Gorkarn, Kudle and Om Beaches: Finding Time on the second day of Losar

February 23

How true it’s a nearby place of any significance is always neglected by like saying can be visited anytime later and kept deferring absent-mindedly… But to exert a practical notion into action, as I find this time, needs the same willing support and accompaniment to be able to pack up the tooth paste and hit for the excursion. Thanks for the Indian government rural transportation services cheap, learning and reliable and here Karnataka state government. Thanks also for Phuntsok Lambu’s opening up the idea almost a couple of weeks aback.

Our express bus parked by a stopover en route for Ankola

Three of us, with K. Namgyal nicknamed Jabra by Phuntsok, carry out as preplanned to catch the morning bus from Camp # 6 to Hubli at 6.45am. We can do it despite Jabra arriving at the rendezvous bit later, by Kalasang Lhakhang (the village shrine in the narrow compound) which stands over the road like monopolizing the part of virgin field estate or occupying the raised spot like being the head of the village standing precisely off by the T-shaped intersection, like watching over the sleepy hermit with the overlapping mud-tiles roofs. I don’t have the least idea now when seeing him arriving at the spot with an expression of concealed guilt that he’s going to let Phuntsok burst into his incorrigible lasting laughter at the beach, when Phuntsok can’t hold the camera and take the shots of his postures, especially the way he flexes his undeveloped muscles over his short but broad nice structure with an air of innocence or pride and with those mimicking postures of a builder at his show time. So both of us find it really funny. But I can take the shots by taking the camera from Phuntsok, who by then is almost impossible to raise up his plunging head down the sandy ground and laughs with a low deep like chuckling sound. Now he looks serene with a black bigger backpack.

Gorkarn beach

We have to alight at Kalgatti bus stand and have a time to have a brief breakfast at the narrow oblong restaurant in the compound before catching a better bus to Ankola. The bus stand here, not like ours at Mundgod, has seemingly recently got a facelift both the façade of the core building and within the compound. And from here, as having a front seat by the wide windshield, along the major smooth wide road and to enjoy the thick rain forests but now rather pale on either side of the road. A small idling group of small stunted monkeys can be seen by the road one after another. Being an express bus, it doesn’t stop like a local one at every minor stand or hand-waving sign. It guns forward confidently with the young sturdy driver. But he spares his considerate thought at a point by letting in a group of school students mostly girls in pale pinkish skirts and white half-sleeved shirts and dropping at Yellapur, a village town. A taller girl sits by me. I can have a swift angle view of her dark lanky hands with smooth furs resting on her lap. Bit later an opened book in English on her lap; at second try I find it an English grammar book: ‘Direct and Indirect Speech’ I can make out at one shot scanning over the pages. But I find her not actively going over them but keeping it open as to gratify her wish or to flaunt what she is.

It’s 3 hrs drive between Kalgatti and Ankola in the express bus, distance at almost 250 kms, bus fare Rs.80.00 per head. Fortunately, we can immediately catch a local bus to Gorkarn after alighting from the express bus. Just off the station along the road the rancid fish-like odor and thickets of coconut groves with lush green fronds are the herald to the nearing coastal point. Nearing Gorkarn, the drive along the dark wide smoothly flowing creek off below the low ridges. The musty smell is stronger. The created creek must be for the approaching salt-fields maintained with those mud-barricaded pools so wide and spacious; those piles of whitish stuff must be crude salt.

Om beach

But, unfortunately, at the certain turn, when our bus is blaring languidly to take the turn by taking the circuitous left side, an auto-rickshaw darts suddenly forward by taking the wrong (right) side and hit the bus. Really just like an egg hitting a boulder. I hear it hits ours but ours, both heavy and moving slowly, not making a slight abnormal movement. But it halts right away. Then those curious passengers like displaying a commoner’s instinct get up and rush out to be the added onlookers around the ill-fated light three-wheeled vehicle turned upside down and its frontal part smashed wedged under the part of the bus bonnet that doesn’t seem to incur any damage conspicuously there. Phuntsok is actively engaged with the crowd outside but has less to tell us. He points us to the injured driver back to us being led by someone else; he is in a dark purple full-sleeved shirt and dark cotton trousers and walking achingly; he is of normal height and must be bearing a paunch from his being well-built.

The small cute Indian girl with dark lovely eyes at my back cranes her dainty head curiously ahead to learn about the mishap, but she can’t leave the place by following her young mom who is standing by the door and looking ahead through windshield. I ask her name in Hindi but she just stares on and remains silent. I don’t press on. Thanks, we’re, only a handful inside when I look around, moved on to the other stopped bus behind ours. It’s only 20 minutes drive in a local bus, fare at Rs.18.00 per head.

