The Dragon's Voice

by Bunty Avieson

  After the first newspapers started hitting the streets of Thimphu and reaching the remote villages, the family set about determining a specific vision for the newspaper. There was more to this than just a printing business; they had a social responsibility. How could they do that justice? What did it mean? They knew what they didn’t want – celebrity scandals, page-three girls, and Hollywood or Bollywood starlets. That would not benefit their society. So how could a newspaper perform within the context of the nation’s prevailing Buddhist principles? How could they reflect and reinforce the best of Bhutan? How could they provide a counterpoint to outside culture coming in through Indian television?

  Phuntsho and Tenzin invited some of Bhutan’s most respected intellectuals, from senior monks to teachers, to be part of a conclave to help them work it out. None were businesspeople: Phuntsho and Tenzin weren’t thinking in terms of profit. Rather, the family wanted their newspaper to benefit the community, so they chose people who were well known for their integrity and wisdom.

  After a day of lively discussion they ended up with a thoroughly Bhutanese mission statement for their newspaper.

  Bhutan Observer guiding principles

  That all things exist in interdependence is an age-old wisdom, and we at Bhutan Observer truly believe in this. We recognise that we are an integral part of this society and have a role to play in reporting the news in a fair and balanced way. Our sole objective is to uphold and strengthen the values and principles that bind this small but great kingdom together. We are a voice with a conscience, and our efforts are aimed at enriching people’s lives through unbiased content intended to inform, educate and entertain.

  The world is in constant flux, often changing at a confusing pace, and only through recognising our relationship with our surroundings and by active participation in events that shape our lives can we create conditions for a positive future. As a media agency, it is our honour to provide opportunity for such reflection and interaction.

  From the start, Phuntsho wanted ‘a truly Bhutanese newspaper’ – Bhutanese voices telling Bhutanese stories, not material downloaded from the internet. She felt there was enough coverage of international news and celebrities on cable television. She wanted stories about daily life in Bhutan. She built up a team of reporters in Thimphu, and four rural correspondents provided a stream of fascinating features from the villages: the town where men believe their wives have crooked vaginas; the ghost that lives in a rock; and the elderly couple doing a three-year pilgrimage around the country, falling to their knees at each step to lay their forehead on the ground.

  The decorative icons of each section, or dinkuses as they are known in newspaper rooms, are distinctly Bhutanese. The opinion page is represented by a lit butter lamp to symbolise the illumination brought to difficult issues; the features page uses a face removing a mask to symbolise showing us ourselves; and the insights page, the spiritual heart of the paper, has a decorative sword to symbolise cutting through delusion to achieve clarity and wisdom.

  Mal and I followed the newspaper launch from our home in Sydney. Mal had finished Travellers & Magicians and was marketing it around the world, and I had written A Baby in a Backpack to Bhutan, a memoir about the making of the film, and had started teaching various journalism subjects at university. Phuntsho sent us the first editions of Bhutan Observer, which Mal and I pored over, before emailing back our comments. For the next 18 months we continued to swap emails about Bhutan Observer’s progress and family news. Then Phuntsho had an idea. Would the three of us consider coming to Bhutan for a year? Mal and I could help her and Tenzin navigate this brave new world of media, and I could teach journalism skills to the reporters and editors.

  It was an intriguing idea and we were considering it when one afternoon, as we sat in traffic on Parramatta Road, Kathryn, aged six, asked from the back seat:

  ‘Want longer lasting sex?’

  She was reading aloud from a lurid red and yellow billboard spruiking a dodgy nasal spray.

  ‘What does that mean?’ she asked.

  Mal and I looked at each other. We could leave behind Sydney’s traffic jams and consumer culture, to spend a year with Phuntsho’s family working on their new newspaper?

  Yes please.

  2

  Excellent Abundance

  Bhutan is a landlocked country of about 47,000 square kilometres – roughly the size of Switzerland. Wedged between China and India, it is like a pebble between two massive boulders. Only eight pilots in the world are qualified to fly into Paro, weaving around the 5,500-metre peaks and skimming above farmhouse roofs to land at what the Daily Mail has called the world’s most dangerous airport.

