2021/01/16

Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town by Barbara Demick | Goodreads

Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town by Barbara Demick | Goodreads


Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town
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Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town
by Barbara Demick (Goodreads Author)
 4.12  ·   Rating details ·  1,281 ratings  ·  200 reviews
Just as she did with North Korea, award-winning journalist Barbara Demick explores one of the most hidden corners of the world. She tells the story of a Tibetan town perched eleven thousand feet above sea level that is one of the most difficult places in all of China for foreigners to visit. Ngaba was one of the first places where the Tibetans and the Chinese Communists encountered one another. In the 1930s, Mao Zedong’s Red Army fled into the Tibetan plateau to escape their adversaries in the Chinese Civil War. By the time the soldiers reached Ngaba, they were so hungry that they looted monasteries and ate religious statues made of flour and butter—to Tibetans, it was as if they were eating the Buddha. Their experiences would make Ngaba one of the engines of Tibetan resistance for decades to come, culminating in shocking acts of self-immolation.

Eat the Buddha spans decades of modern Tibetan and Chinese history, as told through the private lives of Demick’s subjects, among them a princess whose family is wiped out during the Cultural Revolution, a young Tibetan nomad who becomes radicalized in the storied monastery of Kirti, an upwardly mobile entrepreneur who falls in love with a Chinese woman, a poet and intellectual who risks everything to voice his resistance, and a Tibetan schoolgirl forced to choose at an early age between her family and the elusive lure of Chinese money. All of them face the same dilemma: Do they resist the Chinese, or do they join them? Do they adhere to Buddhist teachings of compassion and nonviolence, or do they fight?

Illuminating a culture that has long been romanticized by Westerners as deeply spiritual and peaceful, Demick reveals what it is really like to be a Tibetan in the twenty-first century, trying to preserve one’s culture, faith, and language against the depredations of a seemingly unstoppable, technologically all-seeing superpower. Her depiction is nuanced, unvarnished, and at times shocking. (less)
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Hardcover, 368 pages
Published July 28th 2020 by Random House
Original TitleEat the Buddha
ISBN0812998758 (ISBN13: 9780812998757)
Edition LanguageEnglish
Literary AwardsThe Baillie Gifford Prize for Non-Fiction Nominee for Longlist (2020)
Other Editions (11)
Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town 
Eat the Buddha: The Story of Modern Tibet Through the People of One Town 
Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town 
Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town 
Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town
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Jenna
Sep 05, 2020Jenna rated it liked it
Shelves: history, non-fiction

Tibet hills and mountains, by abogada samoana. Wikimedia Commons

Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town is an up close account of the Tibetan people told through the stories of several individuals. Beginning with a short history of Tibet up until the Chinese invasion in 1950, journalist Barbara Demick then delves into the lives of ordinary Tibetans during the Chinese occupation.

What follows is devastating, as we learn how the Chinese took control of Tibetans lives, seeking to wipe out their unique culture and religion.

Ms. Demick tells the personal stories of several Tibetans. She takes us inside their lives, portraying the richness of Tibetan culture and the indomitable spirit of the Tibetan people.

While I found this book semi-interesting, it felt dry at times and repetitive at times. I was intrigued in the beginning, especially reading about the childhood of the princess Gonpo, daughter of a local 'gyalpo', "king" in Tibetan.

I initially enjoyed the stories of some of the others too but they all just seemed to meld together after awhile.

Chapters begin with photographs of the people and places, and this was perhaps my favourite part of the book.

I disliked that many of the pages were devoted to describing self immolation and talking about those who performed this shocking act. It is horrific and it shows just how desperate some Tibetans are for freedom and to have the Dalai Lama return from exile. Important as that is, I think much less could have been written about it. Once mentioned, the author returns to the subject many times. On one hand, I think it is essential to remember these people; on the other, one chapter would have sufficed without further mentioning.

For instance, the word "immolation" is used 62 times in the book, not including notes - and there are 275 pages of text, not including the notes and glossary sections. The words "immolate" and "immolator" are each used 19 times. That's a total of 100 for just 275 pages. I do not think it was necessary to discuss this ghastly and most desperate of acts so much. It was disturbing, to say the least.

I'm glad I read this book because I learned more about Tibet. However, I was equally glad when it ended. Relieved, actually. (less)
flag48 likes · Like  · 26 comments · see review
Lisa
Jun 20, 2020Lisa rated it it was ok
Shelves: net-galley
My thanks to Random House, Barbara Demick and Netgalley.
I will confess that I didn't like this. That annoyed me!
I did expect to like this. I didn't.
I have no excuses nor explanations. I hated this book. Not the area or zip!! Just this book. (less)
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PorshaJo
Sep 03, 2020PorshaJo rated it it was ok
Shelves: challengereads, challengereads-2020, audio
Rating 2.5

Oh this one pains me so much. I can't tell you how excited I was to have a new book by Barbara Demick. I read her earlier book on North Korea and really liked it. I begged my library for this and when the copy came in via audio I jumped on it. I will say the rating is based on the star of 'it's OK'. I'll just say this one was probably not for me.

Eat the Buddha focuses on the history and lives of the Tibetan people. It really is a heart breaking story. The author focuses on Ngaba, which is one of the first places where the Tibetans and the Chinese Communists encountered one another. You hear about the culture, the stories of the people, the history over many, many years. The people are truly amazing and to learn of their culture is fascinating.

It's just I found it a bit boring. Now, I will say I listened to it via audio and a book like this is probably best where there is a lot of history, facts, names thrown out, print might work better. The narrator, Cassandra Campbell, is a fabulous narrator. Hence, the bit of a higher rating. Now, why did I find it boring? A book I read awhile ago, Seven Years in Tibet was amazing and I heard about the Tibetan people, their culture, the Dalai Llama (the book is also mentioned in this book) and I really enjoyed that book. Since then, I've been very interested in reading what I can around this area and the history. Perhaps for me, that one is still in my mind and I know I shouldn't compare. I'll just say this one didn't work for me. I will read more from this author in the future.....perhaps I'll just shoot for the print and not compare it to other books. (less)
flag35 likes · Like  · 14 comments · see review
Hadrian
Aug 04, 2020Hadrian rated it really liked it
Shelves: history, china, nonfiction, tibet
TOGETHER WE WILL BUILD A BEAUTIFUL HOME. BEND LOW. LISTEN TO WHAT PEOPLE SAY
-Government-sponsored poster

Ngaba County in the northern part of Sichuan is in the author's terms the "world capital of self-immolations". In shaky cellphone video, there is footage of those who have set themselves afire, breaking their own religious proscriptions against suicide, often wrapping themselves in thick blankets and swallowing gasoline before so they'd burn completely. About a third are from Ngaba.

Ngaba. a town with 70,000 residents, is small by the standards of China. The first traffic light was installed in the 2010s. Demick, a bureau chief for the Los Angeles Times, has made three separate visits, concealing her face to make her interviews. She must resort to this because the so-called Tibet Autonomous Region is almost totally off-limits for foreign journalists, but visiting a majority-Tibetan town in an 'Autonomous Prefecture' in Sichuan is at least possible.

Her book became a history of the town and a close examination of the relationships between the Chinese Communist Party and Tibet. The first encounter was under extreme and difficult circumstances. In the early 1930s, the Communist forces were on the run from the Nationalists under Chiang Kai-Shek. The Communists were driven nearly to starvation. They boiled and ate the skin off drums. They ate the statues of offering to the Buddha, some made of wax and butter. This act of total sacrilege was the start of a volatile and distrustful relationship.

What stops this book from being just another story, just another repeating of the bloody catalog of oppression is the detail in the memories of those Tibetans Demick interviews. One elderly woman remembers seeing a Chinese car for the first time when she was a young girl. She thought it was an animal and tried to feed it grass. There were some times of cautious trust and opening up, but these are interrupted by periods of intense suffering and terror.

Those who self-immolate today were not the first to protest against Chinese rule. In 1958 - a year so bad it is simply referred to as '58' in Tibetan or 'the time when earth and sky changed places', the nomads were forced into cooperative living and their herds of animals were confiscated. This was part of the vast failed experiment in industrialization known as the Great Leap Forward. The more nomadic Tibetans were wholly dependent on those animals for everything, and so they were forced into total poverty. Many thousands died.

Ngaba today is removed somewhat from that in the past - the streets are cleaner, there are some amenities. It looks cleaner and more prosperous than its neighbors. Perhaps some of the local party officials had tried to invest in it as an offset to local grievances. Images of the Dalai Lama are prohibited - the author had a Lonely Planet Book confiscated because of it. Monasteries that were demolished have been rebuilt, but they're under heavy surveillance. One Tibetan businessman laments that he's wealthier now but he's still not free.

When Demick speaks to the locals, their demands seem almost modest - passports for external travel, and more Tibetan-language education. But given the crushing treatment to other groups in recent years, and state policy of enforced control, that seems unlikely. The Party Secretary of Xinjiang, Chen Quanguo from 2016 onwards was previously Party Secretary of Tibet. Demick says the level of terror for the Tibetans here echoes North Korea, and she can get away with saying this as she's interviewed enough North Koreans to write a book on it.

This is a heartbreaking story; the Tibetans now seem overlooked by the rest of the world, while the party-state would surveil their every word and thought. (less)
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Geoffrey
Apr 06, 2020Geoffrey rated it really liked it  ·  review of another edition
Shelves: nonfiction, history, journalistic-reads
(Note: I received an advanced reader copy of this book courtesy of NetGalley)

Through interviews with various Tibetans from in and around the town of Ngaba on the eastern reaches of the Tibetan Plateau, Barbara Demick is able to provide a multi-layered look into a region that has long been obscured by both an official Chinese state media system focused on projecting a global image of national harmony and Orientalizing westerners who imagine a land that is not much more beyond religious mysticism and monks. First of all, said interviews provide a detailed dive into the many changes and upheavals that the town of Ngaba and its surrounding environs has experienced over the last several decades. This regional history, in turn, serves as a microcosm for the history of greater Tibet, which the author takes care to cover specifically when necessary. Along with all of the historical coverage leading up through to the current times, all of the interviewed individuals collectively reveal just how much being a Tibetan in the present-day People’s Republic means enduring a conflicted existence, where they increasingly feel like they can either partake in the development and rising standard of living enjoyed by most citizens of China, be a distinct people who can openly embrace their culture and faith, but not both.

Demick’s work is as informative as it is eye-opening. For all those who wish to know what the present day is like for the ever-pressured Tibetan people, I cannot possibly recommend this book enough. (less)
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Jill Dobbe
Apr 22, 2020Jill Dobbe rated it it was amazing
An exceptionally well-written book that portrays the ideals of Tibetan culture and what Tibetans did to survive under Chinese rule in a way that was honorable, insightful and genuine.

I was drawn to this book as a result of visiting Dharamsala, India, in 2010. While there I learned about Tibetans in exile. I visited the home of the Dalai Llama and the beautiful Buddhist monasteries. Noted the many storefronts displaying FREE TIBET banners. I even marched in a silent vigil in support of the Tibetan people. Eat the Buddha gives a thorough and interesting account of the history of China overtaking Tibet, the powerlessness of the Tibetans against the Chinese, the lack of freedom they still suffer today, and the Chinese suppression of the Dalai Llama and Buddhist religion.

I especially found Demick's individual accounts of notable Tibetans to be honorable and written with compassion. She detailed how they suffered through abuse, poverty, hunger and loss of their families. Tibetans were jailed for the smallest infractions and Tibetan youth resorted to self-immolation as a way to show their religious devotion and their sacrifice for democracy.

A mesmerizing book that enthralls the readers and gives them a look into a noble and self-sacrificing culture. I was brought back to all I had experienced while in Dharamsala. Through the author's writing, I couldn't help but feel the beauty, compassion and peacefulness of the Tibetan and Buddhist culture that I witnessed all those years ago. Thank you Barbara Demick for taking me back there and helping me understand the Tibetan culture even more.

Thank you to Netgalley and publisher for the opportunity to read and review Eat the Buddha. (less)
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abby
Aug 02, 2020abby rated it really liked it  ·  review of another edition
Shelves: history, nonfiction
"As context, the estimated death toll of 300,000 Tibetans during this period is greater than the massacre in Nanjing by Japanese occupying troops, for which the Chinese government insisted on repeated apologies. Except... the Chinese government has never apologized.

Well, I think it's safe to say the Chinese government isn't going to like this book very much.

I have to admit I didn't know a lot about Tibet or its history before I picked up this book. I'd heard of the Dalai Lama, sure, but only through Hollywood stars I (perhaps unfairly) judged to care only for causes vapid and inconsequential. The plight of the Tibetan people is one many of us have heard of but of which few know the details. This book introduced me to the brutal persecution of an ethnic minority by their government. It has lasted nearly a century and shows no signs of ending.

The first meeting of the Tibetan people and the Chinese Communist Party did not go well. It was the 1930s and the Red Army was in retreat from Chiang Kai-shek and some troops found themselves on the Tibetan plateau, which seemed to them like a strange planet full of people who did not look, live, worship or eat like them. The Communists introduced themselves to the locals by stealing all their food. They literally ate icons of the Buddha made of a flour paste, hence "Eat the Buddha."

Tibetans had never experienced famine before. They had a centuries old system of nomads and farmers, each trading for barley and animal products respectively. But, thanks to the CCP, they would come to know hunger quite well. Mao insisted Tibetan society remake itself in the "Han Chinese way" in the new socialist world order. The diet staples of milk and cheese were brushed away as oddities and Tibetans were called to collectively farm crops that couldn't survive the climate.

"The nomads were made to hand over animals to the collectives that didn't know how to keep them alive, and to farm land that would never produce crops."

Tibetans measured wealth in animals and horses that died in battle were counted as casualties. Mao's Great Leap Forward took away the only richness they had known and told them to be glad they were now free.

