【99.02 Atlantic】中国人眼中的西藏

和解团结

【英文标题】Tibet Through Chinese Eyes
【中文标题】中国人眼中的西藏
【出版时间】1999年2月
【刊物】Atlantic
【作者】Peter Hessler
【原文链接】http://www.theatlantic.com/issues/99feb/tibet.htm
【简介】
这是1999年2月Atlantic上的一篇文章，虽说是10年前的东西了，但可以说是10年来我见过的西方主流媒体里面最客观的一篇报道，或者说第一个全面反映中国观点的涉藏报道。鉴于文章很长，我就不翻译了，直接在这里把英文原文贴上，相信这里大部分的人都可以看懂原文，如果需要语言帮助的话可以到www.dict.cn和http://translate.google.com/上翻译。顺便说一下，这个文章是我去年3月后从The China Beat上面的链接找到的。

还有就是，如果这里有谁在国外，需要和老外交流西藏问题，我也强烈推荐这篇文章给那些老外

==================================================================================
POLITICAL views on Tibet tend to be as unambiguous as the hard blue dome of sky that stretches above its mountains. In Western opinion, the "Tibet question" is settled: Tibet should not be part of China; before being forcibly annexed, in 1951, it was an independent country. The Chinese are cruel occupiers who are seeking to destroy the traditional culture of Tibet. The Dalai Lama, the traditional spiritual leader of Tibet, who fled to India in 1959, should be allowed to return and resume his rule over either an independent or at least a culturally autonomous Tibet. In short, in Western eyes there is only one answer to the Tibet question: Free Tibet.

For Han -- ethnic Chinese -- who live in Tibet, the one answer is exactly the same and yet completely different. They serve what the Chinese call "Liberated Tibet." Mei Zhiyuan is Han, and in 1997 he was sent by the Chinese government to act as a "Volunteer Aiding Tibet" at a Tibetan middle school, where he works as a teacher. His roommate, Tashi, is a Tibetan who as a college student was sent in the opposite direction, to Sichuan province, where he received his teacher training. Both men are twenty-four years old. They are good friends who live near Heroes Road, which is named after the Chinese and Tibetans who contributed to the "peaceful liberation" of Tibet in the 1950s. This is how Mei Zhiyuan sees Tibet -- as a harmonious region that benefits from Chinese support. When I asked him why he had volunteered to work there, he said, "Because all of us know that Tibet is a less developed place that needs skilled people."


I went to Tibet to explore this second viewpoint, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Tibet question through Chinese eyes. Before coming to Tibet, I had spent two years as a volunteer English teacher at a small college in Sichuan, which made me particularly interested in meeting volunteer teachers like Mei Zhiyuan. I also talked with other young government-sent workers and entrepreneurs who had come to seek their fortunes, and for four weeks that was my focus, as I spent time in Lhasa and other places where there are large numbers of Han settlers.

Of all the pieces that compose the Tibet question, this is by far the most explosive: the Dalai Lama has targeted Han migration as one of the greatest threats to Tibetan culture, and the sensitivity of the issue is evident in some statistics. According to Beijing, Han make up only three percent of the population of the Tibet Autonomous Region, whereas some Tibetan exiles claim that the figure is in fact over 50 percent and growing. Tibetans see the influx of Han as yet another attempt to destroy their culture; Chinese see the issue as Deng Xiaoping did in 1987, when he said, "Tibet is sparsely populated. The two million Tibetans are not enough to handle the task of developing such a huge region. There is no harm in sending Han into Tibet to help.... The key issues are what is best for Tibetans and how can Tibet develop at a fast pace, and move ahead in the four modernizations in China."

Regardless of the accuracy of the official Chinese view, many of the government-sent Han workers in Tibet clearly see their role in terms of service. They are perhaps the most important historical actors in terms of the Tibet question, and yet they are also the most-often overlooked. Why did they come to Tibet? What do they think of the place, how are they changing it, and what do they see as their role?