  Phuntsho picks us up, and we immediately see that Bhutan has moved into the communications age: two mobile phones dangle from lanyards around her neck. Five years ago her family was one of the few households in Thimphu to have a landline phone. It was on an impossibly long, tangled cord, which the family carried up and down the stairs, only for the connection to drop out. Now mobile phones are so commonplace that Phuntsho has one to make calls and one to receive calls, thereby getting the best of both deals offered by two competing phone carriers. As we bounce along the national highway in the company jeep, she keeps in touch with her printers, monitoring the progress of the week’s new edition as it rolls off the presses.

  Thimphu, Bhutan’s capital, sits in a high-altitude valley surrounded by slopes covered in cypress and pine. People live in suburbs scattered along a winding river, the Wang Chhu, lined with willows. I notice satellite dishes on house roofs or half-hidden in garden shrubbery. They are illegal and prolific.

  Phuntsho has organised everything. Kathryn will attend school with her ten-year-old daughter, Renee. The Bhutanese government won’t give working visas to both halves of a couple, so this time Mal will be the full-time parent. The United Nations Development Program will pay me a subsistence wage for three months, and after that … well, Phuntsho says she will figure something out. She has rented us a three-bedroom apartment a street away from hers in Lower Motithang, a middle-class suburb full of similar apartment blocks. There is a small grocery shop on the ground floor, and our apartment is up four flights of stairs. She has borrowed enough furnishings from her extended family for us to be comfortable. Kathryn’s wardrobe is a grey office filing cabinet, and we sleep under a doona covered in pictures of Second World War tattoos.

  Our living room has a wall of windows. It takes us just two days to realise that this is a problem: the apartment block next door is so close – a couple of metres away – that neighbours over three levels can see right in. Once they discover that foreigners have moved in, we become their favourite pastime. They line up at their windows to watch us. Westerners who make it to Bhutan usually come to trek on one of its world-renowned mountains. They might spend a day in Thimphu buying souvenirs in the main street, but they don’t move in next door.

  At first we smile politely and wave back, hoping our novelty will wear off. It doesn’t and we feel like exhibits in a zoo. We learn to live with the curtains closed.

  Phuntsho drives us to a shop in the main street to buy Kathryn’s uniform for Sunshine School. It is an Aladdin’s cave of interconnecting rooms with towering bundles of woven cloth lining every wall. The woman behind the counter asks the name of Kathryn’s school and her age, and then pulls out a pale pink silk undershirt, called the wonju, which has no buttons or zips but sleeves that reach to her knees. Over the top of this, the woman wraps a green, purple and pink striped kira, whipping it back and forth, making folds at the front and back, tucking and poking, then securing it at the shoulders with large pink nappy pins. Kathryn is fascinated.

  Another woman brings a long woven belt in pink and green stripes. She tells Kathryn to breathe in as they wrap it round and round her waist, pulling tightly. When I protest they just laugh, telling me it has to be tight, very tight. It is the Bhutanese way. Finally they
produce a toego, the jacket, which is the same vivid green as the stripe in the kira. They roll the undershirt’s long sleeves back over the jacket cuffs, and, after some more tucking and poking, pin the jacket closed with another nappy pin.

  Kathryn looks gorgeous – elegant and exotic, all three feet of her. This is my school uniform, she mouths to Mal and me, her eyes large and round. It sure beats the navy skirt and yellow shirt of her Sydney primary school.

  On the first school morning, Phuntsho and Renee come over to show us how to re-create this ensemble. I take notes and draw diagrams. Start on the right at the back. First corner on the left shoulder, wrap back and around, pin, drape, fold. Pin at the right shoulder. Tuck. Secure back fold. Wrap the belt tightly. Create a pocket at the chest. The flap should be at the front on the left. If it’s on the right, you’ve blown it. Start again. It is like a Rubik’s cube made out of fabric, and I start to dread being left alone in a room with one. Phuntsho promises that she and Renee will come every morning before school until we are confident we can do it on our own.

