“`html
Clad in crimson robes, prayer beads tracing a rhythmic path through his fingers, the monk approached.
It was a calculated risk.
We were under surveillance by eight unidentified individuals. A public exchange of words could invite repercussions for him.
Yet, he seemed willing to proceed. “The situation here is precarious for us,” he conveyed in hushed tones.
This monastery, nestled in China’s southwestern Sichuan province, has stood as a bastion of Tibetan resistance for decades. The world took notice in the late 2000s when Tibetans engaged in self-immolation there in defiance of Chinese governance. Nearly two decades hence, the Kirti monastery remains a source of concern for Beijing.
A police precinct has been erected within the main entryway. It is situated alongside a dimly lit chamber housing prayer wheels, their rotation producing a squeaking sound. A network of surveillance cameras mounted on robust steel poles encircles the compound, monitoring every area.
“Their intentions are not benevolent; it is evident,” the monk asserted. He then issued a warning: “Exercise caution, you are being observed.”
As our pursuers quickened their pace, the monk departed.
“They” represent the Communist Party of China, which has presided over more than six million Tibetans for nearly 75 years, since its annexation of the region in 1950.
China has made substantial investments in the region, constructing new roads and railways to stimulate tourism and facilitate integration with the rest of the nation. Tibetan expatriates report that economic development has also brought an increased presence of troops and officials, eroding their faith and freedoms.
Beijing regards Tibet as an inseparable component of China. It has labeled the Dalai Lama, Tibet’s exiled spiritual leader, as a separatist, and those who display his image or publicly support him risk imprisonment.
Nevertheless, some within Aba, or Ngaba in Tibetan, where the Kirti monastery is located, have resorted to extreme measures to challenge these constraints.
The town is situated outside what China designates as the Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR), established in 1965, encompassing approximately half of the Tibetan plateau. However, millions of Tibetans reside beyond the TAR, considering the remainder as part of their homeland.
Aba has historically played a pivotal role. Protests erupted here during the 2008 Tibet-wide uprising after, according to some accounts, a monk displayed a photograph of the Dalai Lama within the Kirti monastery. This escalated into a riot, and Chinese troops opened fire. At least 18 Tibetans were killed in this small town.
As Tibetans protested, the demonstrations often led to violent confrontations with Chinese paramilitary forces. Beijing claims 22 deaths, while Tibetan groups in exile estimate the number at around 200.
In subsequent years, more than 150 self-immolations occurred, advocating for the return of the Dalai Lama, primarily in or around Aba. This earned the main street the grim title of “Martyr’s Row.”
China has intensified its crackdown since then, rendering it nearly impossible to ascertain the situation in Tibet or Tibetan areas. Information that surfaces originates from those who have sought refuge abroad or from the government-in-exile in India.
To gain further insight, we revisited the monastery before dawn the following day. We evaded our minders and made our way back to Aba for the morning prayers.
The monks congregated wearing their yellow hats, symbolic of the Gelug school of Buddhism. Low, sonorous chanting resonated throughout the hall as ritual smoke lingered in the still, humid atmosphere. Approximately 30 local men and women, predominantly in traditional Tibetan long-sleeved jackets, sat cross-legged until a small bell signaled the prayer’s conclusion.
“The Chinese government has poisoned the atmosphere in Tibet. It is not a benevolent government,” one monk conveyed.
“We Tibetans are denied fundamental human rights. The Chinese government persists in oppressing and persecuting us. It is not a government that serves the people.”
He provided no elaboration, and our conversations were brief to avoid detection. Nevertheless, it remains rare to hear such sentiments.
The question of Tibet’s future has gained urgency as the Dalai Lama turns 90 this week. Hundreds of followers have convened in the Indian town of Dharamshala to honor him. He announced the much-anticipated succession plan on Wednesday, reaffirming his previous statements that the next Dalai Lama would be chosen after his passing.
Tibetans worldwide have reacted with relief, doubt, or anxiety, but not those within the Dalai Lama’s homeland, where even the utterance of his name is prohibited.
Beijing has unequivocally stated that the next reincarnation of the Dalai Lama will occur in China and will be approved by the Chinese Communist Party. Tibet, however, remains silent.
“That is the reality,” the monk stated.
The route to Aba meanders slowly for nearly 500km (300 miles) from Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province.
It traverses the snow-capped peaks of Siguniang Mountain before reaching the rolling grassland at the edge of the Himalayan plateau.
The gold, sloping rooftops of Buddhist temples shimmer every few miles as they catch the intense sunlight. This is the roof of the world where traffic yields to yak herders on horseback, whistling to reluctant cattle, as eagles circle above.
Beneath this Himalayan sky, two distinct worlds exist, where heritage and faith intersect with the Party’s demand for unity and control.
China has long asserted that Tibetans are free to practice their faith. However, that faith is also the source of a centuries-old identity, which human rights groups claim Beijing is gradually eroding.
They allege that numerous Tibetans have been detained for staging peaceful protests, promoting the Tibetan language, or even possessing a portrait of the Dalai Lama.
Many Tibetans, including some we interviewed within the Kirti monastery, express concerns regarding new laws governing the education of Tibetan children.
