“没有伤口的痛处”

这篇文章，我是应英国杂志Index on Censorship（查禁目录）的约稿而写的。已译为英文，最近发表在http://www.indexoncensorship.org/2010/09/smashed-hits-2-magazine。

英文译文，据告翻译得很好，见下，以及http://www.highpeakspureearth.com/2010/10/tradition-in-protest-woesers-article.html/。


“没有伤口的痛处”

文/唯色

扎西东知是一个牧民歌手，在2008年以前，确切地说，直到在图伯特的历算上被称为土鼠年的年底，我才听说。而许多人跟我一样，也是因为他的一首歌才知道他。我很惊讶，他不过二十多岁，但他为那场遍及图伯特的抗议而唱的歌，不但讲述了2008年，还讲述了1958年，整整五十年来博巴（藏人）所蒙受的苦难。一位刚从兰州的大学毕业的安多青年，为我记录了歌词，并不长，但每一句都像炸弹。难道不是吗？好像没有哪一位境内的博巴歌手，这么明明白白地唱到：

在公元1958年，
黑色的敌人来到藏地；
喇嘛被关进狱中，
那个年代我们深感恐惧。

在公元2008年，
博巴遭到无端殴打；
地球上的平民被屠杀，
那个年代我们深感恐惧。

我反复地听过名为《1958-2008的恐惧》这首歌。扎西东知弹拨的琴声清脆悦耳，吟唱中饱含回忆的痛楚，以及与他的年龄不相符的苍凉。有一位北京音乐人，去过拉萨，也去过安多和康，似乎更偏爱安多和康，因为那里的弹唱让他入迷。他好奇地说，意大利的曼陀铃这种乐器，在图伯特的流行程度恐怕超过了全世界任何一个地方，因为有不计其数的博巴弹得一手好琴。是啊，不止在辽阔的乡野可以听到，连寺院的僧人也常常自弹自唱，不少人自己掏钱印制并不精致的唱片，这显然意味着无与伦比的热情。曼陀铃已经在藏语中有了自己的名字，叫“咚兰”。甚至乐器的样子也变了，被博巴歌手们装饰得五彩缤纷，充满本土元素，结果是，这舶来的曼陀铃变得像是从来就属于图伯特。

有人给我传来了扎西东知的照片，看上去，这个有着细长双眼、圆脸庞的青年很时尚，因为他把头发染黄了，还穿着黑色的猎装。据说他以前歌唱的是爱情和家乡的风光，那么当他像鸟儿一样发出的鸣叫，打破了黑夜的沉寂，他会不会成为狩猎者的目标？听说他真的被囚禁过多日，如果他因此不再发声，我一点也不奇怪，在枪口下紧闭嘴巴毕竟成了我们生活的常态，不少有着动听歌喉的男人和女人，转而变成了浓妆艳抹的伶人或者红色的高音喇叭，于是被赐予了炫目的荣华。扎西东知却没有像那些人那样阉割自己，当他再次歌唱的时候，不是一首，而是十三首，组成了专辑《心中的伤痕》，足足印了五千张之多，在安多的许多地方都被争抢一空。于是以演唱、传播“反动歌曲”为罪名，他家乡的警察准备抓他，大概走漏了风声，新婚不久的扎西东知弃家而逃，但戏剧化的是，数日后，他在省会西宁的一家火锅店里，与朋友们推杯换盏的时候，被风尘仆仆的警察逮住了。

有人，是的，是他的一位亲戚，在一座有名的寺院当阿卡（僧人）。阿卡会上网，通过Skype告诉我，这十三首歌曲已经放在了网上，每一首都有扎西东知徜徉在高山上或草原上弹唱的镜头。“他穿上藏装真好看，像个明星”。阿卡突然露出欣羡的语气，让我转悲为喜。我很想知道扎西东知唱的是什么，阿卡于是又听了几遍再为我讲解，而那些旋律相仿的弹唱穿过无限的空间被我听闻，就像是在这秘密的时刻，我们一起担当着共同的命运。我不禁为这样的歌词哽咽欲泣：

