Sounding Board

I've moved!

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 03:04:00 +0000

I've moved my blog over to Wordpress. You can find it here now: http://journeyingiam.wordpress.com/

~ J

Turtle Feet

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Thu, 21 May 2009 04:33:00 +0000

“In order to understand something clearly, one must first give it up.”

I said something similar to one of my best friends in Dharamsala the week before I left. While I knew I would miss India like crazy – and I was right – I experienced so much that I knew I needed to leave to let it all soak in.

I picked up Turtle Feet at a small bookstore in Majnu ka Tilla, the Tibetan colony in Delhi. It jumped out at me because I had been thinking a lot about my monk friend, his life, and the community’s expectations of monks. The front flap of Turtle Feet included a line about demystifying monks’ lives. Perfect food for thought.

Back in Montreal, when I finally sat down to read it, my first impression was that the author, Nikolai Grozni, was a stupid injie (Westerner) who took his vows to become a monk without fully understanding what it meant. His friends were the epitome of the Western tourists I hated in Dharamsala, oblivious to the culture and community around them and disrespectful without even being aware of it.

But as I read, I discovered that the author was slowly learning lessons that gave him a deeper understanding of the community – many lessons I myself had to learn. In one chapter, Grozni writes about meeting Tsar, a Western monk who smoked and was always hanging out with girls. At first he seemed interested in Tsar because he was a fellow Western monk who wasn’t afraid to still act however he wanted. But by the end of the chapter, Grozni realized that he was being judged by the community for hanging out with someone who had such a bad reputation.

Reading about the difficulties Grozni encountered on his spiritual quest for the truth made me think more about my own struggle to understand the Buddhist ideas of emptiness and impermanence. The more I have read about Buddhism, the more I have felt like a stupid Westerner who has been taught to hang on to people and experiences, be miserable missing them when they were gone, and to deeply fear death. In comparison, my Tibetan friends seem to be able to cope much better with life’s changes. I keep trying to override the worldview that is deeply engrained in me, but the process is making me realize how difficult it is to change my fundamental beliefs when they are the basis of my actions and reactions on a daily basis. I have also realized that until now, I have not chosen those fundamental beliefs, I have merely soaked them in from my surroundings. I took some comfort in knowing that I am not alone in my struggle; even as a monk who was studying Buddhist texts with learned teachers, Grozni also seemed to be grappling to understand Buddhism through the worldview from his childhood.

Grozni’s descriptions of Dharamsala are so vivid. He describes the bustle of the town, the packs of dogs and beggars, and being surrounded by the Himalayas so precisely that I felt again what it was like to be there. It made me miss the fresh air and the night sky and the million sounds I could hear from my bed in the morning, and even the damn monkeys.

At a time when I was painfully missing India, Turtle Feet helped me realize that Dharamsala will never be the same as it was during the year I was there. Many of my friends have left, our lives have changed, and our experiences have changed us. At the same time, I know that Dharamsala will always be there and will probably always evoke a sense of awe in those who visit it.

The Case of the Missing Toothbrush

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 14:48:00 +0000

For Sun Chee

Roommates. Most of us have lived with them at some point in our lives. They are strangers with whom we must coexist, whose bizarre habits and foibles we must cope with and who must cope with ours in return. I am currently living with three such creatures. My roommates are an unemployed dancer who unintentionally ate hash brownies from our freezer, a busking musician who likes to rant about politics with me, and (my personal favourite) an out-of-work actress who has taken over the apartment since she moved in a month ago.

We’ve had the usual roommate issues: dirty dishes left everywhere, garbage that doesn’t get taken out, bills not paid, doors left unlocked and shoes being worn in the house. But my ultimate favourite so far has been the case of my missing toothbrush.

I came home late one night and it was just gone.

My initial reaction was to mutter “stupid f***ing roommates” under my breath – an increasingly common curse these days. All I kept thinking was WHY would anyone take a used toothbrush?! I told myself that there had to be a rational explanation. I searched the trashcans, thinking it might have fallen in the toilet or been used to clean shoes, and then discarded. Nothing.

Then my imagination started to wander. Maybe the two annoying cats had learned acrobatics while we were out and taught themselves how to open the perilously high medicine cabinet. I laughed at the mental picture of the two cats standing one on top of the other, stealing my toothbrush as revenge for all the times I sprayed them with water to get them out of my room.

When I was a kid and my mum had lost something, she used to say, “Things don’t just sprout legs and walk off.” But if my roommates were telling the truth, they didn’t touch my toothbrush.

Maybe my Indian-made toothbrush was homesick and just couldn’t take it anymore.

Imagining Peace and Public Engagement

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 18:05:00 +0000

I recently went to the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts exhibit about John Lennon and Yoko Ono, entitled “Imagine: The Peace Ballad of John & Yoko”. Mixing the couple’s music and artwork, the exhibit gave a detailed chronology of John and Yoko’s relationship while encouraging the public to interact with the ideas and values they embodied. There was the nail painting in which members of the public were encouraged to hammer a nail and tie a piece of their hair around it, an all-white chess set, and a room with maps of the world on which people could stamp the words “Imagine Peace”. My favourite was the last room where we wrote our hopes for peace on cards and hung them from one of the dozen trees fluttering with well wishes of thousands of people.

Great exhibits such as this one always reignite my interest in museum curation. “Imagine” was also inspiring in its content. Despite having grown up listening to the Beatles, I was surprised how little I knew about John and Yoko, other than the couple’s famous bed-in at Montreal’s Queen Elizabeth Hotel and the claim that Yoko broke up the Beatles. I was impressed by the couple’s commitment to issues of social justice and the creative ideas they came up with, from their acorn campaign and the “War is Over! (if you want it)” billboard Christmas present, to the announcement of the country Nutopia and the album “Some Time in New York City”. However, John and Yoko’s impassioned campaigns made me realize that in today’s music and art world, we don’t have the same principled actions. Artists write political lyrics and promote different causes, but I can’t think of a single one who is doing anything nearly as creative or engaging as John and Yoko did.