After having a brief refreshment at the rather shabby restaurant within the terminal compound we, as Phuntsok knows the place well so far from his earlier visit a couple of years aback, walk to the nearby Om Hotel with the attached Om Restaurant and Bar on the first floor with the open waist-high walls, those rolled up green painted stalk-veils. We settle on a three bedded one on the second floor for Rs.600.00 per day on 24 hrs check out basis. Or it can be for the time now with those a few foreign guests and Hindu festival for worshipping Shiva. We’re going to learn later Gorkarn, with those major Hindu temples, is a sort of Mecca.The room and the bathroom are okay for not that clean white bed sheets and pillow covers. The single corridor and narrow verandah with marble floorings and tiled walls seem to be the sign of luxuries vindicating what is written on the painted metal sign-board standing on two vertical stands just by the hotel and at the turn off the hotel.

Kudle beach

We leave for the beach around 3.30pm. The sun is still high. Coming on to the main broad way, the main street, after the narrow packed littered road it’s to face the main things of the worshipping festivities ahead rather than giving eyes to those gaudy cheap wares on either side. The two stationed wooden chariots with the round holy fretworks grimy with a dark sticky lacquer may be of offering oils are far ahead like in the middle of the broad road and by the entrance way, from where winding along by a number of temples till coming on to the causeway over the gulley with dark rancid water stagnant and sandy floor of the beach. For the festival the above openings of the winding ways are covered with colorful awnings that make the walking pleasing and cool. Of the two fully decorated chariots the one is smaller. Both are adorned with plywood framed holy images of Hindu gods up around the dark oil soaked fretworks and above them the inflated red-white wide patterned striped cloth-domes so high and the spires topped with pieces of triangle red cloth (ceremonial flags) coming up from the top miniscule cloth-domes. Approaching close, I find the structures seemingly so heavy from the hard wooden fretworks rested on the strong closely set rafters and the large wheels. Those Indian devotees touching their hands on the oil darkened greasy fretworks and doing their worship. I spot three or more Western Hindu devotees standing at a turn in their ceremonial saffron garbs, may be monks. But I can’t look at their hair and find time to study if their foreheads bear the ritual pastel signs.

We enjoy our time till the late evening. Those makeshift shanty stores and eateries just adding to further litters, or can be for the festivities now. The large tent-hall with the raised dais for presenting classical dances or plays relating to Hindu holy myths. There are many foreigners engrossed in their beach rites and those with children as well. Yeah, this time I have a concrete impression of why people like holidaying at beach. Apart from other merits whatsoever it can be that the vastness of the ocean view has its mesmerizing effect on driving away all those flurries of discriminating thoughts and letting rest on its grandeur alone at ease—so we find relaxed, calm and concentrated on it alone. Or, in other words, it just stupefies the way one yields to off it. It is, however, relaxing and pleasant.

February 24

With the tired but trained limbs for yesterday’s long swimming, playing and jogging at the beach we begin to walk to Kudle beach beyond the rocky ridge. After taking the flight of steps up to the top it’s to walk on the parched rocky but with dried grass, those fragments of charred stones with tiny holes tell what the ridges are formed of like lava-hills. From the point, where there is a building with bright hoardings of yoga-posture and massage alongside the crude road running by it, it’s to walk down to the beach. Those parked vehicles in the crude lot next to the building. Some young Indian tourists, more girls in jeans, are coming up from the beach; their Indian English accents and merry faces.

We have a brief refreshment at the deserted café raised up from ground level. Those printed police-notices are rife and seems to be threatening like a junkie can’t bear being here or there after spotting them. Yes, I have heard about the isolated beaches here as hubs for junkies. This crescent narrow beach is rather suffocating after the long Gorkarn, but it’s cleaner for being more remote. The gentle tide of low waves breaking along the crescent line; I find here rather at ill-ease for finding it like a narrow creek. The view of low ridges and the planted forest. I don’t have a mind to dip, wait for them on the beach and read on Anna Karenina on my Kindle instead. There are foreigners here, those lounging in the thatched cafes, basking and reading…

Then around 1.00pm or being here for not more than hour, as Phuntsok and Jabra hold the same notion as walking to a secluded beach and not having a bath is a pity, we again set off for Om beach, the last one beyond the same looking rocky ridge along the same parched terrain. But the somber view of the overrunning dark water below, as can be come to a glimpse now and then while walking along the slopes, is both exciting and petrifying. Here at the vantage the construction of a sort of pavilions and small garden with concrete pavements on the slopes are in progress. We lounge for a while in the round-roofed pavilion with varnished wooden-paneled ceiling and round columns, on the red painted concrete seats. An Indian boy holding a steel plate in his hand is walking to the temporary shack of corrugated irons next by the almost finished small compact house with ridge-roof of corrugated irons. I raise my right hand to greet him; he does the same aback and gesticulates with his hands asking me to come for something to eat. I thank him for his good Indian way despite his being a labor here at the site.

