Issues related to Freedom of Expression in Malaysia, the Philippines and Thailand
Sharmilla: Malaysia's issue has largely never been overt censorship. It's always been self-censorship.
Uchino: Is that religious?
Sharmilla: There is self-censorship about race, religion, politics, and the monarchy. If you look back at Malaysian media history, only on very few occasions has there been overt censorship. There will be people who try to push the line a little bit. The challenge has been, of course, that the large majority of our media institutions were owned in some way by various government-linked parties, especially with the previous regime. At the end of the day, there is not much you can do. Since the new government came to power, I would like to say things have changed. To be honest, it often seems like the same thing. Now what has happened is that you can criticize the previous government all you want.*3
*3 Malaysia has since had a change in government, in March 2020.
Uchino: The previous government, yes.
Sharmilla: With the new government, I think that culture of fear is very difficult to overcome. We are talking about generations of learning not to say something, or learning how to talk around an issue. Even the radio station I work for was, until the elections, considered almost anti-government, which is one of the reasons I wanted to work for them, because I felt that they were very brave. But even we know where the lines are, and it's always a balance between wanting to survive and continue doing the work you do or crossing the line that might get you shut down or silenced. But I don't think the situation is as bad as it is in places like the Philippines.
Uchino: Is there any difference among ethnic communities?
Sharmilla: Not so much. The Malay language reaches a much larger audience and involves issues that are more sensitive, like the monarchy and religion, which are much more deeply rooted issues in the Malay community. As such, the Malay publications are probably watched more closely. Even when it comes to the arts, we have had issues in the past where some things that were said in an English play or published in an English book were not censored. But the moment they were translated and became a Malay production or book, then the authorities would clamp down because it reaches a much wider audience.
Amitha: In Thailand, film and TV get censored. I think the performing arts get away with a lot because the audience is smaller.
Uchino: Is that because they don't care?
Amitha: Well, there have been at least two cases. One of them involved a really young amateur company, where they broadcast the show and it was clearly about the monarchy. Two of them got arrested and went to jail for lèse-majesté. There was another one that I think was a kind of witch-hunt as somebody went to the authorities. The person asked the authorities to go take a look, and this was a time where there was martial law. The military called the producer and was like, what are you doing, have you asked permission to do this show? And they said that they never had to ask permission, as there was no such law. So the military sort of invented a law on the spot and came every day with a camera to record the show. Just to have a military presence. The artist never got arrested or anything. And nothing happened in the end, but there was always a military presence during the show every day.
Uchino: There was visible authoritarian pressure but not censorship.
Amitha: I think theatre artists engage in the most resistance in terms of censorship from the government. Especially with the lèse-majesté law, anyone can take offense on behalf of the monarchy. People can report on their neighbors, friends, or colleagues. That's the problem. And the arts have to work around those conditions. If you want to have a discussion on issues critical of the military, for example, then you will get a visit from the military at one point. I think now it's better. People are more relaxed after the election.*4 But then self-censorship has become, in a way, like an art form in itself. At the beginning of the coup, politics was really divided and very contentious. The performing arts community was doing really inspiring work but then became redundant, as if everyone was saying the same thing, though I sometimes think that's an inevitable reflection of what's going on in society.
*4 With new rounds of political protests that began in mid-2020, the Thai government has been arresting protesters and charging people openly critical of the monarchy with lèse-majesté again. Some of the victims of state violation of basic rights this time are artists.
Sharmilla: It's just exhausting after a while.
Amitha: Yes. And artists feel like they still need to speak, but they don't have anything new to say. They are not asking new questions themselves.
Katrina: Like there is no new way to say it.
Amitha: Yes, or they haven't found it or something like that.
Katrina: So they are just using "old tools."
Amitha: Exactly, and the problem then becomes, if we are not that censored, why are we using subtle ways to criticize something? We are not as censored as we think we are. So, I fear that it's becoming very much like self-censorship.
Katrina: Normalized.
Amitha: Normalized as an art form. It's like, let's criticize the military or let's criticize the elite but let's use a lot of codes, so it's about the fun of cracking the code. And for me, that's a worrying trend.
Katrina: In Manila, it's different. I think we have such a tradition of social realism where, if you are critical, then you show it quite literally in your work, which is what you see in many of the effigies and protest art that emerged during the Marcos dictatorship. But you realize these are not as effective anymore. You know we have been militant and critical against the current president, but it seems to have little to no effect in terms of raising consciousness, in terms of getting people away from Facebook, posting anger online versus going out to the streets, and actually showing this president how angry we are in terms of numbers.
The arts seem to have become redundant. Even as people try to talk about social issues and politics and to create a space for resistance, we are doing exactly the same things that we were doing during the Marcos years. To me, a measure of whether or not the work we've done thus far is effective, is how this current dictator has not even needed to censor the arts in a massive way. I think it's because he and his government realize it's such a small group of people who are even still affected by these old ways of doing protest. So far, we have yet to harness the arts in a way that it can even do battle with government's propaganda machine, the same one that's actually putting money into promoting lies and disinformation on social media.
That is what the artist is up against when it comes to actually being relevant at this point and so I think it's not just self-censorship that has become normalized, it's also our inability to ask the questions that might mean better, more relevant work.
Uchino: There is the Philippine Educational Theater Association, which is actually working in the community and changing things there. They don't change the presidency, but they may be changing a small yet urgent issue at the local level.
Katrina: Yes. I think there is value in advocacy theatre and cultural work that is about going into communities and trying to educate them about justice, equality, and human rights. But I don't know that this is the work that we need at a time when it feels like we are just watching a train wreck and not doing anything about it. I think there should be a sense of urgency about the things we can do right now, because the next elections are just three years away and everyone in government is already gearing up for it. The rest of us are just really watching it unfold and I don't know if there is any movement that has tried to address this urgent need of nation at this point in time. There are so many things happening all at the same time nationally that will affect all of us, even cultural workers. And this is why I have yet to do a podcast.
Amitha: Because you have too many projects?
Katrina: No, because while I feel that there is value in the small things that try to educate the public to vote better and wiser, I feel like right now we are faced with a massive disinformation and propaganda campaign that will not be addressed by these small, independent ways of doing things. Without a doubt, we can collectively do something, but we need to agree on what we are going to do in order for it to be effective. And I don't know that there is agreement anywhere. This kind of disunity and fragmentation is really borne out of inequality and cliquishness, which is not just in the arts and cultural sector but in society as a whole. This brings us back to the idea of redundancy. It's really a vicious cycle: everyone keeps thinking that we have been through this before and therefore let's do exactly what was done in the 1970s or 1980s. But things have changed so much—the internet and social media have totally changed the landscape of this battle.
Uchino: But that's still assuming they know what happened in the 1970s.
Katrina: Yes, because also there is so much of cultural history that has yet to be written, and whatever is written of our national history is constantly being revised by those in power to suit their needs and ambitions.
Sharmilla: That's an interesting point, because I think one of the biggest failings as we face the decline of arts journalism and criticism, is archiving. And we are losing a sense of what came before. Our new audiences generally understand or remember the past when it comes to Malaysian arts, theatre, or performing arts. There is, however, very little documentation of recent theatre, which is tragic for a small country like Malaysia.
