Diaries from Tibet

June 2, 1995

by CHAN Honglee

31 September Lhasa, the capital city of Tibet, one day before the national day of China

"After you are back in your country, please write to me in English. My Chinese is not good," the young monk said, touching the tip of his nose, and laughed sheepishly.

After we made our farewell wishes, the young monk, in his early twenties, held both of his hands to his chest, leaving his rosary dangling from the twist. His grease-stained bright orange cloak enhanced the heavy shadow of the majestic Potala palace, under which we stood.

His name is Yongjian (not his real name).

When I first saw him, he was listening to his walk-man and reading an English text book titled 'Radio broadcasting English lesson,' a Chinese version of our Open Learning, outside the back wall of the Potala Palace.

It seemed to me that the Tibetan monks were keen on learning English, for the day before in Dazhao Temple I saw two American tourists tutoring a group of young monks on English.

"I guess it must be a tradition for Tibetans to learn English, because Tibet was once under British rule." I suggested, after the exchanging of greetings. "I am not sure, but we speak our own language(Tibetan) in our daily life, only both Chinese and English are taught at the monastery as second languages. I can speak Chinese all right, but when it comes to reading and writing, I find it rather difficult. Chinese writing is very hard to learn, much harder than that of English."

"I read from the books that Tibet was once ruled by the British, It must have left its mark on the Tibetan people, like the knowledge of English, don’t you agree?" I enquired.

"I am not sure of that," once again he seemed puzzled, unable to understand what lay under my curiosity. He hesitated, uncertain in the choosing of words. But only for a while though, for he suddenly uttered, not loud but clearly: "But we became independent, throwing the British out!" He looked straight into my eyes for the first time since we met, and smiled triumphantly.

"Do you think Tibet should become independent now?" I could not help but asked.

He did not show any sign of being disturbed by my question, although myself thought it rather foolish to raise such a sensitive issue to a total stranger and started regretting it immediately.

"Many tourists from Beijing asked me if I believe Tibet is part of China, but you are the first one to say the word "independent."

Obviously, he thought I was one of the "tourists from Beijing."

I am from Singapore; I met the Dalai Lama once and hold deep regards towards him; I told the young monk.

When he heard the name "Dalai lama", his eyes beamed, his right hand reaching out for mine.

"It is dangerous to talk about things like this. "He looked around, and warned.

He sounded as if he was protecting a friend, not talking to a stranger he had just met.

Anywhere you go in Tibet, or the nearby Yunan and Qinghai where some of the minorities (such as the only remaining matriarchal society known on earth, the Muosuo,) are Lama religion (the Tibetan form of Buddhism) believers, the name "Dalai lama" bears such a magical power, which sometimes can turn strangers into friends.

It is not hard to imagine that an outsider will face total rejection from the Tibetans if he dares to denounce that sacred name.

Contrary to some made believes, this kind of rejection does not mean violence. "Only those who are not educated will make trouble," Mr. Yongjian told me. "I am learned, I would not make trouble," he ensured. What did he mean by the word" trouble?" "I meant taking up arms, or being violent... it is unwise to do so." What did he think about "youxing(the Chinese word for street demonstration?" "We were told by the palace director to stay in the palace tomorrow, not to join the demonstrators, if there is any."

Back to my hotel. Night has fallen. There are twenty soldiers, in full riot gear, passing through the intersection. They are not marching, they are walking and talking to each other, like a group of youngsters on a week-end night’s outing, on their way to the cinemas; the only difference is this group of young men are wearing helmets with visors and carrying guns, batons and plastic shields.

I listened to Mr. Yongjian’s message to the Dalai lama that I taped in the afternoon. He had never spoke into a microphone before, he told me; but his voice is full of respect and confidence. While I was listening to the tape, my mind drifts to think that there must be some people who are too young, too hot-headed to be wise, as Mr. Yongjian had put it, to go to the street and resort to violence when they are confronted by the batons and guns.

I could make out what Mr. Yongjian was saying, as he was speaking in Tibetan. But I like his voice: it is soft and clear, and peaceful, just like this Lhasa night.

