2020年12月28日星期一

唯色RFA博客:天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(八)


评论 | 唯色:天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(八)我编著的《仁波切之殇》一书,2015年9月台湾雪域出版社出版,尊者达赖喇嘛赐序并为丹增德勒著转世祈愿文。(唯色2015年摄影)

















10、

……随着时间的推移,我越来越多地了解到这些残酷的真相,从而改变了我旧有的那种浪漫化的游历与写作,慢慢地转变成饱含泪水、叹息和挣扎的记录,并开始祈望所有的叙述能够具有编年史的广度和史诗的感染力。这更是漫长的后话,需要我另写文章详述。不,我为此写的不是文章,而是一本类似跟踪记录长达十多年的档案之书,书名是《仁波切之殇》。

是的,丹增德勒仁波切在蒙冤入狱十三年后突然离奇亡故,那是2015年在酷暑难耐的四川省会成都的川东监狱发生的。而他遭强行火化后的骨灰在悲伤的亲人带回故乡的路上,竟然被权力的化身抢夺并倒入了滔滔奔流的大渡河水……给我编过六十三根发辫的俄多,在2008年那个多事之年与特意经过此地的我很不容易、也是很短暂地再见时哭诉道:“我们这里三年了,没有过节日。整个塔子坝,三年没有节日过。每天都在说喇嘛,一天天喊喇嘛,老人死的时候喊着喇嘛的名字。这个名字提不得,我们这里,没有人不哭。啊啊啊,中国这么对待这样一个喇嘛,喇嘛什么错事都没做过……”俄多和降村如今都离开了人世,不知最后将他们的肉身天葬的是谁?他们的年纪都不算大,却在丹增德勒仁波切悲惨离世后的这几年里接踵离世,就像是心碎而死。

2008年6月我与王力雄在藏地旅行时,与居住雅江县红龙乡的俄多见面,了解到当地民众为蒙冤入狱的丹增德勒仁波切多次请愿遭到迫害,这是视频截图。最近,这个视频发布于Youtube上的“绝地今书”频道。(视频截图)
2008年6月我与王力雄在藏地旅行时,与居住雅江县红龙乡的俄多见面,了解到当地民众为蒙冤入狱的丹增德勒仁波切多次请愿遭到迫害,这是视频截图。最近,这个视频发布于Youtube上的“绝地今书”频道。(视频截图)

唉,这些令人痛苦万分的却不为人知的故事啊,已经脱离了我原本写的天葬师的故事那种民俗层面,或者说,由此才算是真正地进入到这个时代的这片土地上的众多生命是如何地得以存在的核心深处:“……知道吗?我多想说出/这世上没有的语言/和我们的母语接近/但更纯净,带来/缕缕芬芳,那才与你/所给予的一切相配/我千山万水之隔的亲人啊/为何恰在这绛红色的家园/不期而遇?我隐隐含泪/默默承受这一份晚来示现的因缘/它绝非若有若无!”这是垂挂着六十三根小辫子的我当晚写于塔子坝的诗句,现在再看,感觉像是自我似乎悟觉到什么的表白,更像是一种我无法拒绝某种承担的预感。

2011年雅江县民众在一次集会上迎请尊者达赖喇嘛和丹增德勒仁波切的法相。(Public Domain)
2011年雅江县民众在一次集会上迎请尊者达赖喇嘛和丹增德勒仁波切的法相。(Public Domain)

但还是容我返回开头或者说对开头做个交待吧,毕竟我最先是打算讲述天葬师的故事的……2000年夏天,胸怀新的写作计划的我经过雅江,但没见到仁青,对宗教局的工作心不在焉的阿巴本说放心吧,他还活着,只是已经不再当天葬师了,也不再当畜防站的站长了。那么他还是党员吗?我想问,但立刻觉得这并不重要。一年后,我又去了雅江,已调到县旅游局当局长的阿巴本请我吃饭,意外的是竟看见仁青坐在饭桌前向我微笑,让我激动不已。他比以前老多了,笑的时候好几颗门牙都没有了,不笑的时候,深陷的眼窝与削瘦的脸竟有些像骷髅。我注意到,从他的身上闻不到什么异味了。

依然能说会道的仁青心满意足地告诉我,他去过拉萨了,他见到觉仁波切了,他终于实现了临死前最大的愿望。他说本来想去看我的,但没想到拉萨那么大,人那么多,他只好在朝拜的时候大声地念诵了一遍我的名字,就像是祈望我能听到。他还说收到了我寄去的照片,果然跟他想象的一样,自己那样子,就跟天葬场上每一个等着天葬的死人差不多……

* * *

丹增德勒仁波切的法相在他建的崇新寺为僧众所供奉 。(Public Domain)
丹增德勒仁波切的法相在他建的崇新寺为僧众所供奉 。(Public Domain)

需要补充的是,这篇文章的原文在沉寂了十六年之后,之所以被我找出来修改,并增补了当年多个遗漏的但从来没有遗忘的故事,恰恰缘起于前不久满满一箱子松茸带着我去过的那个地方的植物与土壤的气味,竟在三天内由快递送到了困于帝都的我眼前。而此时此刻更有另一层特别的意义,在于这个世界正陷入新冠病毒造成的大流行困境之中,似乎只有“世界屋脊”之称的雪域高原未遭多少感染。

我将一朵朵完美的松茸取出,仔细地除去泥土和杂草,轻轻地用纸巾擦拭,剖开切片,部分装袋冰冻,部分或用酥油煎,或以芥末蘸,并和寄来松茸的、自称在颐养天年的泽仁讨论了更多的吃法……我曾见过的在具有康地景观的树林里生长的“康巴松茸”,那熟悉的纯粹气味充满了我的嗅觉和味觉,也复活了往昔的记忆犹如雅砻江水翻涌不止。我有点惋惜没有一个红烧猪肉罐头来与这松茸搭配,不然我就可以重返柯拉乡那个风雨交加的夜晚,重又听到仁青讲述那些具有惊悚效果的故事。如此说来,我不应该吃完这些松茸,哪怕留下一朵做标本也好,这样就能随时返回我那没心没肺的无邪而肤浅的快乐之中。有时候我需要这样的快乐。

