In The Presence Of Greatness

Outside the Grand Canal Theatre, reporters, camera crews and hundreds of spectators are waiting for the most famous recent political prisoner in the world, Aung San Suu Kyi, to walk along a tiny red carpet.

There’s also a small outdoor stage in the distance, where, in an hour or two, local musicians will entertain those who didn’t get tickets for tonight’s event, and where the legendary freedom fighter, lovingly known to her admirers as Daw Suu, will officially receive the Freedom of the City of Dublin – originally awarded to her in 2000 – and address the Irish public. But first there is Electric Burma, the cheekily-named show that a 2,000-strong crowd is here to see. It is the hottest ticket in town: as recently as today, tickets were for sale online at €250 a pair, five times the original price.
With Daw Suu still to appear, an announcement summons us into the theatre, where the crowd is almost as star-studded as the line-up: politicians, actors, musicians, presenters and journalists crowd the room, hoping that some of this woman’s goodness and grace might rub off on them.
Earning the only standing ovation of the night, Daw Suu makes a positively regal entrance. Wearing a black patterned dress with a bright yellow silk scarf draped around her neck and fresh gardenias in her hair, she looks exactly how I thought she would: noble and beautiful, a singular pillar of serenity among the madness. She waves and takes her seat in the 12th row, between fellow Nobel prize winner Seamus Heaney and Bono, who has been acting as her tour guide for the Irish leg of her trip. Earlier in the day, the U2 front man told journalists that he was completely “star-struck” by the lady from Burma, and I know exactly what he means.
So what do you sing to a woman who changed the world? Electric Burma works as a sort of showbiz goody bag: an assortment of entertainment, across dozens of cultures and artforms. It starts with a performance of Riverdance, which worries me (‘Here’s a woman who’s done something truly unique, so let’s give her the same old schtick we trot out for everyone!’), but my quintessentially Irish cynicism can rest easy, as we’re in for a handful of dynamite performances.
Declan O’Rourke’s soulful rendition of John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ accompanied by an aerial silk dancer is unshakably powerful, while African diva Angélique Kidjo all but blows the roof off the venue with a triumphant a cappella version of Bob Marley’s ‘Redemption Song’. In contrast, the spellbinding sound of violinist Martin Hayes is very calm and lovely, perfectly befitting the woman we’re here to honour.
Tibetan singer-songwriter Yungchen Lhamo, currently living in exile in New York City, similarly steals the show with what is easily the most striking voice I’ve ever heard. Joined by Donal Lunny on guitar, she performs a song she wrote for Daw Suu with the help of an eager chorus, provided by us, the audience. Damien Rice and Vyvienne Long also perform a song written specially for our guest of honour, along with a haunting version of ‘The Blower’s Daughter’. Far stranger is a booming set by rapper Lupe Fiasco who breezes through chart hit ‘Superstar’, a song inspired by Mariah Carey. But even if the Chicago man has no idea who he’s rapping for, he does have a point. During intermission, Daw Suu proves herself to be nothing less than a tiny little rock star, as fans flock to her side, asking for autographs, photos, or even a hug.
Some of the show has been tailored specifically to Daw Suu’s taste, including the Bono-led group version of Bob Marley’s ‘Get Up, Stand Up’, which is said to be her favourite song. An uncountable number of performances make up the human rights-themed extravaganza, which is studded with readings of several Heaney poems by Vanessa Redgrave, Bob Geldof, Saoirse Ronan, Jack Gleeson and more. In the middle of all this, Aung San Suu Kyi is presented with Amnesty’s Ambassador of Conscience award, the highest honour bestowed by the organisation.
The curtains are finally drawn on the three-hour show so I make my way outside. Daw Suu’s Burmese-Irish followers have lined the front of the outdoor stage, onlookers have scrambled onto their partners’ shoulders and drinkers in the Ely wine bar across the street have all put down their glasses. Before long, she appears, and after obliging yet more photo ops, she speaks.
“This will be one of the unforgettable days of my life,” she says. “You have stood by us in our times of trouble. These troubles are not yet all over and I am confident that you will continue to stand with us.” When she tells the crowd, ‘You are a part of my heart’, she says it touching her chest.
She is a proper rock star, easily more captivating and influential than anyone else in recent memory. As it should be...