  A few minutes’ walk from our new home is Changangkha Lhakhang, a stunning 12th-century temple where mothers bring their children to be blessed. They climb the ancient stone steps, carrying offerings of butter for the lamps. Old women spend daylight hours shuffling around the temple, spinning prayer wheels as they go, sending blessings into the world. Phuntsho brought me here in 2002 when Mal was away filming and Kathryn was an eight-month-old baby who wouldn’t sleep. I remember climbing the 108 worn stone steps, passing other women, babies tied to their backs with shawls. Kathryn and I were near demented from lack of sleep but after that visit we both slept like … babies. I have a big soft spot for this lhakhang.

  Phuntsho brings us here before our first workday to make offerings and light butter lamps. She seeks blessings for Kathryn as she starts at her new school, and makes aspirations that together she and I may bring compassion and wisdom to the newspaper office.

  Bhutan Observer takes up the top two floors of a new building at the end of Thimphu’s main street, Norzin Lam. There are about 50 people on staff. Founding editor-in-chief Dr Sonam Kinga has moved on to government as he had hoped. The newspaper has had two editors-in-chief in the two years since, and is currently run by Needrup Zangpo, a former researcher in the Ministry of Education. He has little media experience, but he is passionate about the newspaper and is learning the job by doing it.

  The reporters, men and women in their early twenties, work at computers in partitioned work stations, while the section editors (news, features and arts), all men in their thirties, have small glass-walled offices. There is a little balcony, out of view of the editors, where two-thirds of the staff sneak off for a cigarette. Bhutan made world headlines when it became the world’s first non-smoking nation in December 2004, with the sale of tobacco declared to be illegal. Three months later it banned smoking in public spaces. The fine is Nu.10,900, or A$300, the equivalent of two months’ salary for the average civil servant. The ban hasn’t stopped smoking, just increased its rebellious appeal; cigarettes are bought in India and sold on the black market. Smoking is popular among the reporters and advertising staff.

  I work closely with Phuntsho, writing business proposals and discussing all the challenges faced by a fledgling media mogul in this new democracy. I imagine some are the headaches of media proprietors everywhere. Others are uniquely hers.

  Editorial isn’t meeting the Thursday-night deadline. Two government departments haven’t paid their advertising bills this month, so it will be a struggle to pay staff. She doesn’t have enough cars to deliver the newspapers around Thimphu. Distribution to other parts of the country is taking days, so our news is old by the time it arrives, whereas Kuensel owns a printing press in the east, so their news is always fresh. The Dzongkha edition is expensive to produce and attracts no advertising, but the licence requires the company to continue to publish it.

  Phuntsho is full of ideas to make the newspaper better, but she doesn’t have enough staff. She needs reporters, editors for the different sections, and IT personnel for a new webpage. There are rumours of new newspapers coming, which will compete for the already limited numbers of readers, advertisers and staff.

  The name Phuntsho Wangmo means ‘powerful mother of excellent abundance’, and it suits her. She and her husband share a grand vision for the newspaper. While Tenzin previously ran the printing presses of his family’s publishing company, her own background is in hotel management. She worked for a year at a famous 15th-century hotel in Austria, known for accommodating Mozart, before returning to Bhutan to run the family’s hardware shop. While she has no experience in media, she recognises its power and possibilities. She is also one of those people who are successful in whatever they choose to do. It’s a combination of ideas, energy and a terrier-like quality – she just doesn’t give up.

  She starts her day before dawn in the shrine room of her apartment, saying prayers and making offerings, as a way to counteract the human habit of selfishness and instead to practise giving. Every morning she reaffirms her commitment to benefit all sentient beings and it’s in that frame of mind that she arrives at the office. I marvel at it every day.

  Phuntsho puts me in an office next door to hers, and most mornings she calls me in to discuss a new idea that has occurred to her overnight. Anything could have triggered it – a story on BBS news the previous evening, a chance remark from another parent as she drops her daughter at school, or something that’s happening in her extended family.

