Ribbons, Spirits, and Strings
Coming Soon…
This episode is the fifth in a five-part series drawn from interviews recorded at the 16th International Burma Studies Conference, recently hosted by Northern Illinois University (NIU). Long seen as the beating heart of Burma Studies in North America—and a global gathering point for work on the country’s history, language, culture, and society—NIU once again brought together scholars, students, researchers, and practitioners from around the world. The conference unfolded as a lively mix of presentations, roundtables, forums, and cultural showcases, weaving academic rigor with a shared sense of responsibility for Myanmar’s uncertain future. Organized around the theme Dealing with Legacies in Burma, the event invited participants to examine the memories, inheritances, and relationships that continue to shape life in the country. Set against ongoing political repression and a widening humanitarian crisis, these conversations carried an unmistakable emotional and moral weight. Anthropologists, historians, linguists, artists, political scientists, and religious scholars exchanged insights on how research can document and preserve Burma’s cultural and social realities during this precarious moment. At the same time, the gathering created something increasingly rare inside Myanmar itself: an open, caring space where people could reflect, share, and connect freely. Throughout the conference, Insight Myanmar recorded conversations with a wide range of attendees, each offering their own lens on the country’s past, present, and the futures they hope to help build. Produced in partnership with NIU’s Center for Southeast Asian Studies, this episode brings listeners into the atmosphere of the event and introduces some of the individuals who continue to shape and sustain the field of Burma Studies today.
This episode features the voices of Khaing Wai Wai Zaw, Hsa Win, and Amy Khaing
“To be honest with you, my background is language education,” says Khaing Wai Wai Zaw, a Burmese educator and dedicated Buddhist practitioner. She describes the unlikely path that led her from English-language teaching in Myanmar to handling rare Burmese artifacts, tracing how her academic and spiritual foundations gradually shaped her understanding of cultural heritage, Buddhist practice, and social responsibility.
She explains that she worked in Myanmar as an English-language teacher for eight years before leaving the country, and initially pursued a graduate degree in literacy education at Northern Illinois University. While there, she got a position as a research assistant cataloging rare Burmese artifacts. She describes how she first handled silver objects, then took on a much larger task when the Center acquired 228 sasi jo, sacred woven ribbons used to secure palm leaf manuscripts, usually when one is being donated to a monastery. She recalls that she lacked training in art history and at first doubted herself, admitting, “I didn’t really think that I could do the job.” Over time, she researched weaving patterns, translated Burmese inscriptions into English, and analyzed donors, dates, Buddhist motifs, and regional origins. Her Buddhist literacy from the past enabled her to interpret figures, symbols, and ritual terminology that would otherwise not have been decipherable to anyone else there. She notes that without knowledge of Buddhist texts and imagery, it would be nearly impossible to read many inscriptions.
Khaing Wai Wai Zaw is a devoted practitioner of both Mahasi- and Mogok-style meditation, and visits monasteries in the US whenever she can. Although she once attended meditation centers regularly in Myanmar, she now meditates at home or at local temples when her graduate schedule allows. Meditation supports her emotional resilience during academic stress and enhances her clarity: she describes how the practicality she gains from the Buddha’s teachings helps her manage success and setbacks with equanimity.
The interview turns toward the political crisis in Myanmar and the dilemma faced by monks during conflict. She explains that she once asked a respected monk whether monastics should engage socially or remain entirely focused on liberation. His answered the latter. Yet she also believes monks hold responsibility within society, especially because laypeople traditionally support them even during hardship, and she acknowledges a persistent internal conflict. At the same time, she avoids condemning monks harshly, noting the moral weight of verbal criticism and saying that doing so without true understanding “is like creating a sin.” That said, she notes that younger Burmese have become more willing to critique monastics, particularly those who enjoy privilege without contributing to the community in crisis. She sees this as a healthy trend, although she, herself, is still careful to balance her Buddhist restraint with her civic conscience.
Khaing Wai Wai Zaw’s awareness of privilege and responsibility extends to cultural preservation. She describes how the sasi jo objects reveal the social world of past Burmese communities: variations in spelling indicate different literacy levels, regional weaving styles mark local traditions, and changes from 1844 to 1970 reflect broader historical transitions. She feels grateful that museums safeguarded these artifacts during Myanmar’s unstable period, appreciating the labor required to protect fragile manuscripts.
Yet when the country is once again stable, she hopes that these artifacts will be returned to Myanmar, where she believes they belong. Her present work, she feels, contributes to a longer continuity of cultural memory that outlives political collapse and personal displacement.
“I’m a totally different person when I get on stage,” confesses Karen dancer and community leader Hsa Win. He explains that dance has long been part of his identity, even though his family once believed it “is not a serious job.” In this conversation, he reflects on the role dance has played in his life and in preserving the heritage of the his people.
Born in a refugee camp in Thailand after his family fled persecution in Burma, Hsa Win spent twelve years there before moving to the United States, where he became the first in his family to graduate from high school and attend college. People in America frequently misidentified him as Chinese or Nepali, which moved him to want to educate others about the Karen community. That impulse motivates him to perform at festivals, schools, and cultural events, where he can introduce audiences to the story of his people.
