Absurdity, Allegory and China

I have been quiet concerning the events on the Plateau over the last couple months for a variety of reasons, all having to do with my involvement with a local school in Qinghai for the past three years, all very legal and officially approved in a place that is, even by Qinghai standards, known to be a conservative county. My goal when I went there was to see what I could do to help some kids get a better education. This is China, and Tibetans are part of it, and, like it or not, their cultural survival has everything to do with how well they learn to fend for themselves in their ever-shifting world.

My personal take on recent Plateau matters is a lot more complicated than I am able to even begin to express, and anyone who dumbs it down to fit some hare-brained agenda is doing no one a favor. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there are an enormous number of people in the countryside who are bright and talented and could do great things if only they had the opportunity to continue their education. That’s the field these kids get to play on; that’s the way it is. Once I realized what the game was, my only question became, “Given this field, how do you win?” This might be where the game is, but this is not news. This is just life, as it is in so many other places in the world. Nothing special about Bright Kids, No Opportunities. And in China this particular problem is hardly only a Tibetan one; there are a lot more Han in the countryside who are up against the very same wall.

For a variety of reasons, I have not been to Qinghai in quite a few months, though I regularly speak with several of the kids who have moved on to colleges throughout the wider cultural region. They phone to tell me that they are doing fine, that their classes are going well, that a mother is in the mountains for the next two months with an uncle picking medicinal herbs, a father off to Golmud to live in a tent while working on a road project. The usual: life in the struggle lane. My life would be significantly different if these kids weren’t in it. I wonder about them, about their lives, if they will make it, and in the process they have become a part of mine in ways I could never have imagined. And no, I am not going to go see them as I’d planned in three weeks. Right now their lives don’t need any closer scrutiny, and my presence might have that effect. That’s the deal, whether I like it or not. There are bigger things at stake here, with possible unforeseeable and long-term implications. In that part of the world – where all conclusion always seem to end up with, “It’s too soon to tell” – everyone is keenly aware of who did what, with whom, and when, and for at least the last several generations. It’s the basis of all relationships, the center of each and every complicated and overlapping web. And no one out there has a monopoly on that. How life shakes down at the individual level always depends on where someone you know lands, and whether or not you are standing in their light. Yes, I want to see these kids, but now is not the time. And no, this is not the easier path. It’s just what I consider to be the more sensible one, given the current situation.

And given the current situation, I try to keep up on what’s being batted about in the press. On May 15 the NYT ran an opinion by Nicholas D. Kristof entitled The Terrified Monks. Before I shred this I will state upfront that I have never cared for Kristof’s writing style and tone, which I find shrill, provocative and self-focused and so much more morally correct for the rest of us mortals who slog through the Big Dark to possibly live without. I think we got off on the wrong foot in 1998 when I read China Wakes. I’ll leave it at that.

This is an opinion piece, not breaking news, so there is no reason for Mr. Kristof to become the stealth figure sneaking through the dark warrens of Labrang to get … what? His opinion? And it is an opinion that is nothing more than one could find in any chat group, minus the more obvious meat-headed comments.

This “I snuck into Labrang” piece seems all about the wayward lion who comes late to the ‘kill,’ but who is big enough to bully his way up to the carcass in order to later say, “I got some.” That there is nothing new here, nothing insightful about his opinion, doesn’t dim in the least his need to feed in the light. Even here Kristof cannot stop himself from letting us know just how much he is part of this story: “I sneaked through these Tibetan areas in Gansu and Qinghai Provinces, eluding the troops by taking a local car with curtains pulled over the windows…,” like the Very Reverend James Bond preaching to the Coverts. It’s more Richard Gere than journalism.

Let me assure you, being “snuck into Labrang” is, obviously, not all that hard to pull off if you’re going there by car. Hardly a sneak, even with the curtains pulled. I know that area, and if he had come by land, hoofing it over the peaks, then via horseback or even motorcycle across the wide and wind-blown grasslands…, well, that’s a sneak in that part of the world. And he tells us this for what reason? To cheaply add credibility to his utterly common opinion on this one? Just to say, “I snuck into Labrang”? You can almost hear the faithful whisper, “Wow, he must really know what he’s talking about.”

And that’s just what the monks at Labrang need to hear, as they deal with the latest round of “Who’s that knocking on my door?”

But the answer they’re getting back is, “It’s Nicholas Kristof fluffing his feathers, and, Opinion or not, we’ve got it right here in our hand.”
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For photos of a 2004 trip in the region where Mr. Kristof was sneaking about, have a look here. Also, here for Labrang.