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Home»News»Global Free Speech»The white string marks the place where Linn Htut, Sai’s father, NLD member and Chief Minister of Shan State, would have been had he not been detained Two months ago, Burmese artist Sai finally received the news he had been waiting for: his application for refugee status in the UK had been approved. He and his wife had been living in turmoil since the morning of 1 February 2021, when the Myanmar military staged a coup d’état against the country’s democratically elected government and established a military junta, arresting thousands of protesters and politicians – including Sai’s father – in the process. Having spent the last five years fleeing from persecution and attempting to attain justice for his father and his country, Sai, who was nominated for the Index on Censorship Freedom of Expression Award in the Arts category, spoke to Index about the astonishing journey that led him to this point. Sai came from humble beginnings, hailing from a remote town around 200 miles from the Chinese border. He admitted that his childhood home, which has since been destroyed by an airstrike, was an unlikely place for a future artist to grow up. “Throughout my childhood we didn’t really have too much electricity or a proper public library,” he told Index. “You can see the lightbulb and it just looked like a tomato, so we used to call lightbulbs tomatoes! “There was no art, there was not much of a culture.” Although Sai was an only child with two working parents, money was difficult to come by. The family struggled financially because of what Sai describes as “structural institutional violence by the state”. As a result, his parents were reluctant to see their son being drawn into the arts world. “They didn’t want me to be an artist,” he said. “When you’re broke, you don’t want your only child to have the least sustainable lifestyle! Whenever I tried to learn music or languages or drawing, my father would initially encourage me but would never support me for the long term.” Despite their objections, Sai was instantly hooked when at seven years old he got hold of his uncle’s instant camera. “I can remember when I looked through the viewfinder I felt a sense of liberation,” he said. “Of course, as a kid you don’t know what liberation is, but your heart feels really open.” His passion was put on hold as his family could not afford a camera growing up, but Sai reacquainted himself with photography in his early twenties while he was training to become a civic educator at the American Center in Myanmar. From there, his love for art grew. “I transitioned from photography enthusiast to deep into the rabbit hole,” he said. “I found myself experimenting with different forms and concepts, using different media, exploring discrimination and identity.” This artistic development was suddenly cut short by the military coup in February 2021. His father, Linn Htut was arrested. Htut was a prominent political figure. Soon after his graduation from dental school and after a foray into political comedy, Htut had become involved in the 1988 Myanmar uprisings, a predominately student movement which led to the emergence of Aung San Suu Kyi. He remained politically active in opposition and when Suu Kyi’s National League of Democracy party came to power in 2015 he was appointed Chief Minister of Shan state, the largest state in Myanmar which covers almost a quarter of the country. Like thousands of other political prisoners, Htut was taken by the military to be interrogated and tortured. “In the first three days [of the coup] he was taken to the military compound, then he was released into house arrest for seven days,” he explained. “During that time I suggested to my father to get out, but he didn’t listen to me; he was eager to show solidarity against the military coup.” Ten days after the coup started Sai’s father was taken away for good. Sai’s uncle was arrested on the same day as his father, and his mother was placed in detention. Forced to relocate after his address was made public and unable to help his parents, Sai found other ways to protest against the coup and the oppressive junta. “I used my small network of artists to create infographics, because during that time of really high stress information got lost really easily,” he said.  “[I was] researching fundamental things like what tear gas is, how you treat it. “Immediately after the coup, when people were not really preparing for the worst, I was already trying to research gunshot wounds, shields and strategies against police brutality.” At that point, Sai explained that his focus had moved away from making art and into whatever he could do to help the protest movement. “I never wanted to create art during that time, it was just ‘how can I be useful?’,” he said. “It would be too egotistical just to create art in the time where you can play a role and serve the people in any way you can.” During this time, Sai was “hiding in plain sight”, living in a building above a police interrogation centre where arrested protesters were taken, before deciding to break into the military compound where his mother was being held, bringing his camera with him. “The only thing I can do is to document and I was very adamant to bring a camera inside the compound,” said Sai. “That was a death wish because [you go] through many checkpoints and if you are found with a phone or a camera you will be immediately shot or killed, or taken into an interrogation centre to get tortured or imprisoned.” Thankfully, he was able to get the camera through undetected by hiding it in his wife’s skirt. The resulting photographs of Sai and his mother demonstrate why he was willing to take such a risk. “I always wanted to take a family photograph, even before the coup,” he explained. “We didn’t have much of a family portrait together because we didn’t have access to a camera. “My father is absent due to abduction, but I wanted to materialise that idea anyway, so we left a space for him to encapsulate his presence in the absence.” After collecting everything he needed, he uploaded the photographs, deleted them off his camera and exited the compound the way he came in. Despite having by his own admission risked his life to perform this act of resistance, Sai was quick to downplay his own courage.  “Maybe it’s being ADHD?” he laughed. “For me I don’t have many choices, it’s not out of courage or bravery. When hundreds and hundreds of people get killed every day, dying becomes the new normal. “I tried to visualise it many times. Would I be okay to die right now, at this moment? I think it helps in a way, I already accept it. “It’s not a unique situation for me. It’s a new normal that Myanmar people as a collective have to go through.” Fearing persecution, Sai and his wife left Myanmar and have spent several moving from place to place, reaching out to humanitarian organisations and attempting to spread the word about what was happening at home. His father continues to be in prison and his mother is under house arrest.  In 2023 Sai and his wife relocated to Thailand, where last year one of his exhibitions was censored after Chinese embassy officials demanded that it be shut down. Feeling unsafe in their new home and worried about being deported back to Myanmar, the couple now reside in the UK under refugee status which was granted earlier this year. With so much distance between him and his home country, Sai said he was able to feel more confident in fighting for his father publicly, even dropping the mask that he had previously used to shield his identity. He credits those who have stood in solidarity against oppressive authoritative networks for helping him to publicly advocate for his father and the tens of thousands of political prisoners held in Myanmar. “I have managed to meet a lot of individuals like Index on Censorship, Hong Kong activists, artists, researchers, who have been very supportive and shown solidarity,” said Sai. “People may think that it doesn’t matter, but it does matter a lot.” READ MORE
Global Free Speech

