‘Mouthpiece’ and ‘arena’? – social(ist) media in contemporary Laos

ABSTRACT

This article addresses a critical lacuna in the scholarship on South East Asian media: the lack of a general overview of the media and social media landscape in the Lao People's Democratic Republic. It provides an historically-grounded introduction to the country's traditional media (print, loudspeakers, radio, television, cinema) and offers reflections on the impact of digital/social media on state-society relations. In so doing, I argue that it is an oversimplification to reduce the Lao party-state's stance on media and social media solely to repression and control. In recent decades in particular, market forces, technology and global integration have blended with the Marxist-Leninist state's long-proclaimed pursuit of popular participation to tentatively (re)open spaces for an under-acknowledged level of diversity. Despite ongoing restrictions engendered by the ruling party's continuing pretence to being the final arbiter between ‘truth' and ‘untruth', ‘beneficial' and ‘subversive’ critique, a surprisingly open country-specific media and social media landscape is cautiously emerging in contemporary Laos. Making this case, I bring Laos into conversation with similar arguments made for neighbouring Vietnam, paving the way for more considered inclusion of the Lao PDR in comparative analysis of South East Asian media dynamics.

KEYWORDS:

• Media
• social media
• internet
• Laos
• Marxism-Leninism

‘The State attends to improving and expanding mass media activities for the purpose of national protection and development. All cultural and mass media activities which are detrimental to national interests or the fine traditional culture and dignity of the Lao people are prohibited’. (Lao PDR Constitution, Art. 23)

In scholarship on South East Asian media, the Lao People’s Democratic Republic (Lao PDR or Laos) has been neglected. Analyses of the region’s media landscape mention Laos in passing or not at all (e.g. Burrett and Kingston 2020; Sinpeng and Tapsell 2020). Laos-focused studies are few, far between and largely concentrate on the diaspora (e.g. Baird 2019; Chapman 2004; Mayes 2009). While some writings on other issues touch on the topic tangentially (e.g. Baird 2018; Petit 2013a), a basic general overview of media in Laos is lacking. This article addresses this gap, providing both an overview of Lao PDR media and reflections on digital/social media’s impact on contemporary state–society relations.

My overarching argument is twofold. Firstly, media dynamics must be placed in country-specific historical contexts. Recently, scholars of South East Asia’s media landscape have called for more ethnographically and historically informed studies on how states and citizens view the role of media in society (Neo 2022, 1921; Sinpeng and Tapsell 2020). Kingston (2020, 12), for instance, notes that an idealized Western model may not be best for analysing media in South East Asia and that different models may be considered functional and legitimate within their own historical, cultural and socio-political settings. To be sure, naively misplaced ‘Asian values’-type relativism does not excuse increasing restrictions and manipulations by backsliding democratic or resilient authoritarian states throughout the region (Burrett and Kingston 2020).¹ Nevertheless, grand narratives of a ‘battle’ (Burrett 2020, 24; Xia and Shen 2020, 379) between liberal activists and repressive elites risk oversimplifying complex, historically grounded dynamics (Lim 2023, 25) – not least by (implicitly) reducing state motivations to govern the media to mere power politics (e.g. Bünte 2020; Luong 2020; Neo 2022). Tempering such cynicism with due scholarly consideration of other (professed) motivations – e.g. desires to educate, unite, mobilize and/or protect stability – can help yield more nuanced analyses. Secondly, and concomitantly, I argue that it is a distorting simplification to reduce the Lao state’s stance on the media to repression and control. To be sure, here too clampdown and fear are real and inhibiting factors: citing ‘restrictive laws’, ‘intimidation tactics’, ‘self-censorship’ and state ownership of ‘nearly all media’, Freedom House (2023) gives Laos a score of 0/4 on ‘free and independent media’. Yet the Lao PDR is not an ‘unambiguously closed-authoritarian’ (Bünte 2020, 200) ‘information black hole’ in which ‘the state exerts complete control over the media’ (Reporters Without Borders 2023) and ‘relentlessly cracks down on free speech’ (Lim 2023, 31, 37). In recent decades in particular, markets, technology and globalization have blended with the party-state’s longstanding pursuit of popular appeal, ‘collective mastery’ and constructive criticism to tentatively (re)open spaces for an underacknowledged plethora of voices. Making this case, I join similar arguments made by scholars of Vietnam, South East Asia’s other (nominally) Marxist-Leninist state and the erstwhile political mentor of the Lao PDR (e.g. Nguyen-Pochan 2022). Giang (2018, 898), for instance, considers it ‘misleading’ to talk about Vietnamese media governance with a sole focus on restriction. Kerkvliet (2019) describes a ‘responsive-repressive’ Vietnamese party-state where authorities ‘often take seriously’ the notion that government is ‘of the people, for the people, and by the people’. State–society relations in Vietnam, he argues, are also ‘dialogical’, with multiple avenues for popular participation, feedback and critique. According to Kerkvliet, this responsiveness helps account for the resilience of Vietnam’s authoritarian regime, ‘without downplaying repression’ (145, emphasis added). As I will show, much the same applies to Laos,

This article begins with an historical overview of the Lao party-state’s traditional media apparatus (print, loudspeakers, radio, television, cinema). Here, I identify a tension in official views on the media as both a ‘mouthpiece’ (kaboksiang) of the party-state and an ‘arena’ (veti) for ‘democratic’ expression. I then examine how this tension is shaping the – very much ongoing – rise of the internet and social media in Laos. I propose that while interconnectivity has enhanced debate and diversity, both Lao media outlets and social media users continue to be expected to toe the party line. Despite widespread changes, the notion that ultimately the media must propagate and mobilize for party-led national development remains firmly entrenched, crucially circumscribing a nevertheless surprisingly diverse and open media landscape. Having made this case, I conclude with some thoughts on China’s increasing role in shaping media and social media dynamics in Laos.

Traditional media

Laos is a landlocked, mountainous and ethnically diverse nation-state at the heart of mainland South East Asia. Its population of roughly 7.5 million comprises fifty officially recognized ethnicities (sonphao). In reality, however, there may be over 200 ethnolinguistic groups in Laos today, with no clear majority in 80% of the country (Lutz 2022a, 172). Compounded by conflict and friction of terrain, this diversity historically inhibited nation-building efforts and, concomitantly, the development of a common national media landscape (Wolfson-Ford n.d.).

