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International
Do Tibetans Want Tibet or Do Tibetans Deserve Tibet? Kelsey Garnett
C
anted along the foothills of the Himalayas, the small Indian village of Dharamshala buzzes listlessly in the twilight. The winter has brought a subtle surge of tourists—parents trying to inject culture into children just old enough to form memories, twenty-somethings spurning the familial holiday—and the shopkeepers are happy to oblige. The austere countenance of the villagers contrasts with the cavorting of the twentysomethings as the colored lights of the city mottle the white-capped peaks overhead. The travelers have journeyed to this particular Himalayan village for an inimitable reason: Dharamshala is the present home of the Dalai Lama.
I, and presumably most Americans, have been spoon-fed a single, simple narrative of the Tibetan cause. Tibet, the home of peaceloving Buddhist monks, was imperially invaded by a tyrannical Communist China in 1950. Since then, China has not only illegally claimed sovereignty over Tibetans lands, but has also brutally oppressed its defenseless inhabitants. Popular websites like Tibettruth purport that “[w]ell over one million Tibetans have perished, including nearly 100,000 Tibetans tortured to death.” Hundreds of thousands more have fled their homeland to escape economic discrimination, religious suppression, and political oppression. To an extent these claims are grounded in truth, although some realities might be
speaks of Tibetans he’s spoken to, who elect to flourish in India rather than struggle in their old homes. Despite our objection that Tibetan self-immolations assiduously blaze, Youssef rejects resistance as the norm: “Tibetans are unwilling to fight for Tibet.” He ultimately declares, “You must fight for your own liberty. You must shed blood for your country’s freedom. Otherwise, your country won’t have any color.” I peek furtively at my friends to conjoin my reaction. One nods out of diplomatic habit; the other grits his teeth, eyes cast downwards, stifling back a riposte. I lift a hand to my mouth and ruminate pensively on my fingernails, deciding how I feel. The quandary between ardor for peace and the
The quandary between ardor for peace and the necessity of selfdefense pricks me insidiously. Tibetan pacifism is venerable and, if universally practiced, would yield a halcyon world. Tonight is Christmas Eve and it is cold. I sit inside on a couch in the back of a tiny textile shop. Two of my friends are embroiled in the weird mixture of self-abasement, jest, and outright lying that defines haggling in a world of relative prices. The shop owner, Youssef, refuses to devalue an orange cashmere scarf, disbelieving my friends’ portrait of their abject financial status (probably because one of them wears a $4000 Canon around his collared neck). After an absurd 20 minutes, my friends and Youssef reach an agreement: 1600 rupees for the scarf, a sumptuous two U.S. dollars knocked off the original price. As we are about to exit, Youssef offers the three of us tea. We happily accept. Youssef sets water on to boil, and we exchange a thorough round of pleasantries. We learn that Youssef is Kashmiri, and moved his wares to the Himalayas as much for business as for safety. The water heated, Youssef pours cups. As everyone steeps the redolent Darjeeling green, one friend innocently inquires into the status of Tibetans in Dharamshala. Youssef ’s indelible reply still flickers in my mind, but before I recount it, let me step back for a moment.
exaggerated. The status of Tibetan legal independence before Chinese occupation remains contested. Furthermore, the original POWs of Chinese invasion were reportedly well treated. Tenzin Gyatso, the then and current Dalai Lama, has publicly stated that the Chinese People’s Liberation Army never attacked civilians. But after the Tiananmen Square massacre of 1989, China and human rights violations merged into one within the American political consciousness. NGOs like Free Tibet flourished and effectively inundated U.S. cities with Free Tibet paraphernalia. It is the Free Tibet narrative that rose to my mind that night in Dharamshala, the story of a small peaceful population forced into exile by a large and unjust imperial power – Tibetans without a choice. “If the Tibetans truly want to live in Tibet, they would be in Tibet. You cannot sacrifice for your country if you’re not in your country,” Youssef says. He contends that the Tibetan diaspora prefer their expatriate lives in villages like Dharamshala. He claims Tibetans live an easier and more felicitous life in India: employment is available, kids are educated, and they live in relative peace. He
necessity of self-defense pricks me insidiously. Tibetan pacifism is venerable and, if universally practiced, would yield a halcyon world, but in our bellicose times their pacific ethos has left them subject to domination by the stronger. Should a community use violence to preserve their sovereignty, sacrificing ideals for ancestral land? As I unconsciously lift the tea to my lips, the aromas of fresh honey and misted grass direct my vaporous musings to Gandhi’s march to the sea. One man seized a disparate group of oppressed, unified them, and led them to political independence. And he profoundly condemned violent resistance, fasting each time brutal protests arose. Nonviolent civil disobedience manifested the liberation of the land beneath my feet, but after 60 years of Tibetan non-aggression, must Tibetans do more?
Kelsey Garnett is a sophomore in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at kgarnett@wustl.edu