Even after the decades of suffering, the modern Tibetan people say they could accept Chinese rule, if the government would stop maligning the Dalai Lama. I don't think it's unfair to say the CCP is *obsessed* with the Dalai Lama. He is the intense focus of CCP propaganda. Tibetans are warned not to get sucked into the "Dalai Clique." Tibetans were denied passports just to keep them away from the influence of the Dalai Lama. Those who attempt travel to where he lives in exile have to pay $10,000 to human smugglers to cross the border into Nepal whereas Han Chinese can fly to Kathmandu for $250. Easing up on the Dalai Lama might improve Chinese-Tibetan relations, the CCP seems unwilling to let go.

Overall, this book is a fascinating insight into the Tibetan people and the history of their conflict with the ruling CCP. One thing I love about Barbara Demick's books is that they are just so readable. If you're a reader accustomed to fiction and finds nonfiction a slog, try one of Demick's books.

"Eat the Buddha" is not quite as good as the author's previous work "Nothing to Envy," which is one of my all time favorites but still very much recommended. (less)
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Tony
Aug 19, 2020Tony added it
Shelves: tibet
The Tibetans tried to get the British to recognize their independence, but ended up having to settle for a deal that gave China the rights of "suzerainty," which had the advantage of being a term that nobody quite understood.

And things got worse from there.

The Chinese took the Tibetans' yaks, busted up their kingdoms, and razed monasteries. The Dali Lama fled to India. The Chinese mandated that crops should be grown which could not be grown there, in that Mao way of theirs. Some Tibetans starved, others were killed outright. Passports went the way of free speech. Infused, instead, were Han Chinese, who took what jobs there were.

That's the short version, and a disappointment I'm sure for those who think that no country is as malign as the United States.

The author's earlier book on North Korea, Nothing to Envy, I thought was really well done. But this one left me confused. One Tibetan would go through trials and tribulations trying to get across the gorge to Nepal and onward to the Tibetan exile community in India. Another Tibetan decides one afternoon to go to India . . . and just does.

The author gets our sympathy aroused about the treatment of the Tibetans by the Chinese. Then she relates the exiled Tibetans who want to go back, now that things are better.

And, I was led to believe that the author would tell of the outback of Tibet, the Tibet Autonomous Zone, but her focus instead was on the town of Ngaba. Here's a map of Western China (Tibet):



That's a long hike from the Autonomous Zone to Ngaba, across deserts and three major rivers.

Not that Ngaba isn't important to the story. That's where, for instance, the majority of self-immolations by monks occur. Here:



The Chinese brag that they broke up the feudal system that applied in the Tibetan "kingdoms". And who wants to be a serf? Yet the main protagonist in this book was the daughter of a former king. She is painted here in near-heroic tones. Perhaps it's a case of meet the new boss, same as the old boss. I don't know.

Then there was this: Uighurs have it even worse than the Tibetans. (less)
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Sarah
Aug 06, 2020Sarah rated it it was amazing  ·  review of another edition
Shelves: nonfiction, social-issues, favorites, historical, read-in-2020, kindle
http://www.bookwormblues.net/2020/08/...

Back when I was working on my undergraduate degree in nutrition, one of my last classes was called Multicultural Health and Nutrition. I loved this class. Our big semester project was to pick one country in the world, and break down their typical diet and nutrition needs, traditions (food you eat for festivals, etc.), common food-related health problems, and the like. Most of the people in class chose typical regions of the world, like the Middle East, or India, Mexico and the like.

I chose Tibet.

Why? I’ve always had a fascination regarding places in the world that I will likely never go to. I like to immerse myself in these areas because they get so little attention or serious consideration by so many in the West. So when I saw that Barbara Demick, who wrote one of my favorite books ever, Nothing to Envy, was turning her sights to Tibet, I was there with bells on.

Demick focuses on one specific region of the Tibetan Plateau, specifically Ngaba, a town that has been a focal point for a lot of recent upheavals, protests of which, more recently, have been known for monks self-immolating, for example. Ngaba has been cut off from the world for longer than just about any other area of Tibet, and the Chinese officials have been very careful about what information gets out about any of this. For example, I had no idea that some of the monks who lit themselves on fire actually survived, and are now living in hospitals in terrible condition, with amputated limbs and the like, and brought out to march out some party lines for people when necessary.

"There’s a saying that when there is a fire in Lhasa, the smoke rises in Ngaba."

Eat the Buddha starts out in the 1950’s, with a princess, right around the time when Mao was annexing the Tibetan Plateau. Through a series of interviews, Demick weaves together the stories of people who lived in this region when things were happening, like the Cultural Revolution, failed farming campaigns (the Chinese didn’t quite understand that not everything grows at high elevation with a very short summer so there was a lot of starvation). Some of the people interviewed didn’t end up in Tibet. The aforementioned princess, for example, ended up in China, with a poor class background, and then worked as forced labor for several years after a whole bunch of “reeducation” campaigns, which were horrible, abusive, and death was a common result of them.

"The Communist Party had identified feudalism and imperialism as the greatest evils of society. Their dilemma was how to destroy feudalism without becoming imperialists themselves; they couldn’t simply force “reforms” on the Tibetans. In order to live up to their own lofty propaganda, they needed the Tibetans to carry out reforms voluntarily, joyfully. To convince them, they dispatched young Chinese recruits, some of them still in high school, to spread the word."

Demick moves throughhistory smoothly, often weaving in custom, religious belief, and lore as she goes. She also does a great job at examining the larger, more sprawling Tibetan history which is, perhaps, incredibly misunderstood by the wider world. We tend to see Tibetans through the Dalai Lama, a man known for compassion and promotion of peace. I wasn’t aware of the long sprawl of warring tribes, and kings, tribal battles, even the time when a Tibetan king rose up, and brought an army down on China, overtaking a city, which is a deed that is still spoken about with reverence all these hundreds and hundreds of years later.

The book is broken up into spans of time, which helps readers follow what’s going on. It also helps to understand how previous policies and events were used as the backdrop for how things changed and what happened later. How the failed Cultural Revolution led to a time of tolerance, and how that led to a time of upheaval again. Everyone seemed to have an idea of how to deal with Tibetans, while the Tibetans themselves were largely shunted off to the side, ignored, and/or treated terribly. The slow wasting away of their cultural heritage left a generation of Tibetans who cannot read or write their own tongue. Religious history, which has been the backbone of their culture, is regarded as sacred to the older generation, and laughed off by the younger, who have been inundated by Chinese anti-religious propaganda regarding the “Dalai Clique.”

"Tibetans of this generation refer to this period simply as ngabgay—’58. Like 9/11, it is shorthand for a catastrophe so overwhelming that words cannot express it, only the number. But there are some evocative figures of speech. Some will call it dhulok, a word that roughly translates as the “collapse of time,” or, hauntingly, “when the sky and earth changed places.”

It reminded me, in some ways, of some things I’ve read about Russia, specifically regarding Russia’s push to annex areas like Ukraine, and even Georgia, where the culture was slowly bled out of the people. Stalin, for example, got really upset when he was in seminary school because he wasn’t allowed to speak, read, or write Georgian, his native language. It was against the law. Before that, there had been a tug-and-pull between Russia and Ukraine, where writing and language was likewise made illegal, a criminal act to partake in. This slow bleeding of culture is not new to our world, but books like this, where the slow degradation of the language and culture of a people, and the examination of the price of that, is a really stark reminder about how important words are, and how foundational culture can be, and when it’s gone, or starts bleeding away, just how impacted people are.

In modern days, the history of Tibet has, if anything, gotten more complicated. In my own research after reading this book, I have noticed a huge push from Chinese tourism companies to get tourists into the Tibetan Autonomous Region, and many people have answered the call. This leads to things like sacred rights, traditions, and the like being boiled down into something you can sell at a gift shop. It has increased revenue to those in the right places, and brought more awareness to the region, but the flow of information both into and out of the area is still very constricted and controlled, and there seems to be quite a dramatic wealth gap, and there’s still a generation of Tibetans who are becoming strangers to themselves.

Furthermore, around the time of the Summer Olympics in Beijing, there were absolutely incredible uprisings in Tibet, which started out peacefully, in the hopes that the eyes of the world on China pre-Olympics would keep the government from cracking down on any peaceful protests. Monks organized themselves into groups, with the hopes of raising awareness to the plight of the Tibetan people. It didn’t quite work out the way anyone wanted it to, and a wave of self-immolating monks and nuns followed in quick succession. There was violence, and a lot of blood and death and pain.

Ngaba was a great place to focus this book, as it seems to be one area where all the roads seem to connect in a fashion that allowed Demick to write a book that gives a pretty detailed, good overview of what has happened, and is currently happening in Tibet. This book made my heart hurt. On the other hand, it opened my eyes to just how misunderstood this region of the world is, and just the kinds of struggles that happen day in, and day out, when you are under this kind of pressure to change, transform, become other than what you are. There are no easy answers to any of the situations presented to readers here, and some of them will make you tear up, and hit you pretty hard, but it’s books like this that, I think, are so important. There’s an entire world out there going through things that I cannot fathom. Unless books like this continue to be written, and the authors who dare to push the boundaries dare to keep pushing them, people, like those interviewed in this book, will remain silent, voiceless victims.

Demick, in Eat the Buddha, gave an intimate voice and an outlet to a struggle that the world really needs to know more about. Masterful and important, defying boundaries imposed by governments, and unafraid to try to understand a point of view that has spent years upon years being repressed and silenced, this book rivals Nothing to Envy in every possible respect.

Read it.

Now.

5/5 stars (less)
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Daniel Warriner
Aug 29, 2020Daniel Warriner rated it it was amazing
Eat the Buddha by Barbara Demick, released in July of this year, is a compelling, heart-breaking report of the Tibetan struggle over the past several decades, beginning in 1958 with the royal family of Ngaba, most of whom have died under the rule of China's Communist Party.

I read Demick's Nothing to Envy (2009) earlier this year and found it very insightful and moving. In Eat the Buddha she applies the same journalistic formula by documenting a massive human rights disaster through the extraordinary accounts of individuals affected by the tragedy, with a keen focus on mostly everyday people in a particular city. In the former she centered the story around the destitute Chongjin, and in her latest book, Ngaba, “the undisputed world capital of self-immolations," as she describes it. Her storytelling, a sort of novelization of interviews with exiles and refugees, mixed in with history and pieces of the larger picture, is powerful in the way it brings people in these "obscure" places close to us, thereby evoking empathy and hopefully stimulating more action and ultimately change. At the very least, Demick has helped give a big voice to the silenced, and I hope she might one day put her time and talents toward reportage on the Uyghurs and Rohingya as well. (less)
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Mary
Sep 04, 2020Mary rated it liked it
Shelves: 2020, non-fiction
Every few years Barbara Demick comes out with one of these books, and I was really looking forward to this one. Somehow though, now that I think about it, there was something about this one that left me a bit hollow. It's a fascinating subject but it felt too vague and scattered. The majority of the book focuses on the town of Ngaba and some of its inhabitants, but I wanted more details about the culture and Tibet as a whole. Things kept being alluded to that left me wanting, like "The Uighurs have it even worse than the Tibetans." Really? Tell me more. But she didn't.

This isn't a comprehensive history of Tibet, Tibet/China politics, or Tibetan culture. I should have known that based on Demick's other books which tend to focus on a few people and follow their journey. Maybe the difference is that I already knew quite a lot about North Korean and Balkan history/politics, but my knowledge of Tibet is almost limited to remembering that there's an old movie set in Tibet with Leonardo di Caprio or Brad Pitt or one of those people...

After reading Eat the Buddha, Goodreads recommended that I read Mary Poppins. I guess I missed the part in the movie where Julie Andrews lands with her umbrella and self immolates in front of the kids. (less)
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Sarah
Oct 07, 2020Sarah rated it really liked it  ·  review of another edition
Shelves: non-fiction, 中国
3.5 rounded up

Demick's previous non-fiction offering, Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea was a truly memorable read for me. Her excellent reportage shed light on the incredible (in the true sense of the word) lives and experiences of regular people in North Korea that had previously been inaccessible to most of the world, and even those who had visited the country. Even though I read Nothing to Envy over 10 years ago the book has stayed with me, and inspired the topic of my undergraduate dissertation - immigration policy (or the lack thereof) in China with regard to North Koreans.

All this background is to say I was super excited when I saw she had a book about Tibet coming out. Having lived in China for 4 years and never getting around to visiting Tibet (something I still regret over 3 years after returning to the UK), I was keen to learn more about the autonomous region and its people. As many know, Tibet is still a taboo topic in China today, and is something of a sore spot - along with Xinjiang, another autonomous territory on China's northwestern border where religious suppression and violence is getting worse and worse by the day. I'll devour pretty much any book about China, but one by an author who wrote such an impressive book about North Korea? Sign me up.

So perhaps I'll start with the negatives: I think the structure of Eat the Buddha was to its detriment. People are introduced with a bit of context and biography and then we don't see them again for a number of chapters. While Demick interviewed and met a lot of different people, a number of them have similarly sad stories, but these lose impact given the similarities and at times the book feels a tiny bit repetitive. For this reason I think it'd benefit from a character list so readers are able to keep the different stories and people straight, and perhaps the book would have benefitted from focusing more closely on fewer people. A tiny, nitpick-y comment, but I'd have loved if a few more photos could have been included too.

But let's focus on the positives! This is another incredibly well-researched book, and provides a great introduction to Tibetan history and politics; managing to achieve that fine balance of being comprehensive but accessible. The people Demick interviews have fascinating and shocking stories to tell which are seldom heard. Tibet may not be *quite* as mysterious and inaccessible as North Korea, but it's a fitting follow-up to her previous book, as another suppressed group of people living in a region on the brink of huge change. I found it to be a book better enjoyed when taken one or two chapters at a time, to fully appreciate the quality of the author's reportage and research.

So while I found this not quite as unputdownable as Nothing to Envy, I'd still highly recommend this to those who enjoyed well-written and researched non-fiction. (less)
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Emily Grace
May 18, 2020Emily Grace rated it really liked it
Shelves: 2020-releases, books-i-own, netgalley
There's a saying that when there is a fire in Lhasa, the smoke rises in Ngaba.