The white string marks the place where Linn Htut, Sai’s father, NLD member and Chief Minister of Shan State, would have been had he not been detained Two months ago, Burmese artist Sai finally received the news he had been waiting for: his application for refugee status in the UK had been approved. He and his wife had been living in turmoil since the morning of 1 February 2021, when the Myanmar military staged a coup d’état against the country’s democratically elected government and established a military junta, arresting thousands of protesters and politicians – including Sai’s father – in the process. Having spent the last five years fleeing from persecution and attempting to attain justice for his father and his country, Sai, who was nominated for the Index on Censorship Freedom of Expression Award in the Arts category, spoke to Index about the astonishing journey that led him to this point. Sai came from humble beginnings, hailing from a remote town around 200 miles from the Chinese border. He admitted that his childhood home, which has since been destroyed by an airstrike, was an unlikely place for a future artist to grow up. “Throughout my childhood we didn’t really have too much electricity or a proper public library,” he told Index. “You can see the lightbulb and it just looked like a tomato, so we used to call lightbulbs tomatoes! “There was no art, there was not much of a culture.” Although Sai was an only child with two working parents, money was difficult to come by. The family struggled financially because of what Sai describes as “structural institutional violence by the state”. As a result, his parents were reluctant to see their son being drawn into the arts world. “They didn’t want me to be an artist,” he said. “When you’re broke, you don’t want your only child to have the least sustainable lifestyle! Whenever I tried to learn music or languages or drawing, my father would initially encourage me but would never support me for the long term.” Despite their objections, Sai was instantly hooked when at seven years old he got hold of his uncle’s instant camera. “I can remember when I looked through the viewfinder I felt a sense of liberation,” he said. “Of course, as a kid you don’t know what liberation is, but your heart feels really open.” His passion was put on hold as his family could not afford a camera growing up, but Sai reacquainted himself with photography in his early twenties while he was training to become a civic educator at the American Center in Myanmar. From there, his love for art grew. “I transitioned from photography enthusiast to deep into the rabbit hole,” he said. “I found myself experimenting with different forms and concepts, using different media, exploring discrimination and identity.” This artistic development was suddenly cut short by the military coup in February 2021. His father, Linn Htut was arrested. Htut was a prominent political figure. Soon after his graduation from dental school and after a foray into political comedy, Htut had become involved in the 1988 Myanmar uprisings, a predominately student movement which led to the emergence of Aung San Suu Kyi. He remained politically active in opposition and when Suu Kyi’s National League of Democracy party came to power in 2015 he was appointed Chief Minister of Shan state, the largest state in Myanmar which covers almost a quarter of the country. Like thousands of other political prisoners, Htut was taken by the military to be interrogated and tortured. “In the first three days [of the coup] he was taken to the military compound, then he was released into house arrest for seven days,” he explained. “During that time I suggested to my father to get out, but he didn’t listen to me; he was eager to show solidarity against the military coup.” Ten days after the coup started Sai’s father was taken away for good. Sai’s uncle was arrested on the same day as his father, and his mother was placed in detention. Forced to relocate after his address was made public and unable to help his parents, Sai found other ways to protest against the coup and the oppressive junta. “I used my small network of artists to create infographics, because during that time of really high stress information got lost really easily,” he said.  “[I was] researching fundamental things like what tear gas is, how you treat it. “Immediately after the coup, when people were not really preparing for the worst, I was already trying to research gunshot wounds, shields and strategies against police brutality.” At that point, Sai explained that his focus had moved away from making art and into whatever he could do to help the protest movement. “I never wanted to create art during that time, it was just ‘how can I be useful?’,” he said. “It would be too egotistical just to create art in the time where you can play a role and serve the people in any way you can.” During this time, Sai was “hiding in plain sight”, living in a building above a police interrogation centre where arrested protesters were taken, before deciding to break into the military compound where his mother was being held, bringing his camera with him. “The only thing I can do is to document and I was very adamant to bring a camera inside the compound,” said Sai. “That was a death wish because [you go] through many checkpoints and if you are found with a phone or a camera you will be immediately shot or killed, or taken into an interrogation centre to get tortured or imprisoned.” Thankfully, he was able to get the camera through undetected by hiding it in his wife’s skirt. The resulting photographs of Sai and his mother demonstrate why he was willing to take such a risk. “I always wanted to take a family photograph, even before the coup,” he explained. “We didn’t have much of a family portrait together because we didn’t have access to a camera. “My father is absent due to abduction, but I wanted to materialise that idea anyway, so we left a space for him to encapsulate his presence in the absence.” After collecting everything he needed, he uploaded the photographs, deleted them off his camera and exited the compound the way he came in. Despite having by his own admission risked his life to perform this act of resistance, Sai was quick to downplay his own courage.  “Maybe it’s being ADHD?” he laughed. “For me I don’t have many choices, it’s not out of courage or bravery. When hundreds and hundreds of people get killed every day, dying becomes the new normal. “I tried to visualise it many times. Would I be okay to die right now, at this moment? I think it helps in a way, I already accept it. “It’s not a unique situation for me. It’s a new normal that Myanmar people as a collective have to go through.” Fearing persecution, Sai and his wife left Myanmar and have spent several moving from place to place, reaching out to humanitarian organisations and attempting to spread the word about what was happening at home. His father continues to be in prison and his mother is under house arrest.  In 2023 Sai and his wife relocated to Thailand, where last year one of his exhibitions was censored after Chinese embassy officials demanded that it be shut down. Feeling unsafe in their new home and worried about being deported back to Myanmar, the couple now reside in the UK under refugee status which was granted earlier this year. With so much distance between him and his home country, Sai said he was able to feel more confident in fighting for his father publicly, even dropping the mask that he had previously used to shield his identity. He credits those who have stood in solidarity against oppressive authoritative networks for helping him to publicly advocate for his father and the tens of thousands of political prisoners held in Myanmar. “I have managed to meet a lot of individuals like Index on Censorship, Hong Kong activists, artists, researchers, who have been very supportive and shown solidarity,” said Sai. “People may think that it doesn’t matter, but it does matter a lot.” READ MORE

