To the astonishment of the West, the Chinese Government continues to suggest
that the recent demonstrations in Tibet have been instigated by the Dalai
Lama. But this is an old theme. A deep-rooted mistrust of the Dalai Lama’s
motives is something that has characterised the Chinese position for many
years. Back in 2004, when I decided to make a documentary on the Tibetan
leader, the question of his sincerity was my central concern.
I wanted to provide a personal study of the man, examining his motivation in
detail as he went about his daily business balancing the spiritual and
political anxieties of an exiled Tibetan population with the political
tightrope of maintaining a gentle pressure on China through concerted
international diplomacy. Western audiences had, I felt, become saturated by
his television appearances restating commitment to nonviolence with his
characteristic blend of stoic nobility and mischievous good humour.
A fly-on-the-wall account of his life would provide a human counterpoint to
the political emblem that the saffron-clad statesman had become. It would
also evaluate his responsibility for events by studying the genesis of his
political position and the daily attitude towards the Chinese. By showing
his response to events, it would peek through the public façade into how
this mild-mannered man had come to terms with his vilification by Beijing.
In my three years of following the Dalai Lama on trips throughout India and
Europe, it was impossible ever to forget the sensitivity of any comment he
makes to the media. He is keenly aware that anything he says or does is
potential fodder for those factions in the Beijing administration intent on
discrediting his motivations. This dilemma is made more difficult by the
Chinese practice of using transcripts of his speeches as their primary
source.
I witnessed the weaknesses of this literal approach in a meeting between the
Dalai Lama and his special envoy to China. The envoy reported that the
Chinese delegation had restated its belief that the Dalai Lama was committed
to pursuing independence for Tibet, rather than the autonomy which he is
understood by the West to be advocating. The Chinese delegation pointed to a
particular recent speech in which, the Tibetan envoy pointed out, the word
“freedom” had been mistranslated as “independence”.
The sensitivity of the Dalai Lama’s position led to my first two requests to
make the film being refused, so I went to meet the man face to face. I had
sought the advice of Kate Saunders, then head of the Tibetan Information
Network, which provides a steady flow of corroborated information about
circumstances in Tibet. Charming and intelligent, she informs the Western
media of the Dalai Lama’s position and of developments in the region.
With a couple of brief phone calls she had secured me a berth on a trip to
Dharamsala, accompanying Joan-na Lumley, long-time pro-Tibet campaigner, and
the renowned photographer Tom Stoddart. I was assigned cover as Lumley’s
camera-man to justify my attendance on the trip. The device jarred slightly,
but my previous BBC documentary subjects had included corruption in the
LAPD, and I was comfortable with the principle of blurred intentions.
A number of things struck me when the Dalai Lama entered the antechamber in
his north Indian residence where we had been waiting, clutching silk scarves
for the customary blessing. The first was his footwear. In 1999, with his
Star TV satellite channel making early inroads into southern China, Rupert
Murdoch said: “I’ve heard cynics say he’s a political old monk shuffling
around in Gucci shoes”. My inspections revealed modest teacher-style loafers.
Far more striking than his couture, however, is the quietly joyous charisma
that follows him into the room. It is irresistible, ubiquitous, and extended
equally towards all guests, irrespective of rank or standing. The intensity
of his eye contact when he speaks to you is unerring (my film is titled The
Unwinking Gaze). When he is talking to you he makes you feel like the
only person in the room.
And then there is his sense of humour. His insatiable laugh – he once laughed
so much when I choked on some Tibetan tsampa (essentially porridge) that he
had tears down his cheeks – proved infectious wherever he went, from
addresses in front of thousands of Canadian supporters to his meeting with
President Bush at his congressional award presentation last year.
Certainly he uses this indefatigable humour to deflect unwanted questioning,
occasionally hiding disappointment or frustration. But I came to believe
that it was heartfelt, underpinning an optimism about human nature and a
complete conviction in his approach.
This is not to say that the burden of his task does not weigh on him. Many
times during filming he was prevented from his planned itinerary due to
Chinese pressure on his hosts. One time he was forced to cancel a trip to
Belgium since it clashed with a state visit by the Belgian king to Beijing
and the Chinese were privately threatening to cancel major bilateral
commercial contracts if it went ahead.
When I asked the Dalai Lama’s private secretary whether the move had been made
under duress, he paused, face twisting between the competing demands of
conscience and political caution, before declining to comment.
I took the issue to the Dalai Lama, suggesting that the Buddhist devotees who
had invited him had been waiting for five years for the visit. He sighed.
“That’s the reality,” he responded, a rather forceful grin in my direction,
obstinate in his sanguine resolve not to compromise his Belgian allies and,
more significantly, avoiding the criticism of his “Chinese brothers and
sisters”.
He always provided us with extraordinary access, seeming to disregard the
camera entirely. Not once was he a difficult subject. Sometimes his
generosity embarrassed me. On a visit to Bodh Gaya in the east Indian state
of Bihar, where the Buddha is said to have gained enlightenment, he stopped
a procession of 100,000 fervent Tibetan devotees to give me a private potted
history of Buddha’s enlightenment.
Mostly, this benevolent camaraderie hides a fierce and combative intelligence.
And, despite his total disregard for the definite article, which combined
with his gurgling voice to remind me frequently of Yoda, he is highly
articulate. This is most clear in a two-hour interview he granted me at the
end of my filming last year. During an intense head-to-head exchange he
revealed a tremendous intellectual force.
The interview in part distilled a cautious scepticism with which I had tried
to inform the film, and its outcome was revealing. I wondered what might
happen if the Chinese could bring themselves to go through the same process.
Watching my film – an optimistic prospect perhaps – would be a start.
Joshua Dugdale’s film The Unwinking Gaze is on limited release from
May 29 2008, www.theunwinkinggaze.com