The reason for naming it Om can be made out from its partial formation of the Hindu mantra Om letter: dual curves and the mid rocky patches spare so. Casting afar at the similar blurring lines along the bases of green-layered ridges, I wonder how many more beaches can be there.

The café next by the step on the sandy floor of the beach is the only well-equipped one here. We have a good lunch here before going out to explore the curves. I spot three Asians, a guy and two ladies, dining on a raised part. The guy has that countenance towards me when one is in such companions, but I can retreat by not looking at them as not to trouble him further. A so chubby white guy in his late fifties or sixties walks in the café naked for his dark underpants revealing his bulging red patches; he looks like a giant here. It bears a holidaying vibe of gaiety so far.

Jabra in his outfit like a Vietnamese, as he has such bearing in that loose T-shirt, knee-level ripped old jeans and the white round-brimmed cloth hat like worn by a cricket umpire, especially for his short broad physical features. He is again anxious here to go out sooner. But Phuntsok looks more relaxed in his synthetic NBA shorts and red T-shirt that accentuate his lanky furry legs and towering height. For Jabra’s appearing like stubble by Phuntsok he is ready to ask Phuntsok to be at the lower level when posing for a shot with him.

We have a nice time till the late afternoon. Yeah, the water is cleaner here. We bath and lounge and meet Thomas, a Science teacher of Science Meets Dharma from Swiss, basking on the hot sand. He, seemingly in his late thirties or early forties, seems adaptable and congenial from his long association with us teaching Science at the monastic schools at Mundgod. He says his term of teaching assignment at Mundgod is over and he is going back to obtain further visa to return back to Gyumed tantric university at Hungsur, a Tibetan settlement in South, to carry on his teaching Science. He expresses his wish to get enrolled at Snow Land School, recently inaugurated by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, and learn Tibetan Buddhism besides his teaching, as the school is solely aimed for Westerners willing to explore or learn about Tibetan Buddhism. Even if he offers us free ride in his hired taxi up to Goa airport, as Jabra has a relation there and has a sort of capricious mind, leaving tonight at 10.00pm, we have to thank him after some discussion that we can’t take it for fearing to trouble his relation at such hour late past midnight like around 3.00am, when we will be there. So we bid him farewell before departing from the beach.

As to venture on a petty luxury or fun-cruise we decide to pay Rs.450.00 for a boat ride back to Gorkarn; thanks Phuntsok pays for it. Those dark frowning precipices of the rocky walls can be studied well in this bouncing bobbing simple boat with the sputtering machine propeller at the stern, the single steering handle with accelerator like of a bike. It’s almost only 15 minutes ride passing by the two protruding edges of the rocky ridges into the water, which form the furrows of the two crescent beaches. For me, Gorkarn beach is long and freeing, letting gain the real air of what a beach should present for having the relaxing quality. So I have a bath here again, the last one as we’re leaving the next day.

Before returning back to our hotel we, as Phuntsok’s wish, have a long walk along the hardened sandy bed till the point, from where we find a crude shortcut path to our hotel. Only a nimble gait can carry on to the full length of this long beach, but our limbs are tired. It’s pleasing to walk bare footed along the path coated with smooth red dusts winding by the households of overlapping mud tiles roofs and with such rich vegetable plots. Those foreigners staying at such nooks and crannies; a group of them are active in the spacious yard putting up a tent or preparing around the seemingly smooth-polished dust patch capacious enough for some Yoga practitioners. Yes, I find one practicing himself alone in the open pavilion at the beach. Hinduism Yoga is as famous as Tibetan Buddhism these days, my impression.

February 25

We pack up our compact belongings and get ready to check out to catch the bus to Ankola, the end of an excursion with the aim of learning some about our neighboring parts.

A Mournful Tibetan Losar—2139 (Water-Dragon Year)

February 22, 2012

Yet again a fated year for us, we Tibetans always steadfast, staunch and jauntily self-engaged for our Birth Rights—how we can ignore on the pretext of having even grander issue by belittling these core rights that decide whether your creativities can be upheld or not? No, never by 99%. 

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,

Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land?

Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,

As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,

From wandering on a foreign strand?