Since 1975, Laos has been a Marxist-Leninist one-party state led by a revolutionary vanguard pursuing an all-round ‘educative transformation’ of society (Creak 2018; High 2021, 13). The ruling Lao People’s Revolutionary Party (LPRP) considers itself both the embodiment of the nation’s collective will and the agent of a culturally-specific form of (socialist) modernity. Concomitantly, the party has long expected the media to play ‘an important role in the ideological and political struggle … for building a bright new system’ (SWB 1976c). LPRP leader and founding Lao PDR prime minister Kaysone Phomvihane saw media outlets ‘serving political tasks’, ‘propagating and mobilizing’ for ‘the attitude, line and policies of the Party … at grassroots level’ (SWB 1978b). With the LPRP’s seizure of power and proclamation of the Lao PDR, independent newspapers, radio stations and printing presses were either shut down or brought under state control, where most remain today (SWB 1977). The Media Law of Laos (promulgated in 2008, revised in 2016) affirms the media’s role as mouthpieces of the party, state and society (as represented by the mass organizations), tasked with ‘teaching’ (seuksaophom) the party line, government laws and policies (GoL 2016, 1 Art. 1, 2, 5 No. 1).

The bedrock and nexus of the Lao party-state’s media apparatus is the official news agency, Khaosan Pathet Lao (KPL). Founded in 1968 as the press agency of the LPRP’s revolutionary front, KPL proclaims itself Laos’s ‘main information source’, responsible for collecting, producing and disseminating news, guidance and commentary to print, broadcast and online media across the country² (SWB 1968; 1974). All of Laos’s six national television channels, roughly two dozen newspapers, eighty radio stations, almost 100 magazines and various online platforms are expected to take lead from KPL (Wagstaff 2010, 51).³

Print

Newspapers in the Lao PDR are associated with official organs of the party-state. They serve as representatives and mouthpieces of their respective institutions. The newspaper of the LPRP is the daily Pasaxon (‘The People’). Founded in 1975 as Siang Pasaxon (‘Voice of the People’), Pasaxon considers itself both the ‘genuine organ of the entire Lao people’ and, along with KPL’s daily newspaper Pathet Lao, a key ‘instrument’ (khueangmeu) for disseminating the party line (SWB 1975; 1976c).⁴ Mass organizations and government ministries also have their own newspapers, as do the Lao military, police and National Assembly. The Lao Women’s Union, for instance, has published its own weekly/monthly paper, Maenying Lao (‘Lao Woman’) since 1980, while the Lao Ministry of Industry and Commerce has published the daily Setthakhit Kankha (‘Economy and Trade’) since 1994⁵ (LNTV 2015.). The Ministry of Information, Culture and Tourism (MICT) launched an official English-language newspaper, Vientiane Times, in 1994 and a French-language weekly, Le Rénovateur, in 1998 (Wagstaff 2010, 50).

Party-state organs also publish magazines. The Lao Women’s Union, for instance, releases the bimonthly Saolao (‘Lao Girl/Young Woman’). The July-August 2022 issue includes advisory pieces on female etiquette, manners, health and lifestyle, as well as sports reports, recipes, poetry, a (not well-ageing) piece on Liz Truss and relationship advice given in the conversational-educational, elder-younger question-answer format long popular in LPRP media (Lutz forthcoming, 9–10). The lead article, notably, is an essay entitled ‘President Kaysone Phomvihane’s thoughts on Liberating Women’s Thinking’.⁶

With the LPRP’s definitive embrace of ‘market socialism’ (Creak and Barney 2022) from the early 1990s, newspapers have been increasingly encouraged to ensure financial stability through advertising and public-private partnerships. Sethakhit Kankha, for instance, has been operating as a ‘concession’ (sampathan) of Kolao Group – Laos’ largest business conglomerate – since 2011. Kolao handles Sethakhit Kankha’s commercial management, printing, distribution and advertising. According to the paper’s webpage, its content, however, remains under ‘direct guidance’ of the Ministry of Industry and Trade.

Similarly, party-state organs like Saolao represent only a fraction of magazines published in Laos today. The majority are private or public-private ventures covering largely innocuous topics like fashion and sports. They are allowed to publish without prior approval from MICT censors, but are reviewed post-release for numerous (vaguely defined) offences including ‘distorting the truth’, ‘inciting violence’ and ‘damaging the nation, interethnic solidarity [and] the well-being of mothers and children’ (GoL 2016 Sec. V).

While newspapers, magazines and periodicals provide important platforms for news, guidance and debate within the party-state apparatus (High 2013, 140–1), the popular reach of print media in Laos remains limited (Oepen 2021; Smith et al. 2022, 13, 26–7; Wagstaff 2010, 51). Despite the relative success of literacy campaigns (Creak 2018), many settings remain predominantly oral and outside physical newspaper distribution channels, especially in upland areas (Lutz 2021b, 659). For most Lao citizens, the main sources of news and entertainment have long been not written but auditory.

Loudspeakers and radio

During Laos’s civil war, public loudspeakers were set up throughout LPRP-controlled areas (SWB 1972). After 1975, speakers were rolled out nationwide; an ‘important factor in propaganda work aimed at improving the material and moral life of the people’ (Creak 2015, 181; cf. Evans 1998, 18; SWB 1976a; 1976c). By 1978 there were 140 loudspeakers in Vientiane alone, and more in provincial capitals and district centres (SWB 1978a).⁷ While their use declined in the 1980s, loudspeakers remain commonplace throughout Laos today (Badenoch 2018, 783; Evans 1998, 20; Stolz and Petit 2020, 186–8). In one district town in Phongsali province, for instance, speakers sound each weekday morning from 5:30 am – with martial horns, the national anthem, national radio news and announcements on local party-state affairs. Even in small, out-of-the-way villages, loudspeakers are used to call meetings, prepare official visits, reiterate policy slogans and crudely amplify radio broadcasts. At times, announcements are made in local languages, furthering the vernacularization of state rhetoric (Badenoch 2018; Lutz 2021a, 169–71). According to the Ninth Five-Year National Socio-Economic Development Plan (2021–2025), as of 2020 loudspeakers were operating in nearly 70% of Laos’ 8000 + baan (‘villages’/local administrative units). Having a speaker system is a prerequisite for official certification as a ‘Culture[d] Village’ (High 2021, 60).

