From Sasu’s blog: My Tibetan Friend, and Tibetan Affairs
April 18th, 2009 by MeiThis translation was motivated by a rather inconspicuous comment a good friend of mine made in her blog. She watched the 2009 Chinese New Year Gala on TV in a friend’s house, and made various observations about the gala, in her usual humorous style. I was all itching to leave some comments of my own on her blog, when the last sentence of her article jumped to my eyes – it was an off-hand remark: “… at least three hours in, no mention of Tibet; but then you’re only supposed to think happy thoughts during Chinese New Year.”
It was an innocent remark that nevertheless stung, as if a dear friend suddenly started to joke about my family problems in a party. She was of course not the first one of my friends who talked about Tibet, since the issue has practically become a fashion statement in the west. But taking a side in someone else’s family dispute is one thing, joking about it like enjoying a comic show is another. I was so put off by the comment that for a couple of months I couldn’t find a way to talk to her.
The thing is, I really like my friend, and see her as one of my best friends, so this state of affair wouldn’t do. It’s also not nice to leave my friend wondering why I suddenly went silent on her. This little essay by Sasu, which I hastily translated here, is my attempt at bringing up the issue and getting it out of my system, without pretending it didn’t matter to me.
One thing I wondered about in the last few weeks was: why do I care at a personal level? After all, I have never personally known a Tibetan, nor have I visited the land. The only connection in my experience – at a personal level, not at a “talk over a newspaper” level – was taking a smaller allocation of meat and eggs in the lean times of 70s, by policy, so that my ethnic minority friends from far away could have more. As kids, we were thus connected, like brothers and sisters in the same family who shared what little food we had and survived the worst of times. In more hokey words, we are struggling to hold the family together because we are connected by love. Even if the love might have been “brainwashed” into our minds, it was tested and proven under pressure of survival, a love much stronger than the convenient passion for Tibet proclaimed by any western celebrity, including Dalai Lama himself (who is, no doubt, more a western celebrity than a Tibetan).
So here it is, a little essay by an internet writer Sasu, who lives in Japan and makes his living as an IT engineer. Sasu mostly writes about interesting events and characters connected to his life as a Beijing native. He has published several books, and now writes regularly for printed media as well. The piece I translated here is a rather “light” essay about his Tibetan friend Adan, and things he learned about what kind of people Tibetans are. I had always felt that taking the overseas Tibet Independence movement as a representation of the Tibetan people is practically an insult to the true Tibetans. That was the sentiment that partially motivated the choice of this piece.
My Tibetan Friend, and Tibetan Affairs
(藏友藏事)
written by Sasu
translated by Mei
My friend Huar Adan happened to be in Beijing during my last trip home, so we got together for a long chat, on everything under the sun, till the sun had set and darkness fell completely.
As we walked out of his home, I was surprised to see stars all over the night sky. In my memory from middle school to college, the number of days I could see clear sky in Beijing could be counted with one hand. And now …. I see stars?!
This small miracle had simple explanations. First, Adan is not rich, so his home is on the outskirt of Beijing, near the 5th Ring, which naturally had better air quality. Second, we were starting to see the effect of strict air quality control in preparation for the Beijing Olympics. Still, I was truly excited.
Adan watched me dance around under the stars, and said: You are becoming more like us Tibetans.
Adan is Tibetan. We made friends when he was studying in Beijing Normal University. Our friendship started with a fight between me and his friend Chief Ye, after which we became as close as dear brothers — something that still baffles me today.
My impressions of Tibetan people come mostly from Adan. That is why, even when standing face to face with the Tibet Independence demonstrators in Nagoya as I volunteered to help guard the Olympic Torch Relay, I knew very clearly in my mind that T.I. was T.I., Tibetans were Tibetans, that they were never the same thing.
Since my notebook computer was smashed by T.I. rioters during the Nagoya event, Adan called from China to inquire on me. I asked him – How come there are thugs like this among you Tibetans? Adan shot back instantly – that’s all learned from you outside people, we Tibetans are never like that.
What, so TI was cultivated by us “outside” people? You have to give it to Adan for his unique logic.
Of course, this wasn’t the first time he expressed such an opinion.
Once, a friend of mine was robbed by some Tibetans in Jiuzhai Gou. I demanded an explanation from Adan (which was most unreasonable of me, come to think of it), and Adan shut me up with the same statement – that’s all learned from you outside people, we Tibetans are never like that.
When Alai’s famous book The Dust Settled was first published, Adan instantly had one copy delivered to me, with a note inside saying, with obvious excitement, “A book written by one of us, a Tibetan. YOU READ.” He made the words “you read” 7-8 times larger in size, to make sure I would never miss it.
So I read the book. Soon after, a TV series was made from it, and I woke Adan in the middle of the night over the phone: Which one is better, the book or the TV series?
After a moment of disorientation, Adan replied: The TV series.
Why?
The girls were pretty.
I hang up the phone – could this guy be a dummy Lord (main character in The Dust Settled) in his previous life too?
This time, when Adan said I was becoming a Tibetan, I smiled back, as I knew perfectly well what he meant, a meaning I just came to understand that same day.
That day, I had lunch in a Tibetan-cuisine restaurant with a journalist from Beijing Youth Daily. It was early afternoon, and we were alone in the sunny and quiet restaurant main lobby. The waitress didn’t have much to do, so she abandoned her customers, took out her Qin, and was soon lost in her music.