Standing in a room surrounded by “War is Over!” posters and video footage of protests all over the world, I was saddened by the seeming lack of political awareness or engagement today in comparison to the 60’s and 70’s when John and Yoko were at the height of their activism. I guess it didn’t help that my excitement about activism in the 60’s and 70’s was being fed by “My Revolutions”, a novel by Hari Kunzru that I was reading at the time.

And yet in the last room, thousands of people had taken the time to write messages of hope for peace and tie them onto the branches of trees. I read a lot of the messages. People obviously care about peace and making the world a better place; I think they just need to be inspired to take action. Yoko Ono and this exhibit inspired people to take this small symbolic action.

But we need more.

Fire Under the Snow

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 04:20:00 +0000

At this year’s Montreal Human Rights Film Festival, I went to see “Fire Under the Snow”, a film about Palden Gyatso, a Tibetan Buddhist monk who spent 33 years in Chinese jails. The documentary was simple but well made – it captured the real nature of the monk who drew me into the Tibet movement nine years ago.

I first heard about Palden Gyatso in high school. I was then a member of the Amnesty International club at school and had just learned about the situation in Tibet. A friend of mine, who was a member of Students for a Free Tibet, insisted that I come to see Palden’s public talk.

Just like in his talk nine years ago, in “Fire Under the Snow” Palden tells the story of how he was arrested for protesting against China’s invasion of Tibet in 1959. He shows the tools the Chinese prison guards used to torture him and the other inmates, describing in gory detail how he was tied up, hanged, shocked, and beaten. And yet, despite the horrible pain inflicted on him, Palden la never gave in to his interrogators’ demands that he denounce his teacher as a spy nor did he lie about his motivations for protesting. Whenever questioned, he honestly told the prison guards that Tibet was independent and that he protested for it to be so yet again. After 23 years in several prisons and 10 years in hard labour camps, Palden was released and escaped to Dharamsala, India, where he still lives. Instead of staying in a monastery with fellow monks, Palden chose to live in a small room that I used to pass on my way to temple so that he could continue to work for Tibetan independence.

Nine years ago, Palden’s story moved me more than any other political prisoner’s case had. I was amazed by the small, smiling monk who sat humbly but resolute at the front of the room, with a great sense of humour and deep compassion for the Chinese people and his prison guards, even after so many years of brutal torture. Because of his talk, I joined the local chapter of Students for a Free Tibet (SFT) who had helped organize his cross-Canada tour.

Last year, Palden was attending a press conference in Dharamsala that SFT had helped organize for the Spanish lawsuit against the Chinese government, in which he is a main witness of the genocide being carried out in Tibet. A friend, knowing that Palden la had inspired me to join the Tibet movement, took me to meet him after the press conference. When we were introduced, Palden la held my hand, smiled sincerely, and said “good friends!”

It is the strength and dedication of Tibetans like Palden Gyatso who keep me involved in the movement. If they still have hope, then so will I. It’s infectious – as I’m sure the rest of the audience at “Fire Under the Snow” would agree.

Ma nuit blanche à Montréal

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 16:01:00 +0000

"La nuit blanche" (the all-nighter) is an annual festival designed to encourage Montrealers to come out of their hibernation at the end of a long winter. Museums, art galleries and venues all over the city stay open over-night and the metro and buses run to get everyone home safely.

I met up with a childhood friend and her sweet French boyfriend to check out the festivities. They had met while traveling around Europe and like me, returned to Montreal with a lingering desire to be out in the world. After a photo exhibit of flea markets, we fittingly found ourselves at Bain St. André, an old empty swimming pool that is now used as a venue for photo exhibits, music and dance performances. The exhibit that night was a travelogue of a road trip from Canada down to South America. The artists had a slide show playing on the wall with music that could have been the soundtrack of their trip. The photos, hung from the old piping in the building, reminded the three of us what it’s like to be in a completely different environment to what we are used to, with all of its sights, smells and noises. The descriptions accompanying the photos captured the thoughts that go through conscious travellers’ minds as they try to understand the new environment in which they find themselves. The exhibit culminated in a call to do whatever makes you happy, now – striving to bring the emotions, experiences, and sense of adventure of the open road into your everyday life. It was uplifting to know that there are other people in this city who have the same mindset as me, my friend and her boyfriend, and who have been as deeply touched by their travels as we have been.

Stop number three of the night was a party intersected by dance performances that would organically start in the middle of the dance floor, near the bar, or against a wall of the club. Without fail, the audience gathered around the performers who would dissolve back into the crowd at the end of the performance. My friend, who is a dancer herself, filled me in on all the gossip in the modern dance crowd – who was sleeping with who, who wanted to sleep with who, and who was on what drugs. I was completely swept away by how comfortable dancers seem in their bodies, compared to the rest of us.

Our fourth stop was a free concert by an amazing Quebecois DJ, Ghislain Poirier. In the middle of a huge crowd of people dancing like crazy, I wondered why I had never heard his music before. It was an impressive mix of hip-hop, house, and dancehall with an amazing drummer and MC alongside.

A night out in Montreal wouldn’t be complete without a drunken poutine stop – my first in probably 3 years. For non-Montrealers, poutine is a French Canadian "delicacy" of French fries with cheese curds and gravy on top. It has the ability to sober you up and make you feel guilty for not exercising, both at the same time.

And because it was "la nuit blanche", I got to take the metro home at 5am to my new room in Mile End. This was exactly the night I needed to reconcile me with this city that I used to love… and may grow to love again.

The Call for 'No Losar'

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 17:48:00 +0000

During my last weeks in Dharamsala, the community had been preparing for ‘No Losar’. Taking their cue from their brothers and sisters inside Tibet, Tibetans in exile decided that they would not be celebrating their new year this month. Tibetans traditionally do not celebrate Losar when there has been a death in the family. There is no drinking and visiting friends and family, no new clothes or jewels, and for the children, no pocket money. None of these Losar customs will happen this year, in commemoration of the hundreds – if not thousands – of Tibetans who died during the Uprising last year.

My support for this campaign was not immediate. To me, Losar is an event for Tibetans to celebrate their Tibetanness, and to differentiate themselves from their Chinese oppressors. The two cultures have different New Year dates, which are celebrated with different customs. This call for no Losar seemed to be taking away the one time of year Tibetans get to publicly and proudly celebrate their culture.