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The white string marks the place where Linn Htut, Sai’s father, NLD member
and Chief Minister of Shan State, would have been had he not been detained

				
				
				
				
				
			
		
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				Two months ago, Burmese artist Sai finally received the news he had been waiting for: his application for refugee status in the UK had been approved. He and his wife had been living in turmoil since the morning of 1 February 2021, when the Myanmar military staged a coup d’état against the country’s democratically elected government and established a military junta, arresting thousands of protesters and politicians – including Sai’s father – in the process.
Having spent the last five years fleeing from persecution and attempting to attain justice for his father and his country, Sai, who was nominated for the Index on Censorship Freedom of Expression Award in the Arts category, spoke to Index about the astonishing journey that led him to this point.
Sai came from humble beginnings, hailing from a remote town around 200 miles from the Chinese border. He admitted that his childhood home, which has since been destroyed by an airstrike, was an unlikely place for a future artist to grow up.
			
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				“Throughout my childhood we didn’t really have too much electricity or a proper public library,” he told Index. “You can see the lightbulb and it just looked like a tomato, so we used to call lightbulbs tomatoes!
“There was no art, there was not much of a culture.”
Although Sai was an only child with two working parents, money was difficult to come by. The family struggled financially because of what Sai describes as “structural institutional violence by the state”. As a result, his parents were reluctant to see their son being drawn into the arts world.
“They didn’t want me to be an artist,” he said. “When you’re broke, you don’t want your only child to have the least sustainable lifestyle! Whenever I tried to learn music or languages or drawing, my father would initially encourage me but would never support me for the long term.”
Despite their objections, Sai was instantly hooked when at seven years old he got hold of his uncle’s instant camera.
			
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				“I can remember when I looked through the viewfinder I felt a sense of liberation,” he said. “Of course, as a kid you don’t know what liberation is, but your heart feels really open.”
His passion was put on hold as his family could not afford a camera growing up, but Sai reacquainted himself with photography in his early twenties while he was training to become a civic educator at the American Center in Myanmar. From there, his love for art grew.
“I transitioned from photography enthusiast to deep into the rabbit hole,” he said. “I found myself experimenting with different forms and concepts, using different media, exploring discrimination and identity.”
This artistic development was suddenly cut short by the military coup in February 2021. His father, Linn Htut was arrested.
			
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				Htut was a prominent political figure. Soon after his graduation from dental school and after a foray into political comedy, Htut had become involved in the 1988 Myanmar uprisings, a predominately student movement which led to the emergence of Aung San Suu Kyi.
He remained politically active in opposition and when Suu Kyi’s National League of Democracy party came to power in 2015 he was appointed Chief Minister of Shan state, the largest state in Myanmar which covers almost a quarter of the country.
Like thousands of other political prisoners, Htut was taken by the military to be interrogated and tortured.
“In the first three days [of the coup] he was taken to the military compound, then he was released into house arrest for seven days,” he explained. “During that time I suggested to my father to get out, but he didn’t listen to me; he was eager to show solidarity against the military coup.”
			
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				Ten days after the coup started Sai’s father was taken away for good.
Sai’s uncle was arrested on the same day as his father, and his mother was placed in detention. Forced to relocate after his address was made public and unable to help his parents, Sai found other ways to protest against the coup and the oppressive junta.
“I used my small network of artists to create infographics, because during that time of really high stress information got lost really easily,” he said.  “[I was] researching fundamental things like what tear gas is, how you treat it.
“Immediately after the coup, when people were not really preparing for the worst, I was already trying to research gunshot wounds, shields and strategies against police brutality.”
At that point, Sai explained that his focus had moved away from making art and into whatever he could do to help the protest movement.
“I never wanted to create art during that time, it was just ‘how can I be useful?’,” he said. “It would be too egotistical just to create art in the time where you can play a role and serve the people in any way you can.”
			
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				During this time, Sai was “hiding in plain sight”, living in a building above a police interrogation centre where arrested protesters were taken, before deciding to break into the military compound where his mother was being held, bringing his camera with him.
“The only thing I can do is to document and I was very adamant to bring a camera inside the compound,” said Sai. “That was a death wish because [you go] through many checkpoints and if you are found with a phone or a camera you will be immediately shot or killed, or taken into an interrogation centre to get tortured or imprisoned.”
Thankfully, he was able to get the camera through undetected by hiding it in his wife’s skirt. The resulting photographs of Sai and his mother demonstrate why he was willing to take such a risk.
“I always wanted to take a family photograph, even before the coup,” he explained. “We didn’t have much of a family portrait together because we didn’t have access to a camera.
“My father is absent due to abduction, but I wanted to materialise that idea anyway, so we left a space for him to encapsulate his presence in the absence.”
			