Hsa Win describes the broader landscape of Karen dance traditions, which include large group competitions in Burma, often involving thirty dancers accompanied by traditional instruments. Villages gather to perform these dances during Karen New Year celebrations. He also recounts the popularity of bamboo dances, in which dancers weave in and out of clapping bamboo poles, a tradition shared with several Southeast Asian cultures. These forms remain central expressions of Karen identity and collective celebration.
His fascination with Burmese spiritual dance began in high school, when he was researching mythology and encountered the pantheon of thirty-seven nat spirits in Burmese tradition. Although he grew up seeing spirit houses in Thailand and watching his mother make offerings before traveling, he had limited prior understanding of that belief system. Learning about the spirits and their stories “was eye opening,” and he eventually studied the dances associated with the nats.
Yet Hsa Win clarifies that his involvement in such dances is cultural rather than religious. “I’m not a nagada, or spirit medium,” he says, noting that while his grandmother served as a spirit medium for forty years, he himself dances to preserve cultural knowledge, not to invoke supernatural presence. he sometimes performs a small act of respect before dancing—offering fruit, candles, or incense—but he emphasizes that these gestures come from reverence for tradition, not a belief that he is channeling actual spirits.
Hsa Win discusses how costume and movement change his inner world. “Stage is my other universe,” he says, describing how his shyness disappears once he steps into character. The nats he portrays each have distinct personalities—like the bold masculinity of one deity, or the graceful maternal presence of some of the female spirits—and adopting these roles allows him to express parts of himself that he rarely accesses in ordinary life.
He notes that American viewers respond with surprise and admiration, especially at the flexibility and precision required for Karen and Burmese dance. Hsa Win takes joy in this, moving among spectators and drawing them into the performance. In Burma, he explains, communal witnessing is a vital part of spiritual-dance tradition, and he tries to recreate that atmosphere in the U.S.
Maintaining this heritage feels essential as she builds a life in Ohio. Recalling his mother’s instructions to “never forget where you came from,” he works to ensure young Karen people do not lose their language or cultural knowledge. He leads dance teams for Karen New Year, Martyrs’ Day, and wrist-tying ceremonies. Many teens initially struggle with the movements and want to quit, but she sees them return after a few weeks saying, “Teach me more,” they say. Their enthusiasm persuades him that passing on dance is a duty to future generations.
He closes with encouragement: “Continue to speak your language, learn your Karen dance, and share with the world.”
“Even though it’s already really adapted, that small fraction of tradition that you can see still holds so much heritage,” says researcher and artist Amy Khaing, describing how she developed a fascination with Burmese marionettes and the wider world of traditional Burmese arts. Her long-term study of these art forms reveals an unusually rich cultural inheritance that intertwines performance, religion, and political expression in ways unmatched elsewhere in Southeast Asia.
Amy explains that Burmese marionettes were originally created to fulfill a Buddhist prophecy described in the Jataka Tales, where puppets would be needed to convey particularly sacred tales because humans were prohibited from portraying certain characters, such as former Buddhas, devas, or exalted figures, etc. However, puppets could represent sacred stories without violating those religious norms, so they became essential transmitters of those special narratives. Over time, royal patronage shaped the evolution of both performances and the puppets, themselves; puppet shows became both cultural celebrations and tools of statecraft. She explains that puppeteers performed before the monarchy, and civilians sometimes asked them to embed political issues into their shows, allowing the king to hear criticism indirectly, because nonliving puppets could not be punished. The court, however, enforced strict limits, especially prohibiting jokes about kings or monks, since those institutions were regarded as central to the empire.
Amy’s own connection to this heritage began in Mandalay when she visited the Mandalay Marionette Theater with classmates. Although the show was modernized to appeal to tourists—featuring a backdrop and recorded music—she was captivated by the orchestra, the movement of the puppets, and the dedication of the performers. She remembers that the lighting, sound, and coordinated manipulation created a unique atmosphere. Conversations with puppeteers and subsequent visits to Bagan deepened her understanding of how marionettes embodied Burmese traditional arts.
She also reflects on why the art form has declined in Myanmar. After the British dismantled the monarchy, puppeteers lost the institutional support that had sustained them for generations. Economic hardship during colonialism and World War II limited public engagement, and once television and cinema became widespread, people no longer relied on marionettes for news, history, or entertainment. Traditional multi-day plays were shortened, and the social infrastructure that once safeguarded the craft faded.
Besides puppetry, Amy has developed a growing interest in another traditional art form: gnots, the engravings found on ancient pagodas. The elaborate swirls and other motifs symbolize religious themes, natural elements, and historical periods. The designs appear not only on pagodas, but on traditional Burmese textiles, including clothing patterns she encountered throughout her childhood. As a portrait artist, she hopes to digitize these motifs so she can integrate them into her work, though studying them from abroad is challenging.
Living in the United States has intensified Amy’s sense of Burmese identity. She explains that being so far from home makes her realize how much she once took for granted. Engaging with Burmese art has become both a form of personal grounding and a way to cope with homesickness. She feels increasing pride in representing a cultural heritage that is largely unfamiliar to those around her; displacement can sharpen appreciation for practices that once blended seamlessly into daily life.
She ends by urging others to cherish these traditions, saying that people should try to recognize their value more before they disappear.