我编著的《仁波切之殇》一书,其中一篇文章记录了丹增德勒仁波切在狱中突然亡故,民众赴成都请愿却遭打压的经过。(唯色2015年摄影)
我编著的《仁波切之殇》一书,其中一篇文章记录了丹增德勒仁波切在狱中突然亡故,民众赴成都请愿却遭打压的经过。(唯色2015年摄影)

而在逐渐形成这篇文章的时日里,是的,就在前几天,我意外得悉仁青仍健在。这是他的孙女告诉我的。这个世界并不大,我居然会在网上遇到仁青的孙女,与当地不少藏人一样,她也翻山越岭地去了印度,如今英文流利,年轻活泼,从照片上看,秀丽的面容有仁青那轮廓分明的特点。她说爷爷仁青已从牧场搬到了理塘镇上居住,每日祈祷,每日礼佛,平静地过着一天又一天。我询问了仁青的年纪,得知他今年76岁,这在高原称得上是高寿。回顾我第一次在草原上见到他,他就做好了轮回的准备,迄今仍驻留人世,这是这个长篇故事令人欣慰的结尾,毕竟我们世俗凡人还是留恋人间,哪怕这个人间常常比地狱更多苦难。

1999年秋天,初稿于拉萨
2004年4月4日,写于北京
2020年9月6日,修改并定稿于北京

唯色RFA博客:天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(七)

 

唯色RFA博客:天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(七)红龙乡参加赛马的僧众。(唯色1999年摄影)














9、

然后,我们也跨上马背,继续翻山下坡,去往靠近公路的红龙乡又叫塔子坝。听说那里正在举行祭祀神山日托玛、朝拜寺院崇新寺,以及赛马、跳锅庄、飚摩托之类的民俗活动,又称“耍坝子”。剽悍的康巴男女在宽阔的草坝子搭起了无数个帐篷,帐篷里有新鲜的凝脂般的酸奶、黄灿灿厚墩墩的酥油、大块的牦牛肉和羊肉,我们只需带着一个空碗,无需邀请地,从这个帐篷走进那个帐篷,就能吃到各种吃不完的美食,而这是我对世俗生活的执念之一,想起就激动不已。

俄多与丈夫在自家帐篷前。(唯色1999年摄影)
俄多与丈夫在自家帐篷前。(唯色1999年摄影)

我们翻过了一座海拔4750米的岩石山叫阿沙山,又叫剪子弯山,有解放军的雷达站很醒目,传说可以测试到从印度新德里起飞的飞机,对此我不太相信就是。遇到两个聊天欲很强的军人,上士成都人,中士山西人,说雷达站是一个连的编制,六十多人,属于成都军区空军地勤,由理塘县管理营管理,但矗立在雅江县的地盘上。还说今天早晨下雪了,冷得很。从他俩寂寞的眼神和干裂的嘴皮,看得出身心很不适应,这个聊天再聊下去的话恐怕会把所有的军事秘密都泄露了。抵达塔子坝后,我自然不再需要扎西牵马,何况我体内蕴藏的某个基因已被激活,几天后,我在与十几个康巴男子(主要是僧人)的骑马比赛中,非常值得炫耀地跑了个第七名,其实是身轻的我幸运地(准确地说是好心地)给配了一匹闪电般的快马。在与扎西告别前,他说了一句话令我刮目相看。才十九岁的牧人扎西很深刻地说:“一个男人,要有九次生离死别才是男人。”

俄多与女儿给我编牧女的辫子。(友人1999年摄影)
俄多与女儿给我编牧女的辫子。(友人1999年摄影)

实际上,当晚我就再次吃到了纯粹的(我貌似被这个词降伏了)酸奶,其衡量的标准是吃完像果冻一样酽稠的一碗就会立即陷入沉沉的睡眠,这可能叫做酸奶醉。但让我难忘的是,我不但有过酸奶醉,而且,见到了一望无垠、云彩奇异的天边滚滚而过的绚丽雷电,见到了服饰华丽、落落大方的俊美女子和奇特的头饰不同于其他藏地的帅气男子,见到了僧人们戴着酷似嬉皮士的脏辫却是用羊毛编成的细穗染成了黄色、橙色的那种头饰(我觉得其实更像一朵朵扫把菌)驰马、驰摩托而过,见到了一个略上年纪的仁波切给排队举着哈达的男女信众摩顶而过,还见到了四个穿着暗淡、疲惫不堪的汉人乡干部含泪悲壮地奔赴勘界纠纷的草场就想上战场。

4

第二天,在一个宽敞而明亮的白色帐篷里,由身材健硕、性格开朗、勤劳致富的俄多和她的两个貌美如花的女儿,将我的头发编成了六十三根细长的小辫子。这之前,阿巴本在乡政府的钢炉上烧了热水,然后拎着水壶帮我冲洗了落满一路风尘的头发。我同时想听带有传奇色彩的俄多讲述活出了人生精彩的故事。或者说我还是有些猎奇的心态:与全藏不少地方一样,这里依然保留着传统婚俗中的一种,即一妻多夫的婚俗,而45岁的俄多有两个丈夫是两兄弟,一个是开卡车的一个是裁缝,她自己也会做生意,敢于说着雅江一带独有的那种倒着说的汉话跑到广州去进货。她家生活富足,盖起了整个塔子坝最好的房子,连“耍坝子”搭的帐篷也是最大,还有一架发电机可以点亮夜里的灯泡。俄多并不在乎我对她个人生活的好奇,坦然地有问必答。我看见这样的场景:她十分温柔地给一个丈夫剪指甲,而另一个丈夫靠着她的腿安然入睡。编辫子的时候她边编边说:“女的都要编辫子,结了婚的,头顶两边的发辫上要戴‘花花’”。“什么是‘花花’?”我问。俄多说,“就是用银子打的圆盘,刻了花儿。就像酥油茶碗的盖子,上面的那层涂了金色,镶了珊瑚。不过未婚的就不需要戴,年纪大了也不戴。编多少根辫子不一定,编完后,要在所有辫子的末端结上由红珊瑚、黄琥珀、绿松石串在一起的头饰。”我忘了编辫子花了多长时间,大概两三个小时吧,犹如魔镜效应,那满头的发辫顿时使我变了样,一下子具备了康地游牧女人的美丽形象(我一直舍不得拆散,保留了整整二十天),其实是使我与这片土地结下了深深的缘分。

我第一次见到丹增德勒仁波切。(唯色1999年摄影)
我第一次见到丹增德勒仁波切。(唯色1999年摄影)