The historically most popular media form in Laos has been the radio, especially in rural settings (High 2021, 127–36; Lent 1974). Despite the rapid spread of smartphones and social media (see below), radio remains a key source of news and entertainment for an estimated two-thirds of the country’s population. Pathet Lao Radio, the precursor to today’s Lao National Radio, began broadcasting on 13 August 1960.⁸ The station played a key role in the civil war, rallying ethnic minorities to the revolutionary cause. Pathet Lao Radio began broadcasting in Khmu and Hmong – Laos’s two most widely spoken minority languages – in 1966 and 1967, respectively (Badenoch 2018; Lent 1974, 178; SWB 1966; 1967b).⁹ After 1975, Lao National Radio rallied for the consolidation of LPRP power, incessantly mobilizing for national defence and socialist construction. Today, Laos has a dedicated radio station for each province, as well as over fifty district-level stations (Vientiane Times 2020). Lao National Radio broadcasts two hours daily in both Khmu and Hmong. Provincial radio stations also broadcast in locally prominent ethnic minority languages (e.g. Brou in Savannakhet). The Lao Ministry of Public Security and military run nationwide radio networks.

Here too, there is extensive cooperation with the private sector. Vientiane-based Lao Youth Radio, for instance, is a joint venture of the Lao Revolutionary Youth Union and a local media entrepreneur. The station describes itself as a ‘mouthpiece for the party, state and society’, appealing to ‘the young and young at heart’.¹⁰

Buoyed by the rapid spread of mobile phones from the early 2000s, radio has also provided a platform for Lao citizens to discuss current affairs. In 2008, Lao National Radio launched the call-in show ‘Talk of the News’, enabling callers to raise issues and concerns about the country’s fast-paced development. In early 2012, however, the show was abruptly cancelled, allegedly for giving too much space for anonymous allegations of land-grabbing and government corruption.¹¹ The cancellation caused unprecedented dismay among Laos’s then burgeoning online community, with users expressing outrage over losing ‘a big microphone to speak out about social problems’ (Smith 2012).

Television

Lao National Television (LNTV1) was launched in 1983. Initially, LNTV broadcast three rather drab news bulletins per week, receivable in the Vientiane area only (Brown and Zasloff 1985, 207). Most Lao citizens thus turned to Thai television once TV sets became more widely available from the late 1980s (Evans 1998, 21).¹² In 1994, amidst financial and political uncertainty, LNTV partnered with Thai media tycoon (and later prime minister) Thaksin Shinawatra to launch a second Lao language channel, IBC3. Within a year, however, the party-state accused IBC of broadcasting ‘detrimental content’ and took control of the station, rebranding it LNTV3 (Nguyen 1996, 203; Norindr 2012, 49). For much of its history, Lao television struggled to compete with more colourful, varied and engaging Thai channels (Rigg 2005, 12, 33, 58, 158–59; Wagstaff 2010, 46). Only since the late 2000s has cost-cutting digital technology and intergenerational change enabled LNTV to gradually become more aesthetically and popularly appealing. LNTV1’s morning news show Khaosao Alunmai (‘New Dawn Morning News’), for instance, is today on near parity with its Thai counterparts in terms of presentation. The content, however, remains closely knit to the party line; rote reports on official meetings and exemplary showcases of party-state-led poverty reduction dominate the hour-long show. Like Lao National Radio, LNTV1 broadcasts twice-daily news in Khmu and Hmong, as well as in English and French.

Just as they have their own print and radio outlets, party-state organs may also have their own television channels. In 2012, the Ministry of Public Security launched Lao Public Security Television (PSTV). Seeking mass appeal for its law-and-order mandate, PSTV broadcasts news and documentaries with a sanitized note of infotainment. In 2020, and with Chinese support, the Lao People’s Army launched its own channel, LATV7 (RFA 2020a). LATV7 broadcasts army-related news, national and international sports, music, documentaries and flashy showcases of the Lao military’s prowess, service to the nation and connections to Vietnam, China and Russia.

Laos’s first ‘private’ TV channel, LaoStar, was launched in 2007.¹³ LaoStar markets itself as ‘television for a new generation’, helping Lao people better ‘love Laos’ by strengthening ‘cultural heritage’ and ‘trust in the party’s leadership of national development’ (Petit 2013a, 473). In 2010, a second privately-run channel, MVLao, went on air. These channels have added further colour and variety to the Lao television landscape. However, in political matters they too stick firmly to the party line (e.g. both rebroadcast LNTV news). The capital Vientiane and larger provinces also have TV stations.

Film and cinema

Following the 1975 revolution, Siang Pasaxon called on cinema to actively contribute to socialist development (SWB 1976b). The LPRP banned ‘decadent’ Western ‘neo-colonialist films’, replacing them with content from ‘fraternal socialist countries’ (Campos 2019, 13; SWB 1977; 1981). Produced with extensive Chinese assistance, the first Lao PDR film, Laduban Mai (New Spring) was released in 1976. The socialist-realist musical was billed as ‘reflecting the wise and clear-sighted leadership of the LPRP … and people’s happiness and industriousness in carrying [out] … national construction aimed at socialism’ (SWB 1977). From the late 1970s to 1990s, mobile film-projector teams toured the countryside to ‘awaken’ and ‘mobilize’ the masses (Campos 2019, 12–13; SWB 1978a). Lacking resources, Laos’s own film industry, however, remained dormant. Between the revolution and the year 2000, only two home-grown features were produced.¹⁴ Lao filmmaking took off only from the late 2000s, as digital technology, international connections and greater government flexibility enabled initiatives like Lao Art Media and Lao New Wave Cinema (LNWC) to produce successful, critically acclaimed movies, short films, documentaries and commercials. Since 2009 and 2010 respectively, annual film festivals in Vientiane and Luang Prabang have exposed Lao audiences to South East Asian cinema, while providing space for Lao filmmakers to showcase their work.

