Tibetan Dogs On The Prowl

There is an old joke about Tibetan street dogs that is more than part true.

Why do you need two sticks to take a shit in Tibet?

One to hold onto and another to beat off the dogs.

I never had occasion to relieve myself in the cities of Tibet, however more than once I found myself confronted by packs of dog.

Vicious snarling mutts descended from the famed mastiffs of the Himalayas.

Scared.

You bet I was.

They were everywhere in the 90s.

The Tibetans considered them sacred.

The Chinese authorities decided the kill off the mongrels.

By the thousands.

But they live on.

By the millions.

Free Tibet Now And Then

Back in 1998 I went down to Washington with my father. The ostensible purpose was to visit my cousin Cindi in Annapolis. My secondary reason was to protest against the World Bank with the Free Tibet Society. My father was comfortable situated with my cousin, her daughters, and husband. He had his crossword puzzle and a glass of white wine. I mentioned the demonstration and my old man said, "Aren't you a little too old for fighting with police."

"This will be a peaceful gathering."

"I don't want to get a phone call from the police." He handed me the keys to his car.

"I don't plan on getting arrested." I had never been caught by the cops during the anti-war movement in my youth.

"You're not as fast as you used to be." Cindi had been with me on Boston Common for a massive gathering protesting the invasion of Cambodia.

"I won't do anything stupid and at the first sign of trouble, I'm out of there." She was right. I couldn't outrun any pursuit other than by fat people.

"If you're going into DC, then parking could be difficult." Her husband gave me his pass for parking in the National Geographic HQ. He was an editor for that esteemed magazine.

"I'll be back before dark."

"If not, we'll send out a search party." My father held up his glass for more wine. It was almost noon. No one said anything. He was still mourning my mother.

Traffic into DC was light and I drove down New York Avenue to the center of the city. Various convoys of black Ford Suburbans sped past me. The SUVs were loaded with crew-cut men with steroid-thick necks. They were out-of-town reinforcements for the DC police.

During the early 70s I had protested against the Viet-Nam War with a college friend from Northern VA. We also drank at the Tap o Keg on Wisconsin Avenue. After parking my father's car under the National Geographic offices, I phone Tom McNelly's old number. It was disconnected, so I started searching through the crowds for my Tibetan friends. Finding them was an impossible task and I found myself in front of the World Bank HQ, as the buses were bringing in the delegates for their meeting. A phalanx on cops pushed us back.

I said, “Hey, I’m moving.

The cop in front of me jabbed my stomach with his nightstick.

His second hit was on my wrist. I hadn't done anything wrong, but I had had enough and retreated to the National Geographic parking lot, where I retrieved the car and drove back to Annapolis to drink wine and eat soft-shelled crab by the harbor. My father asked how it went.

I told him, “As I expected.”

"Glad you're in one piece." We clinked glasses and he said, "Free Tibet."

"Free the world." My cousin and her husband joined the toast.

It was a good cause.

Ganden Mud

In 1995 I went up to Ganden monastery with my friend Tim Challen. The Red Guard had destroyed the temple complex during the Cultural Revolution. The Tibetans were finally rebuilding it in the 90s. I joined the volunteers in tramping around the roof singing Louie Louie. It's an easy song to learn and a good one for tramping in the mud. Free Tibet.

The Sky Of Road

In my earlier years I traveled the world.

I loved seeing vistas such as this one.

I'll see them again, although maybe not the north side of Mt. Everest from Tibet.

Lhasa Guitar Boy

Shot By Tim Challen

Hell on Earth Tibet

After my youngest brother's demise to AIDS in 1995 I traveled to several of Asia's most holy sites to expiate his sins.

Some of mine too.

My main destination was Lhasa and I spent two months there drinking beer and walking around the Jokhrang, the Tibetan cathedral to Buddhism.

The Chinese presence was noticeable with soldiers posted on the outskirts and undercover police scattered amongst the pilgrims to suppress any mention of the Dalai Lama.

The authorities were also engaged in tearing down the old section of the city to erect modern buildings, mostly because the Central Bureau understands that order brings power and chaos brings disaster, however few people in the West about the wholesale destruction of Tibetan Culture, especially when their heaven of consumerism is collapsing like a castle of sand.

Only one voice is heard in this desert.

"Tibet has become "hell on earth," Dalai Lama said to the public on the 50th anniversary of the failed uprising in 1959.

On that day 300,000 Tibetans gathered around the grounds to prevent the Chinese from arresting their spiritual leader.

Their blockade was futile and the Dalai Lama fled over the Himalayas to conduct a campaign of non-violence against the Chinese occupation of his homeland. Fearful of another outbreak against their authority such as the 2008 Losar uprising the Chinese security forces have reinforced the high plateau with hordes of police and soldiers.

No reporters are allowed within the old boundaries of Tibet and all tourists have been issued restricted visas.

Only rumors filter from Tibet, as the Dalai Lama promotes the Middle Way to contest the Chinese rule.

"I have no doubt that the justice of Tibetan cause will prevail if we continue to tread a path of truth and nonviolence. We have to prepare for the worst. At the same time, we should not give up our hope."

Ireland never gave up hope.

Not for 400 years of British occupation.

I can only pray that Tibet can triumph against the odds.

Tibet go bragh.

Freedom will come one day, for in the words of the deceased IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands, "Our revenge will be the laughter of our children."

Bad Road In Tibet

My visa for China was running out at the end of October 1995. My overland departure to Nepal had been delayed by a massive avalanche smothering Tibet-Nepal Friendship Highway, but the staff at the Snowlands Hotel in Lhasa announced that a rough track had been opened through the fall area and I bought a ticket to Kathmandu. The bus only went as far as Shigatze, where we switched to a van, since the makeshift road couldn't support the weight of a fully loaded van.

We reached the distressed stretch in the afternoon. The driver hadn't exaggerated about the condition of the road and he suggested that we walk across the freshly cleared half-mile path.

"Rock fall. Hit van. Die."

He wasn't joking.

Some of the stones were bigger than a house, although a few tourists complained about the walk.

I ignored their whining and hurried to the other side of the fall. The rest joined me a minute later, but a German tourist lingered, shooting pictures of the impressive chasm with his Leica.

Someone shouted and we looked up the steep slope. A gigantic rock had shaken loose the grip of the scree and was starting to tumble gathering speed. The tourist was in its path. We yelled to him, but he was focusing the lenses on the Himalayas.

"My husband," cried a middle-aged woman. "Hilf ihm."

Like what?" I asked, for he was too faraway from safety to help him.

"Something," pleaded a German woman.

"There is nothing to do." The Tibetan guide shook his head. The man's fate was in the hands of the Gods, but we continued to shout.

He finally heard us and waved with a smile.

We pointed at the bounding boulder and he realized the danger, running to the right. The rock bounced in that direction. He juked to the left and the boulder followed suit. The tourist froze in his tracks, as the stone bounced in the air.

His wife screamed.

Her husband was destined for death far from Germany, except the boulder landed twenty feet before him and caromed over his head to smash down the slope to the river below.

The German woman sobbed with relief, as her husband rejoined her. All the Tibetans touched him for good luck. The man laughed foolishly, knowing in another path of existence he was dead.

The van traversed the dirt track and the driver muttered to the guide about stupid tourists.

They understood the power of the mountains and fear fate.

We reached the Nepalese border at sunset. The van dropped us at a hotel. I stayed at a different one than the Germans, because he had used up his life's allotment for luck and being around him wasn't a risk for anyone other than the foolhardy. The Tibetans felt the same way and we drank beer, toasting the stars and heavens and the Himalayas.

With respect.

Because they deserved it.