Gao Ming, a twenty-two-year-old English teacher, told me, "One aspect was that I knew we should be willing to go to the border regions, to the minority areas, to places that are jianku -- difficult. These are the parts of China that need help. If I could have gone to Xinjiang, I would have, but I knew that Tibet was also a place that needed teachers. That was the main reason. Another aspect was that Tibet is a natural place -- there's no pollution here, and almost no people; much of it is untouched. So I wanted to see what it was like."

Shi Mingzhi, a twenty-four-year-old physics teacher, said, "First, I'd say it's the same reason that you came here to travel -- because it's an interesting place. But I also wanted to come help build the country. You know that all of the volunteers in this district are Party members, and if you're a Party member, you should be willing to go to a jianku place to work. So you could say that all of us had patriotic reasons for coming -- perhaps that's the biggest reason. But I also came because it was a good opportunity, and the salary is higher than in the interior of China."

Talking with these young men was in many ways similar to talking with an idealistic volunteer in any part of the world. Apart from the financial incentive to work in Tibet, many of the motivations were the same -- the sense of adventure, the desire to see something new, the commitment to service. And government propaganda emphasizes this sense of service, through figures like Kong Fansen, a cadre from eastern China who worked in Tibet and became famous as a worker-martyr after his death in an auto accident. Han workers are exhorted to study the "old Tibet spirit" of Kong and other cadres as they serve a region that in the Chinese view desperately needs their talents.

Central to their task is the concept of jianku.I heard this term repeatedly when the Chinese described conditions in Tibet, and life is especially jianku for Volunteers Aiding Tibet, who commit in advance to serving eight-year terms. Most government-sent Han workers fall into the category of Cadres Aiding Tibet -- teachers, doctors, administrators, and others who serve for two or three years. Having graduated from a lower-level college, Mei Zhiyuan could not qualify for such a position, and as a result was forced to make an eight-year commitment. The sacrifice is particularly impressive considering that he assumed it would have serious repercussions on his health. Many Chinese believe that living at a high altitude for long periods of time does significant damage to the lungs, and a number of workers told me that this was the greatest drawback to living in Tibet. "It's bad for you," Mei Zhiyuan explained, "because when you live in a place this high, your lungs enlarge, and eventually that affects your heart. It shortens your life." During my stay in Tibet I heard several variations on this theory (one from an earnest young teacher who was smoking a cigarette), but generally it involved the lungs expanding and putting pressure on the heart. There is no medical evidence to support such a belief; indeed, in a heavily polluted country like China, where one of every four deaths is attributed to lung disease, the high, clean air of Tibet is probably tonic. Nevertheless, this perception adds to the sense of sacrifice, and it is encouraged by the government pay structure, which links salary to altitude: the higher you work, the higher your pay.

The roughly 1,000 yuan ($120) a month that Mei Zhiyuan earns is half what the local cadre teachers make. Even so, his salary is two to three times what he would make as a teacher in rural Sichuan, and he is able to send half his earnings home to his parents, who are peasants. It's good money by Chinese standards but seems hardly a sufficient incentive for a young man to be willing to shorten his life. Leaving before his eight years are up would incur a heavy fine of up to 20,000 yuan -- $2,400, nearly two years' salary, or, for a peasant family like Mei Zhiyuan's, approximately twenty tons of rice.


The Dream of a Unified Motherland


FROM the Chinese perspective, Tibet has always been a part of China. This is, of course, a simplistic and inaccurate view, but Tibetan history is so muddled that one can see in it what one wishes. The Chinese can ignore some periods and point to others; they can cite the year 1792, when the Qing Emperor sent a Chinese army to help the Tibetans drive out the invading Nepalese, or explain that from 1728 to 1912 there were Qing ambans, imperial administrators, stationed in Lhasa. In fact the authority of these ambans steadily decreased over time, and Tibet enjoyed de facto independence from 1913 to 1951. An unbiased arbiter would find Tibetan arguments for independence more compelling than the Chinese version of history -- but also, perhaps, would find that the Chinese have a stronger historical claim to Tibet than the United States does to much of the American West.

