The Dalai Lama

by Alexander Norman

  Later that same year the Dalai Lama returned to New York to confer the Kalachakra initiation on a large audience in an event cosponsored by the actor Richard Gere and Tibet House.* Whether or not there was any direct causal connection between this and the momentum that now gathered behind the movement for a free Tibet is of course impossible to say. Nonetheless, there is little doubt that when he met with President Bill Clinton two years later, the Dalai Lama’s campaign on behalf of the Tibetan people had reached a new phase. It was Clinton, perhaps sensing a cause that covered all the bases, who subsequently did the most of any international statesman to make the Tibetan issue a genuine matter of government policy. Indicating support for an earlier State Department report to Congress concerning the forthcoming review of China’s most favored nation status, the Clinton administration moved toward endorsing “dialogue with the Dalai Lama or his representatives” as a condition of its extension.

  Spiritually, too, the years immediately following the Nobel award were frenetic. There was a total of nine Kalachakra conferrals between 1989 and 1995, and there were many interfaith encounters besides. In 1994, at the invitation of the World Community for Christian Meditation, the Dalai Lama spoke at a conference dedicated to the dialogue between Buddhism and Christianity. Commenting on passages drawn from the four Christian gospels, the Dalai Lama discussed both similarities and dissimilarities between the two religions. In one memorable analogy he reminded his audience that, in the quest to find common ground, it was important to bear in mind the danger of, as the Tibetan saying has it, “trying to put a yak’s head on a sheep’s body.” Nonetheless, many people present were touched by the manifest humility of the Dalai Lama engaging with a faith tradition other than his own.

  But the Chinese know, as the Romans knew, that cunctando regior mundus: delay rules the world. Although then less than half a century old, the Communist Party’s rule draws on ancient tradition. Its leadership thinks in decades rather than in terms of the few years between presidential elections. If they were successful in turning China into an economic superpower, they understood that it would be only a matter of time before the Dalai Lama became an irrelevance. The Western powers would certainly prioritize trade over human rights. Thus, even as Tibet support groups began to spring up on university campuses around the world, and as increasing numbers of A-listers came forward to support the Dalai Lama’s cause—Richard Gere had long been known for his support, but he was now joined by others such as actors Goldie Hawn and Sharon Stone, composer Philip Glass, and hip-hop artist Adam Yauch—the Politburo began planning the Third National Forum for Work in Tibet. This was a conference to be held in Beijing in July 1994 which would review policy and set out strategy into the new millennium. Its main emphasis, at least in the documents made available to the public, was economic: Tibet was a provincial dead end that must be developed. Its real focus, however, centered on fostering the “unity of the nationalities” and the territorial integrity of the Motherland. Not only was there to be no letup in the campaign to identify and root out groups and individuals with “splittist” sympathies, but now the Dalai Lama himself was to be held personally culpable for any challenges to China’s claims over Tibet. The Third Forum was thus characterized above all by its unprecedented emphasis on explicitly attacking the Precious Protector, which all officials in Tibet were required to repeat whenever called upon to do so. He was not seeking justice for his people; he was intent on destroying China’s territorial integrity and national unity. By internationalizing the Tibetan question, he had “bartered away his honour for Western hostile forces’ patronage.” People should be in no doubt: “Although sometimes Dalai speaks softly and says nice things to deceive the masses, he has never ceased his splittist activities.” For this reason, the “Dalai clique” must be attacked unremittingly: “To kill a serpent, we must first cut off its head.”

  A further feature of the Third Forum was its focus on religion. This was in response to the fact that it was overwhelmingly members of the sangha who had led each of the recent protests. Of those detained following the disturbances, only a third were laypeople—doubly remarkable given the small numbers of monks and nuns now remaining in the population. This observation elicited a response typical of the secular state when confronted with religiously motivated dissent: “The purpose of Buddhism is to deliver all living creatures in a peaceful manner,” but “the Dalai and his clique” had “violated the religious doctrine . . . to fool and incite one people against the other,” using “godly strength to poison and bewitch the masses,” incorporating “Tibetan independence” in his sermons. “Such flagrant deceptiveness and demagoguery constitute a blasphemy to Buddhism.”

