Forwarded by Adam Scott Zenko

Source: "Shambala Sun," March 1996 - by Josh Schrei

"Do you know how painful it is to know that your motherland is being destroyed?"

Well, no, I didn't. As a member of the fabled X-generation, I had come to New York City for all the typical reasons. I came to hang out at cafes in the East Village 'til four in the morning. I came to dance at nightclubs where repetitive beats are pounded out nightly over crowds of frenzied twenty-somethings dressed in polyester and leopard skin. I came for the food, the nightlife, the museums, the subways, the whole vibe.

I was in Dag Hammerskjold Plaza, speaking with one of the six Tibetans who were on a hunger strike, until death if necessary, coinciding with the 50th anniversary of the United Nations across the street. Being a Buddhist and having traveled to Tibet in 1989, I thought that I would visit their camp and offer my support while I was in town.

The encampment was set up behind a border of blue police blockades. There was a large sign that said "50 years of United Nations, 36 years of torture and killings in Tibet," a large Tibetan flag, a picture of the Dalai Lama, and several small mattresses on wooden platforms where the strikers themselves sat, sipping hot water from styrofoam cups.

As I stood obeserving what was going on I was handed a flyer summing up the stiker's five-point charter of demands, that the U.N. should: (1) Recognize that Tibet is a country illegally occupied in contravention of international law, (2) Mediate between the Tibetan government-in-exile and the government of the People's Republic of China for negotiations regarding the future of Tibet, (3) Accord obeserver status to His Holiness the Dalai Lama in the General Assembly, (4) Invite His Holiness to address the ongoing session of the General Assembly, and (5) Implement its already passed resolutions concerning Tibet.

Should these demands not be met, the hunger strikers said, they would sit there until death. In the words of one of them, "The world doesn't know how many Tibetans have been killed. They don't know that the lives of these six people are just like a small drop compared to all that the Tibetans have suffered."

I became good friends with one of the younger strikers, 23-year-old Tenzin Dhangsong. A humorous youg man with sharp brown eyes and a contagious smile, Tenzin was born in Lhasa in 1972. He grew up playing in the streets and back alleys of the Barkhor, Lhasa's central plaza.

"When I was born my father was in prison. My grandfather was in prison for twenty-five years," he said. "In Lhasa I have seen four public executions before I was ten years old."

He told me the story of how he and his friends, just playing around, had followed a Chinese truck full of prisoners up to a big sandy hill below Sera Monastery. There they discovered a crowd of people gathered round and fresh graves already dug in the sand. The prisoners, their hands tied tightly behind their backs, were made to kneel down in from of the graves and bow their heads. Everything at that moment seemed especially quiet to Tenzin, except for the murmurings of prayers leaving the prisoner's lips. Then a military jeep drove up and a Chinese soldier with a hood over his face shot each prisoner in the back of the head.

"I have seen this!" he said. "I have been through all this and now that I have the freedom I must speak out."

The one female hunger striker, Yiga had similar motivation: "Although I am happy and content with my life in America, I am constantly reminded of the suffering of Tibet. I have seen all the killings. I have seen what the Chinese have done firsthand."

And so she has. On October 1, 1987, Yiga participated in a fateful demonstration in Lhasa during which the Chinese police opened fire on unarmed protesters with AK-47 assault rifles. She saw children die. She saw Chinese soldiers beat civilians with shovels and electric cattle prods. Three years later, when she discovered that the Chinese police were planning to arrest her, she fled from Tibet.

"Now that I am in America and have the freedom and the voice I must do something."

"Psssssst...hey Joshua!" whispered Tenzin Dhangsong one night as I was preparing to leave. "Can you go get me some momos? I want some momos!" and his face erupted into characteristic laughter.

"Tenzin-la?" asked Lobsong, one of the hunger strike helpers and a good friend of Tenzin's. "When you die, can I have your watch?"

The world media inevitably focused on the sensationalistic - the failing health of the hunger strikers, the looks of sorrow and remorse on their faces, the fact that they had vowed to remain ther euntil death. One news reporter summed it up bluntly: "Call us when somebody dies." For the most part the Tibetans remained light and humorous throughout the entire ordeal. They laughed and told jokes and kidded with each other continuously.

"Hey, Joshua, you want to see my New York Times face?" asked Tenzin Jamyang, putting on the sad, forlorn expresseion that had earned him a picture in the New York Times. He held it until he could barely restrain his laughter and then grinned..."Pretty good, huh?"

By the tenth day the health of the hunger strikers was in question. Several of them had diarrhea and were losing fluids faster than they were taking them in.

Yiga, whose blood pressure had falled to 80/60, was too weak to stand, and one passer-by grew so alarmed at her condition that she called 911 and insisted that an ambulance come to take the hunger striker to the hospital. When the police arrived Yiga told them that she did not want to be taken to the hospital under any circumstances. Not satisfied with her answer, the police returned with lawyers and medical officers to confirm that she was unfit to make her own decision.

By that timne she had lost consciousness, and as an ambulance pulled up to Dag Hammerskjold Plaza, a flood of media from around the world descended upon the camp. Barely moments after the ambulance pulled away, another woman lay down in Yiga's spot, pulled the blankets up around her, and vowed to take no food until the United Nations met their demands. Her name was Tashi Wangmo.

On day 13 of the hunger strike, the day after Chinese President Jiang Zhemin left New York, U.N. Secretary General Boutros Boutros-Ghali sent his chief medical officer to visit the hunger strikers. She said no one had been sent earlier because it was a "difficult situation" and because of "political reasons." Despite the dissapointing response from the U.N., spirits were very high. Tenzin Dhongsong told every last joke he knew, each one worse than the one before.

Then a letter arrived from Dharmasala. It was from His Holiness the Dalai Lama, urging the six Tibetans to stop their strike. "I have always advocated nonviolent means of protest," the letter read. "I was therefore very moved when I heard about your hunger strike."

The letter went on to say that the strikers had already accomplished a great deal for their cause and they need not give up their lives as they were of more use to the cause of Tibet alive.

"The way I see it," said Tenzin as the letter was being discussed, "everything I have today is thanks to His Holiness. That my parents were allowed into India, and that I was fortunate enough to come to America is all thanks to him. I think that we should respect his wishes."

After hours of discussion, it was decied to end the hunger strike that very night. The tent was brought down, the Tibetan flag was rolled up, and the strikers were ceremoniously given their first glasses of juice.

In the end, though their demands were never met, the hunger strikers brought the Tibetan cause to the forefront in a way that was both beautiful and undeniable. The world saw that the Tibetan people are as dedicated to the principles of compassion and non-violence as they are to obtaining their independence.