If such there breathe, go, mark him well;

For him no Minstrel raptures swell;

High though his titles, proud his name,

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,

The wretch, concentred all in self,

Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

And, doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.

~ Scott

We’re always united in expressing our heartfelt doleful solidarity plus prayers for those brave Tibetans, now counted as 23, who have offered their most loved lives as ‘the offering lamps or beacons’ as to illumine the dark sides of this cruel world and to mesmerize an individual conscience of the world at large to act for a better world. How cherishing one’s life is, for us all?

And so this New Year is not to brood over but to evoke one’s true heart at depth to sense a real novel being inside as not to be set awry like a heartless being as emphasized in the above pointing stanza… To defend the sovereignty of one’s nation is the top priority of every single citizen, but for our ill-fated case it’s to dedicate in every possible way to fight for regaining it as the top priority. We can see what it costs for being a mundane case in hand for being the question of survival, a commoner’s birth rights in terms of cyclic existence for honing his or her intuition under reliable protection! So we almost know how to recount what it costs to have an inner revolution as for the case of Jetsun Milarepa’s attainment of Nirvana in one lifetime. But here for now the question, as per the wish of every single Tibetan, is how to save Tibet from present gravity rather than how to evoke Bodhichitta, the sublime mindset, in such time, as the dire gravity falls on the others, our beloved suffering compatriots in Tibet under such draconian tyranny, but not on self, such thinker or commentator or who can say so in lofty tone. It’s time to act in any ways! So it’s time to work harder for Tibet, to come out real bright and responsible Tibetan both educated and loving one’s ‘native land’, Tibet.  

Beacons of Resistance, Not Desperate Acts

This questioning and affectionate writing by the author pleads with observing our grounds but not dodging away thus that prompts me to write: 'Desperate' seems to be our lax poor stand behind the Oppression Line. Yeah, self-distortion for the shallow goals. I wonder why a Tibetan like myself hasn't come out with such an insightful and timely writing--timely for the grave misconception or sort of easygoing touch looming sinister unknowingly demeaning the intrepid sublime motives of those altruistic self-immolators to the state of petty despair or desperation. So it jolts us out to recompose with a deeper sense before handling the complex lives-costing significant matters like reminding ourselves 'Don't simplify what is complicated'.

By Christophe Besuchet

I do not know if you are like me, but I find it extremely distressing to see how commonly the adjective “desperate” has been used by the media and Tibetans in exile to describe the self-immolation protests that have taken place in Tibet since 2009 — seventeen cases so far as I write this. Phrases such as “truly desperate acts” or “desperate self-immolation” have become part of the usual vocabulary and are repeated automatically, as if writers, government officials and politicians do not find it necessary to analyze for themselves the wider ambitions behind these actions.

Etymologically, the word desperation comes from the Latin desperatus, or “deprived of hopes”, and carries a sense of misery and dejection when it is applied to protest actions. Self-immolation by women and girls in Afghanistan (103 cases reported between March 2009 and March 2010) [1] can probably be referred to as “desperate acts” as those who carry them out prefer to die rather than to live under constant domestic violence and abuse. When questioned about their motives, Afghan women who survived their suicide attempts usually replied that they felt as if they had “no way out”. One of them, when asked whether she had a message for other women, even replied: “Don't burn yourself. If you want a way out, use a gun: it's less painful.” [2]

Tibetan self-immolations are entirely different. First, all available evidence indicates that they are motivated by a greater cause, not by depression, social pressure or financial burdens. As Sopa Tulku, a revered high-ranking lama who immolated himself in Golok Darlak on 8 January this year, wrote : “I am not self-immolating for my personal interests or problems, but for the six million Tibetans who have no freedom and for the return of the Dalai Lama to Tibet.” [3] Secondly, if Tibetans are deprived of their freedom, they are not deprived of hope. Starting with Thupten Ngodup [4], the first Tibetan known to have set himself on fire in April 1998 in New Delhi, those instances of self-immolation about which we have any background information can be said to have been carried out by happy and healthy people, who have no reason to die apart from offering their lives to the struggle against China’s occupation of Tibet. Sopa Tulku, again, was very clear in his political testament about not being desperate: “Tibetans should not loose hope in the future, a day of happiness will surely dawn”. This sense of optimism extends even to relatives; the mother of the 22-year-old Lobsang Jamyang, who immolated himself on 14 January, declared that her family “has no regret for his death” as he had “sacrificed his life for the Tibetan cause.” [5]

