The Next Saffron Revolution

Although few Tibetans openly challenge the Dalai Lama's nonviolent "middle way," dissent is rising among younger Tibetan exiles. "Look at what the Dalai Lama's middle way has brought us in the last 50 years," says Tseten Dorjee, a member of the Tibetan Youth Congress, one of the groups that organized the march to the border. "He got a few medals, some awards and Western followers. But what did we get? Nothing! … If someone in desperation picks up arms to fight for his freedom, I am all for it."

Violence is a recurring theme in Tibet's history. Tibetan kings in centuries past sent armies into Chinese territory to expand their empire. To this day the Khampas of eastern Tibet still pride themselves as horseback warriors. One particularly memorable recent video clip, from the distant grasslands of Gansu province, features dozens of ethnic Tibetan rebels galloping full tilt on horseback and then tearing apart a Chinese flag. "If you look at history, we've had great warrior kings," says Sherab Woesar, a coordinator of the march. "It was only after Buddhism came that the Tibetan people started being more spiritual and thinking twice before killing even a mosquito. I won't be surprised if the Tibetan people decide to take up arms to fight for their land. Free Tibet is our aim, and we'll employ any means to achieve it."

Many young exiles are mentally preparing for a protracted freedom struggle. They see this moment as a "historic opportunity" to reclaim their homeland. "I know I will never be able to fight for such a cause ever again," says Woesar. "It's time now for do or die." Others talk of looking to younger spiritual leaders such as the 17th Karmapa, who fled Tibet eight years ago and now lives in Dharamsala. His political activities are tightly restricted by the Indian government, but his popularity among local exiles is rising as he matures into a handsome, articulate Buddhist teacher. "There should be no problem of lack of leadership if Tibetans decide to launch an all-out armed struggle for independence," says Tseten Dorjee. "Today's young, well-educated Tibetans can think clearly and can elect a collective leadership or another charismatic leader."

In some ways the current crisis is far more serious than the last big eruption of Tibetan unrest, in 1989. Then the protests never spread beyond the Tibetan capital. This time the flames have leaped to far-flung ethnic enclaves. The Dalai Lama credits Chinese oppression with unifying the inhabitants of ancient Tibet, which encompasses parts of modern-day Sichuan, Qinghai (the Dalai Lama's birthplace), Yunnan and Gansu provinces. But mobile phones, digital cameras and the Internet have undoubtedly helped. China's leaders used to think exposure to modern ideas would cure Tibetans of their devotion to the Dalai Lama and other "outmoded superstitions."

They could not have been more mistaken. While boy novices at the Longwu Temple in Qinghai province chanted late afternoon sutras in a gilded prayer hall last week, older monks sat nearby sharing news they got from colleagues via wireless phone about arrests and body counts at other lamaseries across the region. Another monk flipped through a series of images on his digital 35mm camera showing scenes from the previous week, when Longwu's lamas defied rings of riot police to hold an incense-burning rite at a mountainside altar. A senior lama opened his IBM laptop, and there was a long wait while it powered up. "Viruses, probably," he grunted, but finally he managed to call up video footage from a night of clashes in February between Tibetans and police in the surrounding town of Tongren. He said he had just talked by phone with an old classmate of his in Aba—a Tibetan area in northern Sichuan province—where reports of 150 dead were circulating. Police there reportedly stormed the Kirti lamasery after monks raised the Tibetan flag.

A middle-aged monk, sporting hiking boots under his monk's robes, used his mobile phone to show clips of the Dalai Lama, downloaded from the Voice of America (VOA) via a specially rigged satellite dish. "When something happens here, we just send it out," said the monk in hiking boots. His mobile phone contained clips of the Dalai Lama receiving the Congressional Gold Medal and delivering a recent speech in Tibetan—and the e-mail addresses of such networks as Radio Free Asia and Tibet Web. In Lhasa the mere possession of a still photo of the Tibetan leader would be enough to get the monk hauled away for questioning.