But Tibetans’ calls are becoming more courageous and resolute. In the last several days, it has been reported that Tibetans in Ngaba County, Amdo (Chinese province of Sichuan), have posted the following message in their towns:

To the Tibetans of the three provinces, monks, nuns, lay men and women,

Let us unite our strength, and let us not surrender to this evasive system of repression. Let us hold our hands across all three provinces, and share our joys and sorrows.

We must never forget that those killed did not die fighting for their own interests. They died fighting for our just and noble cause and for the freedom of the land of snows.

For that matter we must not celebrate Losar this year.

So long as you are Tibetan, you must not celebrate this Losar.

Do you want to be reunited with your guru? Do you want Tibet to be free?
If yes, then you should cancel Losar celebrations as a political act.

Dear brothers and sisters, do not despair.

(Listen to the message on Students for a Free Tibet’s online daily news show, Our Nation.)

With the idea of no Losar spreading in Tibet and in Tibetan communities worldwide, the Chinese government in Tibet has begun scrambling to assure that Losar celebrations will be held as usual. There have been reports that Chinese officials are offering money for Tibetan families to buy firecrackers for New Year celebrations. The Chinese government knows that the cancellation of Losar will go against their propaganda that Tibetans are happy under their rule. But their domineering attempts to control Tibetans’ lives have only led to the increased politicization of the Losar boycott.

In the last three days, there have been as many protests by Tibetans in Lithang County, Kardze (Sichuan Province). At all three protests, the monks and laypeople called for Independence, the return of the Dalai Lama, and no Losar celebrations. These 21 people were severely beaten and are being held in detention. One of the protesters is now missing. (For more details, visit TCHRD’s website.)

With Tibetans inside Tibet risking their lives to call for the political boycott of Losar, they have won my support. This truly is an amazing and inspiring phase of Tibetan resistance. It may be organic, but it is widespread. It is also very difficult for the Chinese government to control without resorting to brute military force. And as it was during the Uprising of last year, Tibetans inside Tibet and around the world stand united in this latest form of resistance.

Here in Montreal, we will be holding a candlelight vigil to commemorate those who have and continue to sacrifice their lives for the freedom of the Tibetan people. Please join us for this ‘No Losar’ vigil, on Wednesday, February 25th at 5:30pm. We will be gathering at the Place des Arts (near the steps on Saint Catherine street).

For more inspiring stories of courageous resistance, see Students for a Free Tibet’s "Profiles in Courage" countdown to March 10th, the 50th anniversary of the Tibetan National Uprising.

Fun with Wordle

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 11:00:00 +0000

Wordle is a web-app that takes text and turns it into word clouds—the more often a word is used the bigger it is. This is what my blog looks like:

How this applies to anthropology is beyond me. But it's a fun distraction :)

The Special Meeting and Journey of a Dream

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 17:17:00 +0000

Tsundue was the bearer of the good news. He sat translating for me at the public discussion of the Special Meeting, wearing a traditional Tibetan shirt and blue chuba over his usual jeans and old sneakers, more happy than I have seen him in months. In between peoples’ questions and the panellists’ answers, Tsundue filled me in on the final recommendations of the meeting that was anxiously watched by Tibetans and their supporters around the world.

I had few expectations from this meeting. An important moment in the history of Tibet, I hoped that it would not add to divisions within the movement or discourage the passionate freedom fighters that surround me.

A lot of media coverage focused on how Tibetans decided to stick to His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s Middle Path approach. However, the resolutions, as I heard them, were a lot more nuanced. The majority of participants at the meeting did in fact agree to continue with the Middle Path but they remain open to the option of independence if there are no concrete results from negotiations with China in the near future. While no one has put a definite time limit on the Middle Path, I find it a definite step in the right direction. But I wonder how naïve it is to believe that China will now be forced to sincerely approach the negotiations, as some have argued. I think that the only way China will ever take the negotiations seriously is if there would be a third-party moderator. Which raises the question: is there any country or third-party that the Chinese leadership trusts enough, who would actually be an unbiased moderator?

There hasn’t been much response from China since the meeting. However, there has been some joking around town that perhaps the Mumbai terrorist attacks this week were China’s response. Interesting considering that the last bombs used in Delhi were proven to be made in China, and that it is well known that China supplies arms to Pakistan.

I was somewhat distracted during the Special Meeting because I was acting as a production coordinator for a friend from Canada who was in town filming a documentary film called Journey of a Dream (check out the teaser). It was perfect timing for Shenpenn and the crew to get some interviews with people who were attending the meeting, some meat for the more political tones of the film. Interviewing Lobsang Sangye and T.C. Tethong outside the meeting, we all felt that we were witnessing history in the making.

On a personal level, it was kind of strange to be an injie girl showing Tibetan friends around town, introducing them to people, organizing trips and interviews. But it was a great experience to see how films are made, and a pleasure to spend my days with such an awesome crew. I can’t wait to see the finished film in 2010!!

The Unwinking Gaze

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 13:39:00 +0000

On the opening day of the Special Meeting, I finally sat down to watch The Unwinking Gaze, a moving documentary about the Dalai Lama and his envoys who are engaged in the negotiations with China.

The film opens with His Holiness in Canada, a visit during which I – and several dozen Tibet activists – was blessed to receive an audience with the Dalai Lama. The feeling the Dalai Lama evoked in all of us in that meeting, as in the auditorium full of tens of thousands of people, is palpable throughout the hour-long documentary that stirs up one’s faith, one’s sadness, and one’s dedication to this movement.

At one of the most touching parts of the film, after explaining His reasons for pursuing negotiations with the seemingly unwilling China, His Holiness is asked if he ever doubts this policy. He simply and matter-of-factly says, “No.” While I am confident of His certainty at that point in time, it is sadly no longer the case. His Holiness has blatantly said that his faith in the negotiations is getting “thinner, thinner”, to the point where He found it necessary to call this week’s Special Meeting to discuss His policy and the future of the movement. If a man such as the Dalai Lama has swayed in his resoluteness that negotiations were the way to a peaceful and lasting solution to the Tibet issue, the situation must indeed be as dire as we have all felt.

