Quotes of the Day
Three years ago, on a desperately cold day in the Himalayan winter of 2006, Tashi and his two friends reached Lhasa after a long trek from their nomadic settlement in Tibet's Ambdo province. From there, they telephoned their families to tell them they were going across the border, to Dharamsala in India, to see the Dalai Lama and get an education. The families were worried — in addition to the risk of being caught fleeing Tibet, the boys faced an even more arduous, monthlong trek through innumerable snow-covered passes. Each was barely out of his teens and had paid 3,000 yuan (about $440) to a "guide" to take them to Nepal, where they would be received by the Refugee Reception Centre run by the Tibetan government-in-exile.
Despite the hazards, the three young men were able to reach Dharamsala, meet their revered spiritual leader and enroll in a special school for exiles 18 and older. But that is not where the story ends. After three years, all three of the boys have dropped out of school. They have been unable to find jobs and are living on the dole. Their circumstances reflect a half-century of Tibetan-exile existence in India: self-segregated by exile leaders fearful of its losing its cultural identity, the community has not assimilated into India. Many among the younger exiles can't wait for the first opportunity to return to Chinese-ruled Tibet — or a chance to move to any country other than India. (See pictures of Tibet's traditional culture being besieged by Chinese consumerism.)
Tashi, who asked to be identified by only one name to protect his family back in Tibet, still speaks just Tibetan and some Chinese. He had never been to school in Tibet, and in Dharamsala, he says, "I only managed to study for two years ... I struggled with languages. And now, since I don't know Hindi or English, I can't find a job."
Even Tibetans born and raised in India — second- and third-generation refugees — find the going tough when it comes to finding work. According to the Tibetan Demographic Survey carried out by the Central Tibetan Administration, unemployment rates are as high as 75%. "I know many people without jobs," says Theton Jigme, 31, an employee with the Central Tibetan Administration who found his present job three years after completing an undergraduate degree at a university in Chandigarh. "We have some 1,250 Tibetan students graduating each year, but we can only provide government jobs to 5% of them." (See pictures of exiled Tibetans struggling to preserve their culture.)
The unemployment problem has roots stretching back to the first wave of migrants — about 80,000 of them — who followed the Dalai Lama to India in 1959. Many of them were unschooled, unskilled nomads who found only low-wage jobs in road construction. A few thousand were allotted uninhabited jungle land in southern and northeastern India and given training to become farmers. Later, some received subsidies to help market traditional handicrafts. But the vast majority of migrants settled in Dharamsala along with the Dalai Lama. The local economy was unable to absorb them. A mere lucky few found odd jobs or set up business in roadside stalls.
Back then, the new migrants didn't mind the difficulties too much. They were used to a harsh life and thought they would all go back to Tibet soon. Fifty years on, however, the situation is very different, because the expectations have changed. Thanks to a rigorous commitment to education, the literacy rates of the community, which now numbers about 130,000, have been rising constantly (the rate among 19-to-25-year-olds is 99%). Some go to university but then find themselves competing with the more numerous Indian graduates. Many end up, at best, working in beauty parlors, restaurants and tourism-related industries.
"There is immense competition in the job market, but there are also opportunities which Tibetan youngsters have failed to utilize," says Karma Yeshi, an MP in the Tibetan Parliament-in-exile, who also runs the Voice of Tibet radio station. "There is demand for translators from Chinese to Tibetan and back, for example, but few students have the guidance to know this. Is there a single Tibetan who has studied Chinese policy? International law? U.N. mechanisms?" he asks with more than a dash of criticism, adding, "Enthusiasm and intentions are necessary, but good education is also needed."
A deep sense of alienation from Indian society has developed among young Tibetans. "Many Indians see Tibetans as parasites," says Jigme. "They look down on us. I tell such people that Tibetan forces fought alongside Indians in the 1971 war [against Pakistan] in Kargil. They are present on the Siachen glacier [facing off against the Pakistani military.]" Jigme says he feels a sense of pride in the fact that his grandfather worked with a secret military force under the Indian government, but adds, "I still feel like we are people of nowhere."
See a story about the generation gap in Tibet's royal family.
See pictures of the Dalai Lama at home in Dharamsala.
Part of this alienation is due to the Tibetan government's decision early on to have separate schools for Tibetan students to ensure the preservation of Tibetan language and culture. The result has been a pronounced linguistic and societal segregation. At the march on Tuesday to mark the 50th anniversary of the 1959 Tibetan uprising against Beijing, there was a smattering of white faces among the 2,000-odd Tibetans — but not a single Indian face except for the cabdrivers transporting protesters. "They stay aloof," says Vinay Sharma, a Dharamsala resident who says he has "friendly relations" with many Tibetans. "But I don't go to their home. There is hardly ever any intermarrying." (See pictures of protests against Chinese rule in Tibet.)
Though a majority of Tibetans are eligible for Indian citizenship, only a handful have actually sought it. As a result, they have difficulty buying land and property, a further impediment to making a living in India. "We all get a residence certificate from the Indian government, which we have to renew every year," says Yeshi. "For me, each time I get it renewed, it is a reminder that I must work to return to Tibet." There is no longing to be part of India. Yet many are not averse to seeking greener pastures in the U.S. or Europe. Explains Tenzin Palden, 27, a sometime sales clerk: "Many Tibetans have settled [in America]. They've been sending home money. They're obviously in good jobs there."
For the unemployed and idle young who remain in India, frustration and disaffection can have dangerous consequences. Many have taken to hashish. Indeed, substance abuse has become widespread enough to prompt the government-in-exile to sponsor rehabilitation programs. Officials have banned the sale of alcohol, including chhang, a Tibetan liquor. They have also set up financial-assistance programs for the families of addicts.
The drug problem is just the most worrisome part of what the leaders of the Tibetan-exile community see as a wider crisis: the loss of Tibetan identity. In the past few years, when India's economy was growing rapidly, increasing numbers of young Tibetans left the 35 exile communities across India to work in call centers and corporations in bigger cities. Tibetan elders are concerned that these youths might lose touch with their culture and values, preserved so painstakingly and so successfully with separate schools and separate communities. The irony is that after 50 years, that strength of the Tibetan community has led to a generation that does not feel it belongs anywhere but Tibet, remaining alienated strangers in strange lands.
Assimilation, however, is unacceptable as a solution. "My generation, the 40-somethings, have a huge responsibility," says Yeshi. "We need to make sure that our children, the third and fourth generations born in exile, feel for Tibet, respect the Dalai Lama, preserve their culture. The biggest problem is finding a political solution to the Tibet problem." But Yeshi is aware of the practical problem in the way of that dream. "To live to see that day, we need livelihood."
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- Madhur Singh / Dharamsala