Here too, the party-state retains oversight. The 2012 LNWC thriller Chanthaly, for instance, had to be re-scripted to include a ‘rational’ character who disavows the reality of ghosts, in line with official eschewals of ‘superstition’ (Campos 2019, 24–25).¹⁵ The Australian-produced movie The Rocket was allowed to be (partially) filmed in Laos, but later banned due to portrayal of sensitive issues like hydropower-induced resettlement. Overtly ‘subversive’ material like Thai/Hmong diaspora-produced ‘ethno-nationalist’ action movies are also banned (Baird 2019, 374–80).

In sum, like the communist parties in neighbouring Vietnam and China, the LPRP has successfully outsourced the burden of funding the media to the market (Giang 2018, 898; Moser 2020, 69–70). Longstanding calls for the media to become ‘financially self-reliant’ have been enshrined in law (GoL 2016, 2 Art. 4). LaoStar, Sethakhit Kankha and Lao Youth Radio are among many public-private media partnerships in Laos today. All the while, and as the cases of IBC3 and ‘Talk of the News’ reveal, media outlets remain obliged to toe the party line. As in Vietnam, weekly MICT ‘political meetings’ continue to be held for newsroom staff and editors, disseminating government ‘priorities’ and ‘good news stories’ in support of development policies and their attendant emulation campaigns (Badenoch 2018, 793; Giang 2018, 897; Smith et al. 2022, 27–30; Wagstaff 2010, 48). Outlets regularly and prominently cite ‘Kaysone Phomvihane thought’, alongside other LPRP doctrine and slogans, just as Lao journalists remain duty-bound to join MICT’s Lao Journalists Association (Campos 2019, 13; LJA; GoL 2016 Sec. IV.7.; Smith et al. 2022, 13). Nevertheless, it would be a distorting simplification to reduce the Lao state’s stance on the media solely to control. The LPRP has never enforced a total ban on alternative information sources. While domestic television is closely monitored, Lao citizens have uninhibited access to international stations via the satellite dishes long ubiquitous in even the remotest areas. Unlike in Vietnam and China, foreign television is not censored (a 2004 ban on showing Thai television in public venues is enforced only sporadically; Norindr 2012, 49). Local radio and TV stations may produce their own programmes, interviews and research, or draw on content generated by foreign donor-funded projects and NGOs (Badenoch 2018, 793–94). Since 2016, foreign media organizations have had a legal basis for operating in the country (GoL 2016 Art. 4, 43, 65).¹⁶

This relative openness owes not least to the party-state’s longstanding proclamation of the people’s right to ‘collective mastery’. Dynamism, proactivity, open-mindedness and candour are among the personality traits long pursued in the LPRP’s project of educative transformation (High 2021). Lao PDR leaders, from Kaysone Phomvihane to current president Thongloun Sisoulith, have posited free discussion and critical feedback as vital in developing the party, state and nation (Creak 2015, 190; High 2013, 148; RFA 2021a; SWB 1979). Since its inception, Pasaxon has declared itself not only an ‘instrument’ and ‘mouthpiece’ of the LPRP, but also ‘an arena for the expression of views’, calling on readers to offer ‘regular criticism’ so that ‘improvement can be made’ to better ‘serve the people’ (SWB 1975). In a widely disseminated 2015 speech, then MICT head Dr. Bosengkham Vongdara reiterated that media should both ‘disseminate the party line’ and provide a ‘democratic means [vithi paxathipathai] for multiethnic Lao people to present their thoughts, comments and aspirations for national development’.¹⁷ Laos’s 2016 Media Law speaks of ‘building a progressive, modern media to enhance democracy and the multiethnic people’s right to be masters of the country [sitpenchaopathetsat kongpasaxonbandapao]’. It vows to ‘ensure media freedom for all citizens, [thus] contributing to the defence/management [kankhumkong] and development of the nation’ (GoL 2016 Art. 1). Such espousals of ‘democratic rights’ (sit paxathipathai) are more than rhetoric (Creak 2014). ‘Weak points’ (jut on) are routinely raised in public fora from village meetings to provincial and national assemblies, sessions of which are broadcast live and uncensored on LNTV. The National Assembly, Ministry of Finance and Ministry of Home Affairs have hotlines to receive complaints and critique. On occasion, raising issues this way (e.g. regarding land-use and environmental impacts) has led to improved outcomes for petitioners (Baird 2018; Creak and Barney 2022, 49). In short, official spaces for critical feedback exist and are used.

To be sure, in the final instance party-state oversight remains firmly in place. Critical voices are permissible/encouraged only to the extent that are deemed ‘constructive’, emerge from within the system and/or address, invoke and thus ultimately affirm the self-proclaimed role of the one-party state as the ‘leading nucleus’ of the nation (GoL 2015; High and Petit 2013, 420; High 2021, 200 on ‘projective identification’). Proclamations of ‘collective mastery’ thus sit uneasily alongside repeated instances of repression and self-censorship-inducing anxieties over where precisely spaces for ‘democratic expression’ end (Baird 2018). Public use of official feedback hotlines, for instance, remains limited due to fear of reprisal (RFA 2023b). Moreover, and at least in part, Laos’ relatively open media landscape owes to the LPRP’s inability to effectively police and censor (see below).

In sum, Laos media landscape has become increasingly diverse, popular, confident and open in recent years, all while continuing to operate under the ‘instructive logic’ (Mayes 2009, 107) of a revolutionary vanguard seeking an ‘educative transformation’ of society (e.g. Sayvang 2003). Despite widespread changes, the notion that ultimately the media is not an independent watchdog but rather serves to propagate (khosana) and mobilize (ladom) for LPRP-guided national development remains firmly entrenched (Loomis and Holz 2020, 2).¹⁸ Official understandings of the media’s role in contemporary Laos do not conform to Western norms, but rather mirror those in fellow ‘market-Leninist’ states like Vietnam and China, as well as in developmentalist states like Singapore (Loo 1997; Neo 2022, 1922). This historically conditioned context crucially inflects Laos’s ongoing engagement with the rise of digital technology, the internet and social media.