11PM. Looking out of the windows, there is not a soul in the city’s main streets; all homeless dogs are sleeping somewhere off the streets. There is no demonstration tonight, but I wonder what is happening inside the temples’ high walls, in people’s homes, and in the depth of their hearts.

2. The grocery store owner

1st, October, 1995, Lhasa

Today when I was admiring a portrait of the Dalai lama at a grocery store in the east part of the city, one boy approached me, asking: "don’t you think the Dalai lama is the best person in the world, and those who say he is not are lying?" His manner was challenging. But he was only ten years old, his father, the owner of the store, told me. "Don’t be rude," the shop owner pulled his son to his side, smiling. "It is dangerous for us to display this portrait, it is forbidden by the government. But we honour him. He wiped the dust off the portrait with his sleeve, making the message printed on top of the portrait more visible: "Praying for world peace."

The punishment for displaying the Dalai lama’s portrait includes a small fine, confiscation of the portrait, and a threat of closing down the store if further offence is made, according to the store-owner."but no store has been closed for this reason in Lhasa yet," he told me.

I believe him, because Lhasa is such a small town, it is hard to hide much from each other if something unusual has happened.

"Do you know that the living Buddha won the Noble peace prize?" The store-owner asked. Of course I do, I told him; but how did he know it? Did the Chinese newspaper report that? No, he did not know the fact that the Dalai lama had won the Noble peace prize through the Chinese media, but through foreign radio broadcasting. "Words spread fast these days," he laughed.

Sure, not much can be hid from the world nowadays.

How is his business? He has been in the business for ten years, and he is doing well, specially in recent years, he told me. He buys his stock from various cities in China, and once he brought local handcrafts, such as Tibetan swords, to Beijing to sell at the markets. "I made quite a bit of profit then," he put the Dalai Lama’s portrait back to the shrine.

He is well dressed, wearing an expensive watch and a huge gold ring. So is he satisfied with his life? "Yes, it is getting better, because there is a road connecting Tibet with other placed now, and that is good for business. And I have a younger brother studying chemistry at a university in Changdu."

What does he think about his next life? " I am not sure of that. I don’t know if people really will have a next life. I think I am quite contented with this life, and people should care about the present rather than worrying about the future."

What does he think about the Chinese occupation? "I am educated, I am a high school graduate. I am 32, so I don’t know much about Tibet before (the Chinese invasion). But according to history, Tibet was once under the suzerainty of China.

Does he want the Dalai Lama back? "Why not? I am born a Tibetan, and Tibetans need our Dalai lama; even when Tibet was under the suzerainty of China, we always have the Dalai Lama as our lord."

I stayed at his store for more than one hour, when I tried the famous Tibetan tea for the first time. His store is not busy, having about 5 customers buying small goods while I was there. Almost all of the customers were Chinese. I have the impression that there are more Chinese than Tibetans in Lhasa.

I learnt from the store owner that the controversial ‘one child police’ does not apply to minorities, for that reason his wife is expecting a third child.

3. The retired cement-mill worker and the doctor

3 October, 1995

Chairman Mao once tried to turn people who were concerned more about the welfare of themselves rather than the "best interest of the country" into "socialism's new man" by emphasising that one should sacrifice themselves for the communist cause. His effort failed and re-bounded after he died, and the result of his failure could not be more apparent among the An people who were assigned to work in Tibet, and don’t like it: the pay is lower than the inland cities, the living conditions are unbearable--- due to the fact that Tibet is an unforgiving land, with poorer educational facilities that provide not much future for their children.

I went to the market this morning, where I met Mr. Oudi. Inside the market area, there were over one hundred stalls, two heaps of animal bones and horns, and a dozen or so Tibetan dogs. The stalls are not much different from what we see at Flemington market in Sydney or Victoria market in Melbourne, selling everything from electrical goods to live fish; only they open seven days a week. Almost all of the shop owners at the market were people from inlands, most of them from Sichuan. Don’t you think the bones and horns thrown out by the butchers will stink in the summer: after most of the remaining flesh being cleaned up by the dogs, they just dry up, thanks to the thin air and low humidity of the high altitude, leaving no time for the flies to lay their eggs. I wonder if this is the reason why I saw few flies in Lhasa. The same happens to the dog droppings: they dry quickly, and turn into dirt and dust. What will happen when it rains or snows is still a mystery to me, and I should ask. The dogs are well fed, laying around, some under the butcher’s bench; their long hair covered with dirt. Even in other places of the city, these dogs don’t come to people begging for food, in most instance they don’t even bother to look up at passerbys. And I seldom hear them bark. It all seems that they have their own society in Lhasa, where they are sharing the place with humans, not owned by anyone. Might be they would not end up on people’s dinner table either, like their kind in Guangdong often do.

