The pros and cons of a god in exile
By Kate Saunders
As our taxi rattles up the steep dusty roads of Himachal Pradesh, India, past stalls selling fresh mangoes and water-melons, Joanna Lumley is sitting next to me58-year old Joanna talks about her personal connection with Tibet. Her grandfather, Colonel Leslie Weir, worked as a British trade agent in the town of Gyantse, west of Tibet’s capital, Lhasa, at the time of the Raj in India.
‘I wonder if the Dalai Lama has seen Absolutely Fabulous?’ I muse to Lumley. We are on our way to meet the Tibetan spiritual leader who is revered by millions the world over as the incarnation of Chenresig, the bodhisattva of compassion. ‘You know, I rather hope he hasn’t,’ says Lumley. ‘It just might convey the wrong impression.’
This meeting is to be the fulfilment of a long-held dream for Joanna, Britain’s best-loved comedy actress, who is passionate about the Tibetan cause, and has supported various UK-based Tibet charities, notably the Free Tibet Campaign, for many years.
Lumley’s grandfather, who learnt Tibetan and studied Buddhism, became close to the last incarnation of the Dalai Lama, the 13th, advising him on how to prevent Chinese incursions into Tibet. Lumley’s grandparents were among the first Westerners to visit the ‘Forbidden City’ of Lhasa, Tibet’s capital.
At the time of Col Weir’s posting in the Himalayas, Tibet was regarded by Britain as de facto independent, until the invasion of Tibet in 1949-50 following the foundation of the People’s Republic of China by Mao Zedong. Tibet has been under Chinese control ever since. The 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso, is a spiritual leader with a complex political role at a time when the fate of his homeland hangs in the balance. In the last year and a half, the Dalai Lama’s envoys have visited China and Tibet, breaking more than a decade of diplomatic stalemate between the Communist Party leadership in Beijing and the Dalai Lama in exile. At the time of writing, the Tibetan government in exile was waiting to hear whether a third visit would take place.
At the gates of the Dalai Lama’s temple, we are instructed to leave our mobile phones and cameras with Indian security personnel and Tibetan officials, and are led up a steep incline bordered by orange and yellow flowers. We are escorted into the Dalai Lama’s presence in a simple room, adorned by a golden Buddha at a shrine, Tibetan religious paintings and a large map of Tibet.
The 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso, whose title means ‘Ocean of Wisdom’ in Mongolian, may be regarded by millions as a divine being, but he is no ethereal figure. This incarnation of the bodhissatva has the energy and build of a man much younger than his 68 years.
Lumley tells the Dalai Lama about her grandfather’s friendship with his previous incarnation. She says: ‘I know that if my grandfather was still alive today, he would be very sad about the Chinese repression in Tibet – and ashamed that Britain stood by and did nothing when China invaded. Now that you are coming to the UK in May, what are your hopes today of the British government?’
The Dalai Lama tells us: ‘My visit to the UK is spiritual, of course, and there is some renewal of contact with our supporters in Parliament, and Prince Charles [a close friend of the Dalai Lama]. Right now we need support from the West, but we are turning our faces towards Peking. If you look at the situation of Tibet today it seems almost hopeless, the Chinese have a very tight control over the country. But if you look at China, and the whole of Asia, the bigger picture, then you see that all authoritarian countries are changing politically, and have to change. So there is hope for the future.’
The 14th Dalai Lama bears the weight of history lightly. In person he is relaxed, warm and funny, with that familiar, joyful laugh. But don’t be misled by this apparent lightness of being; the Dalai Lama is no soft-centred New Age mystic.
According to Tibetans who know him well, he is most absorbed, and perhaps happiest, when giving religious teachings, particularly when speaking in his own language. During some of these teachings, allow your mind to wander for a moment and you have lost the thread completely; this highly complex and abstract existential philosophy, with a poetry of its own, demands total concentration. The Dalai Lama is known for his formidable intellect, developed through years of monastic discipline and rigorous training of the mind. He has a particular interest in science, and has initiated and participated in a series of dialogues about the nature of mind and the relationship of mind and body with distinguished scientists and philosophers worldwide.