My journalist friend had just returned from Tibet, so we talked mainly about things in the Tibetan region. She climbed the Meili Mountain, where the only road to top was a slippery path shaped like the ridged back of a fish. She had the choice of walking on her own legs, or riding on a donkey. “I chose to walk”, she said. “Sheer cliffs dropped down both sides of the path. I didn’t want to rely on anyone else’s feet.”
Of course, after she gazed stars from the top of Meili, all of this felt worthwhile.
I could relate. I said: You look like your soul had been cleansed.
Then I asked: Tell me something about the Tibetans you know.
She pondered for a moment: Where do I begin? — There isn’t much to say about Lhasa. It has become a metropolitan area. Let’s talk about Ali. Actually, let’s talk about a lawsuit between Tibetans.
Tibetan lawsuit? I knew I was in luck. I heard that she spent a winter in Ali a few years ago. Overwintering in Ali is by no means a simple affair, as the harsh climate up there can easily claim the life of an “outsider” (my journalist friend did develop some health problems after that winter in Tibet). This is why it is utter nonsense to say that Han people are eliminating the Tibetan local culture. The Tibetan traditions and culture are kept as pure as ever outside of Lhasa, for a very simple reason — outsiders are not capable of settling in and disturbing the culture. Even the Qinghai-Tibet railway cannot change that fact, for it is but a thin line of influence, and any outsider would encounter mortal difficulties as soon as he wanders from this line.
My journalist friend stayed in a village near the center of Ali. The whole village population was Tibetans, as were the village leaders. Government jobs are simple in such places: hospital, communication, disaster relief, stores. There is no need, nor manpower, to do anything else.
The local Tibetans are like Tibetans in any other village, who are, needless to say, honest and kind.
But the honest and kind villagers did a little something not quite so honest or kind.
On the other side of the hill, opposite this village, was another village.
One day, a yak from the other village ran over to graze on this side of the hill. A few fellows from this village shot and cooked the yak.
A few days later, the other village sent someone to look for the yak.
The Tibetans in this village simply shook their heads — no no, we didn’t see it.
Despite this adament denial, the other village was not fooled. They traced the yak, and concluded that yes, “you took our yak”.
So, the two villages decided to hold a negotiation session.
The location of the negotiation was chosen to be the hilltop between the two villages.
On the day of the mediation, my journalist friend saw that the village leaders all put on their best traditional attire, hopped on their best horses, and took off for the meeting site.
Out of curiosity, my friend followed. When she saw the scene at the meeting location, she was shocked — the leaders from the other village were also in their best clothes and on their best horses. Behind them were a milling crowd. Apparently the whole other village had arrived!
Just as my friend was recovering from the initial shock, she heard footsteps behind her as well — all villagers from this side of the hill had also come!
Was a fight going to break out?
But when she saw the faces of the villagers, she thought her eyes were failing her.
The villagers, old and young, all had the same expression on their faces — joy!
Carrying her bewilderment, she followed the crowd to the top of the hill.
The negotiation lasted only 10 minutes. Translated to our language, here is the essence of the negotiation —
Village A: Our yak was eaten by your people …
Village B: No, it was not us.
Village A: There is nobody else around here. It could only be you.
Village B: Did you see us eating it?
Village A: If you put it this way, obviously our perspectives on this matter are quite different.
Village B: So it seems. Do you think this negotiation can solve the problem?
Village A: I don’t think so.
Village B: Neither do I.
Village A: Alright, we will send someone to your village later to arrange a time for the next negotiation session.
Village B: OK.
Ten minutes? If you count the time spent on greetings.
In order to reach this beautiful common understanding, the next 3-4 hours were spent by villagers from both sides singing, dancing, drinking, and eating. Village A slaughtered a yak for this occasion, and Village B agreed to contribute a yak for next time … my journalist friend were dragged into several dances in that day’s joyous celebration.
So she understood. The lives of Tibetans are very simple. An event as important as yak-stealing was a perfect excuse to gather together and drink and dance. No wonder everyone was in total ecstasy.
This reminded her of barley harvesting time — villagers would all come out to help a particular family harvest their crop. My friend was very moved by everyone’s selfless community spirit.
Barley harvesting would take maybe one hour. The rest of the day, the whole village gathered in the family’s home to feast and dance. The host of course supplied all food, with complete pleasure and not a trace of worry. My journalist friend couldn’t help thinking — brother, isn’t this way of barley-harvesting completely cost-ineffective?
But her question was soon answered — before the villagers leave at the end of celebration, they happily arranged to gather the next day again, to help with another family’s harvesting. Every family had a chance to receive generous help from fellow villagers, and each had the opportunity to supply food and drink for the feast afterward.
……
I heard you went to Tibet again recently. Did you visit Ali? I asked my friend.
No, it was too far out of the way for this trip. I just called the village head. She said.
How are they doing? I asked.
Pretty good. She told me. But I heard the yak dispute was still not resolved …
It’s already 3 years! She added.
You know, the Tibetans are a people whose joy come easily. She added again.
That was the reason, I think, that Adan said I was becoming more like a Tibetan. If I could dance around just for seeing a few stars, then I was someone whose joy came easily.
It’s 2009. May everyone’s joy come easily.