The hopes derived from such fearless protests have also had a strong impact on those who are resisting China’s oppression in occupied Tibet. Ngawang Choephel, an ethnomusicologist and filmmaker who spent six years in a Chinese jail on fabricated spying charges, noted recently: “In 1997 [sic], when I was in prison, I heard news of Thupten Ngodup's self-immolation in India. (…) I was encouraged and energized, like all other political prisoners in Tibet because we felt that something would happen for Tibet.” He further added: “I am sure that most of the Tibetans in Tibet who heard about Thupten Ngodup's historic sacrifice must have been inspired and moved.” [6]

There is definitely no sense of despair that we know of in any of these acts of protest. Nor any hopelessness. As far as we can tell, these self-immolations are, like every single act of resistance in Tibet, a striking example of confident resiliency, of high hopes and of unflinching determination. These sacrifices carry the dream and the moral strength of an entire nation and cannot be, carelessly or sarcastically, reduced to some tragic but useless individual acts.

This abuse of the word "desperate", unintentional as it may be for many, is damaging to these valiant actions and this must be pointed out. It is firstly injurious to the person’s memory: it shows a troubling lack of respect for his or her motives, determination and aspirations. By emphasizing some unsubstantiated anguish and despair, a heroic act will be remembered merely as a means of escape or, worse, as a sign of weakness and cowardice. In the collective psyche, this could have detrimental consequences. The Chinese regime understands very well the need to demean the memory of those who have committed self-immolation and was, for example, quick to accuse, albeit without success, Sopa Tulku of suicide because of a secret love affair. But it is also harmful to the promise these self-immolations can represent for a renewed struggle against China’s occupation: by branding them desperate and viewing them as hopeless protests, we risk nipping in the bud any hope of a potential revolution. And here we are touching a much more sensitive issue, at least as far as the Tibetan leadership in Dharamshala is concerned.

When committing self-immolation, these people certainly had several objectives in mind. They probably did not think of just carrying out a one-shot dramatic action, but considered their sacrifices as sparks that would set off a larger resistance movement. It is usually explained that their aim was just to draw the world’s attention to Chinese repression in Tibet, but this is not entirely true. Many Tibetans, in Tibet and in exile, have indeed become disheartened about meaningful political engagement on their behalf by foreign countries. Besides, not a single reference was made by the self-immolators to the United Nations or to any foreign government in their messages. The wider goal of these self-immolations, probably not consciously planned but definitely anticipated, was to serve as a wake-up call for Tibetans to unite and stand up against the Chinese occupation. There is little doubt about this. These acts of defiance have indeed inspired courage in those with the will to resist, and their authors must have carefully considered the obvious eventuality of such a chain reaction. The pro-independence protests that broke out in the Golok region following Sopa Tulku’s self-immolation, or in Ngaba county following that of Lobsang Jamyang, clearly demonstrate how these actions acted as catalysts — even if the second protest seems to have been triggered by the inhumane beating of Lobsang Jamyang, still in flames, by the police forces.

It would be very surprising if Tibetans who set themselves on fire, especially nuns and monks trained in the field of causality, were not conscious of the fact that their actions can have tremendous consequences and can capture the discontent and frustration of their compatriots. They may (or may not) have heard of Mohamed Bouazizi, the man whose self-immolation sparked last year’s Tunisian revolution and inspired the wider Arab Spring, but they definitely realize the immense potential of unrest triggered by their actions. Looking at the disproportionate number of Chinese paramilitary troops, police forces and SWAT teams deployed in the restive areas in Tibet, it leaves no room for doubt that Beijing realizes the explosive nature of these protests and is taking the threats posed by them very seriously. Why, then, does Dharamshala not take advantage of the situation?

The Tibetan Government-in-Exile, obstinate and a prisoner of its own Middle Way Approach, has actually every reason to minimize the scope of these self-immolations. First, these confrontational actions go against the official policy of appeasement which, high-ranking officials are convinced, is the only key to resolving the conflict. But more importantly, demands for independence by some of the self-immolators, and references to Tibet as a “nation” (rgyal-khab) by others, clearly show the meager support for “genuine autonomy”.

It should come therefore as no surprise that the Prime Minister Lobsang Sangay refers to these acts of self-immolation in The Washington Post as “desperate acts” [7] or declares in a recent interview that "monks are self-immolating out of helplessness". [8] Nor should it comes as a surprise when, reading the names of all those who set themselves on fire in Tibet, the same prime minister, in front of nearly 200,000 Tibetans who had gathered in Bodh Gaya for the Kalachakra teachings, somehow omitted the name of 20-year-old Tapey, the first person who committed self-immolation in Tibet in February 2009.