After having read Nothing to Envy I would have read anything Barbara Demick wrote. It certainly didn't hurt that Eat the Buddha is a topic which I already care deeply about.

Eat the Buddha profiles the small Tibetan town of Ngaba on the east of the Tibetan plateau, though the People's Republic of China would tell you it's in the Sichuan Province. Ngaba, though somewhat unknown to Western audiences, has played a big role in the unrest between China and Tibet. Nearly one-third of all the Tibetan self-immolations as protest occurred in this town.

Demick interviews and reconstructs the lives of several Tibetans from in and around Ngaba from the 1950's to the present and through their experiences paints a clear and painful history of China's occupation in Tibet. Because of Ngaba's geographic proximity to China, it was on the front lines for decades, constantly being affected by the political maneuverings in China itself. Ngaba was on the route of the Long March, the battle site for fighting factions of the Red Party during the Cultural Revolution, and of course, continues to be deeply affected by the Chinese occupation to this day. All of this has lead to a hot-bed of unrest and approximately 50,000 security personnel now stationed in the town.

Like Nothing to Envy, Eat the Buddha is told in the narrative style. I love this style of historical non-fiction, it's readable and treats the interviewees as real people rather than players in a history text. Nonetheless, the author doesn't neglect the history either. For those, like myself, not terribly familiar with the history of Ngaba, Demick does an excellent job of providing the reader with the context that is essential to understanding the current situation in Tibet. Though the books itself mainly starts in the 50's—this is about the earliest you can get and still be able to gather first hand accounts—sometimes the history will go back much farther through the ancestors of the interviewees and the ancient structures in the town. Because of the greater focus on the past at the beginning of the book it was a bit slower to get into the narrative-style story-telling but, personally, I am totally happy to make that trade.

As you might expect from phrases like "self-immolation" or even just "Tibet" this book can be pretty heartbreaking. Because of the aging of the Dalai Lama and China's continued strength as a world power, it seems like the spotlight on Tibet has waned in recent years. I think it's incredibly valuable to hear these stories and I thank Barbara Demick for bringing them to us. I hope that this book serves in whatever way it can to bring the plight of Tibetans back to the world's attention.

Thank you to Random House for providing this ARC in exchange for an honest review! All opinions are my own. (less)
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BookishDubai
Mar 15, 2017BookishDubai marked it as to-read
Shelves: non-fiction, read-women, 2020-release
YAAAAS! Barbara Demick has a new book!!
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M
May 16, 2020M rated it it was amazing
A fascinating read. The history of Tibet isn't a topic I knew much about, and this was an accessible, engaging introduction. The use of individual stories brought the history alive and gave it a personal dimension. (less)
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Laine
Jul 29, 2020Laine rated it it was amazing  ·  review of another edition
Ohhhhh.
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Amy | shelf-explanatory
Jun 01, 2020Amy | shelf-explanatory marked it as to-read
Shelves: non-fiction
Excited to see that Barbara Demick is coming out with a new book! "Nothing to Envy" was so immersive, well-written, and eye-opening that I'm willing to read about any subject that she writes about. (less)
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Louise
Dec 18, 2020Louise rated it really liked it
Shelves: china, religion, tibet
Barbara Demick tells the story of Tibet by telling the stories of the people. While there are descriptions of the life of herders, market vendors and monks in Ngata, most of the profiles are of refugees now living in Dharmanshala, India.

The author chose Ngaba (City and region) because it is the place of the first encounter of Tibetans and the Chinese Communists. Passing through Ngaba on the Long March hungry (starving) marchers discovered that Buddhas were made with butter and grain and ate them, which gives the book its name. Demick also chooses Ngaba because it is the site of the most resistance to Chinese rule as measured by the number of self-immolations in protest.

Demick describes the chain of negotiations and compromises that came to a head in 1958 with a invasion that destroyed Ngaba's monasteries, deposed the king, and generally upended centuries of life and custom. The first profile is of Princess Gonpo, who at the age of 7 was taken away with her family. With her father killed and her mother’s whereabouts unknown, Gonpo, like many other Tibetans suffered through manual labor (elsewhere) during Mao’s Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution. You follow her through her eventual marriage, family and career and her life in Darmanshala where the Dalai Lama resides with a government in exile community.

Through Demick’s contacts, you see how freedoms for Tibetans in Ngaba freeze, thaw and freeze again. Monks can perform some forms of worship but an abrupt policy change could result in a monastery raid. They are frequent enough that monks are ready to take off their robes and put on blue jeans to flee. People can turn prayer wheels can be stigmatized. There is censored use of the internet, but without notice, it can be shut off entirely throughout the region.

Like other minorities, Tibetans are showcased, for instance, the 2008 Olympic dances and costumes. They have some relief from the 1 child policy. There is government investment in Tibetan roads, electrical distribution and schools. Nomads have government provided light weight tents (in sharp contrast to the Great Leap Forward when their herds were confiscated).

The book shows the downside to these improvements. There is a steady stream of Chinese emigrants that dominate the markets, take the good government jobs and see that the school curriculum is in Chinese. Nomads have restrictions on their movements. It is difficult for Tibetans to get a passport to travel.

The accumulation of the discriminatory policies and life as a minority in one’s own country (even as one’s standard of living is improving) grates on the Tibetans as is the one constant policy: there will be no recognition of the Dalai Lama. Demick devotes the last part of the book to the resulting self-immolations. She describes a few of these, the decision making behind them and the public reaction.

The physical and cultural descriptions of Dharamshala are the best I’ve read. There is an outline of its political situation. I wonder how it will survive the eventual loss of the current Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso. (Demick poses the difficulty the re-incarnation requirement will have for both the Tibetans and the Chinese government.)

The writing is choppy and not everything is tied together. The profiles are chronological with little introduction to help you relate a revisited person to the earlier reference. Some information seems contradictory. At one point she notes 21 self immolations in the Ngaba area, in another over 100. She describes 4 harrowing escapes to India, a fifth refugee, just stumbles in.

This book, while informative, does not meet the standard the author set in Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea.
(less)
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Deb (Readerbuzz) Nance
Sep 23, 2020Deb (Readerbuzz) Nance rated it really liked it
Shelves: history, nonfiction, social-justice, community, diversity, spirituality
Author Barbara Demick tells the oral history of a town in one of the less well-known areas of Tibet, Ngaba. Tibet's government and its spiritual leader, the Dali Lama, have taken refuge in India for decades, and the Tibetan people that remain within China are discriminated against and are kept highly guarded by the Chinese government. Demick interviews and tells the stories of a Tibetan princess, a Tibetan nomad, a Tibetan intellectual, and a Tibetan entrepreneur, among others. The central question for each of them becomes whether to resist the Chinese or fall into line with them.

It's a fascinating story of a people marginalized and persecuted. (less)
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Jill Dobbe
Aug 04, 2020Jill Dobbe rated it it was amazing  ·  review of another edition
An exceptionally written book that portrays the ideals of Tibetan culture and what Tibetans did to survive under Chinese rule in a way that was honorable, insightful and genuine.

I was drawn to this book as a result of visiting Dharamsala, India, in 2010. While there I learned about Tibetans in exile. I visited the home of the Dalai Llama and the beautiful Buddhist monasteries. Noted the many storefronts displaying FREE TIBET banners. I even marched in a silent vigil in support of the Tibetan people. Eat the Buddha gives a thorough and interesting account of the history of China overtaking Tibet, the powerlessness of the Tibetans against the Chinese, the lack of freedom they still suffer today, and the Chinese suppression of the Dalai Llama and Buddhist religion.

I especially found Demick's individual accounts of notable Tibetans to be honorable and written with compassion. She detailed how they suffered through abuse, poverty, hunger and loss of their families. Tibetans were jailed for the smallest infractions and Tibetan youth resorted to self-immolation as a way to show their religious devotion and their sacrifice for democracy.

A mesmerizing book that enthralls the readers and gives them a look into a noble and self-sacrificing culture. I was brought back to all I had experienced while in Dharamsala. Through the author's writing, I couldn't help but feel the beauty, compassion and peacefulness of the Tibetan and Buddhist culture that I witnessed all those years ago. Thank you Barbara Demick for taking me back there and helping me understand the Tibetan culture even more.

Thank you to the publishers, Netgalley and author for the opportunity to read and review Eat the Buddha. (less)
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Catelyn Silapachai
Aug 05, 2020Catelyn Silapachai rated it it was amazing  ·  review of another edition
(Note: many thanks to Random House and NetGalley for the gifted book.)

After reading Barbara Demick's book "Nothing to Envy," I'm fairly certain that I would read anything she writes going forward, no matter the topic. The writing style of both "Nothing to Envy" and "Eat the Buddha" (narrative nonfiction) is easy to get wrapped up in as well as impeccably researched. Her books could easily be 500+ pages, so I appreciate that the editing is tight as well.

I'm embarrassed to say I knew hardly anything about Tibet other than what is common knowledge, so I appreciated this lesson on history and current events. Obviously, the oppression of Tibet is heartbreaking and important to learn about. As with "Nothing to Envy," the personal interviews in "Eat the Buddha" give the book dimension and poignancy. (less)
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Tiffany
Jul 03, 2020Tiffany rated it really liked it  ·  review of another edition
Shelves: netgalley, nonfiction
3 1/2 stars rounded up. I really enjoyed reading Demick's book about North Korea and looked forward to this book as well. In "Eat the Buddha," we get a good look at Tibet and their rocky relationship with China. We get a deep appreciation of one specific village up in the mountains of China. Ngaba starts as a nomadic population and over time their way of life is upended as the Red Army marches in and changes their life. I did not fully recognize just how "Big Brother" China had become. It's terrifying and saddening to see how much this peaceful people are abused.

This book is a lot more fact-heavy than the North Korea one. It's either that, or since I lived in South Korea I could relate more to the other. At times I lost track of who all the people were. I definitely felt anxious for all these Tibetans and wished a more peaceful life for them. Definitely eye-opening and I'm not sorry I read this one.

Thank you NetGalley and Random House for an ARC for my honest opinion. (less)
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Matt
Aug 09, 2020Matt rated it really liked it  ·  review of another edition
Barbara Demick is a remarkable journalist. Last summer I read her award-winning book on life in North Korea; this new one on Tibet is yet another eye-opening read.
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Alesa
Nov 25, 2020Alesa rated it really liked it
This is basically an ethnography of Ngaba, a town in Tibet, presented through the eyes of a handful of it residents. It is written by an American journalist, a woman, who spent a lot of time in China. You learn a lot about modern Tibetan history and culture, and about the Chinese administration and its policies toward Tibetans.

The book is very articulate without being academic. It's an easy read, if you're able to keep track of the various characters, since their stories are disjointed and jump around (none of the viewpoint characters know one another).

It's a sad read, however, because of the author's sympathetic tone towards Tibet, and the description of how its culture is being destroyed by the Chinese authorities. The Long March (which caused mass starvation in Tibet), the Great Leap Forward, and the Cultural Revolution all took heavy tolls on Tibet. So are recent protests, self-immolations by monks, and the resulting government crackdowns. At the end, she looks at whether material improvements should be considered a fair trade for independence. She also affirms the view that all of China's expansion efforts in the Himalayas are really about control of water -- not just northward for large swaths of China, but also southward for all of SE Asia.

The title refers to starving Red Army soldiers raiding Buddha statuettes from Tibetan monasteries during the Long March. The statues were made from dough. So the soldiers boiled them down and ate them. It's a fit metaphor for the sacking of Tibet.

Here's a quote I found interesting. "China is becoming what political scientist Stein Ringen has termed the 'perfect dictatorship.' The government's control already is so complete, their surveillance of online communications so thorough, the closed-circuit cameras so ubiquitous, the biometric tracking of the population so advanced, that they maintain order almost seamlessly. China's new approach is less barbaric than the methods used by other regimes to control dissent -- for example, the gassing of civilian populations by Syria's Bashar Assad -- but is no less stifling."

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for an advance review copy. (less)
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Richard Propes
Jul 02, 2020Richard Propes rated it really liked it  ·  review of another edition
“I have everything I might possibly want in life, but my freedom.”
-a Tibetan businessman for Barbara Demick's "Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town"

If you're like most Americans, you've likely spent your life romanticizing the mysterious land of Tibet, a nation long vulnerable to invasion from its neighboring China yet a nation often known more for "Free Tibet" campaigns, passionate Buddhism and disciplined monks, and an idyllic setting that Hollywood seldom represents accurately.

Demick, however, is NOT Hollywood. Currently the Los Angeles Times' bureau chief for Beijing, Demick tells the story of Tibet largely through the lens of Ngaba, a Tibetan town perched 11,000 feet above sea level that sits along a border to China and yet has become one of Tibet's most elusive and difficult to visit locales.

Starting, at least briefly, in the 1930's when Mao Zedong's Red Army fled into the Tibetan plateau to escape adversaries in the Chinese Civil War, "Eat the Buddha" takes its name from the Red Army's fight for survival in Ngaba's rugged, elevated terrain by consuming religious statues made of flour and butter. This would become the early days of China's increasingly intrusive and dominating behavior toward its more spiritual and peaceful neighbor, a "relationship" that Demick largely picks up in the 1950's and explores through her three trips to the isolated town from 2013 while interviewing Tibetans in Ngaba along with others living abroad including the Dalai Lama, an exiled princess, and a host of others.

Demick's history of Tibet is an often heartbreaking one chronicling decades of Chinese incursions that have resulted in cultural upheaval, economic hardship, and the deaths of an estimated 300,000 Tibetans. Determined to sweep out religion, China destroyed monasteries and often punished those who even dared to mention the Dalai Lama's name.

