Episode #134: Freedom Behind Bars
“I approached the prison authorities and asked for access to go and observe a [vipassana] meditation retreat inside the prisons, and to interview prisoners who had taken part in the retreats. And in the end, I got access to go to Insein central prison.” So describes Liv Gaborit about how she managed to land in Myanmar’s most notorious—and closed-off—prison in order to study how political prisoners were engaged in intensive meditation. Her research eventually led to an article, Visited by spirits; ‘Betwixt and between’ in meditation and solitary confinement in Myanmar, and a PhD dissertation, "We are Like Water in Their Hands;" experiences of imprisonment in Myanmar.
Gaborit is a social scientist with a background in psychology who worked with DIGNITY (the Danish Institute Against Torture), which is funded by the Danish Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Her first experience with prison research came in the form of an internship studying torture in the Philippines. Then, in 2014, with the democratic transition in full swing in Myanmar, she was able to take advantage of the wider freedoms to explore this very sensitive topic. “There was a need for prison research [in Myanmar],” she explains. “There was a need for understanding what's going on in these prisons, so they can be changed for the better. There was a need of understanding of why it is so problematic to have political prisoners, so this practice could be abolished. And there was virtually no existing prison research in the country!”
Gaborit had some prior meditation experience, mainly in the form of Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MDSR). The technique she was to study inside Insein, however, was vipassana meditation as taught by S.N. Goenka. As to how this practice found its way there, Gaborit was told a story about a high-level military figure who regretted his bloody actions in suppressing the 1988 democratic uprising. Seeking spiritual salvation, he traveled to India, where he took a course in the Goenka tradition and was determined to bring it back to the prison system in Myanmar. In order to better understand the project, Gaborit signed up for a ten-day course at a local Goenka center; she would later join group sittings in Yangon, and even in the prison.
Because a senior official had approved her visit, Gaborit had access to places within Insein that few foreigners had ever ventured into. She describes a prison that was built for 5,000 inmates, but had at that time a residency of 12,000. “Sometimes they sleep so close that they can’t turn around because there simply isn't space,” she recalls. “So then someone will ring a bell, to tell everybody that now we're turning, because that's the only way to turn around at the same time.”
Gaborit’s study centered on the experience of hearing voices. There was a contrast to be examined: on one hand, solitary confinement in any context can lead to a range of hallucinations and mental disorders; while on the other, during intensive meditation, seeing and hearing from invisible beings can be understood as a positive sign that one’s practice is deepening. Gaborit explains in more detail: “If they had these experiences with being visited by a spirit during a meditation, and they felt uncomfortable, they could open their eyes, and they will see that they were surrounded by people who were sitting calmly… [which] was enough to calm people down. Whereas in solitary confinement, there's nothing, there's not even anything to look at besides the four walls of your cell, there is no stimulus.”
To illustrate this, Gaborit relates an interview she had with a monk who had taken part in the 2007 Saffron Revolution. Alone in his cell, he began to hear a host of unwelcome voices trying to convince him that the Tatmadaw was in fact a force for good, and that he had become manipulated by Western influences in his quest for democracy. Even though the monk had ample prior experience meditating and even living under austere conditions, he could not cope with this new experience. “Without his Saṅgha brothers, it wasn't the same,” Gaborit says. “Without his community, he couldn't do meditation…under the circumstances, even though he had extensive experience.”
A second factor Gaborit points to is whether one has been forced into a situation or is choosing it freely. “It underlines exactly how horrible an experience solitary confinement can be. If we compare it to monks going into to solitary conditions themselves and sitting in a cave for years, there's still a difference.” While a monastic engaged in solitary practice and one in solitary confinement both have limited social contact, in the latter’s case, it was mostly in the form of vicious beatings.
Another important factor that Gaborit points to is the presence of metta, or loving-kindness. When political prisoners hear voices on meditation courses, metta is in the environment and cushions the experience. Yet because of circumstances that the abovementioned monk found himself in, he was unable to access the metta which could have helped him. Again, Gaborit explains why: “Metta means being related to someone, it means that you need to have someone to give it to and receive it from. Whereas, when you sit there in solitary confinement, you become what some researchers call ‘unhinged.’ You become unhinged from all the social relations that make up not only your life, but also part of who you are part of yourself. And I think metta is a great example of how our selves are socially constituted, and solitary confinement and the way the side all falls apart and becomes unhinged from himself. And also maybe an explanation of why meditation makes sense in this world that we live in.”
Although an intensive meditation course in any context often brings up a host of difficulties for the practitioner, a teacher is always on hand to guide and comfort students—and send them metta. This was also true for the political prisoners on the prison course, and the result of that positive energy was remarkable. “After they've gone through the meditation retreats, they can calmly witness the spirits coming, be kind, give them loving kindness, and let them leave again without fear. But also in their interaction with other prisoners, they can show the same kindness.”
Gaborit recalls one prisoner who was a former soldier. He had committed unspeakable acts of violence, yet didn’t have any regrets as he believed that he had just been following orders. But on the course, the wrongs of his past actions came back in full force. “I just imagine how it must have been for him to sit through the first Vipassana retreats, and deal with this realization of having caused so much pain and suffering for others, and not having known how wrong that was,” Gaborit says. “And then to come to a place where he felt at relative peace, that he was now living in accordance with values that he could stand behind, but that he couldn't really change anything about his past. And that he knew that he was carrying a lot of bad karmic energy with him because of the actions he had committed.”
Gaborit finds that two major factors in her study—meditation and the prison system—are both quite relevant in the wake of the violent military coup and ongoing resistance. Concerning practice, Gaborit says, “Meditation is very important for the mental health of the resistance movement. It's a very good tool to deal with being in a situation where you're surrounded by so much trauma and so much pain. We have to remember that it's okay to step back for a moment to take care of yourself, and that this will enable you to fight for the good cause, in the long run… The resistance movement has to take care of themselves, and meditation is one way to do that. It's a way to look inside yourself, and to shield yourself against the terror that the junta is spreading.” She points to the recent state execution of Ko Jimmy, and how his last words to his family spoke of his meditation practice and understanding of karma. Beyond this, Gaborit notes how even if resistance fighters hiding in the jungle can’t do formal sitting meditation for hours, there are still ways they can apply mindfulness tools to decrease their stress and improve their balance of mind.
In terms of the prison system and its link to the broader context of Tatmadaw oppression, she explains that the situation is not black and white, that one must look at everyone with a kind of humanity. “The prison guards inside the prisons are not necessarily all evil. Not all Tatmadaw officers are necessarily evil, but they're caught within a system where they have to commit evil actions. And sometimes they can find small pockets within their system where they are also able to behave decently.”
What began as a research project has transformed into something far larger for Gaborit: her own life trajectory has been radically altered. After the coup, Gaborit left her position in academia to become a full-time activist, and co-founded Myanmar Action Group Denmark.
“If I was truly going to stay with some sense of integrity, after working with people in Myanmar for so many years, and after learning about all the struggles that they've lived through, then I felt that what I had to do was to support them in their fight, as well as I could, and creating academic knowledge about how they survive the crisis just wasn't the way,” she explains. “We're working to support the people of Myanmar in the ways we can by raising awareness and by raising funds to the resistance and to the civilians who are fleeing Myanmar.”