Living Silence in Burma (42 page)

Although Mun Awng viewed Rangoon as the best place to develop his talents, once he began attending university there, he realized that only the campuses (at night) afforded the freedom to sing what he wanted. In his final year in university, Mun Awng deliberately failed his exams so he could enjoy one last year of relative independence. But he had just recorded an album with some friends, and soon after a producer agreed to distribute it. The album was an instant hit, and Mun Awng’s life as a professional musician began.

In front of the girls’ dormitories, Mun Awng could sing whatever he wanted, but his recorded albums were subject to strict controls. At that time, one out of every four songs had to be a ‘constructive song’. Mun Awng said coming up with such songs was a struggle for some bands, who ended up exhorting their listeners to be careful of traffic. He and his group tried to create songs that fulfilled the requirement without being ridiculous or preachy, but the censorship of his other songs drove him crazy. He said: ‘That’s why I decided I didn’t want to be a professional singer in Burma any longer. When you try to write something, you have to start thinking about the boundary first. It’s not supposed to be like that.’

When the censors forced him to change his lyrics because they suspected a certain word had anti-government connotations, Mun Awng was upset. He said that the censors don’t care about the meaning or the flow of the song. One of Mun Awng’s songs, called ‘
Bilu si, lu si
’ or ‘Line of Ogres’, explained that to make good music, first you have to tune the strings properly, and then you have to know the right frets and the right sound. Mun Awng remembered: ‘The censors didn’t like it, because they thought it meant the right person for the right job.’ Mun Awng had to change most of the lyrics and record it according to the government-approved version. He said: ‘Only people who could hear me singing in private could know the real lyrics.’

By 1988, Mun Awng had become famous and successful, but he was fed up with the restrictions. One day he told his producer that the next album he made would not go through the censorship board. He remembers: ‘He looked at me like he thought I was sick.’ But Mun Awng ended up doing what he said. His next album was recorded in Thailand.

When the demonstrations broke out on 8 August 1988, Mun Awng joined in. Two days later, his room-mate’s friend was shot in the back of the neck and a bullet went through his cheek. Mun Awng and some friends frantically waved down a car and got him to the hospital before the street was blocked by troops. At the hospital, Mun Awng saw many more people who had been shot by soldiers. He said that the experience changed his life. Once the military cracked down, he decided to head for the Thai border. After arriving in Karen territory, he was given a quick course in basic military training by the newly formed All Burma Students’ Democratic Front and sent out to the front lines. Thrown into battle situations for which he was ill prepared, he began to question what he was doing. Having to spend his days with a gun instead of a guitar also upset him. Finally, he said, he decided he should continue the struggle as a musician rather than as a soldier.

Convinced that the power of music could revive the spirits of democracy activists inside the country and along the border, he put together an album called
Battle for Peace
. Composed by writers inside Burma as well as by colleagues in the ABSDF, many of the songs memorialized the events of 1988. A few were marching songs for demonstrators. Others expressed hope for a new beginning.

Tapes of Mun Awng’s new album were smuggled into Burma and also played over Burmese-language radio stations broadcasting from abroad. People in Burma copied the tapes and passed them on to friends. Some of the songs became famous. Mun Awng even heard that when male
university students sang songs under girls’ dormitory windows, some girls insisted that they would listen only if their suitors sang Mun Awng’s songs.

The real proof of his impact came in December 1996 when student demonstrations broke out in Rangoon. As well-armed troops moved in on all the streets surrounding the junction where the students were gathered, the students kept up their spirits by singing the national anthem and three of Mun Awng’s rallying songs. Those who didn’t know the songs by heart read from lyric sheets that had been prepared and passed out by student activists. Mun Awng later saw a videotape of the demonstration. Watching a whole new generation of students empowered by his songs, he was amazed and gratified.