All individuals under 18 must now attend Chinese state-run schools and learn Mandarin. They are prohibited from studying Buddhist scriptures in a monastery class until they reach 18, and they must “love the country and the religion and adhere to national laws and regulations.”
This represents a significant change for a community where monks were often recruited as children, and monasteries served as schools for most boys.
“One of the nearby Buddhist institutions was dismantled by the government a few months ago,” a monk in his 60s shared in Aba, speaking from under an umbrella as he walked to prayers in the rain.
“It was a school for preaching,” he added, becoming visibly emotional.
The new regulations follow a 2021 directive mandating that all schools in Tibetan areas, including kindergartens, conduct instruction in the Chinese language. Beijing contends that this provides Tibetan children with enhanced prospects for employment in a country where Mandarin is the primary language.
However, such regulations could have a “profound effect” on the future of Tibetan Buddhism, according to scholar Robert Barnett.
“We are transitioning to a scenario of total control by the Chinese leader Xi Jinping, leading to an era of limited information entering Tibet and restricted sharing of the Tibetan language,” Mr. Barnett explained.
“Schooling will focus almost exclusively on Chinese festivals, Chinese values, and advanced Chinese traditional culture. We are witnessing the comprehensive management of intellectual input.”
The road to Aba showcases the financial resources Beijing has invested in this remote region. A new high-speed railway line hugs the hills, connecting Sichuan to other provinces on the plateau.
In Aba, the customary storefronts selling monks’ robes and bundles of incense are now accompanied by new hotels, cafes, and restaurants designed to attract tourists.
Chinese tourists, clad in branded hiking attire, express astonishment as the local faithful prostrate themselves on wooden blocks at the entrance to Buddhist temples.
“How do they accomplish anything throughout the day?” one tourist pondered aloud. Others excitedly turn the prayer wheels and inquire about the vibrant murals depicting scenes from the Buddha’s life.
A party slogan displayed along the roadside proclaims that “people of all ethnic groups are united as closely as seeds in a pomegranate.”
However, the pervasive surveillance is hard to overlook.
Hotel check-in procedures require facial recognition. Even purchasing gasoline necessitates the presentation of multiple forms of identification to high-definition cameras. China has long regulated the information accessible to its citizens, but in Tibetan areas, the control is even more stringent.
According to Mr. Barnett, Tibetans are “isolated from the outside world.”
It remains uncertain how many are aware of the Dalai Lama’s announcement on Wednesday, which, while broadcast worldwide, was censored in China.
Living in exile in India since 1959, the 14th Dalai Lama has advocated for greater autonomy, rather than complete independence, for his homeland. Beijing maintains that he “has no right to represent the Tibetan people.”
He transferred political authority in 2011 to a government-in-exile democratically elected by 130,000 Tibetans globally, and that government has engaged in back-channel discussions with China this year regarding the succession plan, although their progress remains unclear.
The Dalai Lama has previously suggested that his successor would originate from “the free world,” i.e., outside China. On Wednesday, he asserted that “no-one else has any authority to interfere.”
This sets the stage for a confrontation with Beijing, which has stated that the process should “adhere to religious rituals and historical customs, and be conducted in accordance with national laws and regulations.”
Beijing is already laying the groundwork to persuade the Tibetans, according to Mr. Barnett.
“A substantial propaganda apparatus is already in place. The Party has deployed teams to offices, schools, and villages to educate people about the ‘new regulations’ for selecting a Dalai Lama.”
When the Panchen Lama, the second-highest authority in Tibetan Buddhism, passed away in 1989, the Dalai Lama identified a successor to that post in Tibet. However, the child disappeared. Beijing was accused of kidnapping him, although it insists that the boy, now an adult, is safe. It subsequently approved a different Panchen Lama, whom Tibetans outside China do not recognize.
If two Dalai Lamas exist, it could become a test of China’s persuasive abilities. Which one will the world recognize? More importantly, would most Tibetans in China even be aware of the other Dalai Lama?
China desires a credible successor, but perhaps not one who is too credible.
Because, according to Mr. Barnett, Beijing “seeks to transform the lion of Tibetan culture into a poodle.”
“It aims to eliminate elements it deems risky and replace them with concepts it believes Tibetans should embrace: patriotism, loyalty, fealty. They appreciate the singing and dancing – the Disney version of Tibetan culture.”
“We cannot ascertain how much will endure,” Mr. Barnett concludes.
As we depart the monastery, a procession of women carrying heavy baskets filled with construction or farming tools walks through the prayer wheel room, spinning them clockwise.
They sing in Tibetan and smile as they pass, their greying, pleated hair barely visible beneath their sun hats.
Tibetans have clung to their identity for 75 years, fighting for it and dying for it.
The challenge now lies in safeguarding it, even after the man who embodies their beliefs and their resistance is gone.
Get our flagship newsletter with all the headlines you need to start the day. Sign up here.
The Dalai Lama, now 90, remains at the centre of China’s complicated relationship with Tibet.
The exiled leader of Tibetan Buddhism issues a landmark announcement as he turns 90, ending years of uncertainty.
It imposed the ban in 2023 over Japan’s release of treated waste water from the Fukushima nuclear plant.
The robots kicked, scored and tumbled while competing at a tourmentant in Beijing.
“`