Internet and social media

At the turn of the millenium, Laos had 6000 internet users (Mayes 2009, 96). Today, well over half the country’s 7.5 million citizens are online. Nearly two-thirds own mobile phones, 83% of which are broadband-compatible. Over 90% of Laos’s mushrooming social-media traffic now flows via mobile devices (Hootsuite 2022; Oepen 2021, 4).¹⁹ WhatsApp and Facebook messenger are popular communication platforms, while YouTube, Facebook and TikTok provide key sources of information and entertainment (Hootsuite 2022). Smartphones are now widespread in both urban and rural settings, with much effort and banter directed at obtaining and comparing the latest models (Lutz 2021a, 188). Often enough, youth disseminate online news and views to their parents, just as elders may inherit their first smartphone from (grand)children upgrading to newer models (Sinpeng and Tapsell 2020, 7).

The changes brought by digital technology, the internet and social media have been broad and far-reaching. While in 2021 less than 2% of Lao citizens did regular online banking and only 13% made a digital money transfer (Hootsuite 2022), my ongoing ethnographic research suggests a swift and exponential increase in these numbers. Viral algorithm-tailored advertising campaigns are generating new desires and consumption trends. In some areas, young rural–urban migrants are using platforms like WhatsApp to market city-sourced consumer products to their communities of origin (Lutz 2021b, 658). Use of mobile e-payment apps like U–Money or BCEL-One is spreading rapidly, even in remote upland areas. Poorer rural households in particular may no longer buy television sets; once communal, TV-centred events like gambling on Thai kickboxing now involve small groups watching fights on YouTube via smartphones. There is an ongoing explosion of user-generated channels, platforms and content in ethnic minority languages such as Khmu and Hmong. Banned Hmollywood movies have become easily obtainable through streaming and cloud storage (Baird 2019, 374–80). Once-isolated villagers now use smartphones to link with traders, gain market information and maintain connections to friends as far afield as West Africa, as well as to diaspora relatives in places like France, Australia and the US (Lutz forthcoming; Mayes 2009).

Accompanying these changes is a marked rise in the dissemination and discussion of politically sensitive issues. Lao citizens in both urban and rural areas have used smartphones and social media to document and share instances of alleged land grabs, abuse of power and foreign (particularly Chinese) interference (e.g. Lutz 2022b, 120; RFA 2014; 2015; 2020e; 2021b). While mostly concerned with mundane matters (see below), popular YouTubers like the edutainment-oriented Bounlaiy Thakhek or the satirical Thaisamneua Soenaeo (ໄທຊຳເໜືອ-ເຊີແນວ) may also probe – cleverly and subtly – sensitive subjects like nepotism and corruption. The internet and social media has provided the (often vehemently anti-LPRP) Lao diaspora with new voices inside the country (e.g. the US-based YouTube channel LaonetTV; Mayes 2009, 104–5). Sharply critical posts by France-based Lao Facebook celebrity Pathan Joe (‘President Joe’), for instance, routinely attract hundreds of comments and thousands of likes.

In 2020, and inspired by an activist campaign in Thailand, online criticism of the Lao party-state erupted under the hashtag #ຖ້າການເມືອງລາວດີ (#IfLaoPoliticsWasGood). In October of that year, the hashtag trended on Twitter, featuring in nearly half a million social media posts (Strangio 2020). A short smartphone video of a potholed urban street, for example, quickly garnered over 360,000 views and nearly 12,000 retweets. Other posts trending under the hashtag included calls for the release of imprisoned Facebook user Muay (see below), as well a picture of Kaysone Phomvihane provocatively captioned ‘the nation’s fate cannot be left to stupid, unprincipled people’.²⁰ The online wave’s ostensible connections to regional protest movements under the MilkTeaAlliance, had some observers daydreaming about Laos joining an ‘Asian Spring’ (Financial Times 2020).

The Lao party-state has reacted to the rise of social-media based critique in two ways. On one hand, officials have sought to control and clamp down. An early, prominent case occurred in the context of the 2012 Vientiane Asia–Europe People’s Forum (AEPF).²¹ In the lead-up to the forum, Lao civil society members partnered with LNWC to shoot a documentary entitled ‘Happy Laos’ (Kwamsukkhongpathetlao). Using digital cameras and smartphones, the filmmakers gathered a diverse array of (rather innocuous) opinions on what happiness means in an era of fast-paced development. The party-state appears, quite literally, among a mosaic of voices including farmers, businesswomen, children, monks and others. A few weeks after the film’s screening, one of its protagonists and AEPF keynote speaker, renowned Lao development educator Sombath Somphone, disappeared in Vientiane. Two days later, unwitting junior police officers allowed Sombath’s distressed family to use their smartphones to film CCTV footage of his abduction at a police checkpoint (Ng 2022, 2–8). Posted on YouTube, the footage went viral, triggering a global outcry (Creak 2014, 152–55).²² Caught off guard, official Lao media spent months scrambling to steer the narrative, calling press conferences and using LNTV, PSTV and other outlets to proclaim – against the evidence – that the party-state was completely uninvolved.

In 2014, and almost certainly buoyed by the Sombath case, the Lao government issued Decree 327 on Management/Control (kankhumkong) of the Internet. Decree 327 aims to secure ‘social stability and order’ by ‘monitoring and suppressing’ (sakadkan) online activities that ‘threaten society and national security/stability’ (kouammankhong). Amongst other things, the decree forbids pseudonyms (Art. 8) and spreading information that ‘misleads’ people to ‘oppose/attack’ (totan) the LPRP (Art. 10). Users and service providers are made legally responsible for their content (Art. 13) and obliged to cooperate with authorities (Art. 12, 2). Also in 2014, Article 117 of the Lao Criminal Code – which provides for the imprisonment of journalists who ‘smear, defame’ or ‘discredit’ the party line or government policy – was extended to include ‘electronic media’ and require providers to store and report web users’ names, professions and search histories upon request.