Most important, China's reasons for wanting Tibet changed greatly over the years. For the Qing Dynasty, Tibet was important strictly as a buffer state; ambans and armies were sent to ensure that the region remained peaceful, but they made relatively few administrative changes, and there was no effort to force the Tibetans to adopt the Chinese language or Chinese customs. In the Qing view, Tibet was a part of China but at the same time it was something different; the monasteries and the Dalai Lamas were allowed to maintain authority over most internal affairs.

In the early twentieth century, as the Qing collapsed and China struggled to overcome the imperialism of foreign powers, Tibet became important for new reasons of nationalism. Intellectuals and political leaders, including Sun Yat-sen, believed that China's historical right to Tibet had been infringed by Western powers, particularly Britain, which invaded Tibet in 1904 to force the thirteenth Dalai Lama to open relations. As Tibet slipped further from Chinese control, a steady stream of nationalistic rhetoric put the loss of Tibet into a familiar pattern -- the humiliation by foreign powers in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, as Hong Kong went to the British, Manchuria and Shandong to the Japanese, Taiwan to the U.S.-funded Kuomintang. By the time Mao Zedong founded the People's Republic of China, in 1949, Tibet had figured into the nation's pre-eminent task: the reunification of the once-powerful motherland.

Tibet thus changed from buffer state to a central piece in Communist China's vision of itself as independent and free from imperialist influence. Orville Schell, a longtime observer of China, says that even today this perception is held by most Chinese. "I don't think there's any more sensitive issue," he says, "with the possible exception of Taiwan, because it grows out of the dream of a unified motherland -- a dream that historically speaking has been the goal of almost every Chinese leader. This issue touches on sovereignty, it touches on the unity of Chinese territory, and especially it touches on the issue of the West as predator, the violator of Chinese sovereignty."

The irony is that China, like an abused child who grows up to revisit his suffering on the next generation, has committed similar sins in Tibet: the overthrow of the monasteries and the violent redistribution of land, the mayhem of the Cultural Revolution, and the restriction of intellectual and religious freedom that continues to this day. And as in any form of imperialism, much of the damage has been done in the name of duty. When the Chinese speak of pre-1951 Tibet, they emphasize the shortcomings of the region's feudal-theocratic government: life expectancy was thirty-six years; 95 percent of Tibetans were illiterate; 95 percent of the population was hereditary serfs and slaves owned by monasteries and nobles. The sense is that the Tibetans suffered under a bad system, and the Chinese had a moral obligation to liberate them. Before traveling to Tibet, I asked my Chinese friends about the region. Most responded like Sai Xinghao, a forty-eight-year-old photographer: "It was a slave society, you know, and they were very cruel -- they'd cut off the heads of their slaves and enemies. I've seen movies about it. If you were a slave, everything was controlled by the master. So, of course, after Liberation the rich lords opposed the changes [instituted by the Chinese]. It's like your America's history, when Washington liberated the black slaves. Afterward the blacks supported him, but of course the wealthy class did not. In history it's always that way -- it was the same when Napoleon overthrew King Louis, and all of the lords opposed Napoleon because he supported the poor."

My friend is not an educated man, but many Chinese intellectuals make the same comparison. President Jiang Zemin made a similar remark during his 1997 visit to the United States (although he correctly identified Lincoln as the Great Liberator). The statistics about Tibetan illiteracy and life expectancy are accurate. Although the Chinese exaggerate the ills of the feudal system, mid-century Tibet was badly in need of reform -- but naturally the Tibetans would have much preferred to reform it themselves.

Another aspect of the Chinese duty in Tibet is the sense that rapid modernization is needed, and should take precedence over cultural considerations. For Westerners, this is a difficult perspective to understand. Tibet is appealing to us precisely because it's not modern, and we have idealized its culture and anti-materialism to the point where it has become, as Orville Schell says, "a figurative place of spiritual enlightenment in the Western imagination -- where people don't make Buicks, they make good karma."