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				After collecting everything he needed, he uploaded the photographs, deleted them off his camera and exited the compound the way he came in. Despite having by his own admission risked his life to perform this act of resistance, Sai was quick to downplay his own courage. 
“Maybe it’s being ADHD?” he laughed. “For me I don’t have many choices, it’s not out of courage or bravery. When hundreds and hundreds of people get killed every day, dying becomes the new normal.
“I tried to visualise it many times. Would I be okay to die right now, at this moment? I think it helps in a way, I already accept it.
“It’s not a unique situation for me. It’s a new normal that Myanmar people as a collective have to go through.”
Fearing persecution, Sai and his wife left Myanmar and have spent several moving from place to place, reaching out to humanitarian organisations and attempting to spread the word about what was happening at home. His father continues to be in prison and his mother is under house arrest. 
			
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
			
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				
				In 2023 Sai and his wife relocated to Thailand, where last year one of his exhibitions was censored after Chinese embassy officials demanded that it be shut down. Feeling unsafe in their new home and worried about being deported back to Myanmar, the couple now reside in the UK under refugee status which was granted earlier this year.
With so much distance between him and his home country, Sai said he was able to feel more confident in fighting for his father publicly, even dropping the mask that he had previously used to shield his identity. He credits those who have stood in solidarity against oppressive authoritative networks for helping him to publicly advocate for his father and the tens of thousands of political prisoners held in Myanmar.
“I have managed to meet a lot of individuals like Index on Censorship, Hong Kong activists, artists, researchers, who have been very supportive and shown solidarity,” said Sai.
“People may think that it doesn’t matter, but it does matter a lot.”
			
			
				
				
				
				
			
				
				
					
	
	
			
			
					
				
				
				
				READ MORE
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Two months ago, Burmese artist Sai finally received the news he had been waiting for: his application for refugee status in the UK had been approved. He and his wife had been living in turmoil since the morning of 1 February 2021, when the Myanmar military staged a coup d’état against the country’s democratically elected government and established a military junta, arresting thousands of protesters and politicians – including Sai’s father – in the process.

Having spent the last five years fleeing from persecution and attempting to attain justice for his father and his country, Sai, who was nominated for the Index on Censorship Freedom of Expression Award in the Arts category, spoke to Index about the astonishing journey that led him to this point.

Sai came from humble beginnings, hailing from a remote town around 200 miles from the Chinese border. He admitted that his childhood home, which has since been destroyed by an airstrike, was an unlikely place for a future artist to grow up.

“Throughout my childhood we didn’t really have too much electricity or a proper public library,” he told Index. “You can see the lightbulb and it just looked like a tomato, so we used to call lightbulbs tomatoes!

“There was no art, there was not much of a culture.”

Although Sai was an only child with two working parents, money was difficult to come by. The family struggled financially because of what Sai describes as “structural institutional violence by the state”. As a result, his parents were reluctant to see their son being drawn into the arts world.

“They didn’t want me to be an artist,” he said. “When you’re broke, you don’t want your only child to have the least sustainable lifestyle! Whenever I tried to learn music or languages or drawing, my father would initially encourage me but would never support me for the long term.”

Despite their objections, Sai was instantly hooked when at seven years old he got hold of his uncle’s instant camera.

“I can remember when I looked through the viewfinder I felt a sense of liberation,” he said. “Of course, as a kid you don’t know what liberation is, but your heart feels really open.”

His passion was put on hold as his family could not afford a camera growing up, but Sai reacquainted himself with photography in his early twenties while he was training to become a civic educator at the American Center in Myanmar. From there, his love for art grew.

“I transitioned from photography enthusiast to deep into the rabbit hole,” he said. “I found myself experimenting with different forms and concepts, using different media, exploring discrimination and identity.”

This artistic development was suddenly cut short by the military coup in February 2021. His father, Linn Htut was arrested.

Htut was a prominent political figure. Soon after his graduation from dental school and after a foray into political comedy, Htut had become involved in the 1988 Myanmar uprisings, a predominately student movement which led to the emergence of Aung San Suu Kyi.

He remained politically active in opposition and when Suu Kyi’s National League of Democracy party came to power in 2015 he was appointed Chief Minister of Shan state, the largest state in Myanmar which covers almost a quarter of the country.

Like thousands of other political prisoners, Htut was taken by the military to be interrogated and tortured.

“In the first three days [of the coup] he was taken to the military compound, then he was released into house arrest for seven days,” he explained. “During that time I suggested to my father to get out, but he didn’t listen to me; he was eager to show solidarity against the military coup.”

