A Tribute to the Tibetan self-immolators
By Olivier Dupuis
July 18, 2012
During my teenage years, Vladimir Bukovsky, Jacek Kuron, Leonid Plyushch and Adam Michnik were the people I admired the most. Along with them, I have been thinking about Jan Palach[1] for the last few months. His tragic self-sacrifice on the 16th of January 1969 in Prague scarred me with an unfathomable feeling of sadness mixed with an immense admiration for his absolute refusal to accept the double-headed totalitarian and imperial oppression of the Soviets.
For their part, the Tibetan Government in Exile, faced with the violence of Beijing, struggle to break their habit of leaning towards self-censorship, a tendency rooted in decades of attempts at establishing a real dialogue aimed at opening Sino-Tibetan negotiations. It is useful to remember that they have been driven towards this consistently moderate approach, most notably by the governments of democratic countries who have conveniently persuaded themselves that economic reforms will inevitably lead China to shift towards democracy and the rule of law.
July 18, 2012
During my teenage years, Vladimir Bukovsky, Jacek Kuron, Leonid Plyushch and Adam Michnik were the people I admired the most. Along with them, I have been thinking about Jan Palach[1] for the last few months. His tragic self-sacrifice on the 16th of January 1969 in Prague scarred me with an unfathomable feeling of sadness mixed with an immense admiration for his absolute refusal to accept the double-headed totalitarian and imperial oppression of the Soviets.
A few years before, on the 11th of June 1963, the Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc had burnt himself to death in Saigon in protest against the anti-Buddhist repression organised by the South Vietnamese president, the Catholic Diem. In 1975, after the seizure of Saigon by the communists, “22 monks, nuns and secular Buddhists” did the same thing “to call for religious freedom in Vietnam”.[2] Closer to home, everyone remembers Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation on the 17th of December 2010 in Ben Arous, Tunisia, which signalled the start of the Tunisian revolution calling for freedom and democracy.
In a Tibet oppressed by a colonial and totalitarian power, about 40 Tibetans[3] (including many monks and nuns) have died by self-immolation since March 2011, largely overlooked or unnoticed by the media, political classes and public opinion in our inward-looking democracies. They have names. I invite you to read them slowly as if reciting a mantra and reflect upon the mixture of emotions that you feel - whether compassion, solidarity, thought, admiration, gratitude, understanding or infinite sadness.
To recognise the political and human dignity of these self-immolations is not to encourage them, but to take one’s own share of political responsibility for them. Self-immolation, according to Vietnamese Buddhist leader Thich Quang Do in a message to the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan people, “is indeed a tragic and extreme act, one that should be avoided at all costs”. He continues: “But there are moments when this ultimate gesture, that of offering one’s body as a torch of Compassion to dissipate darkness and ignorance is the only possible recourse.”
For their part, the Tibetan Government in Exile, faced with the violence of Beijing, struggle to break their habit of leaning towards self-censorship, a tendency rooted in decades of attempts at establishing a real dialogue aimed at opening Sino-Tibetan negotiations. It is useful to remember that they have been driven towards this consistently moderate approach, most notably by the governments of democratic countries who have conveniently persuaded themselves that economic reforms will inevitably lead China to shift towards democracy and the rule of law.
Nonviolence
Behind such moderation or self-censorship from the Tibetan Government in Exile, there is the question of nonviolence as an instrument of political struggle. This issue is even more difficult as the resonance of Buddhism – regarded as an essentially non-conflictual philosophy by the Tibetan religious leadership – leads to confusion between the moral values implied by nonviolence (i.e. a peaceable approach to human relations) and nonviolence as a method of political action. Such confusion between pacifism and nonviolence is fuelled by groups and organisations who, although claiming to be Gandhi followers, have, whether consciously or not, stripped Gandhian nonviolence of its political dimension in favour of other of the Mahatma’s more religious practices or life principles. A superficial approach to the question of nonviolence as a method of political action within the democratic world, including academic circles, has also contributed to this confusion.