But to the Chinese, for whom modernization is coming late, Buicks look awfully good. I noticed this during my first year as a teacher in China, when my writing class spent time considering the American West. We discussed western expansion, and I presented the students with a problem of the late nineteenth century: the Plains Indians, their culture in jeopardy, were being pressed by white settlers. I asked my class to imagine that they were American citizens proposing a solution, and nearly all responded much the way this student did: "The world is changing and developing. We should make the Indians suit our modern life. The Indians are used to living all over the plains and moving frequently, without a fixed home, but it is very impractical in our modern life.... We need our country to be a powerful country; we must make the Indians adapt to our modern life and keep pace with the society. Only in this way can we strengthen the country."

Virtually all my students were from peasant backgrounds, and like most Chinese, the majority of them were but one generation removed from deep poverty. What I saw as freedom and culture, they saw as misery and ignorance. In my second year I repeated the lesson with a different class, asking if China had any indigenous people analogous to the Plains Indians. All responded that the Tibetans were similar. I asked about China's obligation in Tibet. The answers suggested that my students had learned more from American history than I had intended to teach. One student replied, "First, I will use my friendship to help [the Tibetans]. But if they refuse my friendship, I will use war to develop them, like the Americans did with the Indians."


The Two Sides of Support


REGARDLESS of China's motivations, and regardless of its failures in Tibet, the drive to develop the region has been expensive. According to Beijing, more than 200,000 Han workers have served in Tibet since the 1950s. Taxes in Tibet are virtually nonexistent; Tibetan farmers, unlike those in the interior, receive tax-free leases of land, and a preferential tax code has been established to encourage business. Low-interest loans are available, and business imports from Nepal are duty-free. Despite the dearth of local revenues, government investment is steadily developing a modern infrastructure. From 1952 to 1994 the central government invested $4.2 billion in the region, and in 1994 Beijing initiated sixty-two major infrastructure projects for which the eventual investment is expected to be more than $480 million. It is estimated that more than 90 percent of Tibet's government revenue comes from outside the region.

This investment of both human and financial capital complicates the issue of Tibet in ways that few outsiders realize. Foreign reports often refer to the exploitation of Tibetan resources as a classic colonial situation, which is misleading. Although Beijing is certainly doing what it can with Tibet's timber and mineral reserves, China spends an enormous amount of money in the region, and if self-sufficiency ever comes, it will not come soon. Tibet does have significant military value: the Chinese do not want to see it under the influence of a foreign power such as India, but not even this would seem to merit the enormous investment. In 1996 China spent some $600 million in Tibet. One foreign observer who has studied the region puts this in perspective: "For that same year the United States gave a total of eight hundred million dollars in aid to all of Africa. That's all of Africa -- we're talking about hundreds of millions of people. In Tibet there are only two and a half million. So if they become independent, who's going to be giving them that kind of money?"

"Unless you're a complete Luddite," Orville Schell says, "and don't believe in roads, telephones, hospitals, and things like that, then I think China must be credited with a substantial contribution to the modern infrastructure of Tibet. In this sense Tibet needs China. But that's not to diminish the hideous savageness with which China has treated Tibet."

Almost every aspect of Chinese support has two sides, and education illustrates the point well. I met a number of young Han teachers like Mei Zhiyuan, who were imbued with a sense of service: they were conscientious, well-trained teachers, and they were working in places with a real need for instructors. One volunteer was teaching English at a middle school where the shortage was so acute that many students had to delay the start of their English studies until the following year, when additional Han teachers were expected to arrive. I visited one district in which out of 230 secondary-school teachers, sixty were Han, and many of the Tibetan instructors had been trained in the interior at the Chinese government's expense. Such links with the interior seem inevitable, given that the Chinese have built Tibet's public education system from scratch. Before they arrived, in 1951, there were no public schools in Tibet, whereas now there are more than 4,000.

Likewise the schools I saw were impressive facilities with low student fees. In one town I toured the three local middle schools; two of them were newly built, with far better campuses than I was accustomed to seeing in China. The third school, whose grounds featured massive construction cranes fluttering with prayer flags, was being refurbished with the help of a $720,000 investment from the interior. Unlike students at most Chinese schools, those at the local No. 1 Middle School paid no tuition, and even high school students, who generally pay substantial amounts in China, had paid at most $70 a semester, including board. Everything possible was being done to encourage students to stay in school: a student's tuition and boarding charge were cut in half if only one parent worked, and transportation to and from the remote nomad areas was often free.