Spanning decades of Tibetan and modern history, "Eat the Buddha" captures its heart-center through the stories Demick brings to life throughout her journey including a princess whose family was wiped out in the Cultural Revolution, a young Tibetan nomad who becomes radicalized in Kirti Monastery, an upwardly mobile entrepreneur who falls in love with a Chinese woman, a poet and intellectual who risks everything for his voice to be heard, and a young Tibetan schoolgirl who is forced at a young age to choose between family and the prosperity offered by Chinese money.

Demick weaves engaging tales here, an abundance of history woven into the tapestry of the lives that history impacted and a never-ending commitment to removing the veil of mystery from Tibet in favor of a more honest, reasoned understanding of the land and its people and the devastating impact of China's often brutal domination of the region.

There's no question that "Eat the Buddha" offers a largely one-sided perspective, Tibet's voice given tremendous clarity while nary a Chinese voice to be found here. That said, Demick also captures vividly a conflicted Tibet that is far removed from the romanticized Tibet portrayed by Hollywood or even the Tibet so often captured by those who would advocate for its freedom. There's an understanding in Tibet that China brings financial prosperity, technological advancement, and greater opportunities, but there's also an undeniable sense of grief and loss as Tibetans increasingly experience the loss of their spirituality, culture, and way of life.

"Eat the Buddha" is often brutal in its portrayal, Ngaba itself having at one point become the center point for a wave of self-immolations that swept through Tibet's Buddhist monks and nuns as perhaps the most extreme form of protest possible.

Do they resist the Chinese? Do they join them? Do they adhere to the Dalai Lama's teachings of non-violence and his support of a "middle way?" These issues are thoroughly explored in "Eat the Buddha" and in most ways Demick refuses to offer up anything resembling an easy answer.

There are no easy answers here.

"Eat the Buddha" is an immersive and atmospheric read, its interior design fosters a sense of antiquated historicity and a feeling, even within the font, that you've gone back into time and into another space. Intellectually satisfying and emotionally resonant, "Eat the Buddha" is a slow read that demands attention to detail and a willingness to embrace both history and humanity.

At times, that balance is difficult to achieve as deeply moving stories can be temporarily interrupted by paragraphs or pages of historical background. The closing chapter of "Eat the Buddha," as well, follows a chapter of character closure with what amounts to being historical summary and a methodological overview that feels anti-climactic and simply less satisfying than if Demick had allowed us to reflect upon the characters whose lives have been so deeply impacted by contemporary Tibetan and Chinese history and relations. It feels much like a movie where you believe you're in the closing scene only to have the director keep going toward a less satisfying conclusion.

However, these are minor quibbles for a book that is engaging, immersive, and incredibly important. Demick, whose last book "Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea" was a finalist for the National Book Award and won the Samuel Johnson Prize for Non-Fiction, has crafted an occasionally shocking, deeply revealing, and immensely touching account of a Tibetan town shatters the facade while reminding the world why we fight to free a Tibet we don't really understand.

"Eat the Buddha: Life and Death in a Tibetan Town" is scheduled for release on July 28th from Random House. (less)
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Leslie
Nov 16, 2020Leslie rated it it was amazing
I hope they're teaching Barbara Demick in journalism school. She's one of the greats. Nothing to Envy among my all-time favorite non-fiction books. I almost shied away from this because it sounded too grim (relievedly, self-immolation is not the overriding focal point). I am not fascinated by Tibet in the way that I was North Korea. Nevertheless I am so glad to have read this.

Each person's story is beautiful and vivid. In composite, they're a vivid, page-turning history of the region from the Mao Era to present day. Reading Demick's end notes, she had substantial constraints to her reporting (not wanting to jeopardize anyone's safety) but this is not at all obvious while reading.

I also appreciate the nuance she brings to the subject of Tibet and Chinese rule. You don't have to be into Tibet or China to love this book. Just read it because she's a great writer. (less)
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Jee Hooked On Bookz
Sep 12, 2020Jee Hooked On Bookz rated it really liked it
When the Communists fled farther west into China (The Long March) to escape the Chinese Civil War, they were lacking of food, and by sheer coincidence found Buddha statues made of flour that tasted sweet, then started consuming them whenever they found any, hence the title ‘Eat the Buddha’.

‘Eat The Buddha’ chronicles the lives and struggles of Tibetans who lived under the ruling of China since 1950, when Mao proclaimed the People Republic of China. This book is the result of thorough research, and the various interviews Demick conducted with Tibetans from a small town called Aba (Ngaba) at the eastern edge of the Tibetan plateau, for over 3 years.

We start from the year 1958 and end with the present, where some of the interviewees are currently residing in Dharamsala, India, now home of some exiles like Gonpo and Delek, but some of them have moved back to China, hoping to lead an ‘easier’ life than the one they had in India.

The book opens to the story of Gonpo, the last princess of mei Kingdom, when her palace was being seized and her entire family was being forced out of their home. Gonpo was only 7 years old then. Her father, the king, died a tragic death while looking for her mother. Gonpo is now living in exile in India and had been separated from her family ever since she left for India in 1989. Now they see each other once or twice a year.

In the following chapters, we get to meet other Tibetans like Delek, now a ‘self-styled historian’ whose original research was focused on the events of the 20th century, Dongtuk, a kid born out of wedlock and whose half-brother self-immolated, and Tsegyam, an aspiring poet, who at 19 became a vice principal.

Delek, at 9, witnessed his own grandparents being beaten severely; his grandmother’s hair being yanked out and his grandfather being ‘suspended from the ceiling, tangled in ropes.’ Their home filled with smoke, all their literature and Buddhist manuscripts, art pieces and holy books burned to ashes.

Dongtuk who, from a young age, knew he wanted to be a monk and loved every moment he spent at Kirti monastry. But in March 2008, Chinese authorities put the monastery under a siege. Everything was blocked, even telephone signals and food supply was cut, as though trying to starve the monks into submission after their demonstrations. And soon, closed-circuit television cameras were installed.

Nobody knew more people who had self-immolated than Dongtuk. Living in Dharamsala, India now, Dongtuk has started to keep a diary in the hopes of keeping the Tibetan cause alive through his writing.
Tsegyam, while he was working as a teacher, got the opportunity to teach Tibetan reading and writing, which although wasn’t allowed, the authorities weren’t able to monitor either and there weren’t any fixed curriculum. He was accused of counterrevolutionary propaganda for writing messages on prayer flags that express rebellion such as “Free Tibet” “Chinese Out of Tibet” and “Bring Back His Holiness The Dalai Lama”. He was sentenced to jail and was released a year later. Now in India, he was hired as the Dalai Lama’s private secretary.

The author also showed us the Tibetans’ lives, cultures and beliefs that made them known for their peace and non-violent nature. We’ll read of their Monlam festival (The Great Prayer Festival); Losar, the Tibetan New Year; their sky burials (an ecological practice of returning a body to nature without digging the land polluting water, or chopping down trees for cremation); their food like tsampa (made of barley or wheat flour) which is their staple, momos and khapse – treats they serve on special occasions like their New Year; their famous butter lamps for their prayers and meditations; their nomadic life and how some are adapting to a more modernized life.

It was also so interesting to learn about their education at the monasteries where they also hold their Tibetan monastic debates in their own style.

This was such an eye-opening read for me, and at times shocking; it was heartbreaking to know how much the Tibetans had to sacrifice just to live in peace, and their struggles seem endless, so much so that the Dalai Lama asked Elie Wiesel during one of his visits to India,
“You wrote about the Jewish people losing a homeland two thousand years ago and how you’re still here. Mine has just lost its homeland, and I know it’s going to be a very long road into exile,” “How did you survive?”

‘Eat the Buddha’ vividly painted the livelihoods of people struggling to find their footing in a country they call home, which keeps robbing them of their identities, freedom and independence, again and again. It was also about how they stood their ground, fought back, rebelled, and self-immolate as a call for the freedom of their people and to bring their Dalai Lama back home. It is, above all, the Tibetans’ story of their long fight to freedom while trying to preserve their culture, beliefs and language.

For more reviews, head over to HookedOnBookz.com (less)
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Bonnie G.
Dec 13, 2020Bonnie G. rated it liked it
Shelves: history, non-fiction, china-and-east-asia
Really a 3.5. These were fascinating stories and Demick is a fantastic storyteller. Sadly, there was no attempt to write with even the barest illusion of impartiality. This was pure propaganda. I lived in China, have spent a good deal of time in cities close to Tibet (though only about 10 days in actually in Tibet) and met Tibetan and Uyghur people who told tales that left me with no doubt that the Chinese government has brutally repressed many ethnic minorities, and have been most brutal with respect to these two groups. There is no way to tell this story where the Chinese government does not show itself to be violent and intolerant of difference -- the blood of many drips from their hands. Given that it is hard to see why Demick chose to gild the lily to make the government look even worse My biggest issue? She writes of Tibet under monarchy as a veritable paradise where people joyfully served their gods-given rulers. That is simply not true. I am sure ordinary Tibetan people see the feudal system through a haze of nostalgia. I am sure that haze is helped along by the fact that the monarchy was followed by the despotic rule and ritual torture of the Communist Party. But that does not change the fact that during the monarchy Tibet was a very had place for most of its citizens. Those commoners went hungry while their crops were taken by the royals. Those commoners toiled in poverty as the royals lived in relative splendor. Were the serfs loyal to their overlords? I am sure some were. Apart from the horrors perpetrated on Tibetans by the Maoists making the monarchs look like pussycats, this happens with freed slaves all the time. There were plenty of slaves who refused to leave their plantations after the American Civil War. Uncertainty can be worse than slavery, and generations of seeing yourself through the lens of caste does a number on people. I am not justifying the Chinese government's actions to crush Tibet under its bootheel, nor am I turning a blind eye to the irony of a government built on a foundation of anti-imperialism showing themselves to be the most deadly imperialists of all. I am however saying that it is foolish to ignore the fact that a government based on progeniture (as Tibet's was) is antithetical to freedom and equality, which are supposed to be values we in the West embrace. The Chinese had legitimate reasons to dismantle that government. How it was done, the ongoing oppression of the Tibetan people, the Atheist/Marxist jihad on faith, those are all crimes against humanity -- just tell that story. Still happy I read this, much of it was edifying and fascinating. (less)
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Grace W
Aug 24, 2020Grace W rated it it was amazing
Shelves: nonfiction
(c/p from my review on TheStoryGraph) 4.5 TW: Self-Harm, Suicide, Religious Persecution, Racism

Add this to the pile of books that, having read, will mean I'm never going to be allowed back into Mainland China. This is mostly a history of a small but infamous Tibetan town but also the history of the conflict between Tibetan and The People's Republic of China. It is well researched, relying on refugee oral stories as well as heavily researched first hand accounts. It is the sort of book that brings into stark reality the trials of a people who have been forced to give up their language, culture and religion for the sake of a government that does not care about their well being and that will do whatever it takes to make it seem like things are perfectly alright in Tibet. This book is particularly important now with the increasingly horrible situation in Hong Kong. While we fight and stand with Hong Kong, we might be tempted to forget that Tibet is also working against these same forces.

This book is deeply difficult to read. It's the kind of book that is going to stay with me for a long, long time. I'm aware that besides vocal support, there isn't a whole lot someone like me could do to help the Tibetan cause. But it is also a dark reminder that there is always a chance that it could happen to anyone, anywhere. (less)
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Joann
Dec 25, 2020Joann rated it really liked it  ·  review of another edition
Shelves: books-about-china, drama, non-fiction, political, generational, true-story, religion, 2020-favorites, favorite-2020
I loved the author's other book about North Korea and so was anxious to read this one. I knew that China was inching its way into Tibet but this book once again opened my eyes to truly what went on during thse times and is still going on today under the guise of improving the lives of Tibetans. I was familiar with the slogan "Free Tibet" and after reading this book it made me want to buy a t-shirt with the same slogan. I feel it is already too late for the Tibetans to be able to save their culture, language and religion. I believe they will be able to hold onto their religion but I do believe their culture and language is edging closer to being non-existent. The only Tibetan school will no longing be available, just the Chinese school which will, of course, only teach Chinese. The town in which the author bases a lot of her research was from Nabo which has had over 150 self- immolations since 2009. A sad book. (less)
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ABOUT BARBARA DEMICK
 Barbara Demick 
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Barbara Demick is an American journalist. She is the author of Logavina Street: Life and Death in a Sarajevo Neighborhood (Andrews & McMeel, 1996). Her next book, Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea, was published by Spiegel & Grau/Random House in December 2009 and Granta Books in 2010.

Demick was correspondent for the Philadelphia Inquirer in Eastern Europe from 1993 to 1997. Along with ...more
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2021/01/14

Pass it on : five stories that can change the world / Joanna Macy

 Pass it on : five stories that can change the world 

 Joanna Macy 


Contents

STORIES THAT NEED TO BE TOLD

  1. NORTH AMERICA: The Power of Gratitude 
  2. RUSSIA: A Path into the Forest
  3. INDIA: An Unexpected Encounter with My Mother
  4. AUSTRALIA: The Rainforest Recognizes Itself TIBET: One Stone on Another
  5. WALKING THE TALK: A Conversation about Taking Action About the Authors


1] NORTH AMERICA: The Power of Gratitude

Peace is not just the opposite of war or the time between the wars.

Peace is the law of human life.

Peace is when we treat nature well and justice rules between all of the people and all of the nations.

-AUDREY SHENANDOAH, ONONDAGA

IN MY CHILDHOOD and adolescent years, I spent summers on my grandfather's farm in western NewYork State. I learned how my paternal ances¬tors journeyed west from New England in the early eighteen hundreds when the Erie Canal was dug, and how they planted the fields and orchards I roamed in, and built the church where I'd sit to hear the gospel they brought with them. But I heard no stories about the people who were native

to the land and had been dwelling there for thou¬sands of years. I recall no mention of their indig 

enous way of life, or of the teachings that sustained

their intricate and peaceful culture. They were the Haudenosaunee, also known as the Iroquois,

whose peoples of the region are recognized the world over as the oldest example of democratic self-governance.

