Jokhang Temple, of 'Lhaden Tsuglag-Khang" - the house of Buddha - could be considered as the most holy site in Lhasa. Centred in the Barkor Square, it was a beating heart of circumnavigating pilgrims, offerings, trade, marching soldiers bearing guns, tanks rolling in armed with rocket launchers, guards on roof tops, and a heady mix of Nepalese, Tibetan, Chinese and badly spelled Western menu. Closing my eyes, maybe I could believe that this was once a base for the spreading of a gospel of compassion, cause and effect, and reincarnation, karma and the five elements of life's governance, socio-politics and trade, of the vices of ignorance, hatred and desire, of what you may today hear, the 14th Dalai Lama's call for the preserving of his people's lives and culture. I will comment that China has brought huge advancement in the sense of bricks and mortar. Although Tibet could not live by their own measure but to allow the construction of some quality highways, energy sources, buildings and job creation though tourism, it still didn't mean it was right for what was happening here to continue doing so. Yet China has to realise that the curbing and suspension of free thought and individualistic expression of belief will erode away the strongest of concrete. The world isn't closing their eyes, but even the most compelling protests will fail when you can just pick up an article in a local market shop detailing the evils of the Dalai Lama and how he was being bankrolled by the CIA. T.D. himself had never heard from or seen three of his mates who were conducting previous tours for a few groups of American tourists, including (unknown to these guys) amongst the groups were a few American-born Chinese. An innocent question regarding some old buildings that survived the rape of 1966 was answered by a direct fact-to-the-point that the Red Guards had destroyed these very places. A phone call was made to Beijing. Arrests were made. A man never saw his friends again. This was just a few years ago.
The Potala Palace housed some of the most magnificent collection of ancient sutra, statues, and mural. Tombs between the fifth to the thirteenth Dalai Lama, with the exception of the first to the fourth whom were buried in the older monastery in Drupeng and the sixth in Litang, were reflection of the perfect artistic movement of Tibetan ability back when we did without the modernity of science. The building was constructed to represent the theological and political development of its people and it was done in the most clever of design to accommodate air circulation, support, and creative flavour. In short, this was a gem. The library held the secrets of Tibetan Buddhism found in exchanges between their country with China, Nepal, and India. The treasure collection was spoken through a vast assembly of gold, silver, precious stones that were in an assortment of sizes enough to dazzle even the strictest critic of Sotheby's. And all of these made it to today due to one man who could perhaps be the last perfect revolutionary. This man, Zhou Enlai, commanded significant influence to prevent the purging and destruction of that age by the Red Guards. It was not unknown in that time of day that most resemblance of imperialistic and bourgeois sources would never make it past the Cultural Revolution's expulsion.
Young and old, Buddhists and Muslims, tourists and soldiers mixed in that hot afternoon. I went numb just looking at a group of six in fatigue, walking past an old woman performing the traditional prostration in front of the temple, automated weapons, batons and shin guards for all to see. Hail the might of the Chinese power? Our travels had taken us to borders of dispute but I never once had the ill feeling that I was having right then. These soldiers must had the shittiest job in the world - to sign up believing that you were defending good against evil, only to find yourself cooped up in a holy place, guarding not against an invading force but pilgrims with nothing but prayer beads and jugs of yak butter. It was a recipe for disaster as frustrated soldiers marched in hourly manner amongst pilgrims whom were coerced to believe that they were "free to practice". I was told to not photograph directly at the military. I was instructed on a lot of things "for my own safety". How come being told that the Chinese Government had my welfare under concern just gave this sick feeling in my gut?
Young and old, Buddhists and Muslims, tourists and soldiers mixed in that hot afternoon. I went numb just looking at a group of six in fatigue, walking past an old woman performing the traditional prostration in front of the temple, automated weapons, batons and shin guards for all to see. Hail the might of the Chinese power? Our travels had taken us to borders of dispute but I never once had the ill feeling that I was having right then. These soldiers must had the shittiest job in the world - to sign up believing that you were defending good against evil, only to find yourself cooped up in a holy place, guarding not against an invading force but pilgrims with nothing but prayer beads and jugs of yak butter. It was a recipe for disaster as frustrated soldiers marched in hourly manner amongst pilgrims whom were coerced to believe that they were "free to practice". I was told to not photograph directly at the military. I was instructed on a lot of things "for my own safety". How come being told that the Chinese Government had my welfare under concern just gave this sick feeling in my gut?
The more astounding this place got, the more glum I felt. It was a difficult feeling to describe. Somewhere deep inside my mind, I may had realised that I had taken my liberty with an ounce of granted. These were people who were being shown to the world that they had improved their future by standing within the yellow-lined box drawn by the Chinese Government. These were a generation of Tibetan who would either never see an improvement beyond the spoon-fed propaganda at school or would never travel beyond their own borders. We spoke with a good deal of immensely talented graduates who would most likely to never see a brighter future, not for any fault of their own except that they did not bear the right description on their birth certificate. It was too difficult to put into words the access a Tibetan would get in order to apply for a passport - a basic right of any citizen. A Han would make it overseas, to travel, to see how small the real London Bridge was, to find out that Australians celebrate Christmas in summer. A Han could hide behind the "restricted" rules of a one-child policy yet today I closed my jeep's door, hence separating my world from the world of a Tibetan child who was pushed by her mother to beg at visitors. She was only barely five, without any coherent ability to laugh and play, to count or greet. Her tiny hands only knew how to guide my eyes to look at her face, one of no sight of escape because she just did not come from the right race.
I closed today with a quiet night. It was just too depressing to go anywhere.
I closed today with a quiet night. It was just too depressing to go anywhere.