Ten days after the coup started Sai’s father was taken away for good.

Sai’s uncle was arrested on the same day as his father, and his mother was placed in detention. Forced to relocate after his address was made public and unable to help his parents, Sai found other ways to protest against the coup and the oppressive junta.

“I used my small network of artists to create infographics, because during that time of really high stress information got lost really easily,” he said.  “[I was] researching fundamental things like what tear gas is, how you treat it.

“Immediately after the coup, when people were not really preparing for the worst, I was already trying to research gunshot wounds, shields and strategies against police brutality.”

At that point, Sai explained that his focus had moved away from making art and into whatever he could do to help the protest movement.

“I never wanted to create art during that time, it was just ‘how can I be useful?’,” he said. “It would be too egotistical just to create art in the time where you can play a role and serve the people in any way you can.”

During this time, Sai was “hiding in plain sight”, living in a building above a police interrogation centre where arrested protesters were taken, before deciding to break into the military compound where his mother was being held, bringing his camera with him.

“The only thing I can do is to document and I was very adamant to bring a camera inside the compound,” said Sai. “That was a death wish because [you go] through many checkpoints and if you are found with a phone or a camera you will be immediately shot or killed, or taken into an interrogation centre to get tortured or imprisoned.”

Thankfully, he was able to get the camera through undetected by hiding it in his wife’s skirt. The resulting photographs of Sai and his mother demonstrate why he was willing to take such a risk.

“I always wanted to take a family photograph, even before the coup,” he explained. “We didn’t have much of a family portrait together because we didn’t have access to a camera.

“My father is absent due to abduction, but I wanted to materialise that idea anyway, so we left a space for him to encapsulate his presence in the absence.”

After collecting everything he needed, he uploaded the photographs, deleted them off his camera and exited the compound the way he came in. Despite having by his own admission risked his life to perform this act of resistance, Sai was quick to downplay his own courage. 

“Maybe it’s being ADHD?” he laughed. “For me I don’t have many choices, it’s not out of courage or bravery. When hundreds and hundreds of people get killed every day, dying becomes the new normal.

“I tried to visualise it many times. Would I be okay to die right now, at this moment? I think it helps in a way, I already accept it.

“It’s not a unique situation for me. It’s a new normal that Myanmar people as a collective have to go through.”

Fearing persecution, Sai and his wife left Myanmar and have spent several moving from place to place, reaching out to humanitarian organisations and attempting to spread the word about what was happening at home. His father continues to be in prison and his mother is under house arrest. 

In 2023 Sai and his wife relocated to Thailand, where last year one of his exhibitions was censored after Chinese embassy officials demanded that it be shut down. Feeling unsafe in their new home and worried about being deported back to Myanmar, the couple now reside in the UK under refugee status which was granted earlier this year.

With so much distance between him and his home country, Sai said he was able to feel more confident in fighting for his father publicly, even dropping the mask that he had previously used to shield his identity. He credits those who have stood in solidarity against oppressive authoritative networks for helping him to publicly advocate for his father and the tens of thousands of political prisoners held in Myanmar.

“I have managed to meet a lot of individuals like Index on Censorship, Hong Kong activists, artists, researchers, who have been very supportive and shown solidarity,” said Sai.

“People may think that it doesn’t matter, but it does matter a lot.”

The post Conversation with a dissident: Sai ▇▇▇ appeared first on Index on Censorship.

