A reddish rose o­n a black background may indeed not be the ideal color combination for the cover of a book, but that judgment doesn’t originate with an artist, layout designer or photographer. It comes from a certain group of people who are allergic to the colors black and red.

“They don’t like black, red colors and sometimes even rose,” said a famous Burmese writer in Rangoon. “They” are members of the Burmese government’s censorship board. According to the writer, the board banned the cover of a book featuring a rose o­n a black background.

“In their eyes, black might be associated with a dark era [referring to the military rule], red can be seen as a symbol of revolution and a rose might be Daw Suu,” the writer said, referring to detained opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi. The writer asked not to be named for fear of being arrested for criticizing government censorship.

Draconian censorship by Burma’s military government is nothing new. Burma is annually categorized in a list of the world’s most censored countries. o­n Wednesday, o­n the eve of Press Freedom Day, the Committee to Protect Journalists, a press group based in New York, stated Burma is among the worst-rated countries for press freedom. Burma belongs to an infamous group that includes Cuba, Libya, North Korea and Turkmenistan.

The Burmese government’s Press Scrutiny and Registration Division assesses not o­nly illustrations and designs, but also tries to decipher hidden meanings behind words suspected of hiding anti-governmental sentiments or anything negative about the ruling leaders and their policies. They look for anything conveying obliquely or vaguely a politically motivated message.

In March, publication of a monthly magazine was banned because of its cover, according to journalists in Rangoon. The cover of Padauk Pwint Thit featured a portrait of Thakin Kodaw Hmaing, a widely respected veteran of the post-colonial nationalist movement and independence hero. The government simply doesn’t like people who can politically motivate the public.

Such censorship affects all books and publications, including more than 300 news journals and magazines across the country.

Journalists and writers in Burma agree that members of the censor board are not o­nly allergic to writing they judge to be political. Words like charcoal, mangrove, even the iron bars of windows are also sensitive for them.

“When we write a story about charcoal and mangrove forest, they would suppose that the direction of the story is going to hint that the government authorities allow businessmen to destroy the mangrove forest to make charcoal,” the writer said. “So it becomes a serious environmental issue. Then it is banned.”

“The iron bars of windows might mean jail or detention to them,” the writer continued. “If we use the words ‘iron bars,’ we have to be careful. The authorities would believe that the words and the story that include them are referring to prison and political prisoners in jail, or their lives.” She was referring to about 1,100 political prisoners now incarcerated in the regime’s jails.

Writers and journalist joke that they have passed through several ages of Burmese literature—such as the ‘ripping age,’ ‘silver ink age,’ ‘block age’ and ‘blank age,’ all the methods the censorship board used to obliterate articles or sections of writing they didn’t like.

But such methods are a thing of the past, the writer said. “They don’t apply them any more; they remove all articles or paragraphs before being published.”

And she added: “Press freedom is a thing we never enjoy but if I hear that word, I feel excited. Today is press freedom day. But for us, it doesn’t mean anything.”