The celebration began earlier this week with various religious ceremonies but will conclude in a more relaxed manner, with song and dance—and surely even more devout prayers.
The Dalai Lama is not as active as he once was. He has trouble walking and is supported by aides when appearing in public. But his smile remains the same, as does his optimism. The Tibetan spiritual leader says he wants to live as long as possible—ideally well past a hundred. But time marches on, and quiet preparations for the inevitable succession have been underway for a long time.
The Dalai Lama institution was established in the 16th century. This week, the current 14th Dalai Lama confirmed that the institution will continue after his death. This means that the Tibetan exile community must begin searching for his reincarnation as soon as he passes. And he will be found outside China—most likely in India.
But the “search teams” face sharp competition, as Chinese leaders are determined to appoint their own Dalai Lama. Thus, Tibetans may soon face two rival Dalai Lamas.
The Chinese communists have for years condemned the Dalai Lama since he fled to India in 1959. “He is a traitor and a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” say the ceaseless tirades from Beijing. Yet Tibetans inside and outside Tibet continue to regard him as their rightful spiritual leader. Every day, devout Tibetans stand before the mighty Potala Palace in Lhasa and pray that he may return home to a free Tibet. But the chances of that happening diminish with each passing year.
Today’s birthday celebrant—Tenzin Gyatso, as he was originally named—was born in the village of Taktser in 1935.
The 13th Dalai Lama had died two years earlier, and the search for his successor was in full swing. Signs in nature and other omens led a group of solemn lamas to the village, located some 1,000 kilometers northeast of Lhasa.
When they arrived in 1939, Tenzin Gyatso was four years old. “That’s mine!” he is said to have exclaimed when the lamas showed him the 13th Dalai Lama’s rosary. The boy reportedly also recognized other objects that had belonged to the late leader, and the lamas became convinced they had found the right person.
Two years later, after passing further tests, the boy began the long journey to Lhasa, the City of the Gods—a slow-moving caravan with 350 pack animals and an entourage of monks, nobles, and priests. After three grueling months, the caravan marched into Lhasa, where thousands of people threw themselves to the ground in reverence before their new ruler.
In a solemn ceremony at Norbulingka, the Dalai Lamas’ summer palace, he was formally installed as Tibet’s secular and spiritual leader. “There was spring in the air and many cried,” the Dalai Lama writes in his autobiography—“they cried with joy: I was only four and a half years old, and for all Tibetans, the future seemed happy and secure.”
The final decade before the communists seized power in China in 1949 was a time of political ferment in Tibet.
While waiting for the young Dalai Lama to come of age, a regent ruled on his behalf. Only a few Chinese lived in Lhasa, including the so-called amban—China’s official envoy. Tibetans had their own government, their own army, their own postal service, and their own currency, and most people regarded the mountain realm as independent.
However, the government in Lhasa had neither requested nor received diplomatic recognition from other countries. Nor was the country a member of the United Nations.
So when Mao’s soldiers invaded Tibet in 1950, the Tibetans had little to counter with. Dissatisfaction with the harsh Chinese occupation culminated in the 1959 uprising, which ended with the Dalai Lama’s dramatic escape across the mountains to India. Over the following months, some 80,000 of his countrymen followed the same path, to India, Nepal, and Bhutan.
Meanwhile, the suffering in Tibet continued. The wave of killings from 1959 to 1961 confirmed to the Dalai Lama that he had made the right decision. Even the Chinese have admitted that as many as 85,000 Tibetans were killed during the first two years after the uprising. The true number is probably much higher. Temples and monasteries were destroyed, monks and freedom fighters were thrown in prison, and Tibet’s second-highest spiritual leader, the Panchen Lama, was taken to Beijing and charged with “counter-revolutionary crimes.”
He spent the next twelve years in prison. Though eventually released, he remained under constant surveillance and was allowed to visit Tibet only twice, briefly. He died in 1989.
“Looking back, I feel that all my major decisions have been the right ones,” the Dalai Lama said some time ago. “I may have been wrong on minor issues, but not on the big ones.”
When Mao launched the Cultural Revolution in 1966, Tibetans were subjected to fresh trials. Thousands of fervent Red Guards poured into the mountains to “make revolution.” Mao had commanded them to fight “the Four Olds”—old culture, old ideas, old customs, and old habits. The Red Guards responded by attacking everything that reminded them of the past. Thousands of Tibetans were tortured and killed, and at massive rallies, the Dalai Lama was denounced as a “traitor” and “parasite.”
After three years of destruction, the Red Guards were ordered home, and conditions calmed somewhat. But the Cultural Revolution remained official policy until Mao’s death in 1976.