A quarter century later in my life, while attend¬ing graduate school in Syrcause, NewYork, I began

to open my eyes to the history and wisdom of these people. Despite expropriation of ancestral lands

and constriction to small reservations, the Hauden-osaunee elders have passed down.-through the ages the teachings of the great messenger they call the Peacemaker.

A thousand years ago, the Six Nation Confed¬eracy seemed to be in a state of permanent war,

caught in brutal cycles of attack, revenge, and retal 

iation, when Deganawidah, the Peacemaker, came across Lake Ontario in a stone canoe. He came to

remind all the nations of the Creator's "original instructions." Gradually his words and actions won them over, and they accepted the Great Law of Peace.The Seneca, Cayuga, Oneida, Onondaga, and

Mohawk buried their weapons by Onondaga Lake under a white pine they called the Peace Tree. For governance by consensus decision-making, they formed councils of chiefs to be selected, advised, and, if necessary, removed by the women elders or clan mothers. The Long House was built and designated as the venue for these councils, where choices were deliberated with concern for their effect on the seventh generation into the future. The very name Haudenosaunee means "People of the Long House." Their federation came to com¬prise six nations when joined centuries later by the Tuscarora.

In the Haudenosaunee, historians recognize the oldest known participatory democracy and point to the inspiration it provided to those drafting the Constitution of the United States. The white men's government did not emulate the power and respect the Haudenosaunee accorded to women, but in uniting their thirteen colonies, they bor¬rowed not only principles of confederacy and bal¬ance of powers but symbols as well. They took, for example, the eagle, instructed by the Peacemaker to watch over and protect the people, and the bun¬dle of separate arrows it grasps that had represented


the tribes'-solidarity as well as' their distinctiveness. In 1992 the United States Congress passed a joint (House and Senate) resolution concluding that "the confederation of the thirteen colonies into one republic was explicitly modeled upon the Iro¬quois confederacy as were many of the democratic principles which were incorporated into the Con¬stitution itself."

That reality did not impede white settlers and soldiers from taking by force most of the Haude-nosaunees' land and decimating their populations. Soon after his inauguration, George Washington, seeking to clear the lands for westward expansion, ordered the burning of Onondaga crops and vil¬lages. He changed his mind after the massacres had been set in motion, but illegal "takings" by the state of NewYork continued. The vast ancestral lands of the Onondaga extended in a wide sweep through New York State from Pennsylvania to Canada. In the fifty years following American independence, the Onondaga Nation, known as the "Keepers of the Central Fire" and conveners of the Haudeno-saunee Grand Council of Chiefs, lost 95 percent of its land.

Eventually accorded sovereign status, the Hau- denosaunee nations—except for the Onondaga—have proceeded in recent decades to sue state and federal governments for some measure of recom¬pense for their expropriated territory. They've won various settlements in cash and licenses for casinos. But the Onondagan elders and clan moth¬ers continued to deliberate year after year, seeking consensus on this issue that would shape the life of their people for generations to come. Finally, in the spring of 2005, their decision was announced at a press conference in the nearby city of Syracuse.

In their land rights action, unlike that of any other indigenous group in America, the Onondaga Nation did not demand return of any ancestral

land or monetary compensation for it. They asked for one thing only: that the land be cleaned up and

restored to health for the sake of all who presently live on it, and for the sake of their children and children's children. As a step toward achieving this, they showed that New York State had taken their land in violation of federal law.

"In this land rights action we seek justice" said Audrey Shenandoah at the news conference. "Jus 

tice for the waters. Justice for the four leggeds and the wingeds, whose habitats have been taken. We

--

seek justice, not just for ourselves, but justice for the whole creation."

For state and federal powerholders, that is asking a lot. The land is heavily contaminated by indus¬trial development, from huge chemical Processing plants to neglected toxic waste dumps. Onondaga Lake, on whose shores stood the sacred Peace Tree, is rated as the most polluted with heavy metals of any body of water in the country Within a year; at the urging of the governor of NewYork, the state court dismissed the Onondaga action as invalid, stating that it was too late and that it would be

disruptive to the larger community.Lawyers

awyer for the

plaintiffs have submitted strong counterarguments on both points. The appeal is now pending due to the possibility that the Department ofJustice in the Obama administration might join the Onondaga.

On a bleak November afternoon, while on a teach¬ing tour of the eastern United States, I drive out from Syracuse to visit the Onondaga Nation-a big name for a scrap of land whose seven thou¬sand acres appear like a postage stamp on maps of Central Newyork. I come because I was moved by the integrity and vision of their land rights action.

Now I see how few material resources they have to pursue it. In a community clinic, native counselors offer mental health and self-esteem programs, and bring young people from all the Haudenosaunee together for camps and ceremony. The women cheerfully describe how they solicit funds from the other nations, and how few contributions have been received from those made richer by casinos. They are eager for me to see the new school where young Onondagans, who choose not to go off the Nation to U.S. public schools, can receive an edu¬cation.

I run through the rain and dash through a door to where a teacher named Freida has been waiting after hours to show me around. She leads me into a central atrium where a skylight lets in the dimming afternoon light and illumines, on the floor, a large green turtle exquisitely fashioned of inlaid wood. It is good to be reminded of where we stand: onTur-tie Island. I think of the creation story that threads through the indigenous lore of this continent—of the woman who fell from the sky, of the support from the deep that appeared as turtle, and the crea¬tures like muskrat who dove into the sea for the soil to make Turtle Island. My gaze moves to the shields

--

around the room representing the clans: wolf, bear, beaver, snipe, eel, heron.

Each clan is presided over by a clan mother and Freida, I learn, is acting mother of the turtle clan.

"Our students gather here regularly for the thanksgiving address," she tells me. "We just do a short version, ten minutes or so, not the traditional form which takes over an hour and a half." I sense a longing within me and, turning to gaze at her face, I sink down on a bench. She hears my silent request and sits down beside me. Raising her right hand in a circling gesture that spirals downward as the fin¬gers close, she begins. "Let us gather our minds as one mind and give thanks for each other as people with whom to live in balance and harmony. And now our minds are one." Repeating the movement of her hand, she speaks, "Greetings and thanks to our eldest brother the Sun, who rises each day to bring light so we can see each others' faces and

warmth for the seeds to grow." She continues on,

greeting and thanking the life-bringing presences

that bless and nourish us all. With each presence—

moon, waters, trees, animals—that lovely gesture

repeats itself. "We gather our minds as one mind." My eyes stay riveted upon her. What I receive

--

through her words and gesture feels like an intra¬venous injection, right into my bloodstream. This, it occurs to me, can teach us how to survive.When our comforts and our accustomed place in the world have been lost, a practice such as this can hold us together in dignity and clear mind.

I think of the dispossessions and humiliations visited upon the Haudenosaunee in recent cen¬turies, of how their health and well being, their whole way of life, have been torn from them. I sud¬denly thought, "These people have gone through a holocaust."Yet they are not defeated, their spirit triumphs. For they give thanks. Is their prac¬tice of gratitude the secret of their nobility and endurance?

In any case, that practice is embedded in the story of their people, a story that I wanted now to learn in more detail.The mission of the Peacemakerover a thousand years ago became very relevant to me, as I saw his continuing impact on the present-day life of the Onondaga. From his formative encounters and choices stem the guiding role of women and the figure of a spiritual leader known as Tadodaho.

When he came across Lake Ontario to teach peace to the feuding tribes, Deganawidah chanced


upon a woman who, though not Participating in the waffare, profited from it and fostered it through lies and rumors. She received his message and served his mission from that moment on, facilitat¬ing contacts with the warring chiefs so his teachings could spread to all five nations. In consequene the Peacemaker, in laying out the Great Law of Peace, assigned special authority to women in the preemi 

nent role of the clan mothers.

The most feared man of the five nations was an Onondagan named Tadodaho, a bloodthirsty sha¬man said to be so evil that snakes grew from his head. As the Peacemaker influence began to change the minds of the people, Tadodaho was infuriated and vented his wrath on a tribesman called Haion_ whatha (Hiawatha) -To stop him from following the Peacemaker Tadodaho killed his daughters. As he grieved, heartbroken Hiawatha found words that would help console others who lost loved ones, fashioning the words into a belt made of white and purple clamshells, creating the first wampum. This cleared Hiawatha mind, and together he and the Peacemaker, joined by forty-nine other lead¬ers from all five nations, won Tadodaho over. They are said to have "combed the snakes" from his hair.

Thereupon Tadodaho became the fifth chief of the confederacy and was named its spiritual leader, a role bearing his name to be continued through the centuries.

At that point, the weapons were buried beneath the great white pine tree on the shore of Onon¬daga Lake, and the Great Law of Peace took hold, laying the basis for self-governance by council, and enshrining two traditions so faithfully followed that they have become identified with the Haudeno-saunee. One is the duty to weigh every decision in terms of its impact on the seventh generation. And the other is the duty of thanksgiving.

Social and environmental thinkers of today point to these traditions as the kind of ethic we desperately need for evolving a life-sustaining soci¬ety. "The Great Law," writes Professor Manno of the State University of New York School of For¬estry, "includes and reinforces an ethic of respon¬sible resource management, a perspective of respect and gratitude toward the natural world, a require¬ment to consider the impacts of decisions on future generations (those 'whose faces are coming from beneath the earth') and clear assignment of stewardship responsibilities. Presently throughout

---

the Lake Ontario Plain, western Lake Erie, the St. Lawrence and Niagara Rivers, and the Finger Lakes Watersheds of northern, central and western NewYork State in the United States and southern Ontario, Canada, the six Haudenosaunee Nations continue to be represented in the Grand Coun¬cil of Chiefs at its capital, the Longhouse of the

Onondaga Nation.*

As I recall my visit to the school of the Onondaga Nation, it is my exposure to the power of gratitude that I am most grateful for. I continue to be struck by the ways it can make us more fully present to our world, jolting us awake to our own aliveness, and charging our will with possibilities for choice. For one thing, gratitude for the gift of life is the primary wellspring of all religions, the hallmark of the mystic, the source of true art. To open to it unblocks our base chakra, ignites energy and eros.

For another thing, gratitude is a choice we can make at any moment. It is not dependent on exter¬nal circumstances. Things don't have to meet with our approval or be just to our liking for gratitude

* Jack P. Manno, "Haudenosaunee Great Law of Peace: A Model for Global Environmental Governance?" in State Sovereignty, Inter¬national Lau and Ecological Integrity, 2010.

to kick in, strong and real. Indeed, moments of dis¬content and frustration can be the best times for

dialing it up.

Finally, gratitude is subversive to consumer soci¬ety. Late capitalism, fated to strive for growth in corporate profits, conditions us to acquire and to keep on feeling insufficient so we can keep on acquiring. In such a political economy, gratitude is a revolutionary act.

What Freida gave me is a staple of Haudeno-saunee culture, recited extemporaneously at the outset of every council meeting and ceremony. The Mohawks have written down similar words, in an equally short form, so the rest of us can have

it too.

THE MOHAWK THANKSGIVING PRAYER

The People

Today we have gathered and we see that the cycles

of life continue. We have been given the duty to live in balance and harmony with each other and

* For more information see wwpeace4turtleisland.0rWPage5/ Thanks.htm.

---

all living things. So now we connect our minds and we give greetings and thanks to each other as people.

Now our minds are one.

The Earth Mother

We are all thankful to our mother, the Earth, for she gives us all that we need for life. She supports our feet as we walk about upon her. It gives us joy that she continues to care for us as she has from the beginning of time. To our mother, we send greet¬ings and thanks.

Now our minds are one.

The Water

We give thanks to all the Waters of the world for quenching our thirst and providing us with strength. Water is life. We know its power in many forms—waterfalls and rain, mists and streams, rivers and oceans. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to the spirit of water:

Now our minds are one.

The Fish

We turn our minds to all the Fish life in the water. They were instructed to cleanse and purify the water. They also give themselves to us as food. We are grateful that we can still find pure water. So, we turn now to the Fish and send our greetings and

thanks.

Now our minds are one.

The Plants

Now we turn toward the vast fields of Plant life. As far as the eye can see, the Plants grow, work¬ing many wonders. They make us happy with a multitude of colors and shapes They sustain many life forms. They give us an abundance of materials from which we can make useful things for our lives. Medicinal herbs are the pharmacy of nature and there is an herb for every disease. With our minds gathered together, we give thanks and look forward to seeing Plant life for many future generations to

come.

Now our minds are one.


----


The Food Plants

With one mind, we turn to honor and thank all the Plant Foods we harvest from the garden. Since the beginning of time, the grains, vegetables, beans, and berries have helped the people survive. Many other living things draw strength from them too. We gather all the Food Plants together as one and send them a greeting and thanks.

Now our minds are one.

The Medicine Herbs

Now we turn to all the Medicine Herbs of the world. From the beginning, they'-were instructed to take away sickness. They are always waiting and ready to heal us.We are happy there are still among us those special few who remember how to use these plants for healing. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to the Medicines and to the keepers of the Medicines.

Now our minds are one.

The Animals

We gather our minds together to send greetings and thanks to all Animal life in the world. They

have many things to teach us as people. Animals give us their lives so that they serve as our food. We see them near our homes and in the deep forests. We are glad they are still here and hope that it will

always be so.

Now our minds are one.

The Trees

We now turn our thoughts to the Trees. The Earth has many families of Trees who have their own instructions and uses. Trees store water and cleanse the air.They are the lungs of the Earth. Some pro¬vide us with shelter and shade, others with fruit, beauty, and other useful things. Many peoples of the world use a Tree as a symbol of peace and strength. With one mind, we greet and thank the Tree life.

Now our minds are one.

The Birds

We put our minds together as one and thank all the Birds who move and fly about over our heads. The Creator gave them beautiful songs. Each day they remind us to enjoy and appreciate life. The Eagle was chosen to be their leader. To all the Birds—

==

from the smallest to the largest—we send our joy¬ful greetings and thanks.