In a poor country such policies are impressively generous; essentially, Tibetan schools are better funded than Chinese schools. And this funding is sorely needed: the adult illiteracy rate in Tibet is still 52 percent. Only 78 percent of the children start elementary school, and of those only 35 percent enter middle school. But Chinese assistance must be considered in the context of what's being taught in the schools -- a critical issue for Tibetans.

One morning I visited an elementary school on a spacious, beautiful campus, with new buildings and a grass playground that stretched westward under the shadow of a 14,000-foot mountain. Most of the school's 900 students were Tibetan. I paused at the central information board, where announcements were written in Chinese.

The board detailed a $487,800 investment that had been made by a provincial government in the interior, and displayed a short biography of Zu Chongzhi, a fifth-century Chinese mathematician. Next to this was a notice telling students to "remember the great goals." They were urged to work on doubling China's GNP from its 1980 level, and they were reminded that by 2050 China needed to achieve a GNP and a per capita income ranking in the middle of developed countries. Beside these goals was a long political section that read, in part,

We must achieve the goal of modern socialist construction, and we must persevere in building the economy. We must carry out domestic reform and the policy of opening to the outside world.... We must oppose the freedom of the capitalist class, and we must be vigilant against the conspiracy to make a peaceful evolution toward imperialism.

It was heavy stuff for elementary school students (and indeed, if I were a Chinese propagandist, I would think twice before exhorting Tibetan children to resist imperialism), and it indicates how politicized the climate of a Chinese school is. Despite all the recent economic changes in China, the education system is still tied to the past. This conservatism imbues every aspect of education, starting with language. Two of the schools I visited were mixed Han and Tibetan, and classes were segregated by ethnicity. The reasons here are linguistic: most Tibetan children don't start learning Mandarin until elementary school, and even many Tibetan high school students, as the Han teachers complained, don't understand Chinese well. This segregation leads to different curricula -- for example, Tibetan students have daily Tibetan-language classes, whereas Han students use that time for extra English instruction. To the Chinese, this system seems fair, especially since Tibetan students have the right to join the Han classes.

But Tibetans feel that there is an overemphasis on Chinese, especially at the higher levels, which threatens their language and culture. All the classes taught by Han teachers are in Chinese or English, and most of the Tibetan teachers in the middle and high schools are supposed to use Mandarin (although the ones I spoke with said they often used Tibetan, because otherwise their students wouldn't understand). In any case, important qualifying exams emphasize Chinese, and this reflects a society in which fluency is critical to success, especially when it comes to any sort of government job. Another, more basic issue is that Tibetan students are overwhelmed. One Han teacher told me that his students came primarily from nomad areas, where their families lived in tents; yet during the course of an average day they might have classes in Tibetan, Chinese, and English, three languages with almost nothing in common.

Political and religious issues are paramount. In Lhasa I met a twenty-one-year-old Tibet University student who was angered by his school's anti-religious stance, which is standard for schools in Tibet. "They tell us we can't believe in religion," he said, "because we're supposed to be building socialism, and you can't believe in both socialism and religion. But of course most of the students still believe in religion -- I'd say that eighty to ninety percent of us are devout." One of his classmates, a member of the Communist Party, complained about the history courses. "The history we study is all Chinese history [of Tibet]," he said. "Most of it I don't believe." These students also adamantly opposed existing programs that send exceptional Tibetan middle and high school students to study in the interior, where there is nothing to offset the Chinese view of Tibet.

