Originally published by Toronto Star,October 22, 2010

By Bill Schiller

 She’s a mother in her early 40s, making a pilgrimage to Labrang Monastery, heading west through snowcapped mountains along Highway 312 – on her hands and knees.

 It has been four days in chilly temperatures and Dolma estimates she could have four more days to go – prostrating herself on the pavement every third step of the way as cars and transport trucks blow past.

 And yet she’s smiling – and offering me food.

 A chance encounter with Dolma is testament to the enduring devotion Tibetan Buddhists hold for their faith, under78pinned by a loyalty to the Dalai Lama, who has not seen this land for more than five decades.

 “It would be better if he came back,” says Dolma, pulling a plastic bag from her knapsack on the banks of the rushing Daxia River to share a bit of bread.

 The Dalai Lama is still “our spiritual guide,” she says.

 Whether he will ever return to Tibet – and to this remote piece of Chinese countryside that is home to the greatest Tibetan monastery outside the official boundaries of Tibet – is questionable.

 The decision ultimately rests in the hands of the Chinese government, stung by riots that erupted in the Tibetan capital of Lhasa in March, 2008, which then spread east through communities here along the Tibetan plateau.

 Labrang monastery was a centre of discontent at the time.

 Today, just a kilometre away, there’s a new police station, riot vehicles and a new prison is under construction.

 But whether the Dalai Lama returns or not, isn’t likely to effect the loyalty of the people here.

 “Every family has a photo of him in their home,” says a shopkeeper on the mainstreet of Xiahe, the town that is home to the Labrang monastery.

 “That picture?” the merchant says, pointing to a photo of the Dalai Lama behind the counter. “We take it down when the police come in. Then we put it back up when they leave.”

 The Star visited one Tibetan home in Xiahe recently that was festooned with images of the Dalai Lama.

 Local authorities loyal to the government in Beijing might not like it – but they can’t stop it, no matter how hard they try.

 Police ransacked local monasteries here in 2008 hunting for images of the Dalai Lama. Monks who didn’t give them up faced arrest and even beatings.

 China’s central government hoped their crackdown in the wake of the rioting, which they accused the Dalai Lama of instigating from his base in India – a charge he denies – would pry people from their loyalty to Tibet’s most famous protector.

 But that hasn’t happened.

 In fact a group of respected Chinese legal scholars who issued a report last year suggested that, if anything, those loyalties have likely deepened.

 The Beijing-based Open Constitution Initiative said the 2008 riots in Tibet and Tibetan areas have made the Tibetan people – especially the youth – sense their “differences” even more.

 Just this week at least 1,000 students, and perhaps as many as 7,000, staged a daring protest in the remote town of Tongren, 75 km. north of here, triggered by reports that local Communist Party officials planned to end classes in the Tibetan language.

 Protests in China – unless you are participating in government-tolerated protests against Japan these days – are an open invitation to arrest, sometimes for years.

 None have been made in Tongren – so far.

 But in a country where dissenting voices are not tolerated, many fear they will come.

 The Open Constitution Initiative, for example, which issued the report last year critical of the government’s handling of Tibet, has been shut down.

 But high up on the Tibetan plateau, the heavy hand is not working.

 Two hundred kms south of Labrang, a lean and wiry monk sets some barberry twigs alight.

 Acting as his own bellows, he blows the flames higher until the light dances off his face.

 His name cannot be used – he’s on a government register: his safety could be at risk.

 But despite government harassment, his allegiance to the Dalai Lama is unwavering.

 He was in this dim and spartan hillside apartment when 12 armed policemen showed up one night just after the 2008 riots.

 “They wanted every picture of the Dalai Lama I had,” he says. “I refused – and one of the policeman pointed a gun at my head then.” He uses his right hand and points his index finger at his forehead like a cocked gun.

 “They said I should co-operate.”

 He went to his cupboard and retrieved the pictures.

 “I had no choice,” he says. “I performed a small ritual and handed them over.

 “There were hundreds of police here, maybe a thousand in all going room to room,” he says.

 Thereafter, weeks of “political education” classes followed in which he and his fellow monks were forced to denounce the Dalai Lama and pledge loyalty to the Communist Party or face arrest.

