By BOB HEPBURN
“He is coming down; His Holiness is on his way. If you would take your seats.”
Suddenly, the wood-panelled Library Room on the mezzanine level of the Royal York Hotel becomes quiet. All eyes turn toward the door, which is filled with beefy security guards, Tibetan monks in burgundy robes, personal aides and officials.
And in the midst of the throng is His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama.
It is Thursday morning, a few hours before he left Toronto, and I have come to meet the Dalai Lama.
I am one of 15 senior Canadian media representatives — one from each newspaper and television network in Toronto, plus some ethnic press outlets — invited “to have a conversation with His Holiness on issues of interest.”
There are no television cameras, no tape recorders. It is indeed a rare opportunity to ask one of the most famous, and popular, spiritual leaders any questions that pop into our minds over the next hour.
But I am not thinking of any spiritual questions as I watch the Dalai Lama walk slowly into the room.
Nor do I feel a wave of harmony, peace and contentment wash over me as he passes my seat, his hands pressed together prayer-like, his head bowing gently to each person in the room.
Instead, I catch myself being surprised at how tall he is. I had expected someone much shorter, much frailer. He is almost six feet tall and very robust, although slightly bent, for a man who will be 69 in just a few weeks.
And for a split second, I feel a bit silly for thinking only that he and I see almost eye-to-eye, literally, rather than being swept up in spiritual thoughts.
I have come to see up close a man who for decades has enthralled millions of followers, who has become a pop idol to Hollywood stars such as Richard Gere and Steven Seagal, who has become the torchbearer for those wanting Tibet to be free from Chinese control, and who calls himself a simple Buddhist monk.
His story is well-known. Enthroned as the Dalai Lama at age 4, he fled Tibet in 1959 after an uprising against Chinese rule. Since then, from his base in India, he has travelled the world as the leader of the Tibetan people. In 1989, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.
His critics — and there are many — claim that he has morphed over the years into a mere fundraiser for Tibetan Buddhists and for Tibetan exiles around the world. They like to point out he pays millions annually to an American public relations firm to promote his appearances, and that for $40,000 (U.S.) and up, plus expenses, you, too, can get him to speak to your next business conference.
“Who has the courage to ask the first question?” the moderator asks.
For the next 60 minutes, the questions range from his views on the current situation in Iraq to his impressions of his three-week Canadian trip to his hopes for an independent Tibet.
He answers each questions slowly, carefully. His English is very good, yet at times he uses a translator.
As he speaks, five security guards scan the room. They frequently talk into their sleeves, just like in the movies.
At times, the Dalai Lama is animated in his answers, his arms waving, his voice rising; at times he sits with his arms folded on the table in front of him, his fingers fiddling with a hotel pen, his voice barely audible.
On Iraq, he says he wrote to U.S. President George Bush the day after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks expressing the need for non-violence. He admits he received no reply from Bush.
On Canada, he says he promoted human values and religious harmony, but admits he doesn’t know how much of his message to those people who heard him will carry into their daily lives once he has gone.
On Tibet, although he insists he is non-political, that he is in “semi-retirement,” it is clear he cannot stand the Chinese authorities, alluding to them as “guests without proper invitations, guests with guns” who once referred to Tibetans as “backward, smelly.”
And he believes he will one day return to Tibet, claiming the Chinese communist regime is slowly changing. However, he adds: “We hope for the best; we prepare for the worst.”
Asked if he ever becomes frustrated or depressed, he replies that daily prayer gives him “inner strength,” adding they are not just empty words.
When the time is up, he goes slowly around the room, shaking hands. He grasps mine with his two hands, and looks straight into my eyes, and bows.
At that moment, I realize the Dalai Lama may be the most serene, calm — and hopeful — person I have ever met.
And I think of the Toronto public relations woman volunteering on his tour here, who said: “Just shaking his hand was the highlight of my life.”
Bob Hepburn is the Star’s Editorial Page Editor.