我没有见过达赖喇嘛，
想到这，我是一个苦命的博巴。

我没有参加2008年的抗议
想到这，我是一个无用的博巴。

我没有举起雪山狮子旗，
想到这，我是一个无用的男人……

网络的力量是惊人的。远在北京的我，虽然很难寻求得到在图伯特已被查禁的唱片，但还来得及从网上分享扎西东知的歌声及形象。年轻的博巴们写下留言，赞美他是民族的勇士，慨叹他的勇气，不过随着他的消息被外界获悉并被报道，这些歌曲都被删除了。这时候，我遇到一位在印度学习的博巴，好像是阿卡介绍的，我已不记得。而他就像是专门为了翻译扎西东知的歌才出现的，以后我们再也没有联系过，说来真是神秘。他把其中两首歌译为中文，谁看见了都会为之动容。我仅摘录这样的片段：

长者永去无回的悲痛，
民族之间逐渐决裂的悲痛，
图伯特永不见自由的悲痛，
这就是我的痛，
没有伤口的痛处……

从小在草原上放牧牛羊的牧民歌手扎西东知很快就被严惩了，他被判处劳教15个月，押回了过去生活着游牧部落的家乡。一天，一位多年不见的同族友人来看我，他是优秀的母语诗人，以诗为马，奔驰在异乡。但我没想到他也是扎西东知的亲戚。而他口中的扎西东知，那简直就是一个顽劣青年：喜欢在小饭馆饮酒高歌，喜欢在草地上追逐姑娘，甚至，因为唱了《1958-2008的恐惧》而被拘留又获释后，在众人欢迎他的宴会上，与一位年龄相仿的朱古（俗称活佛）喝醉打架，头上还是哪里被缝过几针，“呵呵，他现在是英雄了，我在西宁街头博巴卖唱片的摊上问，有没有扎西东知的歌儿，小贩在确定我不是警察或者便衣之后，会拿来一个大口袋，里面就有他的唱片，当然是复制的，很多。”友人不无得意地对我说。



Performing political songs can lead to severe punishment in Tibet.
Woeser celebrates a singer who is not afraid to confront taboos.

"Tradition of Protest"
Until 2008, I had never heard of Tibetan singer Tashi Dhondup. Like many others, I first became aware of him because of one particular song about the protests spreading through Tibet. It described not only 2008, but also 1958 – the entire five decades of Tibetan suffering. The lyrics were short, but each line was explosive. What other Tibetan singer within China’s borders has sung so plainly?

The year of 1958
Is when the black enemy entered Tibet
Is when the lamas were put in prison
That time was terrifying ...
The year of 2008
Is when innocent Tibetans were beaten
Is when people of the world were massacred
That time was terrifying.

I listened over and over to that song, ‘The Terror of 1958–2008’. The accompaniment Dhondup plays is crisp and pleasant, his voice full of painful memories and a desolation beyond his years – he is in his 20s. A friend of mine in Beijing, who is a musician, told me that he preferred Amdo and Kham to Lhasa when he visited Tibet, as he was enchanted by the mandolin- accompanied singers. He said that the mandolin – which originated in Italy – seemed to be more popular there than anywhere else in the world, with countless skilled Tibetan musicians. You hear it played not only in the countryside, but also by monks singing in monastery courtyards. Many fund their own simple recordings, a sign of real passion. The mandolin is now known by the Tibetan word dranyen, meaning guitar or lute, and instruments are
decorated with bright local colours and motifs. Tibet has made the instrument its own.

Someone sent me a photo of Dhondup. Round-faced, with long narrow eyes, he appeared fashionable, dressed in black hunting gear with lightened hair. Apparently he used to sing songs of love and home: now that he was breaking the silence of a dark night, would he become a target for hunters? I heard that he was once detained and I would not have blamed him for opting to fall silent – falling silent at gunpoint is normal for us now, with many talented singers opting to stick to traditional songs and propaganda in exchange for fame. But Dhondup chose not to castrate himself that way – the next time he sang it was not one song, but 13. The album Scarred Heart sold 5,000 copies, selling out in many parts of Amdo. Tipped off that the police were preparing to arrest him for performance and distribution of ‘reactionary songs’, Dhondup fled his home. He had just got married. Several days later, the road-weary policemen caught up with him in a Xining hotpot restaurant as he was drinking with friends and detained him.

One of his relatives is a monk at a renowned lamasery. He has access to the internet and told me over Skype that the album was available online, with videos of Dhondup singing on mountain-tops and grasslands. ‘He looks great in Tibetan clothing, just like a star.’ His admiring tone turned my sorrow into joy. I really wanted me, as if at a secret time we were burdened with the same fate. The lyrics brought tears to my eyes.

