My Own Voice: Wish not like jumping the gun

Can it be that simple? Say such voicing against, such looming threat of protest can be viewed as a milestone advance through our nascent democracy in exile. Need of such is undisputed and salient, given the apparent decline at the source as for this state of being shackled to bread-and-butter or this oblivion of doing nothing until it affects one's own interest. There was ever one gesture we have recently witnessed, Jonangwa's claim for its two seats in our parliament in exile. Yes, for the present case, we have gained something from it, the transparency, the things we have made those at the helm hold forth as to ease our strained willingness to know. But the dirty or undoing thing is saying something and doing something else, the copied wiles. The venom of regionalism is wafting from it, the offshoot of the last row surrounding Sikyong Poll. Now the danger I find is not just our being half-baked, rumour-oriented so far, but not getting that ours stands on a fragile footing in exile, just for regaining the freedom we have been waiting for, not for such a petty crude fashion, such narrow sense of belonging here like our fellow Tibetan in Tibet rejoicing full individual rights there, like we can cast ourselves to such a puerile air of fervour marked by siding as having nothing else to do other than wasting time on Wechat, the dangerous app, and facebook.

If we have our own firm footing, like back in Tibet, then regionalism is solved, for the system of governance based on regional to central entities and the relative agency of performances. The ruling party doesn't stand for any regions, as each has its own government. But how here without a square foot of land of ours? How it has gone to such a high illusion like we have ours here?

Notwithstanding PT's own words on the importance of the administration rather than the figure, it is coming about as just figure-oriented. In a performing democracy on a firm footing, figure-oriented is a normal case like extolling to the sky to hurling shoes, eggs at him or her. For the latter case of hurling eggs or pouring down a packet of grain flour on to the highest political leader, as the case is normal in France, a Tibetan recounted me about his witnessing such as something unbelievable, and at last held it as a sort of thrill. When I countered him saying it stands for liberty and right, he was immobile and mute with a sour expression.

“What befalls me, if I happen to do so to our sikyong, now LS? Can I be lynched by a lurking group, or branded as something so abnormal so ready on our lips in blackening others?” said I.

He was all mute and disported as being unable to digest my countering remark.

“You’re right.” He blurted out at last.

In essence, regionalism, especially here in exile, is stark futile and undoing to our great cause at hand. In an alien land, when standing out as of our incommunicado and thereby excommunication, our floundering gestures, our gawking in quandary, our taking everything silently, our state of being crestfallen and downtrodden, how we can’t come up to it, the simple sentiment, we are the same, the fated ones?

Such narrow sense of protection or belonging is like a blind one, having no sense of ratiocination and understanding but just a blind fancy. And it leads into further derangement: from a narrow sphere to a narrower one to one’s family to one’s loved ones to one’s lover to oneself at last, sad and forlorn and breathing in a rarefied air.

And so sadly, PT’s own way of countering is rather rash. He could have done a thorough investigation on it before coming out so. Sadly, it can be said as yet another rash after the last one. The crucial need of voicing against but with a firm ground of understanding. As His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s words like one should get the law down to word by word to break it in a clever way.

Vive Le Tibet!