There are many hopes leading into this meeting (for some opinions and discussions, check out Phayul). Mine are that the discussions are fruitful and will leave the movement rejuvenated. And I hope with all my heart that His Holiness’ words will ring true:

“The Tibetan nation will not die.”

Life as a Holiday

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 11:52:00 +0000

I’ve been back in India for two and a half months and can’t help but wonder where all the time has gone. I guess the adage “time flies when you’re having fun” is true.

My life has consisted mostly of hanging out in a coffee shop; drinking, smoking and eating too much; trying to avoid fights at Excite, the only “club” in town; learning to appreciate sappy Indian, Tibetan and Western music; embarking on too many bus trips to and from Delhi (some way too much fun and others extremely lonely); crashing an Indian wedding; learning to write in Tibetan; and reading a pile books.

My intention to write more often completely flew out the window. But it is not dead. With the approach of the Special Meeting called by the Dalai Lama to discuss the future of the Tibet movement and my initial research into Masters programs, I have felt stirrings of inspiration again…

Beijing Coma by Ma Jian

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 13:50:00 +0000

Before the Olympics, a friend posted a video of the Tiananmen Square Massacre on his Facebook page. I knew the story of the Chinese Army’s ruthless crackdown, but had never seen such brutal footage of it before. I cried as I watched tanks rolling over students in the street and police indiscriminately firing on crowds. I thought to myself, if the Chinese government, military and police treated their own people like this, imagine how bad things must have been in Tibet in 1987-89 and since March of this year. The same thought echoed through by mind as I read Bejing Coma.

When I heard about Beijing Coma, I was immediately intrigued. All of the author’s books have been banned in China. After he wrote Stick Out Your Tongue, a book about Tibet, Ma Jian was forced to leave his country, exiled for writing truths that the Chinese Communist Party didn’t want others to hear. A friend of mine who protested in Beijing during the Olympics this summer was told many times by Chinese police that she had a “criminal mouth” – I consider her to be in good company.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the interplay between fact and fiction, especially in terms of ethnography and novels. Most of my favorite books are historically or culturally based, and involve a lot of background research. I have been thinking of this interplay as an interesting means of presenting information about a culture or moment in history. But reading Beijing Coma raised some doubts. Having never read a detailed history of the Chinese democracy movement, I was somewhat obliged to give this book the benefit of the doubt and assume that it was accurate in its insight into the movement. But I didn’t feel comfortable with that assumption. Throughout the book, I found myself trying to determine what was historically factual and what was fictional. I was left supposing that, with such books, there is no way of discerning fact from fiction, unless one has done one’s own research or is already intimately familiar with the topic. For those not versed in a given subject then, do such books offer only a dubious source of knowledge?

If I were to take this book as factually accurate, it was striking how disorganized the protests were leading up to the Massacre. The students were driven to protest because of their disgust for their government’s corruption, but they had no real strategy or vision of where the movement was headed. It seemed like they were just making things up as they went along. This gave me a bit of confidence in the Tibet movement as we are definitely more strategic and have a more nuanced understanding of the struggle than the Chinese students did. But nonetheless, I was inspired by their drive to stand up for what they believed in, especially in the face of such a callous government and military machine. Their bravery – even if it was only the “stars in their eyes” idealism of 20-somethings – was enough that the Chinese people came the Square to support them, donating money, food, and supplies.

If you don’t want to delve into the entire 586-page book, you should at least read the last 40 pages. Knowing how the students’ occupation of Tiananmen Square ends, these pages were riveting. I could feel the students’ fear and their sense of outrage at their government. When the Army first starts firing into the crowds, the students cried out:

“The People’s Army loves the people! The Chinese people don’t shoot their fellow countrymen!”

This passage epitomized my disgust that the CCP could order such violence against peaceful democracy protesters. I may be biased, but the students’ demands were neither irrational nor dangerous for Chinese citizens – only the CCP.

As an optimist, I appreciate that Ma Jian tries to end Beijing Coma with a sense of hope for democracy in China, but I find reality much more dismal. Most of the movement leaders now live in exile, there is no “movement” anymore, and those individuals who do dare to speak out are silenced, jailed, or forced into exile. This lack of rights is exaggerated among the so-called “ethnic minorities” – such as Tibetans – whose struggle for basic rights and freedom is so intimately intertwined with the struggle for rights and democracy of all Chinese citizens.

How is it that the largest country in the world is still able to control the thoughts and actions of over a billion citizens and colonized peoples? Ma Jian offered an explanation:

“The Chinese are very adept at ‘reducing big problems to small problems, then reducing small problems to nothing at all,’ as the saying goes. It’s a survival skill they’ve developed over millennia.”

This is definitely something we saw with the Chinese government’s handling of the Olympic Torch Relay and the Games themselves. But it leaves me wondering: how do we force the government of one of the largest, most powerful countries in the world, to address the issues of human rights and democracy instead of brushing them under the table?

The Sounding Board

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 07:00:00 +0000

This blog started off as “Destination Unknown” – an online travel journal I created as I left Montreal in December 2006, unsure of where my travels were going to take me. Eventually I wound up in Dharamsala, India, and the blog became an extension of my campaign work with Students for a Free Tibet.

I am now blessed with enough free time to pursue other interests. So I have redesigned the blog to be my sounding board – a place where I hope to post fiction, narrative, anthropological, and political writings.

Please feel free to share constructive criticisms, or your own ideas and responses to my posts.

Bombs in Delhi

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 12:19:00 +0000

Five bombs exploded in downtown Delhi last night, killing at least 20  people and injuring another 90. More than 400 people have been killed in bombings in Indian cities since October 2005. Many were expecting Delhi to be next target.

I first heard about the news in a text message from a friend in the States. I called a friend here in Dharamsala who filled me in on the details, and another in Delhi who put me at ease.

“Don’t worry,” said my friend in Delhi. “I’m on good terms with God.” I was comforted to hear him chuckle.

