My Tibet visit was a long overdue dream. As my family and friends worried about my safety, being reluctant to see me travel alone to Tibet, I started out on my journey. I spent nine days inside Tibet, out of the 23 days total in China, and I truly regretted that I did not take a much longer vacation. There are many more places in Tibet where I wanted to go, and I felt very sad when I had to leave Tibet and later Beijing, where I am from originally.

Image: (right) Shigatse

I Am From ...

It turned out, however, that I was the one, and most of the time the only one, who gave money to the Tibetan kid beggars on the streets or in the restaurants. The pattern was so regular that it was eventually taken for granted. In a small Sichuan restaurant in Shigatse, when the three Israelis, the two Dutchmen, and I were having lunch and chatting, Oli, the Israeli girl sitting in front of me, suddenly stopped talking and looked at me and to my side. I turned and saw a little Tibetan beggar, and he wasn't looking at me! Clearly Oli was expecting me to deal with the kid. I offered the kid some money without hesitation, but I was not happy. "If you don't want to pay the kid, then don't, but I make my own decisions about my own money too." But I couldn't say that. Because if a Tibetan kid really came up to me, I had to give him money, and I would. If the tourists could afford to be impassive and ignorant to the Tibetans, I couldn't. (Before leaving the restaurant, I asked the Sichuan owner to change some smaller bills for me, in preparation for the kid beggars. She gave me some instead, free.) When together with the Tibetans and tourists, particularly when the Tibetans were not treated in the best way, I felt akin to them, that we were of the same kind, that we were closer. I was particularly touched when hearing "we are all Chinese" ...

Image: (left) Lovely kid at Potala

We were on the way from Gyantse to Shigatse when the jeep broke down. It was scary. The brakes refused to work. We decided to switch jeeps, and to pay the driver a partial fare. Dispute arose between us and the driver when bargaining how much we should pay. I voted for a bit more, the three Israelis for less. Finally, Ehud put Y28 into the driver's hand, and dragged me, rushing to the other jeep. A bit hesitant, I lagged behind. It was then that I heard the driver's, "We are all Chinese." I stopped to wait for him. "How could you possibly give me only 20 Yuan?" He ran up, under the blazing sun, in his shirt, plus a sweat shirt, and an army coat. (This was typical for a Tibetan man in the summer. I always wondered if it was too hot for them.) Apparently the driver miscounted the money. With the three Israelis already inside the second jeep waiting a bit impatiently, I waited wordlessly for the driver to count the money again and calm down. (Y28 was not much, but reasonable indeed.) I patted his shoulder, and tried to reach his hand to shake it. I didn't want him to think badly about Han Chinese, but never knew what his thoughts were after the incident. We got along well with each other earlier. He complained to me about the underdevelopment of Tibet, and told me that he had been to the inland, in Chengdu as a construction worker, as a way to show his friendliness to Han Chinese. I had told him at the beginning that I was a Han from Beijing. To return the friendliness, as I did with other Tibetan drivers, I offered him Marlboro cigarettes. They were all chain smokers.

Image: (right) Potala, the rear gate

I was always nice to the Tibetans. I could run away, holding my backpack, and holding my tail :) when too many kid beggars were all over me from all sides, grasping my clothes, stopping in my way, and crying "Uncle, uncle," or reciting a piece of prayer. I wouldn't shout at them or scare them away, as others did. Likewise, when the girls, the handicraft sellers on the street, approached me aggressively, forcing a wristlet into my hand, leaving a necklace on my shoulder, shouting to me and to other competitors, and eventually pushing me into a corner, I held up my backpack, protected my pockets, and I surrendered, with a smile. I didn't want the Tibetan onlookers to see an arrogant, self-important Chinese bully. (In both cases, I was rescued by sympathetic Tibetan onlookers.)

But I should also admit that one reason I was nice to the Tibetans was, at least unconsciously, my fear of getting into a violent fight with the Tibetans.

Image: (left) Approaching the Potala

It was my third day at Lhasa, right after coming back from the Yamdo Tso Lake. I went to the Potala, alone. The great monastery was sitting on top of a hill, or rather it was itself the hill, overlooking the entire city of Lhasa. To reach it, however, I had to depart from the crowded yet safe commercial street and walk along a dirt road. With dogs, local Tibetan residents watching me expressionlessly, young monks running up to me, holding up their bags and asking for money, no visible tourists, the scene felt not at all safe.

Image: (left) Potala, I ... am ... coming ... up ...

Finally, I saw a Tibetan monk in his 50s, short and white haired, with a friendly face, smiling to me while I was moving my legs uphill and breathing heavily. (Whenever moving uphill, you would feel IT.) We made eye contact, and nodded to each other. "Where are you from?" he asked in English. "America," I answered automatically, also in English. "I am from India." He then pointed to downtown, at the foot of the towering monastery, "Chinese soldiers." I suddenly felt very uneasy and wanted to say, "I am Chinese myself," but then realized I would create an atmosphere of hostility, whereas the monk had nothing against me personally. Plus ...

Image: (right) Downtown Lhasa, a bird's eye view from Potala

Image: (left) Lhasa, the second bird's eye view

A squadron of green uniformed soldiers in very regular rows were exercising inside a big open square. Their shouting was very loud, perhaps too loud. It was uncomfortable, even annoying, having to listen to this in the otherwise quiet and apparently peaceful monastery. I wondered if it was at all necessary to show the presence of force so awkwardly. "Isn't it better for the military to keep a low profile, to present itself as a peace keeper, not a conqueror? After all, no violence is visible here in the city. It is not like the West Bank or Gaza Strip. Well, maybe the show of the force was just the point. Maybe I am too naive." (When my bus was entering into the Lhasa city from the airport, I noticed that the gates of some walled places had no signs whatsoever. Armed soldiers were standing, helmets, rifles in hands, alert, ready. "Terror." That was my first reaction.) (Later that afternoon, when I finally escaped to the street from the besieging beggars at the rear exit of the Potala, I saw a squad of Han Chinese soldiers rushing somewhere. They were so hasty that the squad was not in order, and two late soldiers had to catch up to the rest on a bike, one riding, the other sitting behind. Everyone was holding an automatic rifle, a light, metal framed weapon, held with only one hand, pointing to the sky. I was stunned. Standing there, Tiananmen Square on June 4, 1989, came to my mind. I even forgot to take out my camera.)