Such complaints reflect the results of recent education reforms. A series of them made in 1994, characteristically, represent both the good and the bad aspects of Chinese support. On the one hand, the government stepped up its campaign against illiteracy, and on the other, it resolved to control the political content of education more carefully, in hopes of pacifying the region. There has certainly been some success with this approach: I met a number of educated Tibetans who identified closely with China. Tashi, Mei Zhiyuan's roommate, seemed completely comfortable being both Tibetan and Chinese: he had studied in Sichuan, he had a good job, and he had the government's support to thank. When I asked him what was the biggest problem in Tibet, he mentioned language -- but not in the way many Tibetans did. "So many [Tibetan] students can't speak Chinese," he said, "and if you can't speak Chinese, it's hard to find a good job. They need to study harder."

Most Tibetans seemed less likely to accept Chinese support at face value. But it was clear that politically they were being pulled in a number of directions at once, and my conversations with educated young Tibetans were dizzying experiences. Their questions ranged from odd ("Which do you think is going to win, capitalism or socialism?") to bizarre ("Is it true that in America when you go to your brother's or sister's house for dinner, they charge you money?"), and the surroundings were often equally unsettling. One Monday morning I watched the flag-raising ceremony at a middle school, where students and staff members lined up to listen to the national anthem, after which, in unison, they pledged allegiance to the Communist Party, love for the motherland, and dedication to studying and working hard. With the Tibetan mountains towering above, it was a surreal scene -- and it became all the more so when the school's political adviser, a Tibetan in his early thirties with silver teeth, walked over and asked me where I was from. After I told him, he said, "Here in Tibet we already have a lot of influence from your Western countries -- like Pepsi, Coke, movies, things like that. My opinion is that there are good and bad things coming from the West. For example, things regarding sex. In America, if you're married and you decide that you want another lover, what do you do? You get a divorce, regardless of how it affects your wife and child. But the people here are very religious, and we don't like those kinds of ideas."

I heard a number of comments like this, and undoubtedly the education system included a great deal of anti-America propaganda. I felt that here the Chinese were almost doing the Tibetans a service; nothing depressed me more than my conversations with less-educated Tibetans, who invariably had great faith in American support and believed that President Clinton, who was then in China on last year's state visit, had come in order to save Tibet. Considering that China's interest in Tibet is largely a reaction to foreign imperialism, it's no surprise that nothing makes the Chinese angrier and more stubborn than the sight of the Dalai Lama and other exiled leaders seeking -- and winning -- support in America and elsewhere. And yet Tibetan faith in America seems naive given America's treatment of its own indigenous people, and because historically U.S. policy in Tibet has been hypocritical and counterproductive. For example, the CIA trained and armed Tibetan guerrillas in the 1950s, during a critical period of mostly peaceful (if tenuous) cooperation between the Dalai Lama and the Chinese. The peace ended when Tibetan uprisings, in which these guerrillas played a part, resulted in brutal Chinese repression and the Dalai Lama's flight to India.

America also represents modernity, and a further complication, beyond the Chinese political agenda, is that the long-isolated Tibetan society must come to grips with the modern world. One college student said, "The more money we Tibetans have, the higher our living standard is, the more we forget our own culture. And with or without the Chinese, I think that would be happening."

和解团结

Sichuanese on the Frontier


PERHAPS the most hopeful moment in recent Han-Tibetan relations came shortly after 1980, when the Chinese Party Secretary, Hu Yaobang, went on a fact-finding mission to Tibet and returned with severe criticisms of Chinese policies. He advocated a two-pronged solution: Chinese investment was needed to spur economic growth in Tibet, but at the same time the Han should be more respectful of Tibetan culture. Cadres needed to learn Tibetan; the language should be used in government offices serving the public; and religion should be allowed more freedom.

There's no question that such respect is sorely needed, especially with regard to language. I never met a single government-sent Han worker who was learning Tibetan -- not even the volunteers who would be there for eight years. And in Lhasa at the Xinhua bookstore, the largest in the city, I found not one textbook for Chinese students of Tibetan -- books for foreign students, yes, but nothing for the Chinese.