Bombs are scary enough when they are detonated in a city where I don’t know anyone. In 2001, I remember watching the US’s bombing of Baghdad on television, stunned that the government and military (and the news machine reporting it) could be so proud of something that was tearing apart human lives and families. I imagined how horrifying it must have been to live there that night.

When bombings happen in a city where I have friends and acquaintances, I worry. I know that the chances of my friends being in the vicinity of the bombs are slim, but there is a gnawing in the pit of my stomach until I can contact them. I remember how worried I was about my mum and her friend who were living in Bali when the second round of bombs exploded there, how my worries were expounded with every failed phone call. It was two entire days before I reached them, during which I couldn’t shake my fear. When I finally got through, my mum told me all mobile phone towers were shut down because the bombs had been detonated with a mobile phone.

Each time I hear of bombings, I wonder: what drives someone to want to kill others like that?

Pent up anger that festers the longer it’s contained. Political and social ostracization. Feeling unempowered. Religious differences.

People all over the world have the same laundry list of grievances, including Tibetans. However, Tibetans seem to be one case where such injustices have not led them to embrace anything so angry and violent – yet. Even in March, when the National Uprising Day protests turned “violent”, Tibetans’ anger was let loose predominantly on property – stores and goods were burned, cars overturned. The people who were injured were unintended victims – as in the case of the girls who were trapped in a Chinese store that was torched – or were Chinese soldiers. In my mind, violence against these soldiers who personally participate in perpetrating violence against Tibetans is somewhat rationally justified. They are attacking those who they see as guilty of attacking them. This is much more understandable than terrorist bombers targeting civilians who are not directly responsible for the violence or injustices committed against them.

Perhaps Tibetans’ avoidance of widespread violence is due to the pervasiveness of Buddhism and the notion of compassion within their society. Or perhaps it is because of Tibetans’ deep reverence for the Dalai Lama and his path of non-violence. Maybe this will all go out the window when His Holiness passes away. Maybe there will be stories of bomb explosions in Lhasa and key Chinese cities in the years to come. That will be a very sad day. I won’t condone violence then just because I am sympathetic to the Tibetans’ struggle.

I can understand that, strategically, there may be a time and place for some forms of violence – such as bombing important buildings or landmarks. But what is the strategic relevance of detonating bombs in a public place and killing innocent people? I fail to see how instilling fear achieves any goals, other than creating fear itself. This kind of violence only seems to rally people against the perpetrators, bonding them by a common sense of victimhood. Look at all the US has done in the last 7 years in the name of being a victim and protecting itself from further attacks – invading foreign countries, torturing whomever it deems a threat, cracking down on its own citizens’ freedoms.

I would like to believe that the world would be able to function without violence, that we could truly understand the adage, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” But I don’t think it’s possible. Violence and retaliation seem to be ingrained in the human psyche.

Post-Olympic Slump

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 06:49:00 +0000

There is a lull now that the Olympics are over. The campaign we have been working on for more than 7 years is over, and no one seems to have much time or energy to prepare for what comes next.

Many of my friends and colleagues here are discouraged by how the Olympics played out in India. Unfortunately, internal politics within the NGOs seems to have kept anyone from doing anything really exciting. The typical protests and vigils that were held, were only organized at the very last minute and lacked any vision beyond fulfilling expectations of protests. For many here, the saving grace was SFT’s protests in Beijing – they are the only things people here seem to be proud of.

It seems as though we’ve come to a point where we all need a lot of introspection – on personal, organizational, and movement-wide levels. Introspection is difficult enough on a personal level, where people need to figure out where their abilities and skills are best suited, and if they can drum up the passion to continue at this time. I have a lot of friends who are looking for the next step in their lives, unsure of where it lies – myself included.

What is also needed now is introspection about the entire movement, how the NGOs work together (or not), and even how the NGOs operate internally. This kind of introspection will be most difficult because it could require that NGOs and the entire community be open to changing how things have been done for the last 50 years. SFT is preparing for our own debriefing and analysis, but it will be interesting to see whether we will be able to address our internal issues to make us as effective as we could possibly be.

My own personal slump is surely tainting how I see the movement right now. But I already feel a bit lighter being back in Dharamsala where others’ passion and drive always seem to rub off on me.

Rally in Ottawa

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 20:56:00 +0000

On August 15, SFT Canada held a protest in Ottawa along with the Tibetan Youth Congress and the Joint Action Committee. About 200 Tibetans and supporters from Toronto, Ottawa, and Montreal came together at Parliament Hill to listen to inspiring speeches by Tsering Lama (SFT Canada’s National Director), Salden Kunga (member of the JAC), Kelsang Palden (member of SFT and CTC), and Maude Cote (Board Member of SFT Canada).

Tsering’s speech reminded us all of how important it is to take action at this historical moment as China continues to brutally oppress Tibetans, even as the Olympic Games are going on. Maude spoke of her experience as part of a protest in Beijing on August 10th. Kelsang Palden delivered a great speech, which moved francophones in the group to tears.

After the speeches, we marched through downtown Ottawa to the United Nations building. Everyone stopped to watch us pass and eagerly took the flyers to find out what we were protesting about. As we marched to the Chinese embassy, we even picked up some supporters along the way who chanted along side us.

There were a lot of young Tibetans at the protest who tirelessly and loudly chanted the whole day. There were even two toddlers – future SFTers for sure! It was a long day, especially for the Toronto group who drove 6.5 hours each way to be there. But we definitely got our message across that China’s Olympics are not all fun and games.

Originally posted on the SFT Canada blog.

Blockading the Chinese Embassy in Ottawa

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 08:22:00 +0000

The Beijing Olympics' opening ceremonies are tomorrow, and already, Tibet has been on the tongue of many reporters covering the Games. As one CBC reporter put it last night, "Tibet has come back to haunt China."

Yesterday, a group of us protested outside the Chinese embassy in Ottawa. Five people chained themselves to the front gate while two climbed light posts to hang banners reading "One World, One Dream: Free Tibet" in English and French.