The military regime also recognizes the power of music to influence people and has made concerted efforts to use music to build support for their rule.
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In particular, the authorities have persuaded famous singers to perform propaganda songs in return for special privileges. Sai Htee Hsaing, a Shan singer who entertained the 1988 pro-democracy demonstrators with progressive songs, later sang government-written songs and was provided with a house and car in return. Idolized by teenagers, Zaw Win Htut long resisted singing propaganda songs, but in 1994 he was banned from performing in public. Seeing his career disintegrating, he agreed to work with the regime in order to be able to perform again. The result was an album entitled
Maha
, which means ‘great’. The songwriter was an army captain working for military intelligence, and the songs extolled Burmese imperialism under Pagan-dynasty kings, whose legacy the regime sees itself as preserving. Because of its catchy tune, the title song became a hit. Zaw Win Htut lost the respect of some of his more political fans, but even democracy supporters found themselves unconsciously humming along with his new songs.

By encouraging or intimidating popular singers to work with them, the regime both improves its ability to reach a wider audience with its message and also discourages the discontented from taking action. When students see their favourite stars belting out propaganda songs, they lose confidence in their own abilities to resist the generals.

Since the mid-1990s, the junta has also sought to win the support of the new generation by no longer actively discouraging rock and roll, and other modern forms of music. Burmese hip-hop and rap singers have become very popular, although rap has not become a dissident genre in Burma in terms of its lyrics. This is because singers of all types still face stark censorship, with words such as ‘dark’, ‘truth’ and ‘beggar’ not
allowed in their songs. Beggars cannot officially be sung about, because acknowledging the existence of beggars would imply the regime isn’t taking care of the country’s citizens. In recent years, the Myanmar Music Asiayone (association), which is led by regime loyalists, has been tasked with checking lyrics before they are sent to the censorship board, to ensure that lyrics with hidden meanings do not make it through.
⁹

To reach younger audiences with its propaganda, the regime established a new TV station, Myawaddy TV, in 1995. The only other channel, Myanmar TV, features stern-looking government appointees reading out lengthy government news reports in a monotone, footage of army officers attending meetings and visiting monasteries, and marching songs. Myawaddy TV, on the other hand, presents news in brief soundbites, interspersed with entertainment programmes. The entertainment programmes include contemporary music videos, Burmese movies and Chinese and Korean soap operas, which have become a big hit in Burma.

Myawaddy TV does its own recording and editing, and the authorities ensure that the performers adhere to the restrictions on behaviour and attire. They can now move when singing but they cannot dance wildly or provocatively. Similarly, while some Western-style clothing has been allowed, particularly for men, performers must dress modestly. At one point, the TV censors banned the wearing of red, deemed a political colour, and yellow, because pro-democracy activists had organized a yellow campaign in support of Aung San Suu Kyi.
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Nor can performers bring American flags onstage. By claiming that they are safeguarding traditional Burmese culture against decadent Western influences, the top generals have garnered a certain amount of respect among the older generation. But among the younger generation, there is a strong desire to be current with international trends. They feel that in yet another area of their lives the regime is holding them back.

Although the generals have claimed the moral high ground in affirming their commitment to traditional values, the pro-democracy movement in exile has tried to subvert the regime by using a traditional form of chanting,
thangyat
, to critique the military’s policies.
Thangyat
are performed during the new year festivities in April, with new lyrics being set to standardized chant rhythms each year. Such songs provide a vehicle for the expression of popular dissatisfaction with government officials and abuses of authority, and have been performed since the pre-colonial period. The military regime has forbidden independent performances of
thangyat
in the country, but activists who fled to the Indian border after 1988 have produced annual CDs condemning the regime’s policies on
forced labour, tourism, narcotics and other issues. The recordings have been surreptitiously sent into the country and frequently played over foreign-based Burmese-language radio broadcasts.