I bought four boiled corns for 2 Chinese Yen (about 35 Australia cents) from Mr. Oudi, then we started a conversation. He came to Tibet with the army in 1959, then lived in Lasha ever since. "I had been with the army for over ten years, first with the Kuomingdang (the nationalist who fought against Mao over China), then with the PLA ( Mao’s communist army). They( the army officials) asked me if I want to stay in Tibet, to join in the construction of the cement mill; they said this harsh place is ideal for people who want to start a new life. I knew I had to ‘start a new life’, like they had put it, because I had a bad record being a soldier in the Koumingdang army. I took it as an order and stayed. I thought I might have a better future living in a remote area like Tibet, far away from the central goverment."

Mr. Oudi has proved wise, for he avoided being purged for his past during the "Cultural revaluation" because there were few people knowing that he had served the Kuomingdang.

During all the years before his retirement, he only left Lhasa once; that was, when he returned to his birth place, a poor village in Shanxi Province, to marry a widow, one of his childhood play mates. Now he has three grown up children, all living in bigger cities of other provinces. Despite his 35 year in Tibet, he never thought himself a local. "We never mix with them; They believe in their Lama, we don’t," he remarked. Who are ‘them?’ The Tibetans of course; and who are ‘we?’ The Han people of course. "They are strange people, as you will see," Mr. Oudi looked about for a moment, as if looking for facts that he thought would substantiate his claims. "They beat the shit out of Han people at this market, as I have seen with my own eyes once; but they never argue with Westerners," he pointed his chin at two passing blonde girls in shorts and sandals, then turned his face to me, to see if I have got his point.

Of course I did not, I even doubt if he knew what he was talking about. At this moment when I am writing, it suddenly comes to me that it might not be wrong to believe that Confucius has been imprinted in the gene of Chinese people. Didn’t Confucius once remark that "The backward races, which even have their princes, are not as good as China which are without them?"

Mr. Oudi has witnessed the substantial changes taking place after 1959. "We bombarded that peak and raze the temple on top," he pointed to the mountain where the Temple of Medicine God stands. "This is the remaining part of it. It was much bigger, right to there," he pointed to the television transmission tower, the highest structure in Lhasa, its loftiness disrupts the consistency and harmony of the landscape. "we build factories, roads, houses, and hospital and schools," he wiped the sweat off his forehead, and dust from his eyes. "Yes, schools and hospital, but they don’t use these facilities very often, we do. We have to build a hospital for ourselves and schools for our kids, even the locals didn't want them. they have them know, because they know one prick of a needle can save a life. "

What does he think about the Tibetans call for independence? He said they should be given the chance: "Why not? We needed it(Tibet) because we used it as a frontier against foreign invasions. Now who is going to invade us? It is a burden to the nation. We have pumped 30 billion yen (4.8 billion A$) into Tibet since 1959, 20 billion(3.2 billion A$) in the last 10 years. What do we get in return? It is nothing but a waste of money," he argued.

"The history will prove me right," he said. But not so the Chinese government. On his short visit to Tibet not long ago, President Jiang Zemin told the PLA station in remote Tibetan area that "you are contributing to the country by merely being here. The simple presence of you brave soldiers represent the integrity of the country, it shows our strength to the rest of the world."

Mr. Oudi thought the millions that the Chinese government has spent on the maintenance of the Potala palace a waste of money: "It (the Potala palace) is a world treasure, it is one of the most splendid buildings of the world, we have to keep it in good shape. For its historic value only, it is money well spend, not to mention it will help in bringing in the tourists," he announced. He looked about once more, focusing his eye at the newly painted side wall of the palace, and added in retrospect: "It was a bit shaky after we came." Had I had a conversation with him on this sole subject, he might otherwise have left me with a different impression. But what is the matter? I am not here to judge people.