In 2019, Houayheuang ‘Muay’ Xayabouly was sentenced to five years imprisonment under Article 117 for using Facebook to criticize the party-state’s response to devastating floods in the country’s south.²³ According to state media, Muay confessed to ‘campaigning against, defaming, and attempting to overthrow’ the party-state (RFA 2019). Official media reported extensively on her case, discrediting Muay and ‘explaining’ the legitimacy and necessity of her ‘punishment’. A detailed Lao PSTV report titled ‘The Case of Muay’s Intent to Slander the Lao PDR’ and later posted to YouTube and Facebook, for instance, paints Muay as belonging to a ‘group of bad people’; a repeat offender who despite warnings and ‘education’ persisted in making ‘wild attacks’ to ‘distort reality’ and ‘undermine social solidarity’. The well-produced piece includes verbatim snippets of Muay’s ‘incriminating’ remarks, juxtaposed with a full reading of Article 117 and footage of then Prime Minister Thongloun Sisoulith (in casual attire and sneakers) leading officials in providing relief to flood victims. The report also chastised ‘ill-intended’ people from ‘inside and outside’ Laos for using Muay’s case to ‘spread false rumours’ that the government was ‘restricting free speech’. It concluded with a call for MICT to ensure the media ‘gives detailed, accurate official information’ and continues ‘educating people’ about the dangers of ‘fake news’ (khao pom).²⁴ Criticism of Muay’s arrest quickly spread under the hashtag #FreeMuay (often in conjunction with the aforementioned #IfLaoPoliticsWasGood). As of writing, Muay remains behind bars; one of several Lao citizens investigated, fined and/or jailed for allegedly subversive online activity in recent years (Baird 2018, 17–18; RFA 2015b; 2017, 2020b; Sims 2018, 138–140).

As these examples show, and as elsewhere in the region, the trope of protecting Laos’s unity, social tranquillity and ‘people’s democracy’ from the threat of ‘fake news’ (kao pom) has provided the LPRP with a further conveniently vague vector for suppression (Neo 2022 cf. Luong 2020, 156; Moser 2020, 75–77). The Lao state deploys disinformation and accusations of ‘foreign interference’ to counter and discredit perceived critics, positing them as part of a malicious outgroup intent on undermining the very foundations of society. Continuing restrictions on the media are justified by claims that Lao people are not yet educated/acculturated enough to recognize such threats or participate responsibly in public debate and thus need party-state ‘guidance’ (High 2013, 138; Mayes 2009, 107). Official statements on the media remain infused with (socialist) tropes on the people’s right to ‘collective mastery’, but also of obligation and ‘responsibility’ vis-à-vis the overarching project of national defence and development. Fuelled by the aforementioned – and likely purposeful – uncertainty over where precisely the boundary between ‘useful’/affirmative and subversive critical commentary lies, Lao social media users face a self-censorship-inducing form of cognitive dissonance between a vastly expanded realm of what can be known on one hand, and what can be said online/publicly on the other. Despite having one of the region’s least restricted online spheres in terms of media consumption, there is no parallel to the flurry of strikes and demonstrations spawned by social media activity in similar political environments like Vietnam (cf. Kerkvliet 2019; Luong 2020). Unlike in Thailand, the wave of critique launched under #IfLaoPoliticsWasGood did not translate into offline activism. Since 2021, a dedicated Ministry of Public Security taskforce has been policing social media platforms (Strangio 2021).²⁵ In August 2023, and reacting to a renewed flurry of online ire triggered by hyperinflation and an economic crisis, authorities announced new, stricter measures to regulate social media platforms and users spreading ‘misleading or distorted information critical of the government’ (RFA 2023a).

Yet here, too, it would be a distorting simplification to reduce the Lao state’s stance solely to repression and control. While individual users have been persecuted and at times severely punished, officials have (again unlike in neighbouring Vietnam) yet to completely ban entire websites and platforms. Rather than simply repressing, the Lao state has also responded. For instance, when US-based exiles launched the anti-LPRP www.vientianetimes.com in the early 2000s, MICT reacted not by blocking the diaspora outlet, but by launching Laos’ first locally-developed news website, www.vientianetimes.org.la (Mayes 2009, 104–5). Routinely suspicious of official pronouncements, people in both urban and rural areas freely turn to alternative and often more-trusted online sources like Radio Free Asia or Thai news channels on YouTube (RFA 2020d). Independent social media footage and online critique has, at times, influenced political decisions (e.g. RFA 2015; 2020c).

The LPRP has also sought to proactively harness the internet and social media as a further ‘mouthpiece’ and ‘arena’. Today, all major party-state organs have online presences. LJA’s daily Laophatthananews for instance, runs a sophisticated, appealing and popular website as well as platforms on Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, Twitter and TikTok. News, speeches and Lao National Assembly debates – including on sensitive issues – are routinely streamed and/or posted in full to LNTV’s YouTube channel, with nearly 115,000 subscribers as of October 2023 (cf. Luong 2020, 156 on Vietnam). During the COVID-19 pandemic, Laophatthananews and other official outlets like Lao Youth Radio’s Facebook page provided timely information and advice, crucially contributing to Laos’ concerted public health response.²⁶ More recently, social media influencers like UK-educated medical doctor Chandaly ‘Naeng’ Sidphaxay have joined sophisticated state-NGO media campaigns.²⁷ In addition to its newspaper and hotline, the Lao National Assembly has an app offering news, simple explanations of legal vocabulary, PDFs of Laos’ constitution, laws and regulations, and a feedback form. The party-state has even sought to foster homegrown app development. In 2022, the Lao Ministry of Technology and Telecommunications partnered with the private company Sirichalernxay to launch the messaging app LoudChat (ລາວແຊດ). Sirichalernxay’s youthful director confidently proclaimed that LoudChat would be ‘on par with WhatsApp, Line and WeChat’, yet ‘owned by the Lao people to reduce dependence on foreign apps with databases abroad’ (Inoue 2022).