Now our minds are one.

The Four Winds

We are all thankful to the powers we know as the Four Winds. We hear their voices in the moving air as they refresh us and purify the air we breathe. They help to bring the change of the seasons. From the four directions they come, bringing us mes¬sages and giving us strength. With one mind, we send our greetings and thanks to the Four Winds.

Now our minds are one.

The Thunderers

Now we turn to the west where our Grandfathers, the Thunder Beings, live. With lightning and thun¬dering voices, they bring with them the water that renews life. We bring our minds together as one to send greetings and thanks to our Grandfathers, the Thunderers.

Now our minds are one Our Eldest Brother, the Sun

We now send greetings and thanks to our Eldest Brother, the Sun. Each day without fail, he travels the sky from east to west, bringing the light of a new day. He is the source of all the fires of life. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to

our Brother, the Sun.

Now our minds are one.

Grandmother Moon

We put our minds together and give thanks to our oldest Grandmother, the Moon, who lights the nighttime sky. She is the leader of women all over the world, and she governs the movements of the ocean tides. By her changing face we measure time, and it is the Moon who watches over the arrival of children here on Earth. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to our Grandmother,

the Moon.

Now our minds are one.

The Stars

We give thanks to the Stars who are spread across the sky like jewelry. We see them in the night, helping the Moon to light the darkness and bring

===

dew to the gardens and growing things. When we travel at night, they guide us home.With our minds gathered together as one, we send greetings and thanks to all the Stars.

Now our minds are one.

The Enlightened Teachers

We gather our minds to greet and thank the enlight¬ened Teachers who have come to help throughout the ages.When we forget how to live in harmony, they remind us of the way we were instructed to live in peace as people and remind us of the knowl¬edge that has been given to us.With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to these caring Teachers.

Now our minds are one.

The Creator

Now we turn our thoughts to the Creator, or Great Spirit, and send greetings and thanks for the gifts of Creation. Everything we need to live a good life is here on this Mother Earth. For all the love that is still around us, we gather our minds together as one and send our choicest words of greetings and thanks to the Creator.

Now our minds are one.

==

Closing Words

We have now arrived at the place where we end our words. Of all the things we have named, it was not our intention to leave anything out. If something was forgotten, we leave it to each individual to send such greetings and thanks in

their own way.

Now our minds are one.


2] RUSSIA: A Path into the forest

THERE IS a circle dance we do in all of my workshops and classes, whether on systems theory, Buddhism, or deep ecology. We do it to open our minds to the wider world we live in and to strengthen our intention to take part in its heal¬ing. Each time we put on the music and link hands, I think of Novozybkov in the fall of 1992.

Our team of four—two Russians, Harasch and Yuri, my husband Fran and I—had been traveling from one town to another in Belarus and Ukraine, offering workshops to people living in areas con¬taminated by the Chernobyl disaster. Now we had come to our final stop: the town of Novozybkov, an agricultural and light industrial city of 50,000 a hundred miles due east of Chernobyl, in the Bry-ansk region ofRussia.Together with its surrounding

==

villages, it is considered to be the most contami¬nated city of its size that is still inhabited.

Drawing on what we learned from years of lead¬ing groups in despair-and-empowerment work, we came to offer, as we put it to the authorities, "psychological tools for coping with the effects of massive, collective trauma." We had entitled the workshops "Building a Strong Post-Chernobyl Culture." The name had a nice Soviet ring to it, but I soon realized that the word "post" was wrong. It suggested that the disaster was over, but it was soon obvious that it was far from over. The radio¬activity was still spreading silently through wind, water, fodder, and food, creating new toxins as it mixed with automotive and industrial pollution, and sickening bodies already weakened from pre¬vious exposures. Our workshops, we soon realized, were not so much to help people recover from a catastrophe as to help them live with an ongoing one.

We came to Novozybkov at the insistence of Harasch; he preferred to be called by his family name rather than his first name, Adolph. A Rus¬sian psychologist practicing in Moscow, he flew ==

Chernobyl within hours of the accident to give support to the operators of the doomed reactor. In the six years that followed, he traveled to towns throughout the region to help the survivors, but no place had touched his heart more deeply than this city and its fate.

On the train, as we headed east from Minsk toward the Russian border, Harasch pulled out the map and told us the story in greater detail. The burning reactor was a volcano of radioactivity when the winds shifted to the northeast, carrying the clouds of poisoned smoke in the direction of Moscow. To save the millions in the metropolitan area, a fast decision at the highest levels of gov¬ernment was, taken to seed the clouds and cause them to precipitate. The towns, fields and forests of the Bryansk region just across the Russian bor¬der from Chernobyl were soaked by an unusually heavy late April rain, bearing intense concen¬trations of radioactive iodine, strontium, cesium, and particles of plutonium. The highest Geiger counter readings were—and still are—around the city of Novozybkov. "The people there were not informed of their government's choice—

==

who wants to tell people they're disposable?" said Harasch. "By now it's common knowledge that the clouds were seeded, but it is rarely mentioned, and that silence, too, is part of the tragedy for the people of Novozybkov."

In a big open room of a school for special educa¬tion, fifty people of Novozybkov, mostly teachers and parents, women predominating, were seated in a large circle. Carefully, almost formally dressed, they sat upright, eyes riveted on the speaker, and stood up when they spoke, the way their children stand in school when called to recite.

As I explained the nature and purpose of the work we came to do,Yuri offered swift and cogent translations. A young physician and social activ¬ist, he had used my books extensively in Moscow and had his own things to say about how people can overcome feelings of isolation and powerless¬ness and reconnect to take charge of their lives. To interpret from Russian to English for me, without delaying things, Fran murmured in my ear. By mid¬morning, I was glad for a respite from all the words when I put on the tape of the Elm Dance and demonstrated the simple steps. Then we all joined hands and moved together to the music.

The fifty-four of us were too many to dance in one circle, so we formed concentric rings. The movements are easy to learn, and soon the rings were slowly orbiting to the music; each time we stepped toward the middle, raising our linked hands high, it was like a giant sunflower or a many-pet¬aled lotus.

As we danced I wondered what the mayor of Novozybkov would think to see us. Upon our arrival the previous day, our team had called on him to explain what we'd come to do. The handsome, heavyset man of about forty listened guardedly. "It is good of you to come to undertake psychological rehabilitation," he said.

That was the term now in vogue, "psychologi¬cal rehabilitation." I was glad that the emotional toll of the disaster was at last acknowledged by the authorities, especially since, in the three years

following the accident, doctors were ordered by the Ministry of Health to dismiss its effects.When

people insisted that their sickness and exhaustion, their cancers, miscarriages, and deformed babies,

had something to do with Chernobyl, they were diagnosed as afflicted with "radiophobia," an irra¬tional fear of radiation. Still, the phrase "psycho¬logical rehabilitation" irked me; I considered it an affront to the victims of Chernobyl. It reduced their suffering to a pathology, as if it were some¬thing to be corrected.

How could we convey to the mayor the basic difference in our assumptions? "Mr. Mayor, we do not imagine that we can take away the suffering of your people," I said. "That would be presumptuous on our part. But what we can do is look together at the two main ways we respond to collective suf¬fering. The suffering of a people can bring forth from them new strengths and solidarity. Or it can breed isolation and conflict, turning them against each other. There is always a choice."

At that the mayor's demeanor totally changed. Leaning back in his chair, he spread his hands on the table and said, "There is not a single day, not a single encounter in this office, that does not show the anger stirring just under the surface. Whatever the matter at hand, there is this anger that is barely contained, ready to explode." Then, after a pause, "What can I do to Support your work here?"

On that first day of the workshop, however, it became clear that these people had no desire to talk about Chernobyl and its ongoing presence in their lives. They referred to it in passing as "the event" and went on to speak of other things. People in less contaminated towns had told us in detail of the exhaustion, the chronic infections, the emerging patterns of cancers and birth defects. Now I'd come to this most toxic place to be with these people in their suffering, and they didn't want to talk about it. Even when a married couple took turns leaving in the morning and afternoon, they said nothing 'about their little girl in the hospital, to whose bed¬side they hurried.

The group's silence seemed to say,"This we don't need to talk about.We have to deal with this night¬mare all the rest of our time. Here, at last, we can think about something else. We can look together at how we can achieve some sanity and harmony in family life." On that last point, they were explicit. They wanted to know how to deal with defiant children, sullen and depressed spouses, backbiting neighbors.

Harasch leaned over to me." It's all the same thing," he whispered. "Chernobyl. On the conscious level,

4'

==

Chernobyl becomes tension and strife in family relations."

So we focused on family life. It was lively, as peo¬ple took partners to enact encounters between par¬ents and children, switching roles, practicing how to listen to each other. This led them to remember their own childhoods—not only the adolescent frustrations that could help them empathize with their own offspring, but the good times, too. They shared reminiscences of harvest seasons with the grandparents, sleigh parties, and fishing outings to the Dnieper. It all felt so restorative—as if we were partaking together of an excellent and wholesome meal—that Fran set up more exercises where peo¬ple could remember together the old sources of joy.

Why did this suddenly feel so important? "We're strengthening our cultural immune system," I thought to myself, then said it aloud. Just as radia¬tion attacks the integrity of the body, breaking down its capacity for resilience and self-healing, so does it assault our society. Through physical exhaustion and moral despair, it erodes a community's sense of wholeness and continuity. To bolster our cultural immune system, we need to recall who we are and what we love; memories help us do that.

In the evening, before disbanding to go home, we circled once more to the music. A guitar was playing and a woman singing in Latvian, evoking the trees of her land and hopes for its healing. Her words, I was told, disguise other meanings as well—a call for freedom from Soviet occupation and for the will to endure and resist. It didn't matter that we don't know Latvian; it was the lilt of her voice that we danced to and the haunting melody, stately and filled with yearning.

By now the simple steps were so familiar that some people danced with eyes closed. Their faces grew still, as if they were listening for something almost out of-reach. Once they had their own folk dances. When did those traditions die away, rele¬gated to a useless past? Was it under Lenin? Stalin?

Our host family lived in a fourth-floor apart¬ment in a cement housing block. Covering one wall of their parlor was a beautiful woodland scene: sunlight flickering through birch trees into a grassy glade. In the room crowded with overstuffed

==

furniture, that wallpaper vista provided a refreshing sense of space and natural beauty. I commented on it that evening as I took tea with our host's father,* Vladimir Ilyich, who happened to be the Novozybkov school superintendent. Sitting there with his ten-year-old grandson, Vladimir showed me the large Geiger counter he carried in his car; it indicated where the poison had newly appeared, and where to tell the children not to play.

Following my eyes, he said, "That is where the children may not go—or any of us, for that mat-ter.You see, the trees hold the radioactivity a long time. And that is very hard for us because, you see, our ancestors were of the forest, our old stories are of the forest. During the Nazi occupation, our partisans fought from the forest. Even in the hard¬est times under Stalin, we went into the woodlands every holiday, every weekend—walking, picnick¬ing, mushrooming. Yes, we were always people of the forest." Quietly he repeated, "people of the for¬est."

"Vladimir Ilyich," I asked him, "when will you be able to go back into the forest?" With a tired little smile he shrugged. "Not in my lifetime," he said. Looking at his grandson, he added," and not in his lifetime either."Then he gestured to the wallpa-per: "This is our forest now."

It was the second morning of our three days together, and the people entered the school assem¬bly room to take each other's hands and, before any words were spoken, move into the Elm Dance. Every fourth measure, between moving right or left, forward or backward, we paused for four beats, gently swaying. To my eyes that morning, we could have been trees, slender trunks swaying from firm roots, our arms, as we raised them, looking like branches meeting, interlacing. Are we dancing for the forests we can no longer enter?

As I circled in step with all the others, I recalled the connections that brought me this dance—how it came to me from Hannelore, my friend in Ger¬many, who had received it from Anastasia, her Ger¬man friend, who had created it from the Latvian song. The dance is not only for the healing of the elm, said Anastasia to Hannelore to me. It is for intention. It is to strengthen our capacity to choose a purpose, and to follow through on the resolve our hearts have made.

That afternoon the grief broke open.


==

It happened unexpectedly, at the close of a guided meditation in which I invited these people

of Novozybkov to connect with their ancestors and harvest their strengths. Moving through the room, as on a vast wheel turning, they went backward in time through all preceding generations, withYuri's voice guiding them.Then they stopped and moved forward, retracing their steps through time, in order to gather the gifts of the ancestors. But when we came up to the year 1986, they balked.They did not want to come any further into the present. They refused to accept the horror of what happened to them then—and that very refusal compelled them to speak of it.

Talk exploded, releasing memories of that unac¬ceptable spring: the searing hot wind from the southwest, the white ash that fell from a clear sky, the children running and playing in it, the drenching rain that followed, the rumors, the fear. Remember how it was? Remember, remember? I saw you standing in your doorway, watching. Our team had laid out paper and colored pencils for people to draw the gifts they'd harvested from the ancestors, but now there was one theme only. A number of the drawings featured trees, and a road to the trees, and across the road a barrier, or large X, blocking the way.

When we finally reassembled in one large., cir-.cle, the good feelings that had grown during the workshop shattered in anger, now directed at me. "Why have you done this to us?" a woman cried out. "What good does it do? I would be willing to feel the sorrow—all the sorrow in the world—if it could save my two little daughters from cancer. Each time I look at them I wonder about tumors growing inside them. Can my tears protect them? What good are my tears if they can't?"

Angry, puzzled statements came from all around me. Our time together had been so good until now, so welcome a respite from what their lives had become; why had I spoiled it?

Listening to them all, I felt deeply chastened and silently blamed myself for my insensitivity. What, now, could I possibly say? To lecture on the value of despair work would be obscene. When I finally broke the silence that followed the long outburst, I was surprised that the words that came were not about them or their suffering under Chernobyl, but about the people of Hannelore and Anastasia.