It all happened so fast: the troop of reporters, cameramen and photographers arrived, followed by car after car of police and RCMP. The blockaders were quickly surrounded by media as the climbers hung their banners on the nearby light posts. The nervousness I originally felt had subsided because I knew we were all in this together and that people around the world were also protesting. We knew we were doing the right thing by standing in solidarity with Tibetans and their supporters who were protesting in Beijing, Vancouver, San Francisco, and London.

Watching the news back at home last night, I saw my new friends sitting resolutely in front of the Chinese embassy gate. For so many years, we respected the police barricades and peacefully protested across the street from this embassy. But with the Beijing Olympics starting tomorrow and China trying to cover up its human rights violations in Tibet, I am so glad that we took the personal risk to scale up our regular protests. It was a small one in comparison to Tibetans inside of Tibet who risk their lives to speak out against China's brutal occupation of Tibet. But it showed us all that we can accomplish a lot when we stand up for truth and justice.

Originally posted on the SFT Canada blog.

Let the Games begin

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 02:03:00 +0000

The Olympics are 4 days away and I feel schizophrenic. My mind is in a million different places.

We're preparing for the beginning of protests here in Canada. I'm trying to coordinate getting people from 3 different cities to be in the same place at the same time in addition to my own training and preparation.

Yesterday, I got to see Jamyang Norbu speaking to the Tibetan community in Toronto. I couldn't understand much, but I could see that the entire community was inspired. Many of them hung out on the patio of a local restaurant for the rest of the day and late into the night. The atmosphere was very different from the formal talk at the Library, but Jamyang-la remained the center of attention, telling stories from Dharamsala, talking about music and singing songs.

When ever I have access to the internet, I check the latest news from India. There are hunger strikers on day 7 of a fast without food and water in Delhi. Tsundue was detained trying to cross the border into Tibet. While I know it means he didn't reach his homeland, I am somewhat relieved that it was Indian police who stopped him, not Chinese. The Tibetan Freedom Torch arrived in Dharamsala today. I received pictures to post on the website of friends and colleagues yelling "Bod Gyalo" and can't help but wish I was there with them, especially when I called them to hear them all celebrating a job well done at McLlo's. Now they are gearing up for protests in Delhi on the 7th, as are we, here in Canada.

Watching "Buddha's Warriors" on BBC tonight, I was reminded of the intensity of the Burmese and Tibetan uprisings in the past year. I can't believe that the Olympics are already here, with all the craziness that it means for us. August is bound to be a month of little sleep, but like my friends and colleagues all over the world, I AM READY.

Is there such thing as freedom online?

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 17:40:00 +0000

Today is Amnesty International's Day of Protest against internet censorship in China. If I managed to program the code properly, you should have seen censorship on this page when you first accessed it.

You may have also noticed a green box towards the bottom of this blog. It is another Amnesty campaign giving snippets of blogs that have been censored by governments around the world. The more I write about politics on this blog, the more I wonder where in the world people would be blocked from viewing my site.

My friend Owen is doing his masters and is studying (broadly) how internet and anthropology interconnect. The other day he was talking about blogging and how it creates an online profile of the blogger that will forever be floating out there on the web. It reminded me how people such as myself try to hide their actual profile online. I thought that by only using my first name, my blog wouldn't be traceable back to myself. However, Owen showed me that it's not true.

So am I incriminating myself by blogging? By merely expressing my views and some episodes from my life, am I restricting what county I can enter or what job I can get? It may not matter now when I still believe what I have written, but what about 20 years down the road when I am less naive and idealistic? If I am worried about this, am I really free to post whatever I want online?

I definitely don't feel free in the content I post. Even if I change people's names and avoid mentioning locations, I feel that readers who are familiar with the Tibet movement or what I am doing would be able to figure it out. Once and a while I take that risk because the experience was too good not to share, like my talk with Tenzin, the TIbetan freedom fighter.

There are some things that I do which are only known to a few people (like maintaining the website for the Tibetan People's Uprising Movement). So if I write about those things, I can't hide who I am. If I write about the TPUM site or an experience related to it, some readers are going to know my true identity because they know I am working on that website. But if I change the name of the site in a blog post (say, that I am working on a site about expensive shoes), doesn't that take away half the meaning of the experience... as well as my reasons for doing that work in the first place?

I can't write about half the things I do because it would completely jeopardize the campaign or action I'm working on. That is, if I'm pompous enough to assume that the Chinese government or various legal/immigration agencies are actually paying attention to some random blog. But why take that risk?

So I guess this rant is a bit of a disclaimer: silence on my blog means I'm doing something cool that I can't tell you about now! Maybe I'll have to publish memoirs of a crazy activist somewhere down the line ;)

Dharamsala

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 06:03:00 +0000

Dharamsala evokes in me the same feelings that the chalet I visited as a kid used to. We used to go up to the cabin in the Rocky Mountains in Canada once a month growing up. It was a German-style A-frame cabin, with no electricity or running water. To get there, we had to drive 12 kilometers up an abandoned logging road, and then hike or ski 2.5 kilometers to the chalet. I always felt a sense of anticipation going up there, looking forward to being reunited with an amazing community of friends and a sense of being at home.

I have the same feelings returning to Dharamsala after being away. And my most recent return was even more powerful since I knew my friends from the March would also be returning.

I was always sad leaving the chalet. Even though I knew those people would always be there for me, and that I would eventually see them again, I hated leaving behind that sense of community. Unfortunately, we don’t visit the chalet anymore and my childhood community is scattered. I haven’t talked to some of my “aunts” and “uncles” in years. But they will always be with me, in my thoughts and in my heart, because they were such an important part of my life.

Just like leaving the chalet, when ever I leave Dharamsala, I’m overcome with an intense longing to go back again soon. Leaving this time was harder than ever before. This will be my longest break from Dharamsala since I first visited. But I have also gradually realized the fluid nature of the town – people will constantly be coming and going. A lot had changed over the course of the March. Some of my friends went home to the west and I made some new friends. Before I return, more friends will be leaving. My group of friends will never be the same as it was when I first arrived. But like the community at the chalet, I know these friends will always be with me.

I try to remind myself that impermanence is a part of life. But I still can’t wait to get back to Dharamsala.