It is impossible to over-estimate the Dalai Lama’s significance for Tibetans – as a symbol of Tibetan identity, an embodiment of hope over despair, a teacher and guide. His leadership draws together Tibetans inside Tibet – from urban city dwellers who speak Chinese and work in tourist hotels to poverty-stricken herders living in the vast grasslands – and Tibetan exiles, from young scholars, doctors and lawyers in the West to monks living in Indian refugee settlements. During one trip to Tibet, I watched Tibetan pilgrims sobbing as they prostrated themselves before the Dalai Lama’s empty throne in the Norbulingka (summer palace) in Lhasa, and filing reverentially past his former bathroom and toilet with bowed heads.
The continued loyalty of Tibetans to the Dalai Lama is a constant frustration to the Chinese leadership in Beijing. Party leaders including the former President and Party Secretary Jiang Zemin have stated that Tibetan culture, which is inseparable from religion in Tibetan society, must be supportive of Chinese ideological and developmental objectives, and religion is often described as an ‘obstacle’ to this development. China aims to solve the ‘problems’ in Tibet by assimilating it further into ‘the motherland’. While the Party sees these policies as ‘civilizing’ Tibetan areas, Tibetans themselves, who are not generally averse to economic development, fear the degradation of their religion and culture, and the loss of their cultural and religious identity.
The Chinese authorities view the Dalai Lama as the main obstacle to political stability in Tibet – a ‘wolf in lama’s clothing’ and a ‘splittist’ who wants to separate Tibet from China. It is dangerous for Tibetans to display his photograph, so many Tibetans silently express their dissent to Chinese policy and loyalty to their spiritual leader by displaying an empty frame instead.
From the mid-1990s onwards, China’s position on the Dalai Lama has become particularly hostile. A wide-ranging ‘patriotic education’ campaign has been carried out in monasteries and nunneries in Tibet with the aim of undermining his influence and indoctrinating monks and nuns in Party ideology. Limitations have been imposed on the numbers of monks and nuns in religious institutions, and Beijing has also begun to assert increased authority over the search and identification of Tibetan reincarnate lamas. In 1995, China enthroned a small boy as the reincarnation of the 10th Panchen Lama, one of the most important spiritual leaders in Tibet. The boy who had been recognised by the Dalai Lama as the correct reincarnation, Gendun Choekyi Nyima, was taken into Chinese custody, where he remains today, in an unknown location. The Dalai Lama knows that through their actions, the Chinese leadership is setting a precedent for when he dies: ‘The Chinese will certainly “discover” a Dalai Lama, just as they chose this boy to be the 11th Panchen Lama,’ he says. ‘But I have made it clear that the next Dalai Lama will be born in a free country. I think the Tibetans will accept that – and they won’t accept a boy chosen by the Chinese.’
Of course the Dalai Lama wants to return to his homeland before he dies. But he has always made it clear that his main priority is the fate of the several million Tibetans in Tibet on the high plateau encompassing central Tibet and the traditional areas of Kham and Amdo.
Lumley asks him how he sees Tibet’s future, at this critical point in the country’s history. The Dalai Lama is quiet for a few moments – as a monk who meditates for at least four hours a day, he is comfortable with silence – then he says: ‘I am not asking for separation from China or independence for Tibet. What I want is a meaningful autonomy, because that would be the best safeguard for the preservation of Tibetan culture and spirituality. I think that the work of all these ancient spiritual masters is the best form of human service and the best part of human expression. Even in the 21st century, Tibetan Buddhist civilisation must be preserved. This will help millions of young Chinese, as well as Tibetans. We want to work with today’s new China to achieve our goal of the preservation of Tibetan culture and the environment. That is my dream.’