这缘分最主要的体现在(实际上我直到多年后才意识到):当我回到县城,就去拜访了住在山坡上的大喇嘛丹增德勒仁波切。他时年50岁,生活简朴,直言不讳,什么话都愿意对我说。而他在那时候就已经成了敏感人物,据说“从县上到州上,到省上,甚至中央都挂了号”,是当地警方的重点监控对象。其实主要原因是,最初他公开批评林业局砍光了国营林又来砍属于民众的集体林,并去阻止砍伐而民众相随,为此遭到官员们的仇恨,简直是恨之入骨。或者说他们非常愿意做出恨之入骨的样子,因为本地出了这样一个阶级敌人对他们全体的利益是有好处的。而且众所周知,丹增德勒仁波切公开拒绝反对达赖喇嘛,官员们就将他的人设从当地的大喇嘛渲染成了“分裂分子”,把他说成了当地最大的不稳定因素,层层汇报上去,上级部门对此当然大为重视。

丹增德勒仁波切给乡村牧人开示佛法。(图片来自当地藏人)
丹增德勒仁波切给乡村牧人开示佛法。(图片来自当地藏人)

……而1958年那时候,是的,那时他才八岁,但已是理塘寺的小僧人,他所见到的那些入侵与毁灭如同烙印深深地刻在了他的心里。很快所有穿袈裟的人都不能再穿袈裟了,他只好回到牧场上与祖母相依为命。“从来没有过的饥荒降临了,我们这里饿死了太多的人。”1979年,达赖喇嘛的代表团第一次来到这里,他泣不成声,哭诉说不完的深重苦难。当晚他舍命而逃,翻越雪山,逃往了印度的流亡藏人社区,在那里他重又穿上了袈裟。他可能是那边的哲蚌寺里最刻苦修习的僧人,1983年,嘉瓦仁波切说你就是丹增德勒,是吾托地方帐篷寺院的转世祖古(汉语称“祖古”是“活佛”)。那座用牦牛毛编织的帐篷寺院在康地南部十三座帐篷寺院中最大,往昔是广大康南最别致的风景,随游牧者逐水草而居,夏天搬到塔子坝,冬天移到柯拉草原,有着数百年的历史,但在1958年,却被不邀而至的拿武器的外人拆得精光。他是1987年返回家乡的。他要重新恢复成千上万的牧人的精神家园。他徒步化缘,徒步化缘,然后用石头、泥土和木头修筑起了一座宛若定居在草原上的寺院,正是我见过的仿佛历经数百年的崇新寺。他越来越让权力者头疼心烦,被视作一根需要拔除的钉子。

丹增德勒仁波切在他办的学校与学生们合影。(唯色1999年摄影)
丹增德勒仁波切在他办的学校与学生们合影。(唯色1999年摄影)

像是有某种预见,第一次见面,丹增德勒仁波切就带我去了城郊江畔的那座他辛辛苦苦办起来的孤儿学校,让我拍下正在上课的教室和宿舍,拍下残疾的学生和忠义的老师,拍下他和一百多个深深依赖他的孩子们合影(当时我懵懂无知,反正去哪里都是听故事,见识当地的生活,并没有意识到无意间我用相机记录了即将被消失的证据)。他还想带我去看他多年来辛辛苦苦建起来的一座座寺院,但因已经很不方便未能成行。我接着又见过他一两次,开始感受到他的信任近乎于某种委托,让我既感动又有些不知所措。临别时,他从门前的花丛中摘了一朵大大的、黄色的月季花给我,他自己也手捧两三朵花,站在门口合影他却显得那样的忧伤,我也似被突然袭来的忧虑攫住。第二年夏天我还去拜访过他一次,还是在这座位于雅江县城山坡上的屋子里,却是最后一次见到他。说起刚去世的母亲他难过不已:“我的阿妈苦啊。我的阿妈死了,我要为她闭关一年,每天念经修法。”也像天葬师仁青一样,他交给我一百元,让我回到拉萨后,在大昭寺释迦牟尼佛像跟前的金灯里添加酥油。这之后,各种构陷不断追加犹如猛兽扑来他已无法抵御,最终竟被栽赃制造了所谓的爆炸案(四起至七起爆炸案),遭判死刑又改无期徒刑,震动整个康区,而他深陷无法摆脱的重重黑暗之中。当地成千上万的人,像俄多和降村这样的勇敢而虔诚的百姓为此奔走呼告,去康定去成都去北京,多次被抓过打过,受尽折磨,从此再也没有了幸福的生活。

写到这里,我不能不提到降村,我无法忘怀他和那些康巴汉子曾经有过的快乐,我曾住过他也是勤劳致富的华丽大屋听到过他们的阵阵欢笑声。他跟我说过:过去村子里偷盗、抢劫时有发生,百分之八十的男人吸烟、酗酒、斗殴、杀生、赌博,后来大喇嘛阿安扎西来讲经,每次都苦口婆心地规劝村民戒除恶习。降村说他过去打架出了名,1993年他在大喇嘛的法会上发誓再不打架,从此以后变了一个人,如今说起用刀砍过人就十分后悔。他的伙伴曲格扎过去喜欢赌博,赌得很厉害,后来也是在大喇嘛跟前发誓戒掉了。但这份得到心灵平静的快乐却被夺走了。有一次,因为迫在眉睫的危险,丹增德勒仁波切不得不秘密躲藏了半年之久,临行前他留下了几十盒录音磁带,给每个村子都留了一盒,把他的清白和冤枉告诉给民众:“死了骨头是白的,不死心是白的。”民众大放悲声,表示愿为大喇嘛做任何事情。各村各乡数万农牧民联名写信按手印,降村哭得像个孩子:“我们要上县里头,上州里头,上省里头,再不行,我们上北京,我们要问个清楚,我们这么好的仁波切为什么要这样子对他!”