Barreling Down an Indian Mountain Road

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 10:25:00 +0000

We spent the day of the 6th set of arrests on the March uploading photos to the website, sending out the press release and making all our calls to the media. Then we set out from Pithoragarh with some of the March communications and logistics team. They had to go to Ponta Sahib, where the other 265 marchers were taken after their release the previous week and where the 50 newly-arrested marchers would be taken. We had some lose ends to tie up at our quiet hill town before returning to Delhi to deliver video footage of the arrests to some media outlets.

Since we were in a border area, we had to cross a checkpoint out of the region before it closed at 8pm. But we were setting out quite late, so we literally raced off towards the checkpoint. The northern Indian roads that I loved speeding along on a bike were not as much fun in a jeep going way too fast that night. My friend and I linked arms and just tried to not think about how close we were to the cliff beside us or how many huge trucks were barreling down the single lane road towards us. Add to that a fuse for the headlights that was loose, so that when the driver switched from high beams to the normal lights, we were often plunged into complete darkness. Every time it happened, I found myself holding my breath. The monsoonal downpour added more stress, making me wonder how good our tires were or if we would just hydroplane right off the road.

Ironically, only a day before we had been laughing about the funny warnings on the roadside:

If you’re married, divorce speed!

Drinking whisky, driving risky.

Better late than never.

We had a few close calls, slamming on the breaks and coming to an abrupt stop inches from a cargo truck or the rock wall above us. The guys who had miraculously fallen asleep in the back would wake with a start, and I could feel my friend beside me tense up. In the particularly close calls, I would start giggling. Friends have told me before that I giggle when I’m uncomfortable, but I never really noticed how true it was until that night.

We eventually made it to the checkpoint, well after it was closed. The Tibetan driver turned to the Indian filmmaker in the car and they agreed that if the driver had problems, our filmmaker friend would go in and work his self-proclaimed “magic”. The driver and my friend disappeared inside. After a couple minutes, which I spent wondering if we would have to drive all the way back to town or if we would just sleep in the truck there, they emerged with smiles on their faces. They jumped into the car very proud of themselves, the checkpoint watchman lifted the barricade and we drove off – without even paying a bribe! They just mentioned that they were on the Tibetan “pilgrimage” walk that passed through the area a week or so before!

This time we were off at a slightly slower pace, but with the driver growing increasingly tired. After all the songs on our mobile phones had been played, my friend had to make conversation with the driver while I kept feeding him candies. We eventually made it, with our fingers crossed that we wouldn’t run out of gas – the 24-hour station attendant refused to wake up to fill the tank. My camping mattress and sleeping bag never felt so comfortable!

A Little Adventure

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 11:20:00 +0000

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve been surrounded by an air of adventure - the freedom fighters’ talk of going home, watching “Into the Wild”, reading “Kim” by Rudyard Kipling, talking about Jack Kerouac, and hanging out with Lex – a support marcher who refused to leave the country after receiving a “Quit India” notice.

The other day, I jumped at the chance to go on a long bike ride to run an errand for the marchers. There’s nothing like riding on the back of a Bullet with the wind in your hair to make you feel alive – except maybe driving one yourself!

The road we took wound northward, up and down hillsides, through tiny villages each different from the last, but all with curious faces watching us speed by. I kept getting lost in my thoughts, only to be pulled back into the world again by the hilariously gross sight of Indians puking out of busses or a beautiful vista revealing itself in front of us. In every new valley there was entirely different vegetation. We left jungle and headed into lush but cacti-ridden forests, which eventually turned into barren hillsides dotted with stick-like trees. We sped past the places where the marchers had camped about a month ago. In an hour we rode what it took them days to walk. I watched the road fly by beneath us and imagined every step the marchers took and how it must have felt under their feet. We also rode past the campsite where one of the marchers, Pema Tashi, passed away. I imagined the tent set up where monks stayed up all night to pray for his soul and the bonfire that was built for his cremation. I thought of my friend who held his body on the way to the hospital, and all those who prayed as watched his body burn. I wished I could have been there with them to share in their grief and their prayers for Pema Tashi.

The last 2o-odd kilometers we had to bump down a shortcut that was little more than a gravel path strewn with dry pine needles from the tall skinny trees with disproportionately giant pine cones. If we hadn’t been in a rush and my brain hadn’t been shaken around inside my skull to the point of feeling bruised, it would have been a beautiful ride. In 40 minutes we saw only two cars, which felt impressive for India. It wasn’t just me being roughed up, the bike lost half of its muffler along the way. And neither me nor my friend heard it fall off or noticed that the bike was suddenly a lot louder!

We ate a late lunch in a tiny town called Daul Chinna where we passed off work stuff and treats of Maggi noodles, Real juice and spread cheese to our marcher friends – strange what people miss when they are away from the comforts of their everyday life! Despite our sore asses, we booked it back to town so that we would get there before dark. As we sped around corners, I could feel our weight sink into the bike to be lifted again as we came out of the bend. I love the exhilaration I feel on a bike.

We left the warm sunny day behind as we came into the valley where we’re staying, which seems to be perpetually blanketed in mist and rain. I was giddy with tiredness, but was glad for the day’s break from the computer. It wasn’t much, but enough of an adventure to relieve the urge – for now.

Unexpected Inspiration

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 18:05:00 +0000

I spent last week with a unique group of Tibetan freedom fighters, some of whom were ex-soldiers and one who was the most active old man I have ever met. They spent hours arguing over non-violence versus violence, and how to organize a rebellion inside Tibet. They talked endlessly about how they would cross the mountains – all they needed were the bags on their backs and a satellite phone. They were ready to go with just their small group and they were all ready to die for their country.

I stayed up late one night talking with Tenzin, one of the guys, who happens to be the same age as me. The entire time I spent in the sheltered world of a western university, he was serving in the Indian army and risking his life for a country that isn’t even his. While I dream of working to make the world a better place, he dreams of dying for his country so that he may be born in a better society free from Chinese oppression. I felt like our lives couldn’t have been more different, and yet, we were both here fighting for the same thing.

