This book will mean different things to different people. It was first published in 2007 in Tibetan, albeit in an Amdo dialect from the north-east of the Tibetan plateau — now part of the Chinese provinces of Qinghai and Gansu. Tibetan exiles in India brought with them an edition in standard Tibetan the following year. After becoming the most reprinted Tibetan literary work in history, it was banned by Beijing in 2010.
It then appeared in a Chinese translation in Taipei in 2011. This new translation, from Duke University Press, is the first English version.
My Tibetan Childhood describes the first 11 years of the life of the author, someone who went on to become a school teacher, police officer, judge, prison governor and county leader — jobs working for the Chinese authorities. The book later caused a sensation, because it was apparently the first book available within Tibet that openly described the sufferings of Tibetans in the 1950s as the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) moved across their country.
Quite how the book managed to evade suppression in its early years following publication is anyone’s guess. Maybe its use of an obscure local dialect helped, or its presentation of itself as the innocent depiction by a child of a timeless pastoral world. (Much of that eulogizing has been cut from this somewhat abbreviated edition.)
There are descriptions of Tibetans helping to dismantle their local monasteries, and fighting — sometimes to death — any villagers who tried to oppose them. This may have been seen as reinforcing the official Beijing line that the Tibetans welcomed the Chinese with open arms. But even so, there are enough stories here of brutality by the invaders to dismay even the most pro-Chinese reader.
The book is divided into five sections. The first two deal with the author’s earliest recollections and are largely unmemorable (though the “sky burial” — the chopping up of a corpse so it can be devoured by vultures — of the author’s mother is unforgettable). Then comes a pilgrimage covering 2,414km to and from Lhasa.
The fourth section describes a second, uncompleted Lhasa-ward trek which ends with the death of the boy’s father following an encounter with PLA troops.
Finally comes imprisonment in truly horrific conditions — in deep dungeons. To describe them as “unsanitary” would be an absurd understatement. Many prisoners die, but the author and his brother are eventually released into a famine-struck landscape where they become expert scavengers, saving their own lives and those of many others. They are finally admitted to a school, and the closing pages contain a photo of the two of them in Chinese-style school uniforms.
For many this book will be important mainly because of its political dimension. For me, however, it was its evocation of the Tibetan lifestyle and landscape that was most extraordinary.
In the very informative prefatory material by two US academics, it’s stated that the book will challenge images of an unchanging spiritual Tibet. This is certainly the case. Animals are slaughtered and devoured with enthusiasm, even while those involved discuss whether they are breaking a Buddhist taboo against the taking of life. But in the high-altitude Tibetan plateau little grows above ground, so human life is bound to be dependent on animals, whether for milk, cheese, yogurt or meat.
Cruel punishments by the monastic authorities also feature, even though the monasteries are largely perceived as sources of succor and safety. Bandits are a threat on any long journey, though wolves, wild dogs and bears present an even greater danger. And when the author’s family finally arrives in Lhasa, they encounter so many beggars, together with even more cruel punishments, that the holy city reminds them of the proverb “If you would know the sufferings of hell, go to Lhasa.”
Even so, the landscape as described here is spectacular in the extreme. Mountainous, windswept and occupied (where it’s occupied at all) by disparate ethnic groups, the feeling is more of Tolkien’s Middle Earth than anywhere in the modern world. Tibetan wild asses, Tibetan gazelles, Tibetan antelopes, deer, argali, foxes, bears and wolves all abound, and it takes the sight of a herd of hundreds of yaks to prompt any surprised comment.
Travel across this landscape, even with the aid of horses, takes the family several months. From Lhasa, they then visit some famous monasteries, the author casually commenting that they walked ten days to reach one of them, Tashilhunpo. Today the Lonely Planet guidebook details free wi-fi access and pizza restaurants in the vicinity.
My Tibetan Childhood, in other words, evokes Tibet as it was for a thousand years, not only before the arrival of the Chinese, but before the advent of modern life in general. If this aspect of the book appeals to you, as it did to me, then perhaps the praise of ancient ways largely excised from this edition would have been of greater interest than the editors imagined.
Endless circumambulations, the burning of incense at the tops of mountain passes, ritual prostrations, invocations to the Three Precious Jewels (the Buddha, his teaching, and the community of monks and nuns), curses such as “May his mouth be filled with ashes,” butter lamps and silver coins — all these characterize this fascinating account of life in the 1950s far from any major cultural centers.
The black-and-white photos are especially interesting. Many are from collections based on pictures taken by a German expedition from 1938 to 1939, while others date from the 1920s. The faces that stare out at you are from a primordial world, while the landscape shots are of views that could have hardly changed, even today.
If this book makes you want to visit the Land of Eternal Snows, much changed though it now is, I won’t be surprised. The tone throughout is balanced, with acts of kindness by some Chinese soldiers alternating with betrayals by some fellow Tibetans. It may not, in other words, be quite the political document its editors appear willing to claim.
By global standards, the traffic congestion that afflicts Taiwan’s urban areas isn’t horrific. But nor is it something the country can be proud of. According to TomTom, a Dutch developer of location and navigation technologies, last year Taiwan was the sixth most congested country in Asia. Of the 492 towns and cities included in its rankings last year, Taipei was the 74th most congested. Taoyuan ranked 105th, while Hsinchu County (121st), Taichung (142nd), Tainan (173rd), New Taipei City (227th), Kaohsiung (241st) and Keelung (302nd) also featured on the list. Four Japanese cities have slower traffic than Taipei. (Seoul, which has some
Taiwan’s semiconductor industry consumes electricity at rates that would strain most national grids. Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co (TSMC) alone accounted for more than 9 percent, or 2,590 megawatts (MW), of the nation’s power demand last year. The factories that produce chips for the world’s phones and servers run around the clock. They cannot tolerate blackouts. Yet Taiwan imports 97 percent of its energy, with liquefied natural gas reserves measured in days. Underground, Taiwan has options. Studies from National Taiwan University estimate recoverable geothermal resources at more than 33,000 MW. Current installed capacity stands below 10 MW. OBSTACLES Despite Taiwan’s significant geothermal potential, the
In our discussions of tourism in Taiwan we often criticize the government’s addiction to promoting food and shopping, while ignoring Taiwan’s underdeveloped trekking and adventure travel opportunities. This discussion, however, is decidedly land-focused. When was the last time a port entered into it? Last week I encountered journalist and travel writer Cameron Dueck, who had sailed to Taiwan in 2023-24, and was full of tales. Like everyone who visits, he and his partner Fiona Ching loved our island nation and had nothing but wonderful experiences on land. But he had little positive to say about the way Taiwan has organized its
The entire Li Zhenxiu (李貞秀) saga has been an ugly, complicated mess. Born in China’s Hunan Province, she moved to work in Shenzhen, where she met her future Taiwanese husband. Most accounts have her arriving in Taiwan and marrying somewhere between 1993 and 1999. She built a successful career in Taiwan in the tech industry before founding her own company. She also served in high-ranking positions on various environmentally-focused tech associations. She says she was inspired by the founding of the Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) in 2019 by Ko Wen-je (柯文哲), and began volunteering for the party soon after. Ko
RSS