本文为唯色自由亚洲博客:https://www.rfa.org/mandarin/pinglun/weiseblog/ws-12082020172842.html

2020年12月8日星期二

唯色RFA博客:天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(六)

1 

远远的,左边乡政府,右边寺院。(唯色1999年摄影)

8、

仁青与我们共进了晚餐。虽然他身上的异味依然不散,但我已经能够做到像阿巴本和泽仁那样不在意了。

用作厨房的会计室不大,除了一张摇摇晃晃的桌子和四根摇摇晃晃的长板凳,一个可以熬茶做饭的钢炉和满地堆放的木柴,别无他物。哦,对了,那桌上还有一架橙色的电话机,是那种老式的带摇把的电话机。格桑贡布,是的,他是乡政府的值班人员。我不记得他是一个什么样的乡干部了,这是因为他的外表、他的言行实在太有特点,以致于我至今一想起他,就想起他满头乱蓬蓬的卷发,黝黑的脸上一对像牦牛眼睛那样的大眼被酒精烧得通红。“你完全是一个酒鬼!”阿巴本局长严厉地冲着一头闯入的格桑贡布批评道(后来得知他真的是一个酒鬼,喜欢喝烈性强的白酒。有次提着一把步枪喝醉了,居然枪走火,打死了妻子,震动乡里,却也不清楚为何没有被上级部门严厉处分)。但是格桑贡布并不理会,抓住摇把电话机就是一阵猛摇,据说这么一摇,整个四区的四个乡的电话机都要响。而总机设在县上,乡民给它起了一个外号叫“长命”,有的人不会说“总机”就说成是“公鸡”。

格桑贡布居然很快就找到了正在县上买卖松茸的乡长和书记,如此落伍的通讯方式居然管用,令人叹服。只听他用一口古怪的汉语冲着话筒大喊:“赶快回来不是,要出人命了!回来不是,我们劝不动了!” 原来因为近来政府正在重新划定雅江县和理塘县接壤的界线,引起了两地乡民之间的纠纷。据说理塘毛垭坝的牧民已经聚集了五十多人,要用武力争抢被划走的草场,激起了邻县柯拉和红龙等地的牧民日益高涨的反弹情绪。


寺院里用牦牛皮包裹的转经筒。(唯色1999年摄影)
寺院里用牦牛皮包裹的转经筒。(唯色1999年摄影)

于是围绕勘界这个重大话题,小屋里展开了热烈的讨论。草场纠纷在藏地牧区是一个由来已久且十分棘手的问题。乡与乡、县与县、州与州、省与省,几乎年年都要因草场的所属权争执不休,甚至打死人命。最早起始于上个世纪六十年代初期,广大藏地被行政区划分成几大块之后,草场纠纷就没有停息过。我手抄过一份甘孜州1990年有关雅江县与理塘县接壤界线的文件,其中写:“……两县接壤界线长约350多公里,有十六个乡毗连,行政区域界线从未勘定……曾于1961年9月12日和1962年10月10日达成两个划分草场界线的《协议》……但由于《协议》受这时条件局限,局部地区界线不明,又没有标绘地形图,随着生产的发展和资源的开发利用……导致边界纠纷,甚至出现1988年‘6.12’伏击枪杀事件(这里我的笔迹连我自己也看不清写的是‘死了7人’还是‘死37人’)……广大干部群众迫切要求重用《协议》线,解决争议线,法定习惯线,以维护接壤地区的社会稳定……”   

文件归文件,事实上各级官员在不断失误的同时往往一筹莫展(我后来在县城见过一个被戏称为“老革命”的副局长,不到五十岁就提前退休了。对此他很豪气地说,那个小官有什么当头,哪里有现在这么自由,想挣点松茸钱就挣点松茸钱,想搓两把麻将就搓两把麻将。但实情是他犯了一个很大的错误才招致早早下课,而这个错误就与勘界有关。作为分管规划与邻县边界草场的负责人,他却不愿意实地下乡调查,而是趴在办公室的地图上用一支红蓝铅笔随意地圈圈点点,导致了草场纠纷旧的未去、新的又来),连军人扛枪出现也无济于事甚至更加恶化(如今的最高指示是,两县县界走向要以“中国人民解放军总参谋部十万分之一航测图1971年第一版”为准,要求“必须坚决服从裁决”、“必须依法追究其责任”,故“在必要地段栽立界桩”、“标绘界碑位置”等等),除非劳驾当地最有威望的宗教人士,比如大喇嘛丹增德勒仁波切就数次化解过这类矛盾,两边的藏人都信奉他,剑拔弩张的双方一见到他绛红色的身影,就纷纷磕起长头,戾气顿时消散。


我那时在雅江山顶。(友人1999年摄影)
我那时在雅江山顶。(友人1999年摄影)

暴雨下起来了。一个个密集的闪电划破漆黑的天空,是那样的惊心动魄,居然闯入屋里,将悬垂在窗边的电话线溅起一阵耀眼的火花。格桑贡布惨叫一声,就像是他的乱发被烫得更卷,赶紧逃之夭夭。我点上我们在县城买的蜡烛,继续听仁青讲他的故事。可是仁青为何如此激动?就像是那闪电也激活了他体内沉睡的激情,他眉飞色舞,口若悬河。而他那地地道道“牛场娃”(当地汉语对牧民的称呼)的方言,与阿巴本和泽仁你一言我一语的同声翻译,不但在我的脑子里搅成一团,也在我的录音机上留下一片噪音。其结果就是,此刻我已经无法复原刀登仁青的精彩言论,这真是遗憾。我听清楚的有这样几句话:

“生命是无常的,今天还看见这个人在放牛,明天就抬上了天葬场,所以我也不知道自己什么时候就会被鹰鹫吃了。也许我十年后还在这里,也许我没几天就死了,这谁也说不清楚。每次在天葬场上用刀子划死人的时候,我都把这些死了的人想成是我自己(这跟楚布寺天葬师说的一样,看来是天葬师的共识),我都在心里祈祷,下一次轮回的时候有一个好的转世。除了想成是自己,好好地天葬死者,也是帮助死了的人得解脱,不辜负他们亲人的愿望。”

我还记得仁青讲述的一个细节:“不管是给牲畜看病,还是用刀划死人,我养成了一个习惯,总是手也不洗就去揉糌粑吃,那手上常常还带着血。我不觉得脏。反正都是生命的血,就跟自己的血一样。后来,大喇嘛丹增德勒对我说,虽然你的心是没有分别的,但是那些血带着病毒,你如果吃下去的话会影响你的来世,这以后我就改过来了,每次都把手洗得干干净净。”