  To counter the Dalai Lama’s subversive message, it would be necessary to ensure that all those in positions of authority in Tibet disavow the Precious Protector. All political figures and dignitaries, and all monks and nuns, had to repeat or endorse in writing four sentences explicitly denouncing “the Dalai.” No one in public employment could any longer erect an altar in their home, and, within two years, there was a ban on displaying or even possessing pictures of the Dalai Lama, while all Tibetan students were prohibited from visiting monasteries or attending any kind of religious ceremony. It was vital that young people should keep before them a proper understanding of the misery of the masses before liberation. They should be in no doubt about the sources of past suffering and the conditions of present happiness.

  The immediate consequence of these new policies announced by the Third Forum was another wave of protests that erupted over the winter of 1994–95. In that they were again largely led by members of the sangha, these were similar to those that had occurred earlier. But there were two important differences. Whereas before the protests were confined to Lhasa, now they spread to outlying regions. And while earlier the monasteries involved in dissent were invariably Gelugpa foundations, now it was evident that the other sects were also involved. This made clear that the Dalai Lama’s own policy of openness to all schools within the Tibetan tradition had found support outside circles habitually loyal to him. In the past, the Chinese might have expected the non-Gelug monasteries not to follow the Precious Protector’s lead. But no longer.

  Further confirmation of the success of the Dalai Lama’s efforts at conciliation between the different elements of Tibetan society came during the selection process of the new Panchen Lama. By convention it falls to the Dalai Lama to oversee the procedure, should he be of age. Similarly, the Panchen Rinpoché is, theoretically at least, consulted during the selection of the Dalai Lama (as indeed happened during the search for the present incarnation, although in this case his involvement was limited—on account of the fact that the Panchen Lama died before the process was complete). Selection of the new Panchen Lama (whom the Chinese would doubtless seek to influence) was of critical importance given there was every likelihood that he would play a major role in the selection of the next Dalai Lama.

  In light of the historic rivalry between the two sees, it would not have been wholly surprising if the authorities at Tashilhunpo had turned to the Chinese (who had lately provided the monastery with a generous benefaction), rather than to Dharamsala, for assistance in the process. For their part, the Chinese had their own understanding of correct procedure. This involved deployment of the ser bumba, the hated Golden Urn. Imposed on Tibet by Qianlong, Qing emperor of China during the late eighteenth century, this was the protocol whereby the final selection of the highest incarnations was to be confirmed by a so-called Divine Lottery whereby the names of rival candidates were to be written on ivory tablets in Tibetan, Manchu, and Mandarin, placed in the urn, and drawn out under supervision of the local Chinese amban, or governor. Because of the situation then prevailing, the Golden Urn’s use had been dispensed with at the time of both the present Dalai Lama’s and the late Panchen Lama’s selection: the Chinese were unable to enforce its use. But now the Chinese were certain to insist on its deployment.

  In what some T
ibetan officials saw as a gesture of conciliation, the Chinese authorities permitted Chadrel Rinpoché, abbot of Tashilhunpo, and as such the person in overall charge of the search, to put a letter seeking the Dalai Lama’s guidance into Gyalo Thondup’s hands during a visit by the Dalai Lama’s brother to Beijing in July 1993. At that moment, it even seemed possible that the authorities might be willing to dispense with use of the Golden Urn. In the end, Chadrel Rinpoché, who had in the meantime had secret word from the Dalai Lama which of the candidates was the authentic reincarnation, was unable to secure dispensation before the day deemed by the Dalai Lama to be the most auspicious on which to make his choice known publicly. To Chadrel Rinpoché’s embarrassment and to the fury of the Chinese authorities, the Dalai Lama preempted them by making his own announcement.