In addition, some comedians have used traditional
a-nyeint
performances, which combine dance and comedy routines, to satirize the regime. In a performance in Rangoon in November 2007, Say Yaung Sone and Thee Lay Thee, a troupe consisting of five men in their thirties and forties, boldly took aim at the regime’s crackdown on the monks’ demonstrations. The popular VCD of the performance was soon banned, but Burmese communities abroad invited them to come and perform. They took advantage of the opportunity to get out and express themselves freely, but with the knowledge that the authorities might be waiting for them with a prison van if and when they returned home.
¹¹

‘Mad’ art

Like literature, movies and music, art can be used to agitate people, so the art world has been another arena for the battle between the military regime and independent thinkers. In 1988, art students played a key role in making banners, logos and designs for the pro-democracy demonstrations and the independent newspapers and magazines that sprang up. The military subsequently put an end to this by permanently closing the fine arts club at Rangoon University. In the 1990s the regime founded the University of Culture, where some aspiring artists now study. Others have looked to private teachers for training and inspiration.

Commercial art galleries can be found in Rangoon and Mandalay and some other tourist towns, but public exhibitions come under government scrutiny. Before the exhibition opens, the censors come to inspect the paintings and ask about their meanings. In 2008, the director of the government-sponsored artists’ association was in charge of censoring paintings. If there was too much red in the painting (a revolutionary colour) or the painting featured worn-out objects or decrepit buildings, it was rejected. Such scenes contradict the image the regime is trying to project of a modern nation. Nudes are not allowed, because they do not fit with traditional culture.

Similarly, under the BSPP, modern art was considered too subversive to be taught at the country’s two art academies. The Culture Ministry instead urged the teachers and students to channel their creativity into forms of art that could be used to promote state-sponsored ideals. Sitt Nyein Aye, a student at the Mandalay Art Academy in the 1970s, remembered, ‘The BSPP people came to the school and said, “Art for politics’ sake, not art
for art’s sake”.’ The students were told that to explore abstract ideas in art was selfish. If the work couldn’t be readily understood by farmers and workers (and, one supposes, the censors) it shouldn’t be undertaken.

When Sitt Nyein Aye first saw examples of modern art at a book fair sponsored by the United States Information Service, he was stunned. After that, he and another classmate secretly studied modern art with two artists outside the academy. They had to hide their work from the headmaster and many of the teachers and students who derided modern art as ‘mad art’.

Still, his teachers were aware of his extracurricular activities. As a result, he said, he was denied the school’s top prize despite his superior talent. Sitt Nyein Aye was crestfallen. The prizewinner was sent to Europe for further studies, something he could never afford on his own. Moreover, Sitt Nyein Aye had wanted to take the prize back to his family and the monks at his village monastery to show that their confidence in him had been justified.

Sitt Nyein Aye came from a small village, and his young life was spent mostly in the monastery. The few students who wanted to continue their studies beyond primary school had to move to town. Sitt Nyein Aye’s parents were farmers with no extra money for education, but monks from his village monastery supported him financially. After graduating without the prize, Sitt Nyein Aye was too upset to go back home. Instead, he made a life for himself on the streets, sketching and selling his work to passers-by. Although poor and often hungry, Sitt Nyein Aye found pleasure in remaining true to his ideals. He said: ‘I didn’t do any commercial work at that time. I wanted to create. I lived only for this.’

In school, Sitt Nyein Aye had been hampered by his instructors’ rigidity as well as by a lack of supplies. ‘Ten people had to share one water-colour cake,’ he recalled. ‘Oil paints were rationed out equally by colour in tiny amounts. You couldn’t get more. Sometimes we needed a lot of black and only a little white, but we couldn’t do anything.’ When painting on the streets, there were no restrictions.

Once or twice a week, he would take his sketches to his teachers for their comments. At the time, they had no idea that he was homeless. They were happy to teach him because he was clearly so devoted to developing his abilities. And they instructed him not only in the skills of painting but also in the finer points of Buddhist philosophy. Encouraging him to deepen his thinking about all aspects of life, these teachers provided him with the kind of holistic education that epitomized traditional teaching relationships but was so lacking in the formal curriculum.