这期间阿巴本和泽仁先后出门方便,留下我一个人倾听仁青充满激情的演说,他确确实实是又演又说。适逢又一串闪电与惊雷交织而至,几根蜡烛不是突然倒下就是骤然而灭,似乎只有一根蜡烛还在燃着,那忽明忽暗的光亮下,仁青的面部表情不断变化,仁青的双眼也格外地炯炯有神,几乎让我相信那就是被仁青解剖过的那些死者交替显现,所谓吓得毛发竖立的感觉算是被我体会到了。就在我几欲夺门而逃的时候,我的两位保镖回来了。


天葬师仁青在讲述。(唯色1999年摄影)
天葬师仁青在讲述。(唯色1999年摄影)

次日雨过天晴,柯拉草原如出水芙蓉,清新宜人。一大早仁青就来告别,因为牧场上死了四头小牛,他得赶紧回去给其余的牛打防疫针。他握着我的手久久不放,他的身上仍然带着一种异味,但我已浑然不觉。我知道他为什么对我这样地亲切,因为我来自拉萨,那是一个让他以及所有的、尤其是边地的族人最为向往的圣地。他交给我一百元钱,恳切地要求我回到拉萨后,为他和那些被他天葬的死者在大昭寺供灯。他似乎有些伤感(确切地说,不是他伤感,而是他的话让我伤感)地说:“如果这几年之内我还活着,我就去拉萨朝佛,我很想去大昭寺拜一拜觉仁波切(藏语,释迦牟尼佛)。”

望着仁青打马而去的背影,我得承认,说到底,他本质上还是一个跟其他牧民无甚分别的牧民。虽然他有好几个身份,但历史赋予他的那个最特别的身份似乎是多余的,就像是某种摆设,并未触及他的灵魂。这是什么原因呢?与他深深扎根的这片土地有关吗?可现实中,也有许许多多的藏人恰恰因为身份的多重性而变成了两个人、三个人甚至更多。我的意思是,我见过许多人格分裂的藏人,比如我身边的长辈们(他们现在的身份是“退休干部”),他们的一生往往是无所适从的一生,他们的归宿也往往是没着没落的归宿。这与被外力推行的所谓的“城市化改造”有关吗?以致于故乡渐变他乡,人人不伦不类。还是说,毕竟不同于天高地远的草原,越来越拥挤的城里,那一个个被诸多眼睛紧盯不放的单位最擅长的就是天天改造思想,人人都逃不过?当然这个话题太复杂了,几句话根本说不清楚。所以我只能说,在这片似乎不变又似乎大变的柯拉草原上,仁青还是仁青。

本文为唯色自由亚洲博客:https://www.rfa.org/mandarin/pinglun/weiseblog/ws-11162020095414.html

唯色RFA博客:天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(五)


1藏传佛教噶玛噶举教派祖寺楚布寺文革前的样貌(据介绍拍摄于1950年代初)。(唯色1998年翻拍)


6、其实我见过天葬的。确切地说,算是见过天葬,因为那被天葬的并不是死人。请允许我在这里插个故事。那是1998年的初冬,一个从台湾来的摄制组访问楚布寺(是噶玛噶举教派的祖寺,位于拉萨附近的堆龙德庆县的山谷里),拍摄了年轻的十七世噶玛巴法王,还专门去天葬场拍摄了天葬的过程。我与制片人认识,有幸全程参与。


据说楚布寺天葬场乃藏传佛教的本尊上乐金刚的坛城中心,同时也是历代噶玛巴仁波切的修法之地。因为并无可能每天都有送来天葬的死者,而且拍摄的当天也没有,摄制组就买了一腿牛肉。做事细心但外表粗犷的财旺仁波切特意陪同,还带来一件旧衣,把那腿牛肉裹得像具死尸,然后放在乱石围成的天葬场内。两位年轻僧人先是煨桑,再撒了糌粑、青稞和酒。那位穿着俗人衣袍的天葬师盘腿坐在“尸体”一旁,面对着土吉钦波神山,打开经书,一边击鼓吹号一边诵经。据说此经是专门召唤鹰鹫这种专食人尸的大鸟。这时候,耸入钴蓝色天际的山巅上,开始有鸟出现。并传来悠长的鸣叫声,是那种清越中略带凄凉的鸣叫声。财旺仁波切说,这些鸟中,腋下的毛是白色的为鹰鹫,其余的有鹰,还有乌鸦。还说有近百只鹰鹫栖息在神山之中,而密乘的教义认为这些鹰鹫是十方空行母的化身,在有些秘密的经书中,它们被称作是“夏萨康卓”,意思是食肉的空行母。


藏传佛教噶玛噶举教派祖寺楚布寺在文革被夷为废墟(据介绍拍摄于1970年代末)。(唯色1998年摄影)
藏传佛教噶玛噶举教派祖寺楚布寺在文革被夷为废墟(据介绍拍摄于1970年代末)。(唯色1998年摄影)

风在吹,楚布河水在激越地奔流,袅绕的桑烟如同某种召唤。渐渐云集的鹰鹫在半空中迟疑地盘旋着,有时停在岩石上,直至天葬师用刀大块切肉,并举起大石头砸碎骨头,才不慌不忙地接踵降落下来。那姿势十分好看:轻盈,从容,迅捷,有着一种天生的傲气。那翅膀很是巨大,平平地展开着,颜色由灰至白,尾翼呈一片黑色,两边的羽翎如剪,实在漂亮极了。但当它们收拢羽翅,稳稳地落在地上,用干瘦的双腿支撑着颇为庞大的身躯,一摇一晃的姿态就有些滑稽了(没错,很像刀登仁青走路的样子),却不马上抢食,而是围着天葬师抛来的肉块发出“嘶、嘶”的叫声,于是天葬师开始跟它们说话,语气亲切,像对朋友一般。财旺仁波切说这是在跟鹰鹫中的“老大”聊天呢,向它发出了邀请,只有它先吃,其余的鹰鹫才会跟上来。还说差不多主要的鹰鹫都有名字,都是天葬师起的。果然如此,当鹰鹫群中蹒跚地却像是很高傲地走出模样特别威猛的一只,率先吃起来,而吃的样子居然很有王者风范,其余的鹰鹫才一涌而上,纷纷撕抢起肉和骨头,渐渐地有点挤乱。我听见天葬师高喊:“嘿!不要打架,有你们吃的。” 但我忘记他喊“老大”的名字叫什么。

