Episode #332: Livin' On A Prayer
“We should do something to change, or we should have [an] alternative way to do something,” says Lily, speaking from the epicenter of the recent 7.7 magnitude earthquake in Myanmar’s Sagaing Region. A Myanmar-based performance artist and documentary filmmaker, Lily shares her vision of meaningful transformation amid the country's overlapping tragedies.
The goal of Lily’s art has always been to tell stories rooted in Myanmar’s political and social fabric. “I found out that storytelling is one of the powerful tools to reach a lot of people,” she says. Her art takes on a community-centered approach, and she describes this kind of socially engaged art as a collaborative process where the goal is not merely to produce artwork, but to foster transformation through shared creation. In such projects, she sees herself more as a facilitator than a traditional artist.
Following the 2021 military coup, Lily, like many others, felt the suffocating loss of civic and creative space. For nearly three years, she stopped creating and exhibiting her work in an environment so heavy with fear, grief, and suppression. Yet despite the hardship, Lily chose to stay in Myanmar rather than leave for safety or artistic freedom. “Leaving the country is not [an] option,” she says. “If I have a life-threatening situation, I will leave, but for me … it is important to stay.” In returning to her visual art, Lily found herself searching for a sense of freshness—an energy that had been missing from the galleries and creative spaces around her. “We don’t have any fresh anymore,” she said, referring to the various challenges that occurred after the military takeover and then the years of ensuing conflict. “Everything is very dark… I was really missing the creative energy and the creative society.”
Her resolve was tested again when the earthquake struck. Living in Yangon and initially unaware of the full extent of the damage, she soon learned of the scale of devastation in Mandalay and Sagaing on social media. Moved by the images and stories, she traveled to the region to document the disaster. However, the reality on the ground caused her to shift her focus. With serious risks involved in filming because of the military’s paranoia, and seeing the overwhelming needs of the survivors, Lily found herself quickly transitioning from observer to participant in the humanitarian response.
She now spends her days working alongside monks and volunteers, distributing aid and conducting needs assessments. She describes chaotic and emotionally draining scenes: ruins and rubble everywhere, traumatized residents, pervasive grief, and the scent of death in the air. “I feel like it's a movie,” she says. “It's really disconnected with what I know about mentally, because like, all of the buildings have collapsed!” The damage to people has not just been physical, but deeply psychological as well—being constantly panicked at the smallest sounds, and fearing aftershocks or further catastrophe.
Lily is particularly impacted by the tragedy that has befallen the region’s monastic community. She talks of nuns and monks sleeping on the streets, unable to return to their destroyed monasteries, yet continuing their religious routines amid the chaos. However, she adds, “Now they cannot go out to collect food. They have to wait for [humanitarian] donations.”
Amid all the death and destruction, however, what has struck Lily the most is the community response. In the absence of an effective government relief effort, monasteries, mosques, and local grassroots networks became ad hoc community centers. Volunteers, including monks and residents, began self-organizing. Lily observes these teams taking part in distributing food and medicine and offering emotional support, trying to help preserve people’s dignity in the face of despair. Yet this incredible volunteer response, while beautiful, is often inefficient due to its haphazard nature, duplication of efforts, and waste. “The donation flow… I don’t know, is this effective or not? I’m not sure,” she muses. She is also very concerned about sustainability, especially once the initial wave of panic-driven donations subsides.
Lily’s own efforts have recently focused more on needs assessment. Realizing the importance of asking communities themselves what they most need before soliciting and distributing donations, she began visiting different locations to identify things—such as vitamins, medicine, or emotional support—that are often overlooked amid the influx of food and water donations. Of course, she says that due to the depth of disorientation many survivors face, sometimes people don’t even know what they need. But even so, she believes it is crucial to talk directly with them, to listen and show care.
Echoing a point made by many recent guests, donors are wary of working through official channels because of the military’s corruption. Memories of Cyclone Nargis in 2008—when the military diverted international aid and profited from the suffering—are still fresh. “When you work with the military, there will be a lot of waste! It will be difficult to reach the people who really need that,” she cautions. Unfortunately, the junta’s restrictions and the risk of arrest or extortion are preventing the level of mobilization needed in a disaster of this magnitude, and even put the safety of local volunteers at great personal risk.
Moreover, international aid remains limited. Support has come mainly through informal or diaspora-led fundraising, and some Thai organizations and overseas friends have provided funds, which Lily and others use to directly support affected communities. Although much more international aid is needed, Lily stresses that it needs to be motivated by a sense of solidarity, not pity; and although material aid is obviously vital, it must be well-targeted. More than anything, she wants people to understand that Burmese citizens are not passive victims but active participants in rebuilding their lives amid immense obstacles.
Lily herself has been artistically transformed by this experience. Unlike her career as documentarian who kept a certain distance from her subjects, she is now deeply enmeshed in the crisis she’s trying to understand. “I used to stand as an observer… but now I’ve jumped into the situation,” she said. She finds that it can easily become emotionally overwhelming. Still, she keeps a documentarian eye on the situation in the face of all her humanitarian efforts. “Now I’m observing. What would be the best story? What would be the best perspective to tell what is happening?” she said. The stories that most interest her are those of ordinary people, monks, and volunteers stepping into leadership and caretaking roles. “They don’t have proper equipment or training… but they put all their energy and heart to save the people,” she says with obvious admiration.
She is also using this moment to reconsider the narratives that shape Myanmar’s collective consciousness. “We have been brainwashed a lot,” she says. “Why should I stay like this all the time, the rest of my life? We should do something to change.” She’s particularly interested in ecological and spiritual reconnection—not just healing political wounds, but reconnecting mind, body, society, and nature. For her, being an artist is more than creating—it’s about envisioning new narratives that help people transform suffering into meaning.
“If we have some intention—to change or to transform or to rebuild or to reconnect—we have some direction… That’s what I’m doing now.”