But despite Dharamshala’s reluctance to acknowledge the true ambitions of self-immolators and the foreign media’s refusal to portray the Tibetan struggle for what it is, something urgently needs to be undertaken to ensure that these actions do not happen indefinitely. Putting an end to self-immolations — and making certain they serve a real purpose — will, however, not be achieved simply by lifting the sieges of monasteries and withdrawing paramilitary forces from restive areas. Tanks and machine guns are merely a visible symptom of China’s ruthless domination. No matter how much relief Chinese “restraint” (the word used by the US Government’s Special Coordinator for Tibetan Issues) [9] would provide to local residents, it would represent no more than a short-term fix. One day or another, protests will break out again, most probably on a more radical scale and involving greater casualties.

Renewed resistance, on the other hand, organized and more confrontational, would most probably drive dedicated people inside Tibet to undertake actions that do not forcibly involve setting oneself on fire. Since 2008, Tibetans in Tibet have clearly demonstrated their determination and courage. The resistance movement against China’s occupation has been continuously growing in that four-year span and has reached a stage unknown since the 1950s. Intellectuals and artists who had previously avoided taking a stand are now firmly on board, calls for independence and the use of the Tibetan national flag have become more frequent than ever, and acts of non-cooperation, embodied in the very inspiring Lhakar movement [10], are increasingly carried out throughout Tibet. All over the country a new sense of national identity is growing, new forms of resistance are being invented; all over the country discontent is boiling. Such a conjuncture occurs only rarely.

In such circumstances, it is not hard to imagine that an official appeal by Dharamshala to unite and engage in major non-violent actions would have a tremendous effect in Tibet. Calling for a country-wide non-cooperation movement, for example, would undoubtedly be hailed and, as much as conditions allow, embraced by the majority of Tibetans living under Chinese domination. Such a step would also, it is worth noting, confer solid legitimacy on the new leadership in exile whose election was enthusiastically followed in Tibet and in whom Tibetans in Tibet have still high hopes. However, once again I have to express my doubts about the Tibetan Government-in-Exile’s willingness to lead the struggle. The Middle Way Approach is not only a claim for autonomy, it has also proven to be a call for non-action and surrender, and it has never served to provide direction to Tibetans in Tibet (apart, maybe, from advocating collaboration with the Chinese occupiers). Based on the prime minister’s statements and on his fear of ruthless sanctions from China [11], Dharamshala will definitely not encourage political protests in Tibet anytime soon.

But I am convinced of one thing: without taking Tibetan resistance to a new level, there is little chance that self-immolations and similar extreme actions will stop. Going back to the prior status quo is not an option and Tibetans are now approaching a point where there is no turning back. The “Tsampa Revolution”, as coined by Jigme Ugen, is on the move. To quote lyrics by the British singer Peter Gabriel, written after the death of Steven Biko in a South African jail: “You can blow out a candle, but you cannot blow out a fire; once the flames begin to catch, the wind will blow it higher." [12]

These self-immolators are true freedom fighters, who use the ultimate form of non-violent action — the most painful one — to free their country from oppression. The minimum we ought to do is to view their sacrifices for what they are, not for what our myopic approach wishes them to be. These men and women are not desperate victims of China’s totalitarianism. They are not people who gave in to Chinese might because they were “deprived of hope”. They are sacrificing themselves for the benefit of their countrymen and women, and for the restoration of a nation’s pride, because they know their actions can make a difference. Because they are carrying the hope that Tibet will be free some day. They are the beacons of a renewed struggle against China’s tyranny and an inspiration for millions of Tibetans to unite and fight for their independence. May the sacrifices of these Tibetan self-immolators mark the beginning of Communist China’s downfall.

 

Christophe Besuchet is an art director and a long-time activist in Tibet's independence movement. He is currently the Vice President of Switzerland's Rangzen Alliance.

The views expressed in this piece are that of the author and the publication of the piece on this website does not necessarily reflect their endorsement by the website.

Notes

[1] Abigail Hauslohner, "Afghanistan: When Women Set Themselves on Fire", Time, 7 July 2010

http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,2002340,00.html

[2] Martin Patience , "Afghan women who turn to immolation", BBC, 19 March 2009

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/7942819.stm

[3] ༢༠༡༢ལོའི་བོད་ནང་གི་མེར་བསྲེགས་གནས་ཚུལ་ཐོག་མ། Tibet Times, 9 Jan 2012

http://www.tibettimes.net/news.php?cat=49&&id=5385

[4] Jamyang Norbu, "Remembering Thupten Ngodup", 12 May 2008

http://www.jamyangnorbu.com/blog/2008/05/12/remembering-thupten-ngodup/

[5] "‘No Regret’ For Loss: Mother", RFA, 18 Jan 2012

http://www.rfa.org/english/news/tibet/mother-01182012151811.html

[6] Ngawang Choephel, "Are we ignoring self-immolation?", 2 January 2012

http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=10150452176846793

[7] Dr Lobsang Sangay, "Chinese repression to blame for immolations in Tibet", The Washington Post, 4 November 2011

http://bit.ly/vGyddB

[8] Vishal Arora, "World will regret its neglect of Tibet: Tibetan PM", IANS, 18 Jan 2012.