越来越多的鹰鹫“嘎、嘎”叫着降落下来,那声音已不似先前的清越而是相当沙哑,显得急切。我数了数,大约有八十多只。天葬师有些激动地说:“这可真少见,有时候真正的尸体摆在那里也没几只鹰鹫飞来吃,甚至有过一只鹰鹫也不飞来吃的事,那简直太可怕。”有人就问为什么,天葬师说这是因为那人生前造了恶业,连鹰鹫也嫌其肮脏,不愿意吃;有时候鹰鹫来得虽多,却也不围上来吃,跟死者家里没有举办超度亡灵的法事有关,但今天很不寻常。财旺仁波切笑道:“当然啦,之前请示过法王噶玛巴嘛。”天葬师连忙双手合十,认为那必定是得到了噶玛巴的加持,连鹰鹫也听从了安排。那时,十七世噶玛巴才十三岁,气度超凡,直慑人心,我幸运地拜见过多次,更幸运地拍到过显露他内在精神的两三张照片(这可不是我夸张,有图有真相)。然而谁都不知道他其实经受着怎样的压迫,以致于在来年深冬最为寒冷的日子,悄悄地带着他信任的财旺仁波切等几位侍从秘密出逃,历经八个比他的所有转世加起来都要漫长的昼夜,驱车徒步,翻山越岭,经过中国边防军军营,搭乘尼泊尔境内的直升飞机,终抵印度北部的达兰萨拉,见到了尊者达赖喇嘛……需要说明的是,这堪称生死冒险、意义深远的历史事件并不是我能够在这篇文章里讲述的。

在这片周围群山耸立的天葬场,胡须飘飘的天葬师六十多岁,过去是楚布寺的僧人,在革命如暴风骤雨突降的年代不得不还俗当了牧人。摄制组的镜头朝向他,问他是如何看待他的这项工作?举止谦恭的他简短答道,他总是以佛祖释迦牟尼以身饲虎的事迹鼓励自己,观想自己就是眼前的尸体,由轮回的手执刀切块,供奉给那些来自十方的空行,所以他认为天葬师是一项神圣的职业,为此感到自豪。


财旺仁波切(中)陪同台湾摄制组拍摄天葬前的合影,左一为天葬师。(唯色1998年摄影)
财旺仁波切(中)陪同台湾摄制组拍摄天葬前的合影,左一为天葬师。(唯色1998年摄影)

7、那么,仁青又是怎样成为一个“刀登”的呢?在我罗嗦了这么多之后,我终于要交待这一至关重要的问题了。带着我们慢悠悠地骑马离开天葬场的仁青打开了话匣子:

“最早我是一个牧民。我的祖祖辈辈都是柯拉草原上的牧民。其实我差点去寺院当了扎巴。但五十年代的‘民主改革’开始了,‘四反’开始了,寺庙也没有了,年幼的我被工作组看作是革命干部的培养对象,让我加入到革命的队伍中了。可是我这个人的心肠太软了,我一见到牛病了,马痛了,我就要去照顾它们。这样我就成了兽医。革命工作也是需要兽医的。但是革命工作不需要刀登。有很长一段时间,我们这里死了人,是不能去天葬的,因为天葬属于‘四旧’,是落后的风俗习惯,必须取消。天葬师也是‘四旧’,必须改行。结果那些年里死了的人不是被埋在地下,就是悄悄地扔进了河里。啊啧啧,对自己死去的亲人干下的坏事,没有比这更坏的了。可怜啊,那些没有被天葬的人恐怕都停留在中阴阶段,得不到超度,变成了鬼。后来,大喇嘛丹增德勒对我说,我看你对那些牲口好得很,它们身上的伤口你还用舌头去舔,这说明你对死人也会怜悯的,你非常适合做一名刀登。那时候,我已经入党了,不过我并没想过共产党员能不能当刀登的问题。无论如何,没有刀登的话,人死后会很惨的,这样很不好。再说共产党最爱说‘为人民服务’这句话,我做一名刀登也是为人民服务嘛。”

没想到仁青如此活学活用毛主席的教导。我冲着仁青翘起了大拇指:“仁青,全藏地,不,全中国,不,全世界的共产党员里面,你是唯一的一个刀登。”接着我把话头一转,严肃地说:“那你收不收钱呢?”


天葬师仁青在石头上画天葬刀法。(唯色1999年摄影)
天葬师仁青在石头上画天葬刀法。(唯色1999年摄影)

仁青笑得露出了一口雪白的牙,就像是对我善意的嘲笑。这时候,我们正好在柯拉乡政府的门前下马,在我们的身后,夕阳把那边环抱着天葬场的山谷照耀得一片金黄,如同一个美丽而安静的彼岸世界。仁青从门上画着红十字的工作站取来一张报纸般大小的白纸,但已发黄,上面绘着一份表格,在格子里密密麻麻地画满了圆圈,而圆圈的里面填满了数字和藏文。这是什么意思?

仁青指着表格说:“我划过的那些死人全在这上面。这圆圈里是他们的名字。这些数字是他们的家人给我的钱。想给多少都可以,五块,十块,二十块,给得最多的是五十块。没有钱也行。没有钱的圆圈里是空的。我为什么要做这个表格呢?我是要记住这些人。这些钱我也不用在自己的身上,我有的是工资,所以我把一部分钱送给那些一无所有的穷人,把一部分钱拿去盖念经堂和佛塔。”

天葬师仁青记录的天葬尸体的表格。(唯色1999年摄影)
天葬师仁青记录的天葬尸体的表格。(唯色1999年摄影)

“那你的工资是多少?”我继续严肃地问。他很满足地答道:“将近两百多块呢。够了,够了。”好吧,我心里嘀咕道,就让他展开表格像展开奖状那样给拍了两张。有意思,就绘制表格这一点,可以看出仁青还是没白当站长,不然一个纯粹的牧民恐怕只会靠绳索或者别的原始手段来记事了。我感动了,由衷地认为身份多样化的仁青在平凡的岗位上确实做出了不平凡的事迹。

留在乡政府做晚饭的泽仁在叫我们。想不到除了青椒炒土豆丝,竟还有他和阿巴本在半路上采摘的松茸,与红烧猪肉罐头混在一块烧,好吃得不得了。

本文为唯色自由亚洲博客:https://www.rfa.org/mandarin/pinglun/weiseblog/ws-11092020103623.html

2020年12月5日星期六

写在12月的一首诗及Ian Boyden的英译:收藏者的自述

(图片转自推特)


收藏者的自述

唯色

愿意是这样一个收藏者:

