Taboo Topics: Politics and Religion at the Dinner Table

Taboo Topics: Politics and Religion at the Dinner Table

On our last night in Lhasa, Yvonne (one of the two Americans we're traveling with to Nepal) arranged for all of us to have dinner with a Tibetan family that she met on the train. In addition, Barry invited a young Lhasan woman he started to like, who sells Chinese jackets in Barkhor Square. At dinner we realized our rooky mistake: we had just gathered a group of Amdo, Kumba and Lhasan Tibetans together, somehow managing to get people from all three Tibetan tribes at the same table. It wasn’t a problem because they get along fine – except they don’t speak the same language. Luckily, the Kumba man can speak pretty good English, Kumba, Amdo and a little Lhasan, so we had a translator. As you can imagine, the evening was a little strange at first. Two of the Amdo girls are from a remote village and are so shy they would barely look up from their plates. The Lhasan woman that Barry invited to dinner excused herself very early after not saying much and eating hardly anything (poor Barry!), and we fretted in several languages over what kind of food (beer?? Meat??) the Amdo monk would be interested in eating.
But, as the night wore on, there was a lot of laughter and, thanks to the Kumba man (who’s name we won’t mention because of the nature of conversation we had with him), we were let in on so many of the feelings Tibetans have about politics, religion, the Tibetan economy, tourists and the cultural genocide of Tibet at the hands of the Chinese. I listened as the men at the table explained the breakdown of profits from tourism. Over 3/4 of the money, they claim, go back to China, leaving Tibet with fewer resources and little cash. All the entrance fees to Tibetan monasteries – those bastions of Tibetan independence – go to Beijing. The monks see little, which explains the sorry state many of the monasteries are in. A vast majority of hotels, restaurants and businesses that tourists patronize in Tibet are owned by Chinese businesspeople, who hire Tibetan staff to make the operation look local.
Obviously, the situation is incredibly complicated. Despite the injustice Tibet has experienced at the hands of the Chinese government, many Tibetans are flocking to Chinese cities with the hopes of getting education, jobs and a better life. While some may understand this process as part of the nature of change, our Tibetan dinner guests say that it as “selling out," and that they can never trust a Tibetan who goes off to China. Their feelings are harsh, but understandable. It’s truly sad that Tibetans have to fear retribution for having political opinions. Whether it’s a conversation with a taxi driver or a hair stylist, a neighbor or a good friend, interactions in Tibet is fraught with distrust and worry. Nobody knows who will tell on you, who is watching. Talk and images of the Tibetan holy leader, the Dalai Lama, are banned and the Chinese government will crack down on any hint of rebellious speech or action. At a recent Tibetan religious ceremony a couple of drunk Tibetans unrolled a “Free Tibet” banner and have not been seen or heard from since (or so goes the story).
“I feel a hotness inside,” said our Kumba dinner guest. “It’s like fire. But I say to myself, ‘pour cool water on the fire because we cannot act out.’”
I felt as though I could have offered many opinions or “devil’s advocate” responses. Indeed, there were moments when I knew the facts to be different than what some of our dinner guests were saying about Chinese occupation, but I chose to make it less of a debate and more of a learning experience. So I just listened to the long list of grievances about the abuse of their religion, culture and country. And I’m glad I did, because Tibetans, more than anything else, feel that they have lost their voice.