Will he like to leave Lhasa to live in the bigger cities? I asked Mr. Oudi. "No, I have my roots here, and I am too old to adopt to busy life in the big cities."

I had a splitting headache yesterday afternoon. I am still not felling myself, and feel short of breath when trying to keep a normal pace. I have to walk slowly in Tibet. It must be the high altitude syndrome. The air is thin in Tibet, leaving the sky bluer and clearer than that of our out-back sky under which I had camped before. A mere looking up at the sky at noon will make one dizzy. I went to the hospital. Unlike the hospitals in Guangzhou, it was quiet, with few patients waiting. A kind Dr. Wang in her fifties attended to me. She advised me to rest for a day or two. "I feel sick too, every time I come back to Lhasa after being away for a couple of weeks." She came to work in Tibet voluntarily after graduating from medical university 30 years ago, married another doctor who came to work in Tibet two years after her, and visits her parents or inlaws once a year. "People were not as selfish those days, we thought to work in remote undeveloped area a sort of self-sacrifice, and self-sacrifice for the better of the nation was generally admirable in those days. It is easy to come, but not so for one to go back (to the inland cities). Beside the red tape that prevents one from leaving , you felt needed by the people here, so most medical workers decide to stay. After a few years working here, no hospital in the bigger cities want you, because they believe one’s skill and ability will not improve while working at small rural hospitals, thus not qualified to practice at busy large hospitals.That is why I end up here." Does she like Tibet? "It is not a matter of like or dislike. It is a matter of ethic. Sure there is less chance to practise, fewer access to new knowledge, less chance to be famous, but since I feel needed, I am happy. Tibet is a beautiful place itself; I have seen around a bit, not like one of the nurses, always depressed and unhappy, never been to Potala even once after being assigned to work here twelve years ago. What is the future she could see for herself and for Tibet? "I will retire in two years time and I am going back to where I came from, to look after my grandson. I reckoned I have done my duty of this life, and I am contented, and will not leave anything behind. If there were a next life, like what the locals believe, I would live in a milder environment, become a medical professor like I always wanted to be when I was a student, as a reward for what I have done in this life!" She laughed like a child.

She was always careful, but with ease, must be out of a habit, not to touch any political issue that is not her business. Almost every intellectual of her age has formed this type of habit, through lessons they learnt during the "cultural revolution years when words of a nightmare would change a person’s life. It is not a bad habit we usually think of, but a scar on the human heart that eyes can not see.

The Dalai Lama made it quite clear that once he returens to Tibet, the first step he will take is to ask the Chinese, as many as possible, to leave Tibet. Will he ask Dr. Wang to leave too?

4. The elderly monk from Qinghai

14 October, 1995

Outside the magnificent Drepung temple I came across this well-learned elderly monk from Qinghai (a province north of Tibet) this afternoon. It might take me a long time, perhaps years, to sort out what he has taught me in one afternoon. He tried to tell me about the whole world he knew, yet I could not comprehend. He is 73 years old but still sharp. If he did not know the world, he must know what he was talking about.

We talked about Buddhism, Christianity, and the meaning of life. I have talked about religion with other Tibetan monks before, and I must admit that unlike some of the conservative Chinese Protestants back home in Melbourne, the Tibetan monks(they are often wrongly called "lama", but in fact only those who are the reincarnations of late Lamas can be called "lama", a lama is of higher rank than "living Buddha," The rest are monks of the Lama Religion,) are not so exclusive. They clearly know that the Lama religion is a Tibetan restatement of Buddhism, and Buddhism is a faith without a god. But they believe there is a God who is the creator of the universe, and from this aspect they think the Lama Religion is compatible with other religions that have a God being the creator.

A Lama is not a God, and the one who was in a Lama's position might not be the real reincarnation of the Lama, he explained when asked about the fact that the fourth Dalai Lama, the great-grandson of Mongol king Altan Khan, was installed by the king.