In short, Lao PDR authorities see the rise of the internet and social media as threat and opportunity. On balance, the party-state has thus far opted to manage, guide and where possible harness digital media’s undeniable prowess. Online critique is tolerated and at times encouraged, provided it is deemed ‘truthful’ and ‘useful/beneficial’ (penpanyot) to the LPRP’s all-encompassing project of national development and educative transformation. Independent platforms that (outwardly) conform to this project and its attendant policies are generally able to operate without interference. The current affairs website and Facebook page Tholakhong, for instance, posits itself as ‘a mouthpiece for the people to encourage the sharing of views, foster participation in solving problems, and to help filter [khatkong] accurate, comprehensive news, [thus] providing information of highest benefit to the people’.²⁸ Framing its mission this way has allowed Tholakhong to provide its 1.4 million followers with a platform for daily discussion of a wide range of topics, including government policies and ‘good news stories’, but also sensitive issues like rising inequality, violence and corruption. In many ways, platforms like Tholakhong epitomize the arena for ‘democratic expression’ the LPRP has long proclaimed to foster: vibrant, engaging, educative and (constructively) critical.

It is also important not to overstate the critical dimension of social media use. As elsewhere in the region, most Lao citizens go online not for activism but for entertainment and socializing (see Anon. 2020; Burrett 2020, 23; Giang 2018, 900 on the ‘banality of everydayness’). Familiar only with Facebook, WhatsApp and YouTube, older, semi-literate, hard-working peasants in rural areas rarely read – let alone fact-check – lengthy articles. Many thus encounter sensitive information and critical commentary not by choice, but via the seeming coincidence of commercial algorithms. Furthermore, Lao citizens may also use their Facebook accounts and/or platforms like Tholakhong to express genuine commitment to their Marxist-Leninist state (e.g. High 2022, 48; Lutz 2022a, 179). Buoyed by decades of observing Thailand’s political turmoil through fragmented and highly partisan Thai media, many people voice support for efforts to ensure ‘stability’ through active efforts to streamline public discourse and ‘engineer consent’ (cf. Anonymous 2020, 38; Luong 2020, 146). One example is the offence of ‘damaging interethnic solidarity’, outlined in Laos’s Media Law (GoL 2016 Sec. V). As the case of facebook-fueled violence against Myanmar’s Rohingya shows (Kyaw 2020; Lim 2023, 25), social media may indeed become vehicles for ‘uncivil society’ (Hansson and Weiss 2023) targeting minorities – often leading to tragic offline consequences. Laos is an ethnically diverse country where memories and after-effects of conflict remain potent (e.g. Lutz 2022a). In this context, the achievement and maintenance of interethnic accord is seen by many, officials and citizens, as an axiomatic prerequisite to the ‘social tranquillity’ deemed vital for national development (Lutz 2022a, 193; Petit 2013b, 149–60). As evinced in officially sanctioned events – like the US-embassy-sponsored workshop ‘How to Spot Fake News’ held in Vientiane in 2018 for students, journalists and influencers – the LPRP has shown openness to cooperating with Western partners to enhance popular media literacy (Bemma 2018). In contemporary Laos, combatting ‘fake news’ is more than a figleaf for suppression.

In sum, both repression and responsiveness are salient dynamics shaping Laos’s online and social media landscape. As in the traditional media sphere, critical voices are accepted, but only to the extent that they ultimately re-affirm the overall legitimacy of LPRP rule. Yet tempering cynicism with due consideration of the Lao party-state’s (professed) motivations for governing media and social media should not lead to naivety. As the self-proclaimed ‘leading nucleus’ of Lao society (GoL 2015), the LPRP continues to impose itself as the final arbiter between ‘truth’ and ‘untruth’, ‘beneficial’ and ‘subversive’ critique. Considering the party line quasi-coterminous with national destiny itself, the current constitution’s prohibition on ‘all’ media activities deemed detrimental to national interests enables the LPRP to rule by law and largely at will. Moreover, the LPRP’s hitherto relatively hands-off approach to policing the internet also owes to insufficient knowhow and resources. As in Vietnam, the uptake of homegrown apps and social media platforms remains negligible (as of October 2023, LoudChat and the Lao National Assembly app had each been downloaded fewer than 2000 times on Google Play). A final point worth mentioning in this context is China’s growing presence. Buoyed by immense economic prowess and increasing soft power skills, China is slowly but surely reshaping South East Asian media landscapes in accordance with its own image and interests (Kingston 2020, 8; Lim 2020, 51). Throughout the region, governments have shown increasing interest in Beijing’s aptitude at purging and preventing undesirable online voices. Export of the ‘Chinese model’ is increasingly seen as a ‘key threat’ to internet freedom in the region (Lim 2020, 51; Loomis and Holz 2020; Xia and Shen 2020, 378). Like the LPRP, the Chinese Communist Party adheres to the Marxist-Leninist/developmental model of journalism, positing the media as tools for an all-pervasive, state-led civilizing mission. China built and launched Laos’ first telecommunications satellite in 2015, fully funded the Lao army’s TV channel LATV7, financially supports the Lao National Internet Center (LANIC), and runs regular training courses and all-inclusive ‘study tours’ for LJA members (BJN 2021; Loomis and Holz 2020). Content-sharing agreements between KPL and Xinhua as well as LNTV and Chinese broadcasters mean that Lao state media outlets routinely republish official Chinese content and analysis (Loomis and Holz 2020). China is suspected to have been helping Lao authorities monitor online communications since at least 2014 (Sims 2018, 134). Importantly – and unlike Laos, Vietnam and Thailand – China has successfully built its own self-contained online ecosystem. Buoyed by the banning of platforms like Facebook, the near-ubiquitous use of homegrown apps and platforms like Weibo, Youku and WeChat has enabled China to govern the internet and social media at the ‘environment-setting level’ (Giang 2018, 904), exerting control not only by punishing unwanted content, but by determining the very conditions and possibilities for data production and dissemination.