收藏老照片的裂痕但不做任何修补

收藏深夜来不及熄灭的余烬

留着最冷的明天生火取暖

收藏失踪者不敢大放悲声的饮泣

那或是寻找曾经活过的证据

收藏不可告人或者无可告慰的秘密

那通往人性的深渊可能是救赎之道……


但不愿意收藏愚蠢,那些执着的

拒绝智慧的,却自鸣得意的愚蠢

比作恶多端还无可救药,很难原谅


2020-12-2,写于北京


The Autobiography of a Collector


I am willing to be this kind of collector:

a collector of cracked and unrepairable photographs;

a collector of embers that cannot be extinguished in the dead of the night,

saving them for the coldest tomorrow to light a fire for warmth;

a collector of cries of the missing who dared not voice their grief,

that perhaps therein I might find evidence of a previous life;

a collector of secrets that cannot be spoken, that are without solace, 

that passing through the abyss of humanity might be a path to salvation.

But I am not willing to collect stupidity,

those who persistently reject wisdom,

that smug stupidity that is more incurable 

than the manifold ways of doing evil,

and so difficult to forgive.


—Woeser, December 2, 2020, Beijing


(translated by Ian Boyden)

2020年11月13日星期五

Red Guards in Tibet:Robert Barnett and Susan Chen talk to Tsering Woeser

Q&A

Red Guards in Tibet12 min read

Robert Barnett and Susan Chen talk to Tsering Woeser

EdIn her new book Forbidden Memory: Tibet During the Cultural Revolution, Tibetan author Tsering Woeser dissects the impacts of China’s Cultural Revolution on Tibet. In this interview the book’s editor, Robert Barnett, together with its translator Susan Chen, speak with Woeser about the English-language version of her book and the enduring significance of the photos taken by her father, Tsering Dorje. Later this week we will also be publishing a photo essay featuring a selection of Dorje’s photographs.
Tseing Woeser as a child with her father Tsering Dorje in Lhasa, 1966 (photographer unknown)

When Tibet was taken over by the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) in 1950, the Chinese officials sent to run Tibet initially made few changes to its society, culture or administration. But, as with most revolutions since the 18th century, in time the Chinese Communist project in Tibet turned to the use of terror. Initially, this took the form of Robespierrean public education – mass imprisonment and executions – but by the mid-1960s the dominant form of political violence had become the ritualized humiliation of teachers, scholars, landlords and others whom the revolutionaries identified as their enemies. These “struggle sessions” and “speaking bitterness” events, along with ultra-leftist policies, factional conflict, and rebellions, were defining features of the Cultural Revolution in both Tibet and China from May 1966 until the death of Mao in September 1976, ten years later.

In the early 1980s, the Party itself condemned the Cultural Revolution and allowed many Chinese writers to record their experiences. However, first-hand accounts of that time by Tibetans who remained within China are almost non-existent. Only a handful of refugee reports attested to what had happened when the Cultural Revolution was exported by the Chinese to a totally distinct culture in what was, in effect, a colony.

In 1999 this situation was transformed when Tsering Woeser, a Tibetan poetess and dissident essayist living in Beijing, began to study a set of photo negatives that her father, who had served as a PLA officer and photographer in Tibet until his death in 1991, had left with the family. The photographs included hundreds of images of events in Tibet during the Cultural Revolution. Over the next six years, Woeser interviewed some seventy Tibetans and Chinese who had witnessed those events, showing them her father’s photographs and documenting their responses. None of this work could be published within China, but in 2006 the Taiwanese publishing house Locus produced Shajie (殺劫), Woeser’s book-length essay in Chinese about these interviews, together with 300 photographs, extended captions, and analysis. For the first time, the world saw uncensored images showing how the Cultural Revolution had been carried out in Tibet.

Three years after the Chinese edition of her book appeared, Woeser, myself, and the translator Susan Chen began work on an English-language version. We revised and updated the text, added new information to the captions, and included a postscript by Woeser on the changes in Lhasa since her father took his photographs. The result, Forbidden Memory: Tibet During the Cultural Revolution, was released by the University of Nebraska Press earlier this summer. For the China Channel, we asked Woeser to look back at that process and to reflect on the significance of her father’s photographs today. – Robert Barnett

Robert Barnett and Susan Chen: Forbidden Memory is a unique record of an episode in Tibetan history some fifty years ago. How would you describe that episode, and what did you learn about it that was not known before?

Tsering Woeser: The most important insight that I drew from the 300 or more of my father’s photographs that I’ve put in Forbidden Memory was about the amount of damage done to monasteries, Buddhist statues, and texts, as well as the name changes that were imposed on places and buildings. These are all so important to traditional Tibetan culture and history. There was also the abuse and humiliation that the photos showed. This was done to Tibetan high lamas, aristocrats, officials from the former government, wealthier merchants, doctors of traditional medicine and others – even though many of them had collaborated publicly with the occupation forces of the PRC. The photos show the form of rule that the Chinese Communist Party imposed on Tibet – what I would call military imperialism. To me, these were realities that had been hidden. They were buried pains and sorrows. 

The state narrative is that this was all caused by Tibetans themselves. On the surface, this is true, and you can see some of that in my father’s photos. However, when I interviewed people who actually remembered the violence in those photos, and when I dug into the official publications and internal documents, I realized that many facts have been hidden by the Party. Through writing the original and now working on the English version, I have learned also that, however powerful they are, the authorities cannot arbitrarily rewrite history.

Apart from documenting Tibet’s recent history, what makes the book significant for today’s readers outside Tibet – particularly for those who are interested in learning about China, but whose knowledge of Tibet is limited?  What relevance and what insights do you think it might offer to them?

Forbidden Memory makes it impossible to deny that the Cultural Revolution was catastrophic in its impact on Tibet. It was certainly destructive all over China, but in Tibet, it exacerbated the damage done by the Party during the PLA’s occupation in the 1950s. The devastation of the Cultural Revolution was far-reaching and traumatic in terms of how it affected Tibetan culture, beliefs, economy, and society. You can see it even now with, for example, the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa or Ganden Monastery just outside the city. They have been renovated or rebuilt so that, on the surface, their prior destruction is no longer immediately visible. But it’s generally agreed among critical scholars and intellectuals that Mao’s death in 1976 didn’t bring an end to the Cultural Revolution in Tibet like it did elsewhere. Many Chinese and Tibetan officials in Tibet whose careers were made during the Cultural Revolution remained in high positions, and their efforts at self-promotion have only continued. They have now become political role models for younger opportunists. They may look very different on the outside from their “revolutionary” predecessors, but many of the things they have done are patterned on what activists did when they followed Mao’s directives in the Cultural Revolution. These activities are what we see in the photos in Forbidden Memory.

