The Panchen Lama’s succession is unlikely to be resolved unless China and the Dalai Lama reconcile, writes Jonathan Watts
It is tempting to switch off the mind and tune in the spirit when you enter Tashilumpo monastery, the home of one of Tibet’s great Buddhist orders and the empty seat of one the world’s most politically controversial religious leaders.
Set against an imposing mountain backdrop on the slopes above the city of Shigatse, its vastness, colour and age take the breath away even from a distance. Close up, to walk through the dark, narrow alleys, catching the glare of lavishly gilded rooftops and breathing in the incense of the temples (sucking away what little oxygen remains in the thin, high-altitude air) is to be transported to another time and an other-worldly set of values.
For the monks, it seems an entirely different plane of consciousness. When the yellow -robed acolytes begin chanting Buddhist scriptures, it sounds – to the uninitiated, awe-struck and altitude-giddy listener – as much like speaking in tongues as an ancient form of soul music.
At such a moment, it is hard to imagine anything further removed from communist party politics, international diplomacy and globalised culture.
Yet, speak to these same monks about the “soul boy” who should be their guru and it is clear that they have also memorised a few modern-day mantras of political evasion that have helped them to survive amid decades of repression.
The Tashilumpo monastery ought to be the home of the Panchen Lama, the second most important spiritual figure in Tibet, but the position – like the monks – has become the victim of a tug of war between the Chinese authorities and the Tibetan government in exile.
After the 10th Panchen Lama died in 1989, the two sides spent six years selecting different children as his reincarnation: the Dalai Lama – head of the government in exile – chose Gedhun Choekyi Nyima. Communist party leaders in Beijing chose Gyaltsen Norbu.
Neither of them – both now teenagers – lives in Tashilumpo monastery. Gedhun Choekyi Nyima has not been seen since he was put under house arrest in 1985. Gyaltsen Norbu, who is not recognised as the Panchen Lama by most Tibetans, has been sent to study in Beijing, where the Chinese government can assure the boy’s safety and influence his thinking.
Tashilumpo monastery is closely watched by the authorities. According to the Tibetan Information Network – which supports the Dalai Lama – it is filled with spies and led by monks who are close to Beijing.
On a government-organised trip to the monastery, we found the monks careful to praise Gyaltsen Norbu.
“When he visited us last year with the support of the central government, all of us monks and many lay people were very satisfied,” said Niendrak, who is deputy head of the “democratic committee” – the organisation appointed by the authorities to exert control over the monastery.
Asked why the “soul boy” had to be taught in Beijing – unprecedented for a Panchen Lama – the monk insisted it was a better environment for the “current age”.
“If the monastery requests, he will come back,” said Niandrak.
A similar refrain was repeated at a political level. “He will return to Tibet one day because Tashilumpo monastery is the seat of successive generations of Panchen Lama,” said the governor of Tibet, Jampa Phuntsog. “He will come back. There is no doubt about that.”
Despite such assurances, neither the monks nor the politicians were able to give a date when the homecoming – rather than just a visit – will be possible.
Judging from the pictures displayed in Tibetan homes and temples, there is little acceptance of Gyaltsen Norbu as the 11th Panchen Lama. Among the dozen or so locations visited by this journalist, the only place where the young boy’s photograph was displayed was in Tashilumpo monastery. Elsewhere people gave pride of place to a picture of the deceased, but still popular 10th Panchen Lama.
Whether the issue of a successor will be ever resolved is likely to depend on relations between the Dalai Lama and the Chinese government.
Since last year, the two sides have opened a new round of negotiations. Although it is far from clear that this will produce any more of a breakthrough than countless other failed attempts at reconciliation, the Dalai Lama told the Guardian last week that he was “very very optimistic” about a change in Chinese policy.
The arguments for a shift are evident throughout Tibet. After spending billions on infrastructure projects that have raised the standard of living and diluted local culture, China has less reason to feel insecure about losing Tibet. Its relations with India – the current home of the Dalai Lama – have also improved greatly since the summit between the two nations’ leaders earlier this year eased mutual suspicions.
Equally important is that the Dalai Lama is growing old. If an agreement could be reached before he dies, it might avoid a repetition of the confusion and international opprobrium that has surrounded the botched handling of the Panchen Lama succession.
But arrests of monks and nuns for “splittist activities” continue. For now at least the monks of Tashilumpo, are not willing to express their hopes for a reconciliation that could bring either of Tibet’s two great lamas back home for good.
In a contrast to the spiritual clarity of their chanting, their political statements remain carefully cloaked in evasiveness, ambiguity and condemnation of that which the government insists must be condemned.
“The Dalai Lama is a splittist,” said Niendrak in response to a question about whether he would like the country’s spiritual leader to come back. “If the Dalai Lama is allowed to return after agreeing to the stipulations of the government, we will see how he will react.”
To the uninitiated, such words come across as a hollow political ritual – a necessary compromise, perhaps akin to switching off the mind so that the spirit can have more freedom.
Perhaps that is just what is needed for a resolution of the Tibetan problem.
Niendrak seems to think so. He says he is happy – that materially this is the best of times for Tashilumpo monastery, which he joined 59 years ago as an eight-year-old boy.
“I have seen many changes, but now is the best time. We have more roads and schools and living standards have improved,” he insists.”
“Asked if the monastery has grown spiritually richer, his answer is again elusive.
“This kind of society is completely different from the old society. But I’m a master of my own destiny so I live a happy life.”