  One morning she is worried about education. How can we improve the children’s pages? What do children need? How can we get them involved, encourage them? Before her handbag hits her desk we are planning new puzzles and listing possible sponsors to provide free copies to schools.

  Another morning she is unhappy that young people moving to Thimphu are losing respect for the traditional life of the farmer. ‘How can the newspaper reawaken respect for our farmers?’ she asks. ‘They are the real Bhutanese.’

  After a visit to Thimphu’s glamorous new five-star, Indian-owned Taj Tashi hotel, she is concerned that Buddhist symbols are being used as decorations. The reception desk is adorned with a painting of Buddha’s head, door handles are designed to resemble ceremonial trumpets, and a fountain is in the shape of a huge butter lamp. The experience crystallises something that has been annoying her for weeks. She points out that a Thimphu meat shop has taken the name OM, the sacred Sanskrit word. Bhutanese airline stewardesses are wearing half-kiras with modern toegos. Phuntsho thinks they look more Thai than Bhutanese.

  ‘We must stop this cultural dilution. It is not good for Bhutan,’ she says. We plan a lift-out about Bhutanese culture, inviting spiritual leaders and government ministers to contribute.

  When I’m not with Phuntsho I run weekly writing workshops, attend news conferences and edit stories for the newspaper. On deadline night, Thursday, I sit with the editors, suggesting headings and captions and helping to lay out pages.

  I have to constantly adjust my understanding of news principles to fit with the Bhutanese view of the world. Sometimes I find myself in a parallel universe, trying to rationally discuss the news value of something completely non-rational.

  One Thursday evening we discuss a caption for a photo of a baby born with four arms. I see the child and feel sad, thinking in terms of deformity and disability. But I realise with surprise that the arts editor is thinking in terms of the divine: he sees the baby as a form of the Buddhist deity Mahakala, who is often depicted with four arms. Mahakala represents ultimate reality and is highly revered, so having Mahakala in your family is a gift. The news value in the story is to celebrate the child’s sacredness.

  The discussion reminds Needrup of a Kuensel story a few years earlier. A boy from the country’s east was recognised as the reincarnation of his family’s bull, which had died ten years earlier. As a toddler he used to climb down the stair
s to where the animals slept. His parents would find him in the morning curled up asleep in the bull’s old pen. He had a very thick neck and even in Grade 5 preferred to walk on all fours. The boy would be about 14 now, and together we discuss what he might be like. Does he still behave like a bull? Needrup thinks it is time for a follow-up. A perfect story for Bhutan Observer’s feature pages.

  Phuntsho has been planning a special magazine to celebrate 100 years of the Wangchuck dynasty to coincide with the coronation in two months, and she asks me to take over as editor. This is the company’s first attempt at producing a glossy magazine for sale, and if it works, they might do more. One of my first tasks is to write some advertisements for potential advertisers. Phuntsho says people would like to buy space to praise the outgoing King and welcome the new King. This is how Bhutanese businesses advertise – they don’t say come to our petrol station or visit our shop; they say we love our King. With absolutely no idea what I’m doing, I have a go at writing some copy: ‘Congratulations to our glorious new King. May his reign be long and harmonious.’

  I show it to Phuntsho. I can tell by her wan smile that it isn’t what she wanted. I haven’t fully appreciated the attitude to the King. I have to write more, much more. I have another go:

  Humble felicitations to the wise and compassionate leadership of our ruling dynasty for all the glories of the past 100 years and welcome His Majesty Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck to the Dragon Throne. On the auspicious occasion of his coronation we, his loyal subjects, offer our unwavering dedication and devotion. Long may he reign. All glory to our beloved Druk Gyalpo.

  Phuntsho grins when I show it to her. She says I’m beginning to get the hang of it. I come up with 100 variations, each more flowery than the last. My tributes are bought by businesses and families, even regions, wanting to publicly honour their new King. They pay for a quarter of a page, a half-page or a full page.