. London: Feb 3, 2007. Vol. 382, Iss. 8514; pg. 59
It was an odd remark to come from a Chinese government official. Instead of flaunting the 13.2% growth that his autonomous region reportedly achieved in 2006, he was openly contemptuous of the calculations. He may work for the Chinese government, but he is an ethnic Tibetan and, like many others, he is intransigently opposed to all things Chinese. His is a common tale in modern Tibet: even as they take advantage of some of the economic opportunities Chinese rule has brought, many Tibetans remain staunchly proud of their own culture. This belies Chinese propaganda portraying supporters of the Dalai Lama and Tibetan separatism as a dwindling minority. China embarked in 2000 on a drive to accelerate development in its backward western regions, including Tibet. Tibetans are still desperately poor, but on the whole they are better off than they once were. Tibetan tradition has not survived unscathed. Some young people are abandoning nomadic life for lucrative urban jobs. But if the true index of a culture's vitality is its adherence to its language, historical memory and religious traditions, Tibetan culture shows itself durable.
Full Text (763 words)
Economic advance is not winning all that many hearts and minds
IT WAS an odd remark to come from a Chinese government official. Instead of flaunting the 13.2% growth that his autonomous region reportedly achieved in 2006, he was openly contemptuous of the calculations: "The officials tell us what incomes Beijing wants us to report and then we just have to report those numbers, even though there are farmers earning far less." Worse, he has views on the limits of Chinese sovereignty. "Highest this in China, highest that in China," he says, in a caustic imitation of Chinese tour guides. "This," he declares, a hand sweeping out towards the mountain-circled horizon, "is not China. This is Tibet."
He may work for the Chinese government, but he is an ethnic Tibetan and, like many others, he is intransigently opposed to all things Chinese. His motives in working for the party are purely mercenary: "It's the highest paying job I can get." He also admits that he would like to visit India to see the Dalai Lama, Tibet's exiled spiritual leader. But, for now, he must earn money.
His is a common tale in modern Tibet: even as they take advantage of some of the economic opportunities Chinese rule has brought, many Tibetans remain staunchly proud of their own culture. This belies Chinese propaganda portraying supporters of the Dalai Lama and Tibetan separatism as a dwindling minority.
On the other hand, the official's story does not quite fit the image of modern Tibet fostered by China's critics. In their version, economic growth benefits only ethnic Han Chinese. China embarked in 2000 on a drive to accelerate development in its backward western regions, including Tibet. Since then, and especially since last year when a railway to Lhasa was completed, pessimists have been mourning in advance the death of Tibetans' unique Buddhist culture and identity.
Economic growth, it was argued, would bring a flood of Han Chinese immigrants, who would "Hanify" Tibet and murder its culture. But just as that culture survived China's invasion in 1950, the flight of the Dalai Lama in 1959 and the devastation of the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s and 1970s, so it is now resisting the subtler ravages wrought by economic progress.
China's western development policy in part reflects the government's belief that economic growth would quench demands for greater political liberty. If Tibetans grew richer, surely they would become friendlier to life under Chinese rule? And, indeed, some Tibetans are sharing the new wealth. Lhasa has become a magnet for Tibetans from across the plateau, drawn by the opportunities created there by the booming tourist industry for guides, vendors and hotel workers. Scholarships take Tibetan students to universities in Beijing and Shanghai.
Even outside Lhasa, some Tibetans acknowledge that Chinese economic policies have brought benefits. In the northern town of Nagqu, for example, nomadic herders now have houses to shelter them from the icy winter, thanks to economic progress and government aid. Recognising Tibetan poverty, the government recently announced that it would offer aid to more than 230,000 farmers and herdsmen. The statistics are fudged and many Tibetans are still desperately poor, but on the whole they are better off than they once were.
Tibetan tradition has not survived unscathed. Some young people are abandoning nomadic life for lucrative urban jobs. Unworldly lamas now boast Nike caps. As one bitter gentleman puts it, "there are those who have sold out to the Chinese."
But if the true index of a culture's vitality is its adherence to its language, historical memory and religious traditions, Tibetan culture shows itself durable. Loyalty to the Dalai Lama, the Tibetan language and a view of history in which the Chinese are illegitimate invaders will not die soon. Each year, thousands sneak across the border and receive "religious and cultural training" from the Dalai Lama's government-in-exile. Those who return pass the lessons to their compatriots.
Many of those who do not risk the journey to India work hard at preserving their Tibetan heritage. One mother says that she insists that her daughter learn Tibetan, and that many others do the same. "Chinese is important for work but Tibetan is who we are. If you come back to Lhasa in ten years, you'll see many more people speaking Chinese. But they would still be Tibetan."
Such ideas pose no immediate security threat to China. But their persistence in the face of genuine danger highlights the limitations of Chinese rule. China has, through force, won reluctant submission. Acceptance, however, cannot be bought.