 Most complied, he said – but only because superiors told them the denunciations would mean nothing.

 “We continue to do as the Dalai Lama wants us to do,” he says. They study, they pray, they lead lives of humility and compassion.

 Monks at the Lhamo Kirti Monastery, as all the locals know, supported the pro-Tibet protests then.

 But monks at their associate monastery, the Lhamo Serti, just a kilometer across the valley, did not.

 The differences between the two monasteries are as stark as day and night.

 Serti has been described by the local Communist Party Secretary Wang Wanbin as “a good model of patriotism,” and it glistens with elaborate gilt and bronze roofs that sparkle in the sun.

 The Serti contains 400 exquisite figures of Buddha, 8000 hand painted pictures and 28,000 sutras tucked away in ornate temples. The artwork has been brought here at great expense from Nepal, Taiwan, Mongolia and Tibet.

 A glossy brochure touts the Serti Monastery as a tourist destination and boasts that it received support “from all levels of government.”

 Not so with the Lhamo Kerti Monastery however: it is a sad and shabby place in need of paint, plaster and repair.

 There are no gilt roofs at the Kerti – just wood and aluminum.

 “The government doesn’t give us a cent,” says a Tibetan lay worker repairing one of the small temples. “Everything you see here is being done by the monastery on its own.”

 A visitor could be forgiven for thinking that there is a price to be paid for loyalty to the Dalai Lama.

 But the host monk in this apartment – who now offers bread, yak butter and tea – is clearly prepared to pay it.

 “Why is there such a difference between the two?” he asks rhetorically – after all, both monasteries belong to the Gelugpa sect, the so called “Yellow Hat” branch of Tibetan Buddhism to which the Dalai Lama belongs. “Because,” he says, “we have a good relationship with the Dalai Lama. We listen to the Dalai Lama. And they do not.”

 A local Chinese businessman supports this tale of two monasteries.

 “It’s politics,” says Liu Bin. “The Lhamo Kerti monks got involved in the 3.14 incident.”

 Liu is not enthusiastic either with how much money has been poured into the Serti Monastery– or Tibets in general, for that matter.

 “They put 70 million Renminbi (more than $10 million) into that monastery,” he says. “The government gave the Tibetans 500 million Renminbi one year just to get through the winter. And they build houses for them worth 50,000 Renminbi equipped with appliances. Then they gave each family two tonnes of coal for the winter.”

 The changes in the town of Langmusi have been “huge,” he says, looking out on the rugged, potholed main street that is bustling with small town commerce, most of it led by ambitious Chinese and Hui business people.

 Langmusi is a frontier town, with a touch of the Wild West.

 “When I came here as a tourist 10 years ago the Tibetans were still riding horses. Now they all have motorcycles,” says Liu, gesturing through the window and dragging on a cigarette.

 On the face of it, that’s true: many young Tibetans make their way around Langmusi’s rutted streets on smart motorbikes.

 But as the Open Constitution report pointed out, until at least last year, the local region – known as the Gannan Autonomous Prefecture – was a nationally designated poverty relief zone, with farmers and nomadic herders living below subsistence levels.

 Education levels too, despite significant funding by the central government, remain poor, with 2007 statistics showing the average Tibetan had less than four years of schooling.

 And the government’s long touted nine-year compulsory education plan has only been implemented in the local county this year.

 Despite the increased spending in Tibetan areas, the report emphasized, understanding and respect for the Tibetan culture remain fundamental if China is ever to succeed in solving the Tibetan question.

 It said there were likely outside influences in stirring the riots as the government insisted at the time, but the government’s policies have also fallen short.

 It quoted one local Tibetan, Norbu, stressing that what matters most to Tibetans goes far beyond consumerism and better housing.

 “A Tibetan’s prosperity is more about freedoms, such as freedom of religious belief, a respect for people, a respect for life,” he said.

 For most Tibetans here it also means keeping a special place for the Dalai Lama. Sometimes it’s a picture on a wall; sometimes a prayer; but mostly, it’s a deeply felt sentiment.

 In Labrang, a nervous young monk in his 20s – careful to keep out of earshot of others – says bluntly, but with feeling, “No matter where the Dalai Lama is, whether he is here in China or in any other country, there will always be a special place for him in my heart.”