Report from Burma

In the sweltering heat of the afternoon, 24 carpenters and electricians (most in flip flops or bare feet and dressed in the traditional sarong) labored on the outdoor basketball court of the American Club here in Rangoon, building a stage and audience risers out of unfinished teak.

Voluminous white fabric came straight from the tailor’s and was hung as a cyclorama. After the stage was leveled and finished off, 1” thick rubber pads were placed on top to bridge the gaps between distressed plywood sheets. But rubber being far too sticky for dancers’ pivots and turns, we headed off with Nyi Nyi Moe Thu to the city center to pick out linoleum for the dance performance that was to happen the
following night.

We chose an innocuous white and gray-flecked pattern; nothing like the plain black or dark gray standard for a theatrical performance being available. Why, you might wonder, would all of this effort and expense be necessary? Why couldn’t we load into a theater, or at least a hotel ballroom, where the staging and lights (and a/c) would be on hand?

The answer is simple and tragic: Burma, being a police state, and its rulers being distrustful of any public gatherings, and even more so those that are sponsored by a foreign country supportive of the opposition party, a theater or hotel would most likely have its performance permission revoked moments before the curtain went up.

Thus the basketball court on American-owned property (mercifully covered, but not so mercifully open on the sides to the heat and humidity, and insects which formed a crunchy carpet under the stage lights later ) was the only venue that was immune from interruption.

Karl Stoltz, the DCM and Acting Public Affairs Officer here, had written me in November with the proposition that we consider adding Burma to our Asian itinerary. Karl knew me, Barry and BDC through our program in Malaysia in 2006, his previous State Department post, and reasoned that dance might be one of the only means to effectively engage with Burmese, given the lock-down on free thought and expression here. Dance’s ability to communicate without words could do what other media couldn’t. It wasn’t until a few weeks before we were due to leave New York for the tour that funding was solidified, visas were secured and Burma was on the schedule, wedged between Laos and Taiwan.

Fast forward to the next day: Another shopping trip into the city to purchase pulleys and other hardware needed for the show that evening; and my urgent need to answer dozens of e-mails that had been coming in each day from other Asian posts down the line. The Burmese government strictly controls internet access and no service was available in the Business Centre at our 5-star international hotel.

Nyi Nyi thought that an internet café might be a better bet. And it was. Except that no sooner had a proxy server been located and e-mail messages downloaded, than the service was shut off. Young women employees of the café buzzed from one computer terminal to the other, madly typing in new numbers, and for a minute or so, the connection was good; only to be interrupted again. It seemed like an exasperating game of hide and seek – with the Government’s censors winning: I spent an hour in the café during which time I managed to read only 4 out of 50 current e-mails and was unable to send out anything.

Frustrating as it was, I took it as a lesson in understanding the challenges of the populace here – and in such a poverty-stricken, isolated nation, only a tiny elite would ever have the funds to try.

This sense of “no chance” was verbalized in the first of two dance workshop we held. The seven dancers who attended were obviously thirsty for information from the outside – they wanted to be dancers but television and internet (!) were their only teachers. They said, “we have no chance to learn, because practically no one comes here who can teach us.” Each and every BDC teaching artist would be more than willing to return, but how? Who would fund such an undertaking? And how could we manage to circumvent the whims of a Government determined to keep its people deaf to the outside world?

The night before last was our first of two performances, and despite powerful afternoon rains, the audience arrived in droves. Quickly all the 450 seats were filled and an overflow audience extended into the parking lot. Charge d’Affaires Shari Villarosa gave us a lovely introduction and the show was on. The lighting dazzled the audience, but also attracted a plethora of insect life that gravitated to the linoleum floor.

The dancers gamely lost themselves in their performances, jumping high on the custom-built stage and connecting powerfully with the audience. Whoops and hollers and loads of applause rewarded and surprised us. In such a complicated place where people have so much to lose just by attending an American performance, art transcended politics and the spirit was lifted.