In the early 1980s—after extensive investigation—the Dalai Lama concluded that the abuses had caused the deaths of 1.2 million Tibetans. Many have questioned the high estimate. Regardless, the suffering was immense, and countless people were killed.
Mao’s death sparked new hope among Tibetans. The political climate gradually softened, and the hated people’s communes were dismantled. In 1982, Hu Yaobang, the new Party chief, traveled to Tibet. Hu was known as a zealous reformer but was deeply dismayed by what he saw—the ruined monasteries, the dire schools, and the sea of impoverished Tibetans. “What have you done with the money?” he asked the local party officials. Visibly shaken, he concluded that Beijing’s funds might as well have been thrown into the Lhasa River.
Since then, the government has made efforts to repair some of the damage. Many temples have been restored and reopened, and new funding has poured in. So too have thousands of Han Chinese, who are increasingly displacing the local population. They arrive by plane and train, and Lhasa is unrecognizable. Chinese is spoken everywhere, and Tibetans are being steadily marginalized. Tibetan children are forced to learn Mandarin as their first language. Alarming reports say that fewer and fewer children are allowed to live at home; instead, they are placed in boarding schools, often miles from their parents. In this way, the regime gains an opportunity to shape them from an early age.
The Chinese civilian “invasion” is backed by the People’s Liberation Army, which is believed to have stationed between 200,000 and 300,000 soldiers in Tibet. The largest garrison lies outside Lhasa, others near the Indian border. This vast military presence is due not only to internal unrest but also to the unresolved border dispute with the southern neighbor.
Dharamsala is a beautiful place—I’ve been there myself.
The town clings to the mountain slopes of the southern Himalayas and is surrounded by lush rhododendron forests. From his terrace, the Dalai Lama has a stunning view of the mountains he left behind. But the sight of them is no substitute for the homeland he continues to dream of.
“Every single day I pray for China,” he said when I met him many years ago.
“I have never been an enemy of the Chinese people, and several of my closest friends are Chinese. My only regret is that the Chinese leadership sees Tibetans as inferior. This attitude is the root of all the evil that has happened in Tibet.”
The Dalai Lama shared that he has followed the same daily routine for many years. He rises at 4 a.m. to meditate and pray. Ninety minutes later, he eats breakfast. The following hours are dedicated to religious studies. For over 2,000 years, Buddhist scholars have produced thick volumes of wisdom, and as a spiritual leader, he is obliged to immerse himself in these ancient, yellowed pages. At 12:30 p.m., he eats his second and final meal of the day—usually vegetables and a bowl of noodle soup with strips of beef.
He tries to avoid chicken.
“The chicken is so small, and the more food you need, the more chickens you must kill. That’s not good.”
After lunch, he receives visitors. They come in a steady stream, some in groups, others alone—some seeking blessings, others advice. Many have struggled for months to gain an audience, but long-distance journalists are given high priority. Getting the Tibetan message out to the world is important. At 5:30 p.m., the workday officially ends, but if the situation demands, he continues late into the evening.
“I feel strong,” he said. “I love meeting people, and I enjoy traveling.”
But now, he feels the effects of age. Still, ahead of his 90th birthday, he has written a substantial book, Voice for the Voiceless, where he summarizes his dramatic life. Realistically, he emphasizes that he does not demand independence for Tibet—that is not possible, at least not in the foreseeable future. Instead, he calls for the autonomy that Mao promised the Tibetans in 1951 to be given real meaning. Today, all key positions in Tibet are held by Han Chinese, and the Communist Party always has the final say.
“I admit the prospects are grim,” he writes in the book. “But never lose hope, no matter how dark the sky may grow … remember that a bright sun awaits behind the clouds. We are an ancient people with a long history of resistance. For thousands of years, we who eat tsampa have been the guardians of the vast Tibetan highlands, known as the Roof of the World. Through more than two thousand years of history, we have navigated both highs and lows, always secure in our identity as a distinct people, with our own language, culture, and religion, and the core values that define us.”
“Today’s dark period under Communist occupation may seem endless, but in our long history, it is just a short nightmare,” he concludes. “As our Buddhist faith teaches us: Nothing escapes the law of impermanence.”
MY READING TIPS
Dalai Lama: Voice of the Voiceless, William Morrow, New York, 2025
Dalai Lama: My Land and My People, McGraw-Hill, New York, 1962
Michael Harris Goodman: The Last Dalai Lama, Shambhala, New Delhi, 1987
Torbjørn Færøvik: Midtens rike: En vandring i Kinas historie, Cappelen Damm, Oslo, 2009
Torbjørn Færøvik: Maos rike: En lidelseshistorie, Cappelen Damm, Oslo 2012