Could you talk more about the similarities and differences you noticed between official behavior during the Cultural Revolution and official behavior today?

You don’t see today’s officials directly attacking Tibet’s cultural tradition in the way the Maoist activists did during the Cultural Revolution, but there are huge propaganda hoardings on mountain slopes and hillsides all over Tibet. The portraits of CCP leaders from Mao to Xi Jinping are put on the walls of monasteries and private homes, and the Chinese national five-star flag flies from the Potala Palace [the Dalai Lama’s palace in Lhasa]. This is all the logic of “cultural revolution.” It permeates every corner of Tibet today.

You researched and wrote the first version of the book over a decade ago. What has changed since then? If you were starting again now, what would you do differently?

Before I worked on Forbidden Memory, my writing was mainly poetry and imaginative prose. This has deeply influenced my nonfiction writing. I embed poetic aspects of my work in narratives of specific events, identifiable places, and connections between the past and the present. 

I have watched carefully the changes in Lhasa and other places in Tibet. Overall, despite repackaging by the state, I see the Cultural Revolution as still ongoing in Tibet, albeit in a much less obvious version. You can see it, for example, in the current official project to “renovate” Lhasa in the name of “modernization.” The city has been drastically remade so as to rewrite history, to encourage Tibetans to take on a Chinese identity, and to promote commercialization and Han immigration. The old city of Lhasa was closely bound up with Tibetans’ spiritual and secular lives; now it has become an exotic theme park for tourists. Any presentation or expression of Tibetan culture or history has to be shown as a subset of “Chinese values” or it won’t be allowed.   

To start the project for Forbidden Memory again now? I think I would want to deepen my understanding of every theme and detail that emerges from my father’s photos. I would want to say more to contextualize what happened to particular individuals. The major obstacle now would be finding people who experienced and remembered the Cultural Revolution. In the late 1990s and the early 2000s, I was able to find more than seventy of them. Some of them were activists involved in the attacks, and others were victims or unwilling participants. More than half of them have died since then. Without them, or strictly speaking without the memories they related to me, it would be very hard to write this book. They are the true authors here.

Their spiritual world is full of scars, trapped inside a gigantic net built by the Chinese state”

In many ways, Forbidden Memory is about your efforts to understand the feelings and thinking of the former political idealists and activists you interviewed. What did you learn about political zeal, and about subsequent rethinking and regrets, from your interviews for the book? How did this affect the way you have come to see the Maoist era in general?

The activists and idealists are my elders – my parents, my parents’ siblings and their spouses, my teachers in school, and my superiors and senior colleagues where I used to be employed. Some of them I have known since I was a child, others I was close to as a young adult. From what I was able to hear and observe, sometimes even without directly talking with them, I could understand the actions and the thinking of their generation. Rather than say that they were political idealists or activists, I think, more precisely, many of them are what I would call “double-thinkers”. Only a minority of them, my father included, might have been genuinely idealistic about the political principles they said they believed in. Yet, whether they were idealists or not, the lives they lived were full of tragedy. The more I tried to understand them, the more I realized how they had been engulfed, destroyed, wasted by the regime in so many inhuman ways.

I once wrote about this – that an entire generation of them (and perhaps more than just their generation) are a unique outcome in history. For decades, their lives were so entangled with political turbulence over which they had no control that they metamorphosed into a kind of extreme dependency, a kind of parasitism. Their spiritual world is full of scars, trapped inside a gigantic net built by the Chinese state. Most of them can do nothing but follow its momentum. They are now fragile and old. Looking at their faces – Tibetan, familiar, but marked with confusion and alienation – makes me feel deeply saddened. I feel an almost inexpressible aversion to the monstrous state that has controlled and manipulated their spirit.

The photos your father took in Lhasa and in the Kham region of Tibet during the Cultural Revolution are central to Forbidden Memory. Has his photographic work and the history you discovered helped you understand him and Tibetans of his generation who were part of the Cultural Revolution? 

Yes, I didn’t publish the photo of my father in his army suit until 2016, when the second Chinese edition of Forbidden Memory came out. It has not been easy for me to talk about him publicly. My father had a long career in the Chinese army. At a time when joining the army was somehow seen as an honor, he enlisted when he was 13 in the 18th Army, the part of the PLA which first went into Tibet and ran the occupation in the 1950s. When he suddenly fell ill and died in 1991, he was 54. He had been with the army for 41 years. By then, he was a deputy commander of the PLA forces in Lhasa. I remember that at least once he refused promotion to a civilian position simply because he was unwilling to let go of his military uniform. And yet he took photos of the disasters that the CCP brought to his beloved homeland. I cannot help but wonder: Why did he take these photos? Why did he preserve them so carefully?

It seems to me now that he was very intentional in using his camera to document what was happening. I talked about this with my mother. She thought that my father was simply zealous about photography. “He took photos of everything,” she said. I didn’t completely agree with her. But I was only 25 when my father passed away. I was too young, too immersed in my own far-from-reality universe of poetry and art to have asked him about the photos he’d taken. That’s been an irreversible regret for me. Some twenty years after he died, I began to use his camera to take photographs in many of the same locations where he had taken his photos. Those are in the book as a Postscript. But who was he keeping records for? I am not him and I can’t speak for him, but I know that if he was still alive, he wouldn’t be content with the current order of things in Tibet – though I’m sure that he wouldn’t have become a dissident, a “traitor,” like me. 

I have often imagined that if military service had not been his profession, my father would have chosen to be a professional photographer. But it was his destiny to be a professional soldier instead. It’s the same destiny that has connected me with his photographic work – as if he had kept those photos for me to complete a puzzle about the saddest chapter of Tibetan history as it happened. ∎

Tsering Woeser, Forbidden Memory: Tibet During the Chinese Revolution, trans. Susan Chen, ed. Robert Barnett (Potomac Books, April 2020)
Header: Women march past leaders at a rally in Lhasa, 1966 (Tsering Dorje, courtesy of Tsering Woeser)