"I have no wisdom with which to meet your


grief. But I can share this with you: After the war that almost destroyed their country, the German people determined they would do anything to spare their children the suffering they had known. They worked hard to provide them a safe, rich life. They created an economic miracle.They gave their children everything—except for one thing. They did not give them their broken hearts. And their children have never forgiven them."

The next morning, as we took our seats after the Elm Dance, I was relieved to see that all fifty had returned. Behind us, still taped to the walls, hung the drawings of the previous afternoon, the sketches of the trees, and the slashing Xs that barred the way to the trees. "It was hard yesterday," were my open¬ing words. "How is it with you now?"

The first to rise was the woman who had expressed the greatest anger, the mother of the two daughters. "I hardly slept. It feels like my heart is breaking open. Maybe it will keep breaking again and again, I don't know. But somehow—I can't explain—it feels right. It connects me to every¬thing and everyone, as if we were all branches of the same tree."

Of the others who spoke after her that morning, one was the man who regularly stepped out to visit his little girl in the hospital. This was the first time he had addressed the whole group, and his bearing was as stolid, his face as expressionless, as ever. "Yes, it was hard yesterday," he said. "Hard to look at the pain, hard to feel it, hard to speak it. But the way it feels today—it is like being clean, for the first time in a long time. "The word he used for "clean," chisti, also means "uncontaminated."

At my turn, I spoke of the World Uranium Hearing that I would attend the following week in Salzburg, Austria. People from around the world were coming to testify about their experiences of nuclear contamination. Navajo and Namibian miners would come, Marshall Islanders, Kazakhs, Western Shoshone downwinders from, testing sites, and many others would speak out about the disease and death that follow in the wake of nuclear power and weapons production.

I wanted these men and women of Novozybkov to know that they are not alone in their suffering, but part of a vast web of brothers and sisters who are determined to use their painful experience to help restore the health of our world. "At the hearing, I

==

will speak of you," I said. "I will tell your story to my own people back home. I promise you."

I made that vow because I loved them now, and because I knew they felt forgotten by an outside world that prefers to think that the disaster of Cher¬nobyl is over. As the years pass since that fateful April of 1986, the catastrophe can be wiped from our consciousness as easily as the bulldozers razed the old wooden houses of Novozybkov because, as Vladimir Ilyich said, "wood holds the radioactiv¬ity." And now, as their own government proceeds to build more reactors, it can seem to these families that nothing has been learned from all the suffer¬ing. That may be the hardest thing to bear.

I have kept the promise I made to my friends in Novozybkov. I spoke of them at the World Ura¬nium Hearing, and then to every group I met, every class I taught. I found it easier to share their story when I shared the Elm Dance they loved. In Boston and London, in Bonn and Vancouver, in Tokyo and Sydney, and everywhere else I've led workshops, I ask people to imagine they are danc¬ing with the men and women of Novozybkov,

holding the hands of Vladimir, Elena, Olga, Igor, Misha. I want them to feel, more strongly than is possible through words alone, how their lives are interlaced with the people of Chernobyl.

3] INDIA: An Unexpected Encounter with 'My Mother

ITHOUGHT I knew what compassion was—it is a familiar concept, common to all religions. But in the first summer I spent with the Tibetans in India it appeared in dimensions new to my experience. I wasn't a student of Buddhism when I was living in India with my husband and children and first encountered Tibetan refugees in the foothills of the Himalayas. Nor was it, I thought, interest in the Dharma that drew me back to them the following summer—back to that ragtag collection of monks and lamas and laypeople who, with their leader Khamtrul Rinpoche, had come out from Kham in eastern Tibet. I simply wanted to be around them. I felt a kind of wild gladness in their company, and imagined I could be of some use.

Despite their colorful, stirring ceremonies, they were in difficult straits. Prey to diseases unknown in Tibet, they were living hand to mouth, crowded into rented, derelict bungalows in the hill station of Dalhousie.Wjth no remunerative livelihood or land of their own, they were at risk of being separated from each other and shipped off by Indian authori¬ties to different work projects, road gangs, camps, schools, orphanages, and other institutions being set up for the thousands of refugees pouring out ofTibet fleeing the repressive Chinese occupation. So, along with an American Peace Corps volun¬teer, I worked to help them develop an economic base that would enable them to stay together as a community.

When my children were free from school in Delhi, we moved up to Dalhousie for the sum¬mer. Our goal was to help the refugees draw on their rich artistic heritage to produce crafts for sale and to set up a cooperative marketing scheme. In the process, friendships took root that would change my life. It was clear that the Rinpoches, the incarnate lamas of the community, were great masters ofTibetan Buddhism, but I did not ask for teachings. Given the conditions with which they were coping, and the demands on their attention and health, that seemed presumptuous. I wanted to ease their burdens, not add to them. The pre¬cious hours when we were free to be together were devoted to concocting plans for the commu¬nity, applying for government rations, or choos¬ing wools, dyes, and designs for carpet production. Walking between my rented cottage above Dal-housie's upper circle road and the Khampa com¬munity on a lower ridge a mile below with four children, there was no time for reading scriptures or learning meditation. But the teachings came any¬way. They came in simple, unexpected ways. Here are three of them.

One day, after my morning time with the chil¬dren, I was walking down the mountain to meet with my Khampa friends. Before heading off, I had accompanied my older son, then eleven, to an informal Dharma class for westerners at a school for youngTibetan lamas.The founder of the school, an English-born Tibetan nun, was teaching, and she said, "So countless are all sentient beings, and so many their births throughout time, that each at some point was your mother." She then explained a practice for developing compassion: it consisted

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of viewing each person as your mother in a former life.

I played with the idea as I walked on down the mountain, following a narrow road winding through cedar and rhododendron trees. The astro¬nomical number of lifetimes that the nun's words evoked boggled my mind—yet the intent of this quaint practice, for all of its far-fetched fantasy, was touching. What a pity, I thought, that this was not a practice I could use, since reincarnation hardly featured as part of my worldview.Then I paused on the path as the figure of a laborer approached.

Load-bearing laborers were a familiar sight on the roads of Dalhousie, and the most heavily laden of all were those who struggled up the mountain with mammoth logs on their backs. They were low-caste mountain folk whose bent, gaunt forms were dwarfed by their burdens, many meters long. I had become accustomed to the sight of them, and accustomed as well to the sense of consternation that it triggered in me. I would usually look away in discomfort, and pass by with internally muttered judgments about the kind of social and economic system that so exploited its own population.

That afternoon I stood stock still. I watched the slight, bandy-legged figure move slowly uphill toward me, negotiating his burden—the trunk of a cedar tree—around the bend. Backing up to prop the rear of the log against the bank and ease the weight of it, the laborer paused to catch his breath. "Namaste," I said softly, and stepped hesitantly toward him. I wanted to see his face. But he was still strapped under his log, and I would have had to crouch down under it to look up at his features—which I ached now to see. What face did she now wear, this dear one who had long ago mothered me? My heart trembled with gladness and distress. I wanted to touch that dark, half-glimpsed cheek, and meet those lidded eyes bent to the ground. I wanted to undo and rearrange the straps that I might share his burden up the mountain. Whether out of respect or embarrassment, I did not do that. I simply stood five feet away and drank in every feature of that form—the grizzled chin, the rag turban, the gnarled hands grasping the forward overhang of log.

The customary comments of my internal social scientist evaporated.What appeared now before me

was not an oppressed class or an indictment of an economic system so much as a distinct, irreplace 

able, and incomparably precious being. My mother. My child. A thousand questions rose urgently in my mind. Where was he headed? When would he reach home? Would there be loved ones to greet him and a good meal to eat? Was there rest in Store? Songs? Embraces?

When the man heaved the log off the bank to balance its weight on his back again and proceed uphill, I headed on down the mountain path. I had done nothing to change his life or betray my discovery of our relationship. But the Dalhousie mountainside shone in a different light; the fur¬nishings of my mind had been rearranged, my heart broken open. How odd, I thought, that I did not need to believe in reincarnation for such a thing to happen.

The second incident occurred soon after, on a similar summer Dalhousie afternoon. It was one of the many tea times with Khamtrul Rinpoche, the head of the refugee community from Kham, and two of his younger tulkus or incarnate lamas, when we were devising plans for their craft pro¬duction center. As usual, Khamtul Rinpoche had a stretched canvas propped at his side on which, with his customary, affable equanimity, he would be painting as we drank our tea and talked. His great round face exuded a serene confidence that our deliberations would bear fruit,just as the Bud¬dha forms on his canvas would take form under the fine sable brush in his hands.

I, as usual, was seized by urgency to push through plans for the craft cooperative and requests for grants. I could not know then that this work would eventuate in the monastic settlement of Tashi Jong, where in a few years, the 400-member community of Khampa monks and laypeople would sink their roots in exile.

On this particular afternoon a fly fell into my tea.This was, of course, a minor occurrence. After a year in India I considered myself to be unperturbed by insects, be they ants in the sugar bin, spiders in the cupboard, and even scorpions in my shoes in the morning. Still, as I lifted my cup, I must have registered, by my facial expression or a small grunt, the presence of the fly. Choegyal Rinpoche, the eighteen-year-old tulku who was already becom¬ing my friend for life, leaned forward in sympathy and consternation. "What is the matter?"

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"Oh, nothing," I said. "It's nothing—just a fly in my tea." I laughed lightly to convey my acceptance and composure. I did not want him to suppose that mere insects were a problem for me; after all, I was an experienced traveler in India, relatively free of Western phobias and attachments to modern sani¬tation.

Choegyal crooned softly, in apparent commiser¬ation with my plight," Oh, oh, a fly in the tea." "It's

no problem," I reiterated; smiling at him reassur 

ingly. But he continued to focus great concern on my cup. Rising from his chair, he leaned over and

inserted his finger into my tea. With great care he

lifted out the offending fly—and then exited from the room. The conversation at the table resumed. I

was eager to secure Khamtrul Rinpoche's agree¬ment on plans to secure the high-altitude wool he desired for the carpet production.

When Choegyal Rinpoche reentered the cot¬tage he was beaming. "He is going to be all right," he told me quietly. He explained how he had placed the fly on the leaf of a branch by the door, where his wings could dry. And the fly was still alive, because he began fanning his wings, and we could confidently expect him to take flight soon

That is what I remember of that afternoon—not the agreements we reached or plans we devised, but Choegyal's report that the fly would live. And I recall, too, the laughter in my heart. I could not, truth to tell, share Choegyal's dimensions of com-passion, but the pleasure in his face revealed how much I was missing by not extending my self-con¬cern to all beings, even to flies. The very notion that it was possible gave me boundless delight.

My third lesson that summer also occurred casually, in passing. In order to help the Tibetans I wanted to tell their story to the world—a story I was just beginning to discover. J had stunning photos of the Tibetans in exile, of their faces and crafts, and the majestic lama dances of their lineage. I envisaged an illustrated article for a popular peri¬odical, like National Geographic. In order to hook Western sympathies and enlist Western support, such an article, I figured, should include the hor¬rors from which these refugees had escaped. Stories of appalling inhumanity and torture on the part of the Chinese occupation had come to me only

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peripherally, in snatches, from laypeople and other Westerners.The Rinpoches themselves were reluc¬tant to describe or discuss them.

I presented my argument to Choegyal Rin-poche, the most accessible and confiding of the

tulkus. He had been a mature thirteen-year-old

when the soldiers invaded his monastery, and he had his own memories of what they had done to

his monks and lamas. I suspected a voyeuristic ele 

ment in my eagerness to hear the ghastly tales—a voyeurism bred by the yellow journalism of Sun 

day supplements in my New York childhood, and by horror movies of arcane Chinese torture. Still I knew that such accounts would arrest the atten¬tion of Western readers and rally support for the Tibetan cause.

Only when I convinced Choegyal that sharing these memories with the Western public would aid the plight ofTibetan refugees did he begin to dis 

close some of what he had seen and suffered at the hands of the Chinese before his flight from Tibet. The stories came in snatches of conversations, as we paused outside the new craft production cen¬ter or walked over to the monastery in its tern 

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porary, rented quarters. Only then did he divulge some of what had occurred. Many of his revela 

tions, the forms of intimidation, coercion, and tor¬ture employed, have become public knowledge by

now, although reports from Amnesty International

and the International Council of Jurists may not have the heart-churning immediacy of Choegy 

al's words. The lesson I learned, however, and that will stay forever with me, is not about the human capacity for cruelty.

I was standing with Choegyal under a rhodo¬dendron tree, the sunlight flickering on his face

through the leaves and through blossoms the color

of his robes. He had just divulged what must have been the most painful of his memories—what the

Chinese military had done to his monks in the

great prayer hail, as his teachers hid him on the mountainside above the monastery. I gasped with

shock, and breathed hard to contain the grief and anger that arose in me. Then I was stilled by the look he turned on me, with eyes that shone with unshed tears.

"Poor Chinese' he murmured.

With a shudder of acknowledgment, I realized

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that the tears in his eyes were not for himself or for his monks or for his once great monastery of Dugu in the land of Kham in Eastern Tibet. Those tears were for the destroyers themselves.

"Poor Chinese," he said, "they make such bad karma for themselves."

I cannot emulate that reach of compassion, but I have seen it. I have recognized it. I know now that it is within our human capacity. And that changes for me the face of life.

LOVING KINDNESS MEDITATION

Loving kindness, or metta, is the first of the four "Heavenly Abodes," or brahmaviharas. The others are compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity. Metta is a staple of Buddhist practice the world over. The nun who founded the Young Lamas' School in Dalhousie first taught it to me. Here is a version that I have adapted for use in the West.

Close your eyes and begin to relax, exhaling to expel ten¬sion. Now center in on the normalfiow of the breath, let¬ting go of all extraneous thoughts as you passively watch the breathing-in and breathing-out.

