cooperation with the regime, the community’s unwritten standards of acceptable behaviour are challenged. Because the regime ties the opportunity to work and receive public recognition to outward displays of support for military rule, however, most film-makers, writers and artists feel they must make some accommodations.

The power of music

Like film-makers and writers, musicians also face dilemmas over where to draw the line between being able to work creatively and having to do the regime’s bidding. Not only do they have to deal with the censors but they can also be banned from performing in front of audiences if they challenge the rules. Having to dress and act conservatively are other difficulties for young singers trying to keep in step with modern trends, although the regime has relaxed its policies somewhat in this regard.

Mun Awng, a Kachin singer from northern Burma, remembered when the Beatles became famous and ‘guitar fever’ spread through Burma. The government distrusted the free-spirited nature of such music, and in state-controlled newspapers, cartoonists represented bad characters as men sporting long hair, belts with peace symbols and guitars in their laps. Mun Awng said the government called such musicians ‘destroyers of tradition’ and never gave them permission to perform in public venues.

Mun Awng and others resorted to playing their guitars outside girls’ dormitories on university campuses. He often stayed up the whole night singing and playing music with friends, wooing female students at the same time. This custom developed out of the long tradition of village boys visiting girls’ houses in the evening to chat, or strolling near their houses, singing or playing an instrument.

Mun Awng came from Myitkyina, the capital of Kachin State, where teenaged boys still spent their evenings hanging around in front of girls’ houses, hoping for their attention. He had grown up singing in the church and dreaming of Rangoon, where there were recording studios, theatres and famous songwriters. In those days, Myitkyina bordered a war zone; the Kachin Independence Army and
tatmadaw
troops frequently engaged in shoot-outs just outside town. Mun Awng and his family waited out the gun battles in the trench behind their kitchen.