Two years after the riots in Tibet, China wants us to see its developmental progress there, writes Clifford Coonanin Lhasa
THROUGH the haze of incense and the smoke of yak butter candles in the Jokang temple, Norgye, a nervous 29-year-old monk, is making a remarkable confession.
Norgye was one of a group of monks who, two weeks after the deadly riots in the Himalayan enclave of Tibet in March 2008, rushed a group of journalists in the Jokang temple, shouting demands for freedom.
Now he is standing in front of another group of foreign journalists on a rare trip to Tibet, constantly looking to his administrator to make sure he is saying the right thing.
“I didn’t know anything at that time. I have not been beaten or tortured. We had to learn more about the law. Through education I realised what I had done.”
The press trip has been organised by the Chinese foreign ministry to showcase the progress Beijing has made in its development plans for Tibet, and there has indeed been some remarkable improvements in infrastructure and development programmes. However, it also highlights the tensions that still exist in this restive province at the roof of the world.
Norgye is addressing us inside this beautiful 7th-century monastery that is the holiest shrine in Tibetan Buddhism. Behind him, a large container holding relics is wrapped in a Manchester United scarf, and money has been attached to various pictures of holy figures.
None of these pictures depict the Dalai Lama, of course, the Nobel laureate who is the God- king of Tibetan Buddhists, but whom the Chinese government considers a dangerous separatist.
The Dalai Lama fled Lhasa in 1959, eight years after it was formally annexed by the People’s Republic of China, and now lives in exile in Dharamsala, India.
In tandem with a crackdown that saw hundreds of Tibetans arrested, the government launched a major patriotic education campaign after the riots. Norgye’s testimony would seem to show that efforts to muzzle dissent are paying off.
There are still soldiers on the streets, although fewer than before, although some Tibetans speaking privately say the troops were removed while we journalists were there and that there is still uncertainty and fear among people.
Witnesses tell of snipers on the roofs around the Jokang monastery, and of troops marching up and down.
The riots started at the Jokang Temple on March 14th two years ago, when tensions spilled over into widespread violence both inside the Tibetan Autonomous Region and other Tibetan areas in China, and 19 people were killed.
Memories of the violence linger throughout Tibet. Jiang Yen (40), a shopkeeper from Sichuan, fled Lhasa to settle in Shigatse, Tibet’s second city, after days of fear. Ethnic Han Chinese were targeted during the riots by Tibetans resentful of the way migrants from other parts of China seemed to get all the best jobs and have all the power.
“It was terrible, terrible,” she says, her eyes tearing up. “It’s safer here, quieter. We give the Tibetans so much.”
Han Chinese are puzzled why so much investment goes into Tibet from the central government, billions of yuan in subsidies, investment and aid, and yet the Tibetans do not appear happy with rule from Beijing.
The Tibetans are angry because the money tends to go into the pockets of Han Chinese migrants who come to Tibet to set up businesses and run the state enterprises.
Tibet’s relationship with Beijing is extremely complex. China says Tibet is, was and always will be Tibetan, but the Tibetan government-in-exile in Dharamsala claims to represent the Tibetan people and wants more autonomy.
The destiny of the Han Chinese and Tibetans is closely linked.
Tibet has never been a strictly independent state in a modern sense, and the Chinese emperors have been involved in Tibetan affairs for hundreds of years. An independent Tibet is a very difficult political entity to conceive of.
The Tibetan area stretches far beyond the area known as the Tibetan Autonomous Region, which includes parts of provinces such as Sichuan and Gansu – huge swathes of Chinese territory.
The Dalai Lama says he does not want independence, but more autonomy for Tibetans within China.
While the Chinese government does not believe him when he says this, much of the focus of Chinese government efforts to win hearts and minds in Tibet has focused on improving the living standards of Tibetans in the belief that many of the political issues will fall by the wayside if people have enough food in their bellies and money in their pockets.
The model village of Gaba is home to 173 households with a population of 737 people, most of them farmers, and most Tibetan rather than Han Chinese.
Village chief Solang Jiancan tells of how the project began in 1996, and the government gave subsidies of 15,000 to 50,000 yuan (€1,775-€5,918) to build new homes, as well as interest-free loans.
“Eighty per cent of the villagers have rented their farmlands, mostly to Han Chinese, while 20 per cent operate the land themselves. Many have second jobs in Lhasa,” he says.
The reason that most have rented out their farmland is that the Tibetans have no tradition of growing crops beyond barley, as the winters are so harsh that the focus was always on livestock.
Tibetans are learning how to grow vegetables, but they are still happy to work in town and rent the land to the Han Chinese migrants, rather than till the land themselves, Solang adds.
“It’s hard for local people to develop the skills to grow vegetables. With this village we can protect our traditions and have a harmonious relationship with the Han Chinese.”
In every house there is a poster showing the triumvirate associated with the foundation of the modern Chinese nation – the Great Helmsman Mao Zedong, former president Jiang Zemin, and President Hu Jintao.
At Tibet University, Gesang Wangdui, director of the school of liberal arts, is showing us around a library of Tibetan manuscripts, mostly copies, but some originals donated by individuals – some of which are 800 years old.
It looks like a traditional Chinese medicine dispensary – lots of little nooks into which are placed, on little golden cushions, the long, thin folded documents. It’s a peaceful moment before repetition of the official message resumes.
“This school is in charge of the heritage of written and spoken Tibetan language,” Gesang says. “The books are the scientific results of our efforts, including lots of Tibetan language and learning and teaching tools. People learn Tibetan here, and all students are required to learn Tibetan, it is compulsory.”
We do notice that all signs in the college are in Chinese.
University president Gesang Qunpei gestures at the state-of- the-art campus, and says Tibetans account for 70 per cent of the student population.
“We have no problems here, just look around,” he says.
However, I am discouraged from talking to students by security guards. I manage to talk to one student who is about to mount his electric bike to head home.
We chat – more than anything about college life, innocuous stuff – but it is alarming to see security officials approach the young man, so I wait until he has mounted his bike and taken off before leaving.
The Potala Palace, the Dalai Lama’s Winter Palace, is a constant work in progress and rings with sounds of buzz-saws, although the noise may have come from the valley below. There are believed to be 999 rooms in the 360-year-old palace.
Qiangba Gesang is in charge of the renovation process.
“It took more than 10 years to renovate this palace, and it cost more than 200 million yuan. The central government attaches great importance to the renovation of the palace,” says the Elvis Presley- quiffed Gesang, who was a film projectionist for 30 years before he was assigned to Lhasa. He has been here for the last 22 years.
Every year 60,000 tourists come to the Potala Palace.
“Because of opening up and reform, there are more tourists coming here,” Gesang adds. “This means the local people have more money.”
Outside the Potala Palace, a group of Tibetan women is working on the roof, banging down some cladding with hammers and singing beautifully as they do.
For them, working on the Potala Palace is a labour of love.