Now call to mind someone you love very dearly. . . in your mind's eye see theface of that beloved one. . .silently speak her or his name.... Feel your love for this being, like a current of energy coming through you.... Now let yourseif experience how much you want this person to befree from fear; how intensely you desire that this person be released from greed and ill will,from confusion and sorrow and the causes of suffering.... That desire, in all its sincerity and strength, is metta, the great loving kindness....

Continuing to feel that warm energy flow coming through the heart, see in your mindc eye those with whom you share your daily life—family members, close friends and colleagues, the people you live and work with.... Let them appear now as in a circle around you. Behold them one by one, silently speaking their names. . . and direct to each in turn that same current of loving kindness.... Among these beings may be some with whom you are uncomfort¬able, in conflict or tension. With those especially, experi¬ence your desire that each befreefrom fear and hatred ,free from greed and ignorance and the causes of suffering.

Now allow to appear, in wider concentric circles, your rela¬tions, and your acquaintances.... Let the beam of loving kindness play on them as well, pausing on the faces that

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appear randomly in your mind's eye. With them, as well, experience how much you want theirfreedom from greed, fear, hatred, and confusion, how much you want all beings to be happy.

Beyond them, in concentric circles that are wider yet, appear now all beings with whom you share this planet-time. Though you have not met, your lives are inter-connected in ways beyond knowing. To these beings as well, direct the same powerful current of loving kindness. Experience your desire and your intention that all beings awakenfrom fear and hatred,from greed and confusion... that all beings be released from suffering....

As in the ancient Buddhist meditation, we direct the lov¬ing kindness now to all the "hungry ghosts," the restless spirits that roam in suffering, still prey tofrar and con-fusion. May they find rest.. .may they rest in the great loving kindness and in the deep peace it brings.

By the power of our imagination let us move out now beyond our planet, out into the universe, into other solar systems, other galaxies. The current of loving kindness is not affected by physical distances, and we direct it now, as if aiming a beam of light, to all centers of conscious l!fe. . . . And to all sentient beings everywhere we direct our heartfelt wish that they, too, be free offear and greed, of hatred and confusion and the causes of suffering.... May all beings be happy.

Now, as iffrom out there in the interstellar distances, we turn and behold our own planet, our home.... We see it suspended there in the blackness of space, a blue and white jewel planet turning in the light of its sun.... Slowly we approach it, drawing nearer, nearer, returning to this part of it, this region, this place.... And as you approach this place, let yourse!f see the being you know best of all.. .the person it has been given you to be in this lifetime. . . . You know this person better than anyone else does, know its pain and its hopes, know its need for love, know how hard it tries.... Let the face of this being, your own face, appear before you. . .speak the name you are called in love.... And experience, with that same strong energy current of loving kindness, how deeply you desire that this being be free from fear, released from greed and hatred, liberated from ignorance and confusion and the causes of suffering.... The great loving kindness linking you to all beings is now directed to your own self. ..know now the fullness of it.



4] AUSTRALIA: The Rainforest Recognizes Itself

THE NORWEGIAN philosopher and mountain climber Arne Naess coined the term "deep ecology" in the early 1970s to denote the radical interrelatedness of all life forms and to summon the environmental movement beyond human-centered goals. Deep ecology broadens one's sense of identity and responsibility, freeing us to experi¬ence what Naess calls the "ecological self." I Was already familiar with these notions when I went to Australia in 1985, but only there did I feel their full impact.

I was offering workshops to Australian activ¬ists who were resisting nuclear testing, uranium mining, and the logging of their last old-growth forests. The group work I offered was known as despair-and-empowerment; it helped free them

from burnout and kindled their courage and soli¬darity What I was offering seemed the best I could do, until I met forest activist John Seed.

He was born Janos Kaempfner in Budapest at the end of the Second World War and had grown up in Australia, trying out a variety of occupations before he cofounded a Buddhist-based commu-nity—Bodhi Farm. Three years before we met, his life was seized by a larger purpose when he found himself defending the Nightcap Range, a vestige of the great primordial rainforests of Gondwanaland, Australia's mother continent.

"I'll show it to you," he said at the end of my weekend workshop in northeastern New South Wales.We spent the next day together.Walking into the green-lit stillness of that rainforest, with only birdcalls and water splashes breaking the silence, I tried to picture the life-altering confrontation that had taken place there—the screaming chainsaws, the crashing of the trees as they fell, the police megaphones, the songs and shouts of the protesters. The activists had been fighting for time—and they halted the logging long enough for their demand for an environmental impact statement to wend its way through the courts and government offices down in Sydney.That's when John discovered what he was.

Standing there facing the bulldozers, what he sensed above all was the forest rising behind him. As he described it to me, he felt himself rooted in the immensely larger being that had brought him forth. That primordial cradle of life now claimed him. All the roles he had played until then—IBM systems analyst, sculptor, hippie farmer—were sub¬sumed in a vaster and truer identity. "I was no lon¬ger John Seed protecting the rainforest. I was the rainforest protecting herself through this little piece of the humanity I cradled into existence."

"That's the ecological self talking," I marveled as we followed the winding, spongy path back out to the road.

Until I met John Seed, deep ecology had been a useful concept. Now it assumed a different reality. John, I was soon to realize, took the human-centeredness, or anthropocentrism, of our culture more seriously than 'I had; and he let me see the clarity and vitality that arise when we consciously shake loose from it.

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Now John was taking me on to the land of Bodhi Farm. He wanted to show me the Rainforest Infor¬mation Centre that he had launched after his expe¬rience in the Nightcap Range. An old, vine-draped double-decker bus—it was almost invisible among the trees—but there he kept his finger on the pulse of efforts to defend forests around the Pacific Rim. He described new forms of nonviolent resistance and new economic alternatives. Small, sustainable logging ventures, like the "walkabout sawmill," gave people an alternative to selling off their ancestral lands to multinational corporations.

But there was no way, John said, that these efforts, even if they were multiplied tenfold, one hundredfold, could save Earth's forests. Look at the world demand for lumberand the collusion of local poli¬ticians with foreign industries. Look at the accel¬erating pace of deforestation. Even if activists won every battle they waged, it would hardly make a dent. John saw this with total realism, yet kept on giving his life to this work. "I do it," he said, "to help catalyze a shift in consciousness; that's all that can save us."

I looked at him wonderingly. "What do you do with the despair?" I asked him.

"When I feel despair:" he said, "I try to remem¬ber that it's not me,John Seed, who's protecting the rainforest.The ràinforest is protecting itself, through me and my mates, through this small part of it that's recently emerged into human thinking."

Ah, of course, that changes everything.You would know you were supported by a power greater than your own, you'd feel graced.

"How can we adapt despair-and-empowerment work to free us from the notion that we humans are the crown of creation, that we have claims on the rest of life?" John challenged me. We were squat¬ting on the bank of a forest pond a short distance from the bus, absently watching the waterbugs and considering a swim.

"The work we did on the weekend was power¬ful," he told me. "It blasted away our numbness, uncovered our passion for life. But it's missing a piece.We're still prey to the anthropocentrism that's destroying our world."

So what would it take, we wondered, as we stripped and dove into the pond. What kind of

group work could move us beyond our shrunken human self-interest? The question turned in my mind as I swam down into the brown water.

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The answer that emerged was the Council of All Beings. By the time we dried off and dressed, it was taking shape in our minds: a simply structured ritual, where people step aside from their human identities and speak on behalf of other life forms. We planned it with growing enthusiasm but had

little idea of what it would become in reality; in interaction with others.

"I'll do it during the week-long near Sydney," I said, referring to the final training workshop sched 

uled for the eve of my departure to the States, "bt you've got to promise to be there."

It was easier than I expected. On a midweek after¬noon, I simply invited the forty trainees- to let themselves be chosen by another life form. From cardboard and paints, mud and leaves, we niade masks. To the beat of a drum, we moved in proces¬sion to a wide gorge and gathered in a circle on flat

boulders downstream from a waterfall We identi¬fied ourselves, one by one.

"I am Wild Goose," I said. "I speak for migratory birds."

"I am Wheat, and I speak for all cultivated grains;" said the next.

"I am Red Kangaroo, I speak for the large mar¬supials."

"I am Mycorrhizae, the fungal network inter¬connecting the roots of trees in the forest." That was John.

As the life forms, we spoke of what we saw hap¬pening to our world, our lives. Laughter bubbled up at the implausibility of what we were attempting, and tears came, too, for the losses we were allow¬ing ourselves to feel. The depth of feeling and the playfulness mixed well, as they do with children.

"I speak for Weeds—weeds, a name humans give to plants they do not use. I am vigorous and strong. I love to thrust and seed—even through concrete. Pushing through paving, I bring moisture and life. I heal the burned and wounded Earth. Yet I am doused with poison now, as are the creatures living in me, through me."

"I amWoompoo Pigeon. I live in the last pockets of rainforest. I call my song through the giant trees and the cool green light. But I no longer get a reply. Where are my kind? Where have they gone? I hear only the echo of my own call."

"I am Mountain, I am ancient, strong, and solid, built to endure. But now I am being dynamited

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and mined, my forest skin is ripped off me, my top¬soil washed away, my streams and rivers choked." One upstart species was at the root of all this trouble—its representatives had better come and hear this council. So we took turns, a few at a time, putting down our masks and moving to the center of the circle, as humans. There we sat facing out¬ward, forced to listen only. No chance to divert ourselves with explanations or excuses or analyses

of economic necessities.

When I sat for a spell in the center, a human in the presence of other life forms, I felt stripped. I wanted to protest. "I'm different from the loggers and the miners, the multinational CEOs and the consumers they fatten on,"j wanted to say. "I am a sensitive, caring human; I meditate and lead work 

shops and recycle."

But because I wasn't permitted to speak and defend myself, the words I would have filled the air with began to evaporate in my mind. I saw them for what they were—essentially irrelevant. The deep ecology that had so lured me with its affirmation of my interconnectedness with other species now forced me to acknowledge my embeddedness in my own. If I was linked to the wild goose and the

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mycorrhizae, I was far more linked to the invest¬ment speculators and compulsive shoppers. Shared accountability sank in.

But by the very plans I had devised with John, I wasn't allowed to stay sitting there as a human, marooned in human culpability. As the others had, I moved back from the center to the periphery, to see and speak from that wider context. From here we could see more clearly the isolation in which the humans imagine themselves to exist, and the fear that seizes them—a fear that generates greed and panic. For our own survival we—as their brother-sister species—must help them. "As Weeds I offer you humans some tenacity. However hard the ground, we don't give up! We know how to keep at it, resting when needed, keeping on, until suddenly—crack!-we're in the sunlight again. That is what we give you—Our persistence."

"I offer you peace and stability," said Mountain. "Come to me at my time to rest, to dream.WithOut dreams you lose vision and hope. Come, too, for my solid strength?'

Each being spoke, often more than once, and what a harvest it was! Much of the gladness in the giving came from the fact that the powers we

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named were already within us, and we were bring 

ing them to consciousness Could we even speak them, were that not so?

INVOCATION by John Seed

We ask for the presence of the spirit of Gala

and pray that the breath of life continues to caress this planet home.

May we grow into true understanding_ a deep understanding that inspires us to Protect the tree on which we bloom, and the water; soil, and atmosphere without which we have no existence

May we turn inward and stumble upon our true roots in the intertwining biology of this exquisite planet. May nourishment and power Pulse through these roots, and fierce determina¬tion to continue the billion-year dance.

May love well up and burst forth from our hearts.

May there be a new dispensation of pure and powerful consciousness and the charter to witness and facilitate the healing of the tattered biosphere.

We ask for the presence of the spirit of Gaia to be with us here. To reveal to us all that we need to see, for our own highest good and for the highest good of all.

We call upon the spirit of evolution, the miraculous force that inspires rocks and dust to weave themselves into biology. You have stood by us for millions and billions of years—do not forsake us now. Empower us and awaken in us pure and dazzling creativityYou that can turn scales into feathers, seawater to blood, caterpillars to butterflies—metamorphose our species, awaken in us the powers that we need to survive the present crisis and evolve into more eons of our solar journey.

Awaken in us a sense of who we truly are: tiny ephemeral blossoms on the Tree of Life. Make the purpose and destiny of that tree our own purpose and destiny.

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Fill each of us with love for our true Self, which includes all of the creatures and plants and landscapes of the world. Fill us with a powerful urge for the well-being and continual unfolding of this Self.

May we speak in all human councils on behalf of the animals and plants and landscapes of the Earth.

May we shine with a pure inner passion that will spread rapidly through these leaden times.

May we all awaken to our true and only nature—none other than the nature of Gala, this living planet Earth.

We call upon the power that sustains the planets in their orbits, that wheels our Milky Way in its 200-million-year spiral, to imbue our personali¬ties and our relationships with harmony, endur¬ance, and joy. Fill us with a sense of immense time so that our brief, flickering lives may truly reflect the work of vast ages past and also the

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millions of years of evolution whose potential lies in our trembling hands.

stars, lend us your burning passion.

silence, give weight to our voice. We ask for the presence of the spirit of Gaia.


A wild love for the world : Joanna Macy and the work of our time / edited by Stephanie Kaza

 

Cover image for A wild love for the world : Joanna Macy and the work of our time / edited by Stephanie Kaza.
Title: 
A wild love for the world : Joanna Macy and the work of our time / edited by Stephanie Kaza.
Summary: 
A leading figure in Buddhist-informed social and ecological activism since the 1980s, Joanna Macy's life work is rooted in a profound study of the parallels between Buddhist and scientific worldviews. Her innovative efforts at the intersection of systems theory, Buddhist practice, and social and environmental justice have produced important developments in areas ranging from anti-nuclear activism and climate change to grief work and indigenous rights. 

In this collection, prominent artists, writers, activists, scientists, and religious leaders offer reflections on Macy's contributions to their personal development and to the growth of their fields. 

Interspersed with these essays are ten stories from Macy herself, narrating pivotal moments that changed the course of her life. 

Taken together, these offerings illuminate Macy's fierce, hopeful vision of an alternative way forward for ourselves, our society, and our future.