Some of the 1980 reforms were implemented, but they were cut short by a series of riots in Lhasa that started in 1987. To Beijing hardliners, the riots indicated that too much freedom is a bad thing, and in 1987 Hu Yaobang was purged, partly for his recommendations regarding Tibet. By the spring of 1989 martial law had been declared in Tibet, and the Chinese concluded that relaxing restrictions on Tibetan culture and religion was tantamount to encouraging unrest. The two-pronged solution was quickly cut in half: Beijing would simply develop the economy, hoping that rising standards of living would defuse political tensions while building closer economic ties with the interior. This policy has been accelerated by the enormous investments of the 1990s.

Development, however, often comes at the cost of culture. Traditional sections of Lhasa are being razed in favor of faceless modern buildings, and the economic boom is attracting hordes of Han and Hui (an Islamic minority) migrants to Tibet.

Outsiders dominate Tibet's economy -- indeed, they've essentially built it, inspiring enormous resentment among the Tibetan population. I met some Tibetans who didn't mind that cadres were sent from the interior, but I never met one who wasn't opposed to the influx of migrant workers, especially the huge numbers of Han from nearby Sichuan. Longtime Han residents, too, felt this was a serious problem.

The phenomenon of liudong renkou, or "floating population," is affecting urban areas all across China, with some 100 million people seeking work away from home. In the west and south there are particularly large numbers of Sichuanese in the floating population, and during my travels I often heard the same prejudices: the Sichuanese migrants are uncultured, their women loose, their menjiaohua, sly. And worst of all, people complained, they keep coming.

Having spent two years in Sichuan, I understand why the Sichuanese so often leave. Their province, roughly the size of France, contains 120 million people, and the economy is so shaky that recent factory closings have led to worker uprisings in some cities. Mostly the Sichuanese leave because they aren't afraid to; they have been toughened by tough conditions, and all across China that is another thing they are famous for: their ability to chiku -- eat bitter. They work and they survive, and like successful migrants anywhere else in the world, they are resented for their success.

In Tibet the Sichuanese have helped themselves to a large chunk of the economy. This was clear from the moment I arrived at the Lhasa airport, where thirteen of the sixteen restaurants bordering the entrance advertised Sichuan food. One was Tibetan. Virtually all small business in Lhasa follows this pattern; everywhere I saw Sichuan restaurants and shops. Locals told me that 80 percent of Lhasa's Han were Sichuanese, and this may not be much of an exaggeration.

This influx is far more significant and disruptive than the importing of Han cadres, and it's also harder to monitor. One common misperception in Western reports is that these people are sent by the government: the image is of a tremendous Han civilian army arriving to overwhelm Tibetan culture. The truth is that the government has little control over the situation. "How do you cut off the people moving out there?" asked one American who had spent much time in Tibet. "What mechanism are you going to have to prevent that? They don't have any restrictions on internal travel -- and we always beat them over the head about not having those, because to institute them would be a human-rights issue."

Far from arriving with an ethnic agenda, the independent migrants are for the most part completely apolitical. In Lhasa I often ate at a small Sichuan restaurant run by Fei Xiaoyun, a thirty-one-year-old native of Chengdu who, along with her husband, had been laid off in 1996 by a bankrupt state-owned natural-gas plant. Each of them had been given a two-year severance allowance of $30 a month, and when that was gone, they took their savings and bought plane tickets to Lhasa. They had left their five-year-old son with his grandmother -- a common choice for migrants, including cadres. This is partly out of fear of the effects on health of living in Tibet, and also because Tibetan schools are considered worse than those in the interior and children who are registered outside their districts have to pay extra fees.

Fei Xiaoyun never spoke of the growth of the GNP, and she had no interest in developing the motherland. Once, I asked her about Prime Minister Zhu Rongji, whose economic reforms are closing factories like hers, and she didn't even recognize his name. "All of the country's big affairs I don't understand," she said with a shrug. She was simply a poor woman with her back against the wall, and like the rest of the Sichuanese who had made their way to Tibet, she was trying desperately to make a living.