To be sure, the current ubiquity of US-based Facebook, YouTube and WhatsApp – coupled with a longstanding, culturally and linguistically underpinned orientation to the Thai media space – make it unlikely that Laos will be fully sucked into China’s media and social media ecosystem any time soon. As of writing, something more diverse and open is continuing to emerge. Yet given Beijing’s growing overall presence in the country (an issue ironically at the forefront of critical online debate) and the political-ideological kinship between the two ruling parties, there seems little reason to assume that the partially unfettered expansion of Laos’s online media landscape will continue unabated, let alone translate into Western-style political liberalization (cf. Loomis and Holz 2020). If at all, further media democratization will occur within the confines of Laos’s existing political system (Kerkvliet 2019, 147): a nationally specific variant of the very ‘consultative Leninism’ (Tsang 2009) currently under threat in Xi Jinping’s increasingly restrictive China itself (Moser 2020).

Conclusion

This article has addressed the near complete absence of Laos from scholarly analysis of South East Asian media and social media landscapes. It has provided a basic overview of traditional Lao PDR media as well as reflections on digital/social media’s impact on contemporary state-society relations. In so doing, I have both argued for the importance of country-specific historical context and pushed back against sweeping, oversimplifying allusions to Laos as an ‘unambiguously closed-authoritarian’ information ‘black hole’. As I have shown, sitting alongside undeniably authoritarian – and even totalitarian – impulses is a Marxist-Leninist impetus for popular participation, mobilization, vibrancy and constructive critique. Nevertheless, while globalization, technology and market forces have enabled definitive and likely irreversible diversification, the notion remains firmly entrenched that ultimately Lao media must serve the LPRP’s rule and transformative agenda. Despite all proclaimed responsiveness, Muay and others remain unfree for doing little more than publicly speaking their minds.

While sharing common genealogies, the Laos media landscape is neither an apprentice copy of Vietnam’s, nor inevitably destined to become part of China’s. Laos has its own country-specific dynamics, is worthy of study in its own right and has the potential to make stimulating contributions to the comparative analysis of South East Asia’s media landscape.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 Scholars of South East Asian media often posit the early years of the internet and social media as coinciding with – or causally related to – increased civic engagement, activism and democratization, followed by a period of state clampdown, co-option and ‘manipulation’ from the mid-2010s onwards (Sinpeng 2020; Sinpeng and Tapsell 2020; Burrett 2020).

2 KPL homepage ‘ຂ່າວສານປະເທດລາວ’, at https://kpl.gov.la (accessed 1 December 2022).

3 Lao Film Department 2015. ‘65ປີສື່ມວນຊົນລາວແລະການພິມຈໍາໜ່າຍ’ (‘65 years of Lao media and publishing'). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GcLk7DxNDMw (accessed 6 December 2022).

4 Pasaxon homepage, at https://www.pasaxon.org.la/ (accessed 28 November 2022). In official history, Pasaxon is successor to the Lao Issara newspaper, founded on 13 August 13 1950 (today celebrated as national media day).

5 See the homepage at https://laoedaily.com.la/ກ່ຽວກັບພວກເຮົາ (accessed 22 December 2022).

6 ‘ແນວຄິກປະທານໄກສອນພົມວິານຕໍ່ການປົດປ່ອຍແມ່ຍິງທາງດ້ານຈິນຕະນາການ’ https://laowomenunion.org.la/ສືສີງພິມ/ (accessed 10 January 2024).

7 Vientiane then had a population of roughly 190,000.

8 Laos’s first radio station was launched by the previous, royalist government in 1951 (Wolfson-Ford n.d.).

9 Khmu was not broadcast nationally after 1975, and only reinstated in 2003 after lobbying by prominent Khmu (Badenoch 2018, 791–3).

10 See the Lao Youth Radio webpage ‘ແນະນໍາສະຖານີວິທະຍຸ’ (‘About us') http://www.laoyouth-radio.com/2016/01/fm-900-mhz.html# (accessed 10 January 2024).

11 Following the cancellation, the host of ‘Talk of the News’, Ounkeo Souksavanh, left Laos to work with the US-government-funded Radio Free Asia (Sims 2018, 134).

12 The Lao and Thai languages are mutually comprehensible.

13 LaoStar is a cooperation between the Lao Association for Fine Arts and Culture and LNTV1 and thus better described as public-private.

14 Sound of Gunfire from the Plain of Jars (1983, with Vietnamese assistance) and Red Lotus (1988). By the late 1970s, the few movie theatres in Laos had been shuttered or nationalized (SWB 1981). Prior to 2015, there were only three functional cinemas in country.

15 The 2008 Thai-Lao rom-com Sabaidee Luang Prabang passed censorship largely because it was deemed to showcase Laos’s ‘cultural purity’ vis-à-vis allegedly corrupted, capitalist Thailand (Norindr 2012; Campos 2019, 21–22).

16 Thus far, however, only Vietnam’s VNA and China’s Xinhua have opened offices in Vientiane.

17 Lao Film Department 2015. ‘65ປີສື່ມວນຊົນລາວແລະການພິມຈໍາໜ່າຍ’ (‘65 years of Lao media and publishing'). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GcLk7DxNDMw (accessed 6 December 2022).

18 Often translated as such, khosana does not have the negative connotations of the English ‘propaganda’ (Creak 2015, 171). Indeed, the term is also used for commercial advertising.

19 Lao Telecom launched the country’s first 3G service in October 2008 (Wagstaff 2010, 52).

20 ‘ປະເທດຊາດບໍ່ສາມາດຝາກຊະຕາກຳໄວ້ນຳຄົນໂງ່ຈ້າແລະບໍ່ມີລະບຽບວິໃນ’.‏

21 AEPF is a side event of the biannual Asia-Europe Meeting (ASEM).

22 See https://www.sombath.org/en/global-concern/

23 Prior to her arrest, Muay’s videos regularly received over 10,000 views.

24 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oO6CALDU74 (accessed 9 April 2023).

25 The establishment of a ‘taskforce’ mirrors the 2017 establishment of a 10,000-strong defence ministry cyberforce in Vietnam (Luong 2020, 155).

26 Owing to its visually-appealing pandemic updates, Lao Youth Radio quickly doubled its Facebook following to over 300,000.

27 See, for example, her profile and video on the Lao Wildlife Heroes website at http://laowildlifeheroes.org/champions/#chandaly (accessed 4 January 2024).

28 https://www.facebook.com/tholakhong/about/ (accessed 3 September 2023).