  It was an extremely risky move, and one that the Dalai Lama must have known would bring serious repercussions. It cannot have come as any great surprise to him when Chadrel Rinpoché was subsequently arrested, along with his chief assistant. What may have caught him by surprise, however, was the speed with which the Chinese authorities detained the little boy declared by the Dalai Lama to be the authentic incarnation and announced another candidate as the “official” Panchen Lama. The Precious Protector’s own choice, just six years old, thus became one of the youngest political prisoners in the world. His whereabouts remain unknown.

  Why would the Dalai Lama have risked such an outcome? We can but speculate. The only thing we can be certain of is that he did not make the decision lightly. He would, moreover, have consulted closely with Nechung and the other dharma protector, and indeed it is almost certain that their counsel was what clinched the matter.

  Whatever the Dalai Lama’s intentions, the Panchen Lama controversy clearly impacted the thinking of the Chinese authorities. There was to be no letup in their campaign against the Precious Protector. Those who held the view that the outbreaks of unrest in Tibet were directly attributable to the liberalization of the 1980s were firmly in the ascendant—a position consolidated by further outbreaks of unrest later in the year. To the dismay of the Dalai Lama, who continued to assert the importance of all protest being peaceful, this culminated, in December 1996, with the explosion of a bomb in Lhasa, injuring five people and damaging two hotels and a government building.

  Although it was evidently not intended to cause massive loss of life—the device was remotely detonated in the early hours of the morning—this was a shocking development. Up until now, violence, when it had broken out, had done so in the context of civil unrest. But this was malice aforethought. It was now but a short distance to premeditated acts of mass murder. Unless, of course, this was a false flag operation. It is not impossible to imagine that the bomb—much more sophisticated than anything seen thus far in Tibet—was in fact planted and exploded by the authorities themselves. It would be naïve to suppose that a regime capable of administering beatings and electric shocks to detainees as a matter of routine would never undertake such operations.

  As a result of both the Panchen Lama debacle and continued unrest in Tibet, one decade removed from the time when a visit to Tibet by the Dalai Lama had seemed a genuine possibility, the political situation was now almost as bad as it had been before Deng’s overtures and certainly at any time since Hu Yaobang’s intervention in the early 1980s. Given the enormous popularity the Dalai Lama was starting to enjoy on the international scene, and given too the seriousness with which his efforts to bring the situation in Tibet to the attention of political leaders worldwide was being met, this seems cruelly ironic. But the devastating turn that events in the exile community took over the next twelve months was a tragic reminder of the epic scale of the difficulties that the Dalai Lama has faced since the day the search party came knocking at his parents’ farmstead door.

  20

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  “An oath-breaking spirit born of perverse prayers”: The Murder of Lobsang Gyatso

  At the beginning of every year, the Dalai Lama grants a general audience at the main temple in Dharamsala, where he delivers a quasi–State of the Union Address. There follows, soon after, the Precious Protector’s spring teachings. During those of 1996, the Dalai Lama surprised his audience by speaking in unusually forceful terms about Dorje Shugden. Over the years since his first public repudiation of him, the Dalai Lama had often repeated his view that the deity was unreliable. Increasingly he had suggested that monks in particular should not have recourse to Shugden. He had, in addition, requested (and requests of the Dalai Lama have the authority of orders within the Tibetan community) that certain statues of Shugden in prominent settings within the major monasteries be removed and, in some cases, replaced with statues of Nechung. On this occasion he issued for the first time a forthright condemnation of Shugden practice, saying that anyone who wished to continue it should no longer consider the Dalai Lama to be their guru. Those in this category should neither attend his teachings nor take any empowerments from him. Beyond this, he made it clear that, on account of the regrettable persistence of Shugden practice, there would, if necessary, have to be follow-up. The matter had reached the point where, if nothing was done, there was danger of harm not just to the Ganden Phodrang government but to his own life, which could be shortened as a result.