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Guidance on public photography should be shared with everyone in the UK not just asylum seekers. Photo: Getty Images for Unsplash+ Asylum seekers in the UK are being misled by the Home Office over laws about photographing people in public places and are being threatened that their asylum claims might be refused and could be kicked out of the country. On 19 August, the Home Office issued a poster entitled “Do not photograph or film people in public” as part of a series of guidance over consequences of behaviour for those seeking asylum. The poster is part of a nine-page booklet that aims to help asylum seekers understand what is expected of them when living in the UK and covers issues such as sexual consent and domestic abuse. The release of the booklet is controversial because the guidance it contains applies to everyone in the UK and not just asylum seekers. Its publication now could be seen as a politically motivated sop to those who want to crack down on all immigration, even though Britain is legally bound to admit genuine refugees. In the introduction, the Home Office says, “We understand that coming to a new country can be difficult, and that laws and customs here may be different from your home country.” The poster says, “In the UK, you should not take pictures or videos of someone without their permission. This includes taking pictures or videos in public spaces, like streets of parks, or in private spaces, like at home.” However, the poster is misleading. There is a common misconception that photographing people in public places without their consent is illegal. It is not. There are some situations where there are restrictions, for example where photography is restricted by law, such as outside military facilities where photography is prohibited because of national security concerns. Photography is also not permitted where an individual has a reasonable expectation of privacy, such as in the changing room of a clothes shop. Many commercial, privately owned spaces also have rules regarding photography. Sheffield’s Meadowhall shopping centre, for example, says filming and photography is not permitted unless authorised. Where there are no restrictions, consent is not required by law but many legitimate street photographers follow codes of conduct where they might seek consent. The Royal Society of Photographers, for example, recommends that “particular care should be taken when photographing children and vulnerable people, with consideration given to consent, safeguarding, privacy and the potential impact of making or sharing an image”. It adds, “Photographers should also consider how images of identifiable people are subsequently used, especially where their use could imply endorsement or raise concerns about commercial exploitation.” Repeated photography of a person without their consent could be illegal if it crosses into harassing behaviour that is likely to cause alarm or intimidation. This is banned by the Protection from Harassment Act 1997. Photographers must also not share pictures of a sexual nature, for example upskirting, without the subject’s permission. This is banned under the Criminal Justice and Courts Act 2015. When asked about the poster, a Home Office spokesperson said: “We expect everyone who comes to the UK to abide by our laws. If they do not, they will face consequences, including the refusal of their asylum claim and removal from the UK.” They added, “These resources were produced for asylum seekers so there can be no possible misunderstanding of what we expect. The poster is designed to communicate two separate messages: Firstly, that individuals should not take photographs of others without their consent. Secondly, that sharing photographs or videos of a sexual nature without someone’s permission is a serious criminal offence.” There are subtle indications that the Home Office knew that what it was publishing was incorrect. Looking at the poster closely, it appears that the word “should” has been added later, suggesting that it previously said “must” – the font used is subtly different (see below). The information contained in a new Home Office poster is incorrect The Home Office did not respond to our request for comment when we asked about this. The spokeperson said of the poster, “It does not suggest that you can go to prison for taking someone’s photo in public.” There are nuances of English grammar at play here. One person who commented on the BPPA’s statement on Instagram said, “It doesn’t say there’s a legal requirement not to? It says you shouldn’t which to be quite frank is good, if simplified, advice for asylum speakers for whom English is not a first language.” However the heading of the poster is unequivocal. It says, “Do not”. Anyone, even those using English as a second language, would be unlikely to misconstrue that. The original wording still appears to be on the Home Office website. In the booklet’s introduction it says: “In the UK, we respect people’s privacy. This means you must not take photographs or videos of someone without their consent.” (emphasis mine). Photographers and photojournalists and their unions have been quick to call on the Home Office to clarify the poster. The British Press Photographers’ Association (BPPA) has commented on the document. It said, “Recently issued Home Office guidance that states permission is needed to photograph people in public is incorrect and harmful. There is no legal requirement to seek permission when photographing in public. The BPPA hopes an immediate correction will be issued.” Séamus Dooley, NUJ assistant general secretary, said: “This communication not only runs the risk of misleading asylum seekers, it could also have serious consequences for our members – particularly photographers and videographers who regularly carry out their work in public places. It also spreads public confusion that could serve to inhibit public interest journalism. Press photographers and other lens-based journalists perform a legitimate and important function in reporting and recording events in public spaces. “The union is very concerned that the spread of inaccurate information around the right to photograph and film people in public without permission could expose our members to increased hostility and harassment as well as wrongful accusations of criminality and unjustifiable stops by the police. This would undermine journalists’ right to report and the public’s right to know. READ MORE

