New Delhi Through the Eyes of an Exile

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Tenzin Dolker is a Tibetan living in exile in India. Along with other Tibetan nationals living outside their native country, she works on raising awareness about the human rights violations happening as a result of Chinese occupation in Tibet. This is her story.

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So there we were in our secret den, planning our little war.

Our weapons were media, slogans, banners, and, most importantly, a will to resist. Our secret den was my sister’s duplex in Jangpura, South Delhi, whose walls were covered with Tibetan national flags, the phone numbers of lawyers, a map with the locations of various targets around Delhi, and the schedule of the 2012 BRICS summit.

We were tasked with protest plans: making banners, contacting media, writing reports, taking photographs and video footage.

And then it happened. A Tibetan man burned himself alive in Jantar Mantar, just a few kilometers away. There had been 30 self-immolations in Tibet over the past year, but this was the second to occur in India.

When we heard we all went numb. Nobody spoke. My thoughts entered some sort of void and for a few seconds I went dead. I don’t even remember being there at that moment. I don’t remember what I felt. I sensed a heavy sadness and frustration in all of us, but we carried on with what we were doing, shedding tears through our work.

I let the tears fall from my eyes.

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During the previous two days, security around Delhi had been tightening up, but we continued protesting. At the airport and near the Taj Majal Hotel, we’d hung up banners denouncing the Chinese occupation. Many of our friends had already been put into prison, and now, whoever looked Tibetan on the streets was being stopped and questioned, even arrested and jailed.

We planned our action for the next day outside the Oberoi Hotel, where Hu Jin Tao, China’s President, was staying. We would protest near the hotel’s main gate, so that Hu Jin Tao would see us as he was driven out.

The next morning during breakfast there was a tremendous sense of excitement and pressure. We were ready for our little war.

Security was too tight to carry a banner, so I wore my “FREE TIBET” T-shirt. On the back I had written “TIBET WILL BE FREE” in permanent marker.

We decided to take a public bus, as it would be full of people and might not be thoroughly searched at checkpoints. We pretended to be strangers and sat in different places on the bus. We passed through most of the barricades, but just before the final checkpoint a policeman spotted us. He crawled aboard and said something to the driver, then went to the back of the bus and sat down.

Just as we were about to pass the Oberoi, my friend went up to the driver and asked him to stop, but the policeman had told him not to. He refused and kept driving. We had to do something. We had to get off the bus. My friend asked the driver to stop again and when the driver didn’t listen, he jumped out of the door and was gone.

As we continued driving, I realized it was my turn. I was in tears and demanded the driver to stop or else I would jump too. He finally pulled over and we jumped off the bus and began shouting. Within seconds a group of policemen came rushing towards us. I shouted as loud as I could, “Shame on you Hu Jin Tao! Shame on you!”

The police grabbed me. Indian policemen cannot arrest women by law (it must be done by a female officer), but my hair was cropped short and they seemed to think I was a little Tibetan man. Three policemen carried me to a police car and locked me inside.

After a few minutes the car began moving, but we were soon stuck in Delhi traffic, surrounded by crowds of people looking through the window at me. Their expressions were neither judgmental nor sympathetic, only curious. At the police station we were all put into a single room and told to sit on the floor. They said we would be released once Hu Jintao leaves Delhi.

Nearby a group of police officers were sitting in chairs, watching us. They asked where we’d come from and why we were protesting. We told them we were originally from Tibet, but were born in India and living here in exile. We told them we had learned much of what we knew about protesting and using democracy to promote human rights from examples set by Indian leaders during their struggle against British rule. They seemed to understand us, and I sensed a certain respect in their eyes.

I wasn’t protesting just for a piece of land, or for the media, or simply because of my identity as a Tibetan. That day was my fight, a struggle for my rights and against the destruction of my grandparents’ home. It is a fight that must continue, for the brave souls inside Tibet who still face torture and terror every day.

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