The fifth Dalai Lama was the greatest, and the sixth was a true reincarnation of the fifth even he was kidnapped by the Mongolians, he thought. He was particularly proud of the 13th who withstood a Britain invasion in 1904 and make Tibet independent in 1912. "There was a British army officer called Younghusband who turned into a Buddhist, after seeing the British troops opening fire on Tibetans," he told me as a matter of fact.

Tibet should be a land of freedom; it should belong to the Tibetans, and ruled by the Lama the Living Buddha, towards this he was very sure of.

But wasn't it true that the Tibetans honoured the Qing Emperor? "That is up to the Dalai Lama; in the old days, the emperor had to talk to the Dalai Lama of the time, it is up to the Dalai Lama to decide if we listen to the emperor or not; but basically, we only listen to our Living Buddha, that is the bottom-line." In fact, this was what the suzerain agreemnt about. The Tibetans paid attribute to the Emperor for protection. The Chinese used Tibet as a buffer state. China feared an invasion by England or the Europeans through India.

His mind was wide opened; it seems there was no myth on earth to him, and life was real.

But he talked about his family more than anything else. His mother is still alive, almost one hundred years old; and he has four brothers, one has since died of diseases.

He was sent to a temple to become a monk when he was 6, he told me. "They sent me to the monastery not because they could not feed me, but to make themselves proud. They support me financially all the time, and they are still supporting me, my brothers and their sons," he told me. Like almost all monks in Tibet, he was paid 100 Chinese Yen (about A$ 36) per month by the government as a salary, but it was not enough to finance his pilgrimage to Tibet. "My family paid for my trip," he opened his eyes, watching a young Tibetan woman scuffing along into the main-entrance of the temple while doing triple-scrum prostrations.

The young woman finally disappeared behind the huge praying wheels which stand guard inside the entrance hall: without the praying wheels, the temple would have been stagnant.

"She must been praying for her family members," he murmured.

I wondered at that very moment that whether he pray for his family more often than for anything else.

I ask him what concerns him most in his daily life.

"The present life is important; yet the next life is more important even," he smiled.

He must have found out what is the most important element of human life; I mean, this life. But I didn't have the chance to learn more from him, for a young monk, who had been listening to our conversation for a while then, became impatient and interrupted:" We only want to have a say in our own affairs, in this present life. Such as who is the next Panchen Lama. On issues like this, we only believe in the present top Living Buddha, which is the Dalai Lama. We all remain his people, even he is not with us."

The elderly monk from Qinghai suddenly stood up, and left without a word. I saw him going into the temple. Later on I asked around at the temple trying to find him, but no body knew where he was.

So where the elderly monk has gone was unknown; but the young monk's message was clear: "if we don't know the existence of Tang dynasty, then what we want to do or believe today should not be confined to what the Tang people did. Try to think about that the Han people overthrew the Qing dynasty 80 years ago, yet they expect us to honour the Qing emperor's territory claim. How can you justify that? "

I know what he meant: he, like so many young Tibetans I have met, want to control their own live, in their own way. But this kind of struggle was often accused of being ignorant of the fact that Tibet was rule by the Chinese emperors in some stage of the Tibetan history. It is often quoted by the newspapers that "how could we have today without yesterday?" But To this young monk alike, history is not all important, the most important is how people feel today. It is true that we all benefit in some way from the past, and we can not change the past; but the people of the past didn't live for today's people, and today's people have to put their lives in our own hands. History is a series of advancing events; few people can deny that civilisation is always heading to a higher level.

The following is what I have learnt from the elderly monk today: a Lama is a living Buddha who keeps on learning and evolving, always in searching of a solution to our problematic world, and a very important meaning for a Lama to reincarnate is to lead his people to enter a higher level of life.

Before I left Drepung temple a very young monk, about 10 years of age, approached me, opening his hand and stretching out his arm. I put some money in his palm. He shook his head, speaking to me in Tibetan. I suddenly remembered what other tourists have told me before. I gave him a pen. He held it up to his eyes, looked at it carefully, polishing it with his thum, then ran away with it laughing and jumping: a pen was what he really wanted.