[International human rights advocates say that
rather than address the underlying grievances — including Beijing’s deeply
unpopular campaign to demonize the Dalai Lama, the exiled Tibetan spiritual
leader — Chinese authorities have responded with even harsher policies that
punish the relatives of those who self-immolate and imprison those who
disseminate news of the protests to the outside world.]
By Dan Levin
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Andy Wong/Associated Press
A Tibetan monk and pilgrims in prayer at a Buddhist temple
near the Labrang
Monastery in Xiahe.
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XIAHE,
China — Buddhist monks in flowing burgundy robes hurried along the dirt
paths of the Labrang Monastery, trying their best to ignore the scrum of
Chinese tourists following their every move, many with cameras fit for
paparazzi.
Pilgrims and those less spiritually inclined
wandered through the ornate complex here in the mountain town of Xiahe to gaze
upon towering Buddha statues bathed in incense. Some tourists held back to
indulge in distinctly unenlightened pursuits, smoking cigarettes and pouting at
smartphones in the high-tech vanity ritual known as the selfie.
One of the most important sites in Tibetan
Buddhism, Labrang presents an idyllic picture of sacred devotion that is
carefully curated by the Chinese government, which hopes to convince visitors
that Tibetan religion and culture are swaddled in the Communist Party’s
benevolent embrace.
But behind closed doors, many of the monastery’s
resident monks complain about intrusive government policies, invisible to
tourists, that they say are strangling their culture and identity.
“Even if we’re just praying, the government
treats us as criminals,” said a young monk, who like others interviewed
recently spoke on the condition of anonymity to avoid government repercussions.
Such frustrations, many monks say, are what have
driven more than 120 Tibetans to set fire to themselves since 2009, including
13 in the Labrang area, in a wave of protests that has gone largely unreported
in Chinese news media.
International human rights advocates say that
rather than address the underlying grievances — including Beijing’s deeply
unpopular campaign to demonize the Dalai Lama, the exiled Tibetan spiritual
leader — Chinese authorities have responded with even harsher policies that
punish the relatives of those who self-immolate and imprison those who
disseminate news of the protests to the outside world.
Exile groups and analysts say Labrang and a
handful of other monasteries across the vast Tibetan plateau in Central Asia
have become showcases for Beijing’s strategy, which seeks to stifle dissent in
well-trafficked tourist sites without scaring away visitors.
Monks here describe a largely unseen web of
controls that keep potential troublemakers in line: ubiquitous surveillance
cameras, paid informers and plainclothes security agents who mingle among the
busloads of tourists. Hidden from the throngs are the political education
sessions during which monks are forced to denounce the Dalai Lama. Stiff jail
sentences await those who step out of line. “If we don’t obey, it will be
terrible for us,” the monk said.
Founded in the early 18th century, the Labrang
Monastery is tucked into the dusky hills of northwestern Gansu Province. Each
day, hundreds of Chinese tourists arrive to spin colorful prayer wheels lining
the monastery perimeter and sip tea at hotels designed to resemble Tibetan
nomadic tents. Along the town’s main street, they buy turquoise-encrusted
amulets, dress up in monks’ robes and take turns trying on the ceremonial
yellow hats that resemble mohawk-style haircuts. Officials hope that a recently
completed airport will draw even bigger crowds.
In a monastery courtyard surrounded by
whitewashed mud walls, a Chinese family from the provincial capital, Lanzhou,
knelt down to pray to Buddha. “If you ask nicely, he’ll make your wish come
true,” said the mother, Ming Yang, who acknowledged that her understanding of
Buddhism ended there.
With an eye on the lucrative prestige of a
Unesco World Heritage listing, the central government is giving the monastery a
$26 million face-lift. Around 1,000 monks and 65,000 volumes of Buddhist
scripture are housed in the sprawling complex, which local officials say is in
dire need of structural improvements.
Yet locals complain that much of the
construction is aimed at increasing tourism, rather than benefiting Tibetans.
“It looks fancy, but in reality all the improvements are for Chinese people,”
one said.
Tourism is rapidly reshaping much of the Tibetan
plateau. According to the Xinhua state news agency, six million tourists
visited Lhasa, the capital of the Tibetan Autonomous Region, in the first eight
months of this year, a 20 percent increase over the same period in 2012. The
boom has attracted several international hotel chains to the city, which is
under de facto martial law.
In May, Tibetan exile groups started a boycott
campaign against the InterContinental Hotels Group, which is building a
2,000-room luxury resort next to the historic residence once occupied by the
Dalai Lama.
In the wake of violent anti-Chinese protests
that swept Tibet in 2008 and the wave of self-immolations that followed,
security forces have tightened their grip. The crackdown reaches deep into the
folds of Tibetan spirituality. According to the International Campaign for Tibet,
officials have posted notices in Tibetan areas declaring it illegal to pray for
self-immolators or to show solidarity “by burning incense, chanting religious
scriptures, releasing animals from killing and lighting candles.” At least two
monks have been jailed for praying on behalf of self-immolators, the group
said.
Exile groups say such tactics only alienate
Tibetans further. “Even lighting a butter lamp or incense stick becomes an act
against the state,” Kate Saunders, communications director for the
organization, said from London.
Yet local enforcement has been erratic. Nowhere
is this more clear than at Labrang, where a framed photo of the Dalai Lama sits
on an altar beside a large golden Buddha. For years, the government has banned
photos of the Dalai Lama and forbidden Tibetans to worship him as a religious
figure. Monks at Labrang said they believed that local officials had decided to
quietly tolerate such photos in an effort to head off further unrest.
On the tour, few of the Chinese day-trippers
seemed to recognize the older, bespectacled man Beijing has called “a wolf in
sheep’s clothing.” The monk guiding the group made no mention of his identity,
lest it threaten the ticket sales and donations needed to cover operating costs.
But being the main attraction on a Buddhist
safari has spiritual drawbacks.
“Chinese tourists just barge in when we’re
studying,” a middle-aged monk said as he fingered a set of prayer beads. “It
knocks on our minds, but they don’t care.”
Such complaints appear to be falling on deaf
ears. During a tour of the region in July, China’s top official in charge of
ethnic minorities, Yu Zhengsheng, insisted that economic development was the
panacea for what ailed Tibetans. In the same breath, he condemned the Dalai
Lama’s “middle way,” which calls for genuine autonomy in Tibet but not
independence, saying it conflicts with China’s political system.
“Only when people’s lives have been improved can
they be better united with the Chinese Communist Party and become a reliable
basis for maintaining stability,” he said, according to Xinhua.
But local Tibetans seethe at China’s refusal to
recognize their most basic aspirations. “Our hope is that the Dalai Lama can
return,” said a monk, looking out for eavesdroppers while sitting at a cafe.
“Without him, there is no chance our religion and culture will survive.”