Until I met Tenzin, I would have said I was completely opposed to the notion of violence and dying for the Tibetan cause. I believed that people could do more for the cause alive than they could achieve by sacrificing their life. The self-immolation of Thubten Ngodup has always brought up an overwhelming sense of sadness at what I saw as complete desperation, as wanting freedom so badly but not knowing what else to do. Nonetheless, I respected him for his selflessness and could see how much he inspired many in the Tibetan community.

Tenzin sat in front of me that night telling me he was ready to die. When he left home, he packed light because he didn’t intend on returning. He didn’t tell his parents about his plans because he didn’t want them to try and stop him. Tenzin’s readiness to die didn’t seem like an act of desperation, like I thought it would be. It was the best way he felt he could contribute to the movement. Listening to him, I felt like an educated brat with so many naïve ideas about how to change the world. I believe in Tibetan independence with my whole heart, but in what felt like a very sheltered way. In comparison, Tenzin’s conviction is raw and powerful, and it stirred up a passion in me that had been dormant.

I had to say good-bye to Tenzin and the others a couple of days back. It was one of the hardest good-byes I have ever said because I knew that there was no certainty I would ever see them again. I tried to hold back the tears as Tenzin’s words rang in my ears. But these freedom fighters possess a fierce bravery that I have never felt before and a conviction that is impossible to ignore. I passed them a note before they left in which I wrote the words I couldn’t have said out loud: they had inspired me and I would support them in their journey in whatever way I could.

An Experiment in this “Man’s World”

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 14:56:00 +0000

I love India, but one thing I cannot get used to is being gawked at endlessly by Indian men. My female Tibetan friends who have grown up here tell me that it is the same for them. India really is a male-centric society. Sitting on the subway or walking down the road, it doesn’t take much to notice that it is predominantly men. (Whenever I notice it, I hear James Brown singing “it’s a man’s world” in my head!) Women are usually accompanied by a man (husband, brother, son, etc.) or at the very least by other women. It seems like it is a social abnormality for a woman to be walking around on her own. Add to that the Indian fascination with white women. I read an article in the local newspaper written by a man who was arguing that the Indian conception of white women is based entirely on Bollywood films. In these films, white women are portrayed as being promiscuous – which isn’t hard when romantic scenes involve coy Indian women hiding behind trees and playfully running away from their (assumed) lovers. Kissing is rare, and love scenes are innocently depicted with bees pollinating flowers. All of this leads to a society that treats women, and especially white women, as objects to be gawked at and grabbed whenever the chance arises.

My all time favorite is when Indian men actually stop in their tracks and turn around to watch me walk past. The only time the special attention is remotely flattering is when school children come up to say hello and shake my hand.

I’ve spent the last two weeks in a small Indian town closer to the March to Tibet, where there are very few foreign tourists and the gawking has been especially obnoxious and annoying. So the other day I decided to dye my hair brown to see if it would change how Indians react to me.

My first day out as a brunette was a small success. While my new hair colour didn’t stop the men from staring, it at least delayed their reaction. A blonde head can be seen a mile away in a sea of people with black hair. Now with brown hair, I seem to blend in a bit more. It was a refreshing experience. Unfortunately, my pasty white skin still gives me away – I’ll keep working on that one.

Obituary of A Marcher: Pema Tashi

noreply@blogger.com (J.) — Mon, 12 May 2008 08:09:00 +0000

A few days before his death, Pema Tashi told his best friend, Leki Dhondup, that “Tibet has given me so much and I want to give back to the cause. If necessary, I will contribute my life to the struggle.” On May 10th, Pema drowned in the Kosi River at Kakri Ghat, Uttarakhand, during the March to Tibet.

Born in Arunachal Pradesh to non-Tibetan parents, he decided to become a monk by the age of six. Pema delighted his parents with his decision and journeyed down to Sera Mae Monastery to take his vows of monkhood. When he saw the announcement about the March to Tibet, he said, “I was happy because I had always wanted to see Tibet. I have lived in a Tibetan community for a long time and have always viewed Tibetans as compassionate people and this motivated me to join the march. Since I have made up my mind to go on this march, I am fearless.”

When arrested with the other 100 Core Marchers at Dehra, Himachal Pradesh, Pema said “I felt the agony and the status of a homeless refugee.” Once released from house arrest, Pema rejoined the march only to develop problems walking. They allowed him to switch to the tent building crew where he earned the reputation as a hard worker and a joker. In fact, everyone knew of Pema’s infectious joking and his friend Leki said, “he couldn’t be quiet for a minute.” He eventually got the nickname “Man of the March.” Other marchers would never refer to him as Pema. In fact, most didn’t even know that name. They simply called him “the Man.” It was said that without him on the march, there would be no joking.

As they approached what was to be Pema’s last campsite, he marveled at “the beauty of newly entered hills and felt a sensation of coming to his homeland.” After building the tents at the campsite, Pema jumped into the cold and cloudy water of the river, apparently hitting his head on a rock. He spent too long underwater and passed away a few hours later at the Almora Hospital. The entire march spent several hours in prayer for his soul and a team of monks stayed up all night praying over his body. His body was cremated the yesterday morning with a mountain of khatas.

The news was so unexpected that it has shocked us all. Pema’s passing threw me into an emotional tailspin, renewing my worries about the marchers and what awaits them as they get closer to the border. While his death was a horrible accident, Pema had said that he would be willing to sacrifice his life for the struggle for independence. It has made me think a lot about what determination means and the significance of martyrdom in a non-violent movement. I am deeply moved by the sacrifice of Pawo Thubten Ngodup, whose self-immolation still makes me cry every time I see footage of it, and the willingness of many of the marchers, including Pema Tashi, to give their lives for what they believe in. However, I must admit that I disagree with martyrdom as a tactic. The March is an amazingly patriotic and inspirational gesture that is succeeding in raising awareness about the Tibetan cause, but I personally don’t want any more of the marchers to die for it. I believe strongly that every single marcher is more of a contribution to the Tibet movement alive than if they died trying to cross the border. Unfortunately, such decisions are out of my hands.

To a hard worker, a lover of jokes and a warm person with a brave heart who died before he reached his home, everyone on the March to Tibet sends our prayers with you, Pema.