Image: (right) Pilgrims

Meanwhile, I felt ashamed for my cowardice: "from America." Although I could excuse myself for automatically answering in English when being asked in English (the monk, when asking, definitely was not expecting a reply of "I am from Beijing"), and though I was in Beijing for only six days during the past six years, I was actually worried for my life at the time, as a lone Han Chinese in Tibet. I was ashamed, because I was no American, ashamed because I was not brave enough and proud enough to dare, "I am from Beijing." From now on, I would always say that I AM FROM BEIJING!, I swore ...

Image: (left) Potala, the rear view

(I finally got my "revenge." On my way to Shanghai, at the Beijing airport, a Korean businessman was bitterly complaining to me about the Chinese airport management. I angrily interrupted: "Be careful, I am Chinese myself, from Beijing!" Ironically, we eventually became friends, sitting side by side in the plane. We even exchanged our addresses, and he promised to contact me for his company's research labs.)

From that day on, I always claimed, "I am from Beijing." And when I felt that I would be cheating or confusing, would qualify, "I have been studying in the US, though, for the past six years." Ultimately, I got tested.

It was at Gyantse with the two Israelis, Ehud and Shibati. (Shibati never said what he did, so I never knew. Maybe a special agent. I couldn't help but wonder. :)) We decided to take an early hike around the "Great Wall" or fort of the monastery, while the two Dutchmen were sipping their tea in the hotel bed. As we were approaching the entrance of the "Great Wall," a bunch of people ran up and shouted: "Hey, wait a minute." I stopped. They walked up to us, and with a sudden signal, they all rushed to the entrance. Shibati, nearest to the entrance, quickly understood the trick and ran inside as well, only to be physically dragged out by two Tibetans. They closed the gate, and demanded money. We were now talking in Mandarin, and the Israelis talking in body language:

"Why didn't those who just went in have to pay?"

"They work here!"

"How much do you want?"

"10!"

The Israelis asked for a Y1 fee, and eventually presented their student ID's from a one-week summer school at Yangshuo (a small city close to Guilin, Guangxi), and demanded a discount. (This was a trick, of course.) Both sides were angry. The two Tibetans had nothing to prove that we should pay the money to them, but they threatened to lock the gate and not let us in at all. I was translating back and forth at the same time.

"Where are YOU from?" one Tibetan asked, very suspiciously and meanly. He was the most hostile Tibetan I had met thus far, and was now physically the closest.

"I am from Beijing, a domestic visitor. I am not a foreigner. I should only pay the domestic fee."

"Show me your ID!" he ordered, angrily.

"I don't have an ID. I have only my passport!"

He looked at it slowly, page by page, with no word, and a darkened face. I couldn't help but wonder what he was going to do with my passport. Tear it up? Withhold it? (In that extremely unsympathetic environment, I would be in deep trouble not getting it back.) Refuse to let me enter? Provoke a fight? I quickly regretted that I gave him the passport instead of holding it in my own hand. It was as if I had surrendered my weapon of self protection, as if we were fighting for the same knife, but he grasped the handle. My heart was in the throat, but I had to be very calm, pretending that the passport was not so important, pretending that I was not aware of his hostility, pretending that I wasn't afraid of him, pretending that I was going to treat him the same way he would treat me ...

He returned my passport, without a word, as if defeated.

We paid Y5 each, the domestic price. But with the Y15 total, we could not get even one ticket that was supposed to cost Y10, which Ehud wanted to collect as a souvenir. We were certain that the money would go into the guys' own pockets.

Image: (left) The fort of monastery at Gyantse

...

I found myself troubled, unable to position myself comfortably, unable to, as one friend suggested, forget about politics and my background, and to travel as a free individual. In the US, I could argue as an idealist and without any worries with my fellow Chinese students for the free will of the Tibetan people. (I even staged a 24 hour hunger strike in the summer of 1989, after June 4, in support of and sympathetic to the Tibetan people. That is the only hunger strike I ever had, so far.) But I found it impossible, even counter productive, to suggest the possibility in Tibet. The tension there was so high, potential crisis and danger so grave, that any responsible individual wouldn't want to see a Tibet at war. I was greatly perplexed and worried. With the internationalization of the issue of Tibet, with the hatred toward the Han Chinese from the monks of practically all monasteries so deep, with the influence of the monks on the ordinary Tibetans so dominant, with the visit of Tibetan monks from India to Tibet so frequent, with the sympathy toward Tibet and blame toward China from western tourists so unilateral, and above all, with the understanding and dialogue between ordinary Tibetans and Han Chinese so ... nonexistent, I didn't know what kind of a Tibet I was going to see.

I was virtually the only Han Chinese tourist traveling inside Tibet from the inland. The Beijing guy from Canada I met and an artist from Beijing that he met went to Tibet for their work. (I saw a few Han Chinese tourists from Chengdu in Lhasa too. They appeared to travel on their own, independent of the Tibetans.) I wanted very much to do something, for the Tibetans, for the Han Chinese, but I was too stupid ...

Continued on Page 2 of 3 ...

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