As a result, Tibetans in Tibet never had the occasion to be inspired by any kind of organised nonviolent movement led by Tibetan refugees in India, the US or Europe. Neither has the Tibetan Government in Exile ever provided examples of nonviolent actions to support their appeals. As cautious as the Tibetan Government in Exile should be about the sensitive issue of the Dalai Lama’s health and the potential question of his succession (which might lead to similar manipulations from Beijing as with the Panchen Lama’s succession[4]), such cautiousness does not explain the lack of nonviolent political action from the Tibetan Government in Exile and worldwide supporters of freedom and democracy for Tibet and China. On the one hand, potentially emblematic nonviolent actions could have been possible, even by the Dalai Lama himself (whatever his closest advisors may have thought) and on the other hand, other members of the Tibetan Government and Parliament in Exile could have built upon their own notoriety and charisma in order to take charge of the movement, thereby reinforcing their own standing.
These considerations do not apply to the Tibetans inside Tibet. In contrast to Gandhi’s confrontation with Britain, a country with longstanding democratic and lawful values – despite occasional slip-ups –, in the case of Tibet, the violence of Beijing’s oppression is such that it severely restricts the scope of nonviolent initiatives, as the merest breach – such as possession of a photograph of the Dalai Lama – provokes severe punishments. Nevertheless, it is in this context that nuns, monks and secular Buddhists (often very young) have for decades used only the weapon of nonviolence to confront the colonial and totalitarian power, for which they inevitably pay a heavy price. Numerous reports and personal accounts of survivors attest to years of imprisonment in inhuman conditions.[5] ..
Behind such moderation or self-censorship from the Tibetan Government in Exile, there is the question of nonviolence as an instrument of political struggle. This issue is even more difficult as the resonance of Buddhism – regarded as an essentially non-conflictual philosophy by the Tibetan religious leadership – leads to confusion between the moral values implied by nonviolence (i.e. a peaceable approach to human relations) and nonviolence as a method of political action. Such confusion between pacifism and nonviolence is fuelled by groups and organisations who, although claiming to be Gandhi followers, have, whether consciously or not, stripped Gandhian nonviolence of its political dimension in favour of other of the Mahatma’s more religious practices or life principles. A superficial approach to the question of nonviolence as a method of political action within the democratic world, including academic circles, has also contributed to this confusion.
As a result, Tibetans in Tibet never had the occasion to be inspired by any kind of organised nonviolent movement led by Tibetan refugees in India, the US or Europe. Neither has the Tibetan Government in Exile ever provided examples of nonviolent actions to support their appeals. As cautious as the Tibetan Government in Exile should be about the sensitive issue of the Dalai Lama’s health and the potential question of his succession (which might lead to similar manipulations from Beijing as with the Panchen Lama’s succession[4]), such cautiousness does not explain the lack of nonviolent political action from the Tibetan Government in Exile and worldwide supporters of freedom and democracy for Tibet and China. On the one hand, potentially emblematic nonviolent actions could have been possible, even by the Dalai Lama himself (whatever his closest advisors may have thought) and on the other hand, other members of the Tibetan Government and Parliament in Exile could have built upon their own notoriety and charisma in order to take charge of the movement, thereby reinforcing their own standing.
These considerations do not apply to the Tibetans inside Tibet. In contrast to Gandhi’s confrontation with Britain, a country with longstanding democratic and lawful values – despite occasional slip-ups –, in the case of Tibet, the violence of Beijing’s oppression is such that it severely restricts the scope of nonviolent initiatives, as the merest breach – such as possession of a photograph of the Dalai Lama – provokes severe punishments. Nevertheless, it is in this context that nuns, monks and secular Buddhists (often very young) have for decades used only the weapon of nonviolence to confront the colonial and totalitarian power, for which they inevitably pay a heavy price. Numerous reports and personal accounts of survivors attest to years of imprisonment in inhuman conditions.[5] ..
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