Australia's stand-up comedians have a healthy disrespect for authority, but how many would still be standing in the face of prison or worse? Paul Livingston pays tribute to Burma's Moustache Brothers.

Last Friday one of Burma's most popular comedians, U Par Par Lay, died quietly at the age of 67 after 30 years of performing.

Hostile crowds were never a worry for this beloved performer. Burma's totalitarian military government, however, failed to get the joke.

U Par Par Lay was the founding member of The Moustache Brothers, a trio whose loyal fans included Aung San Suu Kyi. On January 4, 1996, U Par Par Lay was enjoying a taste of freedom after six years of imprisonment for daring to mildly criticise the government.

We are not talking here of the scathing, in-your-face satire of a Lenny Bruce or a George Carlin - the Moustache Brothers were fun for the whole family. Yet they didn't shirk from exposing the foibles of those in power, as every jester must, no matter where the court. They were the Clarke and Dawe of Burmese comedy. The Burmese government was not amused.

On the day of U Par Par Lay's release, thousands had gathered outside Aung San Suu Kyi's Rangoon compound for an unauthorised celebration on Burma's Independence Day.

As soldiers loyal to the dictatorship surrounded the crowd, a special guest was announced on the makeshift stage. Out stepped U Par Par Lay, fresh from prison, to roars of approval. As they say in the comedy game, he slaughtered it.

The soldiers failed to crack a smile and the humble comedian soon found himself, along with fellow Moustache Brother U Lu Zaw, back in prison, shackled in leg irons and deprived of visits by friends or family for another six years.

The Moustache Brothers exhibited no crass bitterness toward their brutal leaders. It was not rage that they were maintaining. They were merely pointing out the odd flaw, with a light heart.

Yet still this minor act of passive humorous aggression struck enough terror into the military leadership to prompt it to imprison and isolate its practitioners. Apparently, humour can be a potent weapon - kryptonite to the ears of despots.

Our local comedians are free to bag those in authority with unbridled relish and bravely risk metaphorical death every night on stage, but were they under threat of imprisonment, torture and hard labour, I wonder how many of our stand-up comedians would be left upstanding?

Still, we can be confident our comedians are safe for the moment. Australia has a long and healthy history of leaders themselves armed with razor sharp wits who were not afraid to use them. Paul Keating and Gough Whitlam spring to mind.

Admittedly, there has been a dearth of mirth in the corridors of power of late. The feeble bon mots of our current leaders make Alexander Downer's classic room clearer "the things that batter" take on Oscar Wildeian proportions in comparison.

Taking and receiving the piss is a great old Aussie pastime, yet this lot don't seem to be able to bear even a trickle of urine being extracted from them without crying foul. Some might say it is due to political correctness gone wild, but how can something so tame as political correctness grow teeth?

Our leaders need to lift their jocular game, but somehow I can't imagine having my left or right side split by Tony Abbott any time in the near future, and I have the distinct feeling that very soon Kevin Rudd will be laughing on the other side of his faceless men. Mind you, Clive Palmer does provide the odd giggle.

But seriously, folks.

In 2002, when U Par Par Lay was released from prison for the second time, the Burmese government banned the Moustache Brothers from performing in public. Nonetheless, for the past decade they continued to perform in a garage in the darkened backstreets of Mandalay, mainly to foreign tourists, drawn by word of mouth to a tiny stage surrounded by a dozen plastic chairs, the walls plastered with photos of Aung San Suu Kyi and assorted foreign dignitaries attending one of the shows.

In a recent interview, U Par Par Lay remained confident the government would lift its ban and they would be free to tour. His wish was to be around for the 2015 election, which he believed would be the greatest moment for his country. He didn't get his wish but from all accounts he died a happy man.

Even though the Burmese government shows no signs of revoking its ban on fun, U Par Par Lay's intelligent but gentle humour managed to survive one of the world's most heartless regimes and will live on.

One of U Par Par Lay's personal favourites was about walking into a dental clinic in India to have his toothache treated. The Indian dentist wondered why the Burmese man has come all the way to India.

"Don't you have dentists in Myanmar?" he asks.

"Oh, yes, we do, doctor," Mr Par Par Lay says. "But in Myanmar, we are not allowed to open our mouths."

Paul Livingston is a writer, public speaker and comedian. View his full profile here.

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