I’ve never seen the Dalai Lama
So I feel that I’m a poor Tibetan
I didn’t join the protest in 2008
So I feel that I’m a useless Tibetan
I didn’t hoist the Snow Lion
So I feel I’m useless even as a man.

The recordings banned in Tibet are of course not to be found in Beijing, but I could hear and see Dhondup online. Young Tibetan commentators praised him as an ethnic hero and applauded his courage. But as news of Dhondup reached the outside world and reports started to appear, the songs were deleted. At this point I met a Tibetan who had studied in India. It seemed as if he had appeared simply to translate the lyrics – I never heard from him again, very mysterious. He translated two songs into Chinese, and anyone hearing them could not fail to be moved. I noted down this passage:

The sorrow that a man of the Holiness doesn’t return home
The sorrow that my fellow became separated
The sorrow that freedom doesn’t come to Tibet
This is my pain without a wound ...

This is considered a reactionary song. I remember at the end of 2008 the deputy head of the Lhasa Public Security Bureau announced the arrest of 59 ‘rumour-mongers’ for ‘inciting ethnic sentiment’. These particular rumours were spread by ‘illegally downloading reactionary songs, and selling them to the public on CD and as MP3 and MP4 files’. But this may confuse many – the concept of ‘reactionary songs’ is not a common one. It has its own unique meaning. As a Chinese commenter once said: ‘Many ask what totalitarianism means, but it’s like asking what rain means – it’s hard to express, but you know when you’re caught in it.’ So when a Times reporter asked me what constituted a reactionary song, I could easily list at least ten. Perhaps she was only surprised by the strict ban on songs that merely mentioned our exiled spiritual leader. Straight-talkers like Tashi Dhondrup are rare, but he dared to sing:

Your holiness Dalai Lama
Please no longer be a wanderer
There are many pious people in Tibet
We are always waiting for you by the side of your throne.

Other reactionary songs are more oblique, using a white tower or golden sun to refer to the Dalai Lama. If we view reactionary songs as a product of the past 50 years, it has clearly already become a tradition: a tradition of protest, a tradition of not submitting, a tradition that spreads endlessly. Many of these songs are written by Tibetans in exile, but also by those within China’s borders – at all times and in every region, not just today or only in certain cities or villages. Some songs are blunt and immediately banned, some more subtle and so tacitly allowed to circulate. It would be an interesting topic for an academic study. But for us – that is, for my generation – memories of reactionary songs go back to the 1980s, such as these popular lyrics from 1989:

We haven’t bought India
Nor sold Lhasa
The Dalai Lama is not homeless
The Norbulingka will be yet more splendid
We Tibetans are looking forward
And in one or two years
We’ll return in freedom

I’ve been told that normally servile Tibetan cadres from the local Academy of Sciences once got drunk at a festival celebration and choked back tears as they sang these words.

It seems normal to us now when the authorities stamp on reactionary songs. But only in Lhasa did they arrest as many as 59 at once for distributing music, and I heard they were mostly students. What was the purpose? Were they so angry at the popularity of these songs that a major arrest was necessary to serve as a lesson to the rest? Or could they not come up with any ‘splittists’ and had to make downloading a few songs of home and the Dalai Lama into a major crime? Or are those who rely on the ‘anti-splittist’
struggle for their living, creating enemies for the great Party?

Dhondup was swiftly punished – sentenced to 15 months of re-education through labour and sent back to his home village, once populated by nomadic herders. One day a Tibetan friend of mine, whom I hadn’t seen for a long time, came to visit me. He is a fine poet in our native language and has travelled widely. But I had no idea he was also related to Dhondup. However, the Dhondup he spoke of was a wayward youth who liked to get drunk, sing, and chase grassland girls. At a meal to celebrate his release from detention for singing ‘The Terror of 1958–2008’, he even needed stitches after a drunken fight with a young Rimpoche (reincarnated Tibetan lama). Not without pride, my friend told me: ‘He’s a hero now. When I ask at roadside stalls in Xining if they’ve got his songs they make sure I’m not police or undercover, then pull out a big bag full of his recordings. They’re all copies of course.’