The curator of a recent museum exhibition in Thailand that criticized authoritarian governments in China, Myanmar, and other countries certainly anticipated some form of backlash. What he didn’t expect was a confrontation so immediate and severe that it would force him to flee the country.
The curator, an artist from Myanmar known as Sai, recounted how, just two days after the exhibition’s opening in July, he received urgent digital messages. The museum’s directors warned him that Thai police officers were inside, actively seeking his contact information.
Fearing imminent arrest and deportation back to his home country of Myanmar, where he had fled after a 2021 military takeover, Mr. Sai acted swiftly. He raced to a Bangkok airport, caught the first available flight to London, and left all his belongings behind.
“We expected there would be some kind of formal hindrance, but we didn’t expect it to be that immediate,” said Mr. Sai. He had carefully designed the show to spotlight artists from Myanmar and nations that maintained friendly ties with its ruling military junta.
Later that same week, the directors informed Mr. Sai that Chinese authorities demanded the museum remove the names and works of four artists. These artists hailed from Hong Kong, Tibet, and Xinjiang—regions considered politically sensitive by Beijing, where the Chinese government has steadily tightened its grip.
While the exhibition, titled “Constellation of Complicity,” which runs through October 19 at the Bangkok Art and Culture Center, was not entirely dismantled, the directors did comply with the demands. They conspicuously obscured the four artists’ names from all exhibition materials with thick black lines. Additionally, a Tibetan flag, featuring a rising sun over a snow-capped mountain, and a sky-blue flag with a white crescent and star—a recognized symbol for the Uyghur people of Xinjiang—were removed.
China has a history of actively pressuring city officials and cultural institutions worldwide to conform to its censorship demands. While some officials and organizations have resisted, in this particular instance, the Chinese Embassy in Bangkok faced no opposition.
According to an email from July reviewed by The New York Times, the museum directors told Mr. Sai they had received warnings from the embassy, the Thai Foreign Ministry, and Bangkok city officials. The officials cautioned that the art show could ignite “diplomatic tensions” between Thailand and China.
China exerts significant geopolitical influence across Southeast Asia, serving as the largest trading partner for most nations in the region. This includes Thailand, which heavily relies on Chinese tourism.
Philip Fang, a sociology professor at the University of Toronto who studies China’s censorship efforts in the arts globally, noted that the Chinese government often employs “intermediated censorship.” This involves delegating the responsibility to internet companies, filmmakers, and art galleries to proactively remove sensitive content before any issues arise.
“It’s more sophisticated and very hard to trace” compared to direct, overt censorship, Professor Fang explained.
When questioned about the Bangkok exhibition, the Chinese Foreign Ministry released a statement asserting that matters concerning Tibet, Xinjiang, and Hong Kong are “purely China’s internal affairs.” They further added that an exhibition had “brazenly advocated” the notion of independence for these three regions from China.
The Thai Foreign Ministry declined to comment, and the Bangkok Art and Culture Center did not respond to inquiries regarding the changes made to the exhibition. These modifications were previously reported by Reuters and other news outlets.
The exhibition, “Constellation of Complicity,” aims to expose how authoritarian regimes collaborate on various fronts, including weapons, surveillance, trade, and repression, as stated on the museum’s website. Among its themes, it delves into a devastating civil war in Myanmar, which has resulted in tens of thousands of deaths and millions displaced.
Myanmar’s ruling military junta has faced widespread international condemnation since the 2021 coup. However, it has maintained ties with Russia, a major weapons supplier, and China, which has been intervening in the conflict to safeguard its investments.
One striking mural by Mr. Sai depicts China’s leader, Xi Jinping, alongside other authoritarian rulers, extending their hands to Senior Gen. Min Aung Hlaing, the head of the junta. Surrounding these leaders are sketches of weapons supplied to Myanmar and used by the junta to target pro-democracy rebels and civilians.
In another piece, by Russian filmmakers Taisiya Krugovykh and Vasily Bogatov, a child’s cradle rests at the center of a red room, draped in black. A haunting narration in Russian, set to the tune of a lullaby, describes a fighter jet and weapons sale between Russia and Myanmar:
Russia supplies Myanmar with gear
To keep its regime in control and clear
MiG-29s and Su-30s in flight
Cut through the clouds, a menacing sight.
Despite the explicit criticism of various authoritarian states, none of the artworks by artists from Myanmar, Iran, Russia, or Syria—including the mural featuring Mr. Xi—were altered. Instead, the censorship singularly targeted artists associated with Hong Kong, Tibet, and Xinjiang.
Since 2020, Beijing has enforced severe national security laws in Hong Kong, diminishing the territory’s semi-autonomous status. It has also interfered with the succession of the Dalai Lama, the revered spiritual leader of Tibetan Buddhists, and forcibly separated Tibetan children from their families. In the Xinjiang region, at least a million Uyghurs, a Muslim ethnic minority, have been subjected to forced detention or work camps.
The artists in the exhibition dared to address these sensitive issues through their work, and their critiques did not go unnoticed by the authorities.
A multimedia artwork by Tibetan artist Tenzin Mingyur Paldron, which showcased Tibetan religious practices, was almost entirely removed. All that remained was a traditional Tibetan woven door cover, hanging in the middle of the gallery devoid of any explanatory context.
Visitors can still view an interactive installation on espionage by Hong Kong artists Clara Cheung and Gum Cheng Yee Man, as well as a 12-minute film by Uyghur filmmaker Mukaddas Mijit, which delves into life in exile. However, the names of these artists, along with Mr. Tenzin’s, have been redacted with thick black markers.
Earlier this year, Thailand deported 40 Uyghurs to Xinjiang, from where they had fled seeking refuge from persecution. At the time, Thai officials confirmed they acted in response to Beijing’s request. Ms. Mijit noted that this incident made it clear to her how susceptible Thailand is to Chinese pressure.
However, Ms. Mijit expressed surprise at the speed with which authorities acted within the museum—a venue she believed was dedicated to free expression.
“It’s only because I’m Uyghur,” she stated. “If I were Iranian, they wouldn’t care.”
Ms. Krugovykh and Mr. Bogatov observed the irony in the censorship of the Bangkok exhibition, recalling their meeting with Mr. Sai two years prior at a Paris event where exiled dissidents discussed transnational repression.
Mr. Bogatov, who fled Russia shortly after the 2022 invasion of Ukraine, shared his and Ms. Krugovykh’s sentiment that the global space for political art is rapidly diminishing.
“But people who are in it cannot just stop expressing themselves,” he asserted.
In a phone interview from London, Mr. Sai affirmed his intention to take the exhibition to countries where it can be displayed without fear of censorship.
He admitted to being afraid to return to Thailand but maintained that he had no regrets.
“For all four years of my exile, we’ve done things knowing there is a risk, even sometimes life and death,” he said. “But it’s the right thing to do.”