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London’s Africa Centre faces closure Earlier this month, I was saddened to learn that The Africa Centre in London may once again be shutting its doors. It won’t be the first time the centre has had to close – but it may be the last time, although the chief executive is still hopeful he can raise the millions of pounds needed to save it. There’s no point dwelling on the reasons, speculative or factual, behind its current crisis. I did though, looking through a list of its recent events, feel a pang of guilt. I could have done more to support The Africa Centre – turning up, talking to people about it, taking cognisance of the real value it has added over the years to London’s political and social life. When the Africa Centre was founded in 1961, its primary objective was to “educate about, connect to and [advocate] for Africa and its diaspora through arts, innovation, culture, thought leadership and education”. In 1964 it found a home in London’s Covent Garden – the Catholic church purchased an old tomato warehouse on King Street and gifted it “to the people of Africa in perpetuity”. When my parents emigrated to the United Kingdom in the mid-1960s, The Africa Centre was one of the very few places where people like them could find space to negotiate the cultural and social differences between them and the unfamiliar wider world. This process of cultural pollination process worked both ways, mind. Intellectuals, activists and dissidents from across the continent spoke at King Street about the political challenges faced by post-colonial African countries, educating curious audiences who wanted to learn more about a part of the world that for many was at best a construct of the imagination, if even that. For two days last June, the London Archives presented to the public a cross-section of documents, photographs and ephemera from its Africa Centre Collection. The archives were a revealing and at times startling record of political and social openness and curiosity. On one table, a poster from 1968 announced a talk about The Future of the Portuguese Territories – long before Angola and Mozambique became proxy battlegrounds for the Cold War between the Soviets and the West. From 1970, an invitation to a talk by Mrs Lydia Osiyemi, “sociology student and mother”, about The African mother and child in Britain. Judging from the poster (left), I fancy that Mrs Osiyemi’s talk was proposing African solutions to a dilemma that remains very real today – to London’s new arrivals and veterans alike. And then, from the early 1990s, in the centre’s guest book (below right), a tribute from a vanguard of democracy. “I pay tribute to those who founded this institution, and those who run it,” the scrawly script read. “This is …  a major cultural shop-window for Africa of which every African should be proud.” The author: “M.K.O. Abiola of Africa.” The Nigeria I grew up in the 1980s and 1990s, after my parents moved back there for a while, was defined by the ever-present cloud of military dictatorship. I can say that now, in hindsight; it’s strange how one normalises the abnormal when we have nothing to compare it against. When Abiola, a business magnate and politician, ran for president in Nigeria in 1993 for a short while it seemed that the country would escape its history of ethnic strife. But then the military snatched victory from him and imprisoned him, extending their malign grip on the country for another half decade. The BAFTA-winning My Father’s Son is set against the backdrop of that very period. A generation before this, the Africa at the Pictures film festival curated by the centre had offered London similar context to political and social concerns across the continent. Abiola’s entry reminded me that it was in the London, on King Street, that I first began to think more clearly about the right to free expression and what happens when this is curtailed. When Chinua Achebe’s Anthills of the Savannah, an acerbic observation on life under military dictatorship in a fictional west African country, was shortlisted for the Booker in 1987 it couldn’t be bought in Nigeria. I got hold of my copy in London – in the Africa Centre’s cramped and musty bookshop, stuffed with books on and from the continent. It wasn’t all high-minded intellectualism on King Street. The Africa Centre was home to one of the few restaurants in London featuring cuisine from here and there across the continent – Mauritian lamb curry, Algerian couscous, fried plantain and boiled yam. Cost? Dishes were, according to a caption, “between 20p and £3”. Happy days. (An early menu is shown below left). In 2012, the Africa Centre left Covent Garden. Maintaining the Grade II-listed building proved too expensive, some said. Perhaps more to the point, it was no longer a good fit for the commercialised ambience that had sprung up around Covent Garden. The historic building on King Street was sold, and with the support of the Mayor of London and the Arts Council, the Centre relocated itself across the river in 2022, to new premises in Southwark. The last time I was there, in the summer of 2023, was to see a fascinating multi-floor exhibition about Nigeria’s Fuji music. Once again, I was surprised and delighted to learn in the Africa Centre something new about my childhood home, so very far away from it. London of the 1980s and 1990s was nothing like the crucible of cultures that it is today. While migrant communities were not quite silenced, they certainly did not have the right to a voice in the public sphere such as they do today. We complain, correctly, about febrile attempts to exclude inconvenient minority voices from the general discourse today. But we don’t, unfortunately, acknowledge enough the real contribution that physical community spaces, big and small, have made over the years to give London the cultural texture and viscera that makes the challenging and contradictory but still very charming city that it is. I’m going to miss the Africa Centre when it’s gone, and places like it, that helped shaped a city where the right to free expression is still, on the whole, seen to be a good thing. READ MORE

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