http://bit.ly/xprV5X

[9] "Statement by Special Coordinator for Tibetan Issues Maria Otero", 24 January 2012

http://www.state.gov/r/pa/prs/ps/2012/01/182424.htm

[10] http://lhakar.org/

[11] "Tibetan PM Discouraging Political Protest In Tibet?", Tibettruth.com, 2 Nov 2011

http://tibettruth.com/2011/11/02/tibetan-pm-discouraging-political-protest-in-tibet/

[12] Peter Gabriel - Biko (1987)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgM-1r0X5Zc

For A Beautiful World!

May sweet and profound air not be whiff, easy breaths, idealistic indulgences--as veiling guise harboring the dire foulest ones deep down there! 

May such provoke the latent profound senses into the same loveliest and heartiest manifestations--or at least skim over into awakening to a reluctant but opening glance that shudders the ground ever! 

May, I do pray, a single such word not slip away aloof and intact from the lovely lair--from the emanated shadow to find the illumine way there! 

Integrity: The Internal Root Cause We Do Lack in Practicality

Gyalwang Karmapa Rinpche strikes the right pivotal chord what we need as the prerequisite for safeguarding our unique religious and cultural values given the fact of diverse sectarian divisions that matter more diehard complex than regional case at the deeper faith-based intellectual level rather than more solvable geo-political ramifications. But the latter isn't that normal case being without an active guidance and unbiased and broader personal hold that sees such as a huge setback. Given the parameter of his allowed freedom of speech even here in exile Rinpoche is careful enough not to cast out a single phrase sounding political and do they from Tibet know the same? But what he stresses on what we do lack in practicality through our backward and narrow hold is, for me, the question of our survival in true sense that we wish or can say so. Rinpoche is aware that Integrity based on broader sense is everything for us now to come out real strong, dedicated and lasting ever. As it's curiously questionable how we lack thus even here on such political status, Rinpoche seems to take this core sense in us is as latent as how we sense of being a refugee rather than an expatriate.  Gyalwang Karmapa calls for unity amongst Tibetans

Phayul[Saturday, January 07, 2012 22:09] Gyalwang Karmapa addressing a gathering of Tibetans from Tibet at Bodh Gaya on January 5, 2012. BODH GAYA, January 7: Speaking exclusively to an audience of Tibetans from Tibet Thursday in Bodh Gaya, Gyalwang Karmapa Ogyen Trinley Dorje called for unity amongst the Tibetan people and the preservation of Tibetan culture and religion within Tibet. "The main condition that will allow Tibetans to preserve our religion and culture will be to pull together and to stand united,” Gyalwang Karmapa said while urging Tibetans to set aside sectarian divisions. "We all share a common identity as Tibetans,” he said. “If that can be kept in mind, then together we can face whatever situations occur.” Addressing the gathering of over 8000 devotees who are attending the ongoing Kalachakra teachings, Gyalwang Karmapa said that the “main job” for Tibetans still residing in their homeland is to “guard and preserve Tibetan culture and religion”. "I want you to know that we here in exile are well aware of the sufferings and problems you face in Tibet. Do not despair, please think long term and seek out skillful means to guard the Tibetan religion and culture.” Paying tribute to His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s “pivotal role” in uniting the Tibetan people, Gyalwang Karmapa praised the Dalai Lama for his activities and the vast scope of his vision in leading the Tibetan people. "Today, Tibetans are able to overcome internal divisions and unite under the leadership of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, their supreme guide”. Citing historical relationship between China and Tibet, the young Tibetan spiritual leader urged the Tibetan pilgrims from Tibet to maintain a good relationship with the Chinese citizens in China occupied Tibet. "As a spiritual leader, His Holiness the Dalai Lama always focuses on love and compassion. We know the situation inside Tibet and we can understand your problems but always try to build friendship with the Chinese citizens,” Gyalwang Karmapa said. Apparently referring to the recent spate of self-immolations inside Tibet, Gyalwang Karmapa urged Tibetans to preserve the Tibetan culture and the spirit of Tibet without ending one’s life. "I have been studying hard since I came into exile. I am 26 now and I am determined to serve the Tibetan people in the future,” Gyalwang Karmapa said. I am very hopeful that His Holiness the Dalai Lama will be able to return back to Tibet within his lifetime”. http://www.phayul.com/news/article.aspx?id=30662&article=Gyalwang+Karmapa+calls+for+unity+amongst+Tibetans