  The speech was greeted with general dismay. Shugden remained a popular figure, especially among Khampas and traders as well as with the late Trijang Rinpoché’s many followers. Of all the supernatural beings venerated by Tibetans, he is the one to whom ordinary people can most easily relate. Besides his claimed role as principal protector of the Gelug school, Shugden is also known for facilitating the prosperity of his followers. But to many, the most shocking aspect of all was the fact of Shugden’s perceived pivotal role in the successful escape of the Dalai Lama from Lhasa in 1959.

  The dismay was not just on the part of Shugden devotees, however. People were also appalled that there were some within the community who would disregard the Dalai Lama’s requests with respect to the practice. It was well understood that the Dalai Lama would not speak out without just cause, and since nothing is more precious than the life of the Precious Protector, if it was the case that his life was endangered, those who continued to defy him were guilty of serious wrongdoing. With this in mind, some reacted with zealous indiscretion. Taking advantage of the absence of the abbess, they threw out as rubbish the Shugden statue kept in Dharamsala’s Ganden Choeling Nunnery. Later, a number of departments within the Tibetan exile administration took it on themselves to mount a campaign to root out from government employ any who maintained a connection with the deity—even if this amounted to no more than the usual monthly ritual offering. The Department of Health, among others, circulated a notice requiring all employees and their families to sign a letter of abjuration. At the same time, representatives of the Dalai Lama visited the monasteries in southern India to apprise them of the Precious Protector’s directive. Worrying reports began to spread that those who refused to sign or comply were beaten up. By early summer, resistance groups started to emerge, and demonstrations against the Dalai Lama’s proclamation were held at both the Ganden and Sera Monasteries.

  As tensions began to mount, a number of devotees found their businesses boycotted, while signs began to appear in shop windows announcing that Shugden supporters would not be welcome. The question of loyalty was on everyone’s lips.

  No doubt part of the government in exile’s zeal can be attributed to the desire to be seen to be doing something. Recent events in Dharamsala had already heightened tensions within the exile community. Not long before, a man had been found working in the Dalai Lama’s kitchen who had links with the Chinese government. In the previous two years, a total of five spies had allegedly been uncovered in Dharamsala by Indian intelligence. There was also a rumor that the Tibetan administration’s internal security had recently foiled a plot that called for a female agent, posing as a new arrival from Tibet, to put nerve agent in her hair so that when the Dalai L
ama touched her in blessing, he would be poisoned. On top of this, following the recent fatal stabbing of a young Indian by a Tibetan youth, relations between Dharamsala’s immigrant and resident Gaddi communities had fallen to a disastrous low.* There was even talk of the Indian government’s relocating the entire Tibetan population to an area south of Delhi, while the Dalai Lama himself had declared that he would move to southern India if his continued presence in Dharamsala was inconvenient.

  The possibility of another move was hugely unsettling to the exile community, and there can be little doubt that the McCarthyite paranoia that gripped many of those in authority can be attributed to the tense atmosphere then prevailing. But what was most toxic of all was the response of a small but well-organized cell of Shugden devotees within the Gelugpa establishment. Posters denouncing the Dalai Lama’s declaration appeared in Dharamsala and elsewhere, and a court case was brought in the wake of the government’s campaign, while Amnesty International was appealed to on the grounds that Shugden’s devotees were being denied the right to freedom of religious belief.

  As the crisis worsened, an anonymous letter circulated in Dharamsala threatening the Dalai Lama with a “bloodbath.” At the same time, death threats were issued against the young incarnation of Trijang Rinpoché and another senior Shugden lineage holder, Song Rinpoché. Simultaneously, an attempt was made on the life of a former abbot of one of the Ganden colleges by Shugden supporters. Then, at a séance during which the Dalai Lama invoked Nechung and several other oracles, one of the mediums (in a trance) accused a lama in attendance of being an unrepentant Shugden devotee and attacked him. A fracas broke out, and the lama subsequently threatened to sue, until the Dalai Lama personally intervened. In January 1997 a respected geshe was beaten up in Delhi.