Melinda Liu
|
Mar 26, 2008 07:11 AM
The Tibetan crisis has brought tragedy to everyone—except,
possibly, the ideologues in China's ruling party and military who will
now feel free to press for a harder policy line. Here's a commentary
from my colleague in Shanghai, Duncan Hewitt, who's lived in China
continuously for more than a decade (he first lived here as a student
in 1986) and is author of "Getting Rich First: Life in a Changing
China":
What happened in Lhasa is a tragedy for all sides. It is a tragedy
for the Han Chinese settlers, unwitting participants in the great
political game of control over Tibet, who had moved there for economic
reasons. Their government encouraged them to do so by opening up the
railway and the economy and they can now be seen on Chinese state TV
grieving for relatives killed and businesses destroyed in the riots.
It is a tragedy for the ordinary Tibetans, whose family members now
face stiff punishment after their frustrations with Chinese rule led
them to take part in the violence, whatever its specific causes, or who
were struck by the bullets which China now admits police fired in at
least one ethnically Tibetan area in Sichuan province. (China says
19 people were killed, while exile sources now say there are an
estimated 140 deaths.) And a tragedy too for the broader population of
Tibet who now face a reinvigorated hard line from Tibet's Chinese
rulers, summed up by the region's Communist Party boss's denunciation
of the Dalai Lama in the kind of undiplomatic language not heard
publicly from Chinese officials for years: 'a wolf in monk's robes, a
devil with a human face but the heart of a beast," was how Zhang Qingli
described the 1989 Nobel Peace Prize winner.
It's also a tragedy
for the Dalai Lama himself, whose decades of dedication to a
non-violent and conciliatory approach to China seem to have fallen on
deaf ears among some younger Tibetans inside and outside Tibet -
and whose chances of progress in the dialogue with China on which he
has long pinned his hopes now look more forlorn than ever. And it may
also look rather tragic from the point of view of China's leaders, who
had believed that years of channeling economic growth and investing in
infrastructure and 'modernization' in Tibet would dilute the power of
religion and traditional culture, and help them put behind them the
anti-Chinese anger dating from Beijing's full takeover of Tibet in
1959, and the anti-religious brutality which followed in the Cultural
Revolution.
It could also be a tragedy for ethnic harmony in
China. The pictures shown on state TV may fuel traditional Chinese
suspicions that the Tibetans (and by implication others in remote
western regions) are wild and primitive: when, as a student in China in
the 1980s, I told people that I was planning to go to Tibet, many
looked alarmed and said "don't go - it's very dangerous, they all have
guns." This month's events will reinforce such attitudes, and risk
overriding the relative progress in recent years, which have seen
growing interest in traditional Tibetan culture among Chinese
intellectuals and reports that a few people within the Chinese regime
have been willing to countenance a more tolerant approach to the Dalai
Lama. (This was hinted at by the exiled Tibetan leader in his Newsweek
interview, when he spoke of Chinese officials sending him messages of
support even in the past week.)
Now more conservative forces are likely to have the upper hand:
the military, for whom Tibet's main importance is as a protective
buffer against India and other neighboring countries, and the
ideologues, who seek to impose Chinese patriotism on the teaching of
Tibetan Buddhism.
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