Self Immolation: A Call for Integrity

Yet again the most recent two more self-immolators, a monk and lay guy, in Ngaba region in Tibet greet us this New Year with the dire ‘jolting’ message: Tibet is dying! But as a personal impact I find a true international support for Tibet issue, which has been nothing other than tossing as a diplomatic game on the sidelines of major self-interests on state level, is a sort of our own fiction fed by blind but dogged hope when the whole world seems to be going crueler and crueler in the backdoor butcher-yard of foreign policy that counts on the single core interest, what we gain not for true national wellbeing interests (ask the public first not the parliaments) but for bleaching further with corruption morale or filthy shine. Under such circumstances we have to strike more actively other than those routinely initiatives by drawing learning merits from Occupy mass movement, their mobilized dedications in such sustained way on the single grave social issue as pervasively concerned as the basic need of survival. As it’s up to us with a farsighted acting hope but not a blind inactive one, we count everything in shaping our own destiny in the first place. In essence, apart from the true hearts of world individuals and unbiased rights groups, I find nothing to rely on at all if you don’t pose as a coveted commodity. But the world mass supports do count in the ultimate sense, if we can draw it through our own integrity that really costs us even here—see how we act then, not as we talk when nothing matters like during a friendly conversation or argument.

Yes, as a personal impact, I find pleading myself with not being that cynic. But this hope for a better day counts on how we see ourselves and act thereby hand-in-hand. I say ‘We are the fated ones’. 


What Sopa Tulku urged for before setting himself ablaze on Jan 8, 2012: The latest case study
http://www.rfa.org/english/news/tibet/unity-01202012161051.html

A Summon

A recent one of Katu taken by me

January 4, 2012

As almost all have left for Bodh Gaya to attend Kalachakra Empowerment and Teachings by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, it’s more than deserted here at the far corner of Uttar Kanada, where Dougueling (འདོད་རྒུ་གླིང་།) Tibetan settlement (Mundgod) is situated. Yeah, ‘it’s the last Kalachakra Empowerment by His Holiness the Dalai Lama ever’ from the rumor mongering silliness must have attracted more devotees this time, but the impact is both ethereally significant and morally upsetting for a Tibetan. For here, it’s more than deserted.

In the fading twilight of collapsing dusk I am crouching by the tethered pet dog named Katu of the next door, who have left him all alone the whole day letting him indulge in his dissolute sleep. He has left the crumbled pieces of Parle-G cookies in a steel plate uneaten but a single piece thrown out infested with those tiny red ants. As I crouch by him, he habitually sits on his hind-legs by me pressing his furry body against my legs and then lies down but with his sort of gruff choking breaths abruptly after short intervals don’t seem to trouble him at all. His furry white skin smooth but stiff, the odor of his body not that unpleasant and all I care is an animal’s quality of being placid thus. And for the time he is my unspeaking company but as he feels I am by him so I do the same.

The more than hemisphere moon is already out there just off a lonely bright star. The sky is clear. The fading twilight slips away from the tiny front yard. The single brick but cement plastered and whitewashed column of the open-porch looks fatter before me; those hanging stuffs from the wound up old telephone wire around it give it an impression of a big man with those stuffs slung around his waist in silhouette. Those wailing dogs rather like out of temper for being unable to bear such desertedness first time ever for many. They rampage and chase in stampede at a sight of something strange and the deafening barking all the time. Yeah, they are playing their roles here more actively for now. The invisible but the low humming buzz of mosquitoes fills the space around me and Katu has to fend them off mostly sneezing vigorously.

Even if I don’t feel loneliness at all, I find such time rebounding with free and kindling vibe that sometimes prompts me into a sort of soliloquy easing out my emotional heights unheard. But Katu casts sudden glances at me when I speak alone, can be the hereditary trait from my late ambitious dad. I don’t care. But it lets me muse deeper to listen to an apparently summon of the sort. I chuckle.

Now those screeching crickets hidden at nooks and crannies around are active. And the intervals between their choruses are calmly pleasing like a privilege to go into reading A House for Mr. Biswas by V.S. Naipaul (his immortal comic masterpiece), the setting, though of Hindu tradition, relates in many ways with my own displaced and dispossessed parents and their hardships. Yeah, I can find myself in it, my world. The pungent Bru coffee helps me up.