But such migrants have a political effect, as Tibetans watch outsiders develop an economy from which they feel increasingly removed. This also presents a question: If the rules are the same for everybody, why are the Han entrepreneurs so much more successful than the Tibetans? The most common response is that the rules aren't the same: the Chinese have easier access to government guanxi, or connections. But even on a level playing field the Han would have more capital and better contacts with sources in the interior. And their migrant communities have a tendency to support recent arrivals. This is especially true of the Sichuanese -- one will arrive, and then a few relatives, and before long an extended family is dominating a factory or a block of shops. In front of the Jokhang, the holiest temple in Tibet, rows of stalls sell khataks, ceremonial scarves that pilgrims use as offerings. It's a job one would expect to see filled by Tibetans -- as one would expect those selling rosaries in front of St. Peter's to be Catholic. But one saleswoman explained that all the stalls were run by Sichuanese from three small cities west of Chengdu. There were more than 200 of them -- relatives, friends of relatives, relatives of friends -- and they had completely filled that niche.

One day I walked past the khatak sellers with a Tibetan friend, and he shook his head. "Those people know how to do business," he said. "We Tibetans don't know how to do it -- we're too straight. If something's supposed to be five yuan, we say it's five yuan. But a Sichuanese will say ten." I felt there was some truth to this -- the Han are successful in Tibet for some of the same reasons that they are successful in so many places, from Southeast Asia to the United States. They have a stronger business tradition than the Tibetans, and virtually all independent Han settlers in Tibet have failed somewhere else, giving them a single-minded drive to succeed.

Consequently, Tibet feels like a classic frontier region, with typically peculiar demographics. There are disproportionately few Han children, and almost nobody comes to stay: the intention is invariably to return to the interior. The majority of the Han are men, including the government-sent workers. Of the Han women I saw in Tibet, more than a few were prostitutes; locals told me that they had come in a wave in 1994 and 1995, after the investments in the sixty-two major projects. One Han volunteer I spoke with had arrived in a group of thirteen men; one woman had applied but was rejected because the authorities felt that Tibet was no place for a young woman. The young man was resigned to finding a wife during his three paid trips home. "During vacation I'll be able to look for a girlfriend," he said. "I'll have six months. You can meet one then, and after that you c can write andall when you come back here."

There were moments when everything -- the ethnic tension, the rugged individualism, the hard, bright sun and the high, bare mountains -- seemed more like a Jack London story than a real society. One day some American friends and I hired a driver, a twenty-five-year-old Sichuanese named Wei, who was nursing a defeated 1991 Volkswagen Santana. He had a two-year-old son at home, and he hoped to earn enough money by carrying passengers -- though he wasn't registered to do so -- to buy a new car in six months. We agreed to pay him $36 if he drove us to Damxung, five hours north of Lhasa. Drive he did -- past the police checkpoint, where he faked his credentials ("It's simpler that way," he explained), and past a Land Rover full of foreigners driven by a Tibetan, who, realizing our driver wasn't registered, swore he'd turn him in at Damxung. "It's because I'm Han," Wei said grimly. "And at Damxung the police will be Tibetan." He drove faster and faster, racing ahead of the Land Rover, until finally he hit a bump and ruptured the fuel line.

The car eased to a stop in the middle of nowhere. To the west rose the snow-topped Nyenchen Tanglha Mountains. The Tibetan driver cruised past, glaring. Wei cut a spare hose and patched the leak, and then he addressed the problem of injecting fuel back into the carburetor. He unhooked the fuel line and sucked out a mouthful of gas. Holding it in his mouth, he plugged the line back in. Then he walked around the front of the car and spit the fuel into the carburetor.

The car started. I could see Wei working the taste of gasoline around his mouth, and then, a few minutes later, he took out a cigarette. Everybody in the car held his breath -- everybody but Wei, who lit the cigarette and sucked deeply. He did not explode. He stared ahead at the vast emptiness that stood between him and $36, and he kept driving.

That was the way a Sichuanese did things in Tibet. Gasoline was bitter but he ate it, the same way he ate the altitude and the weather and the resentment of the locals. None of that mattered. All that mattered was the work he did, the money he made, and the promise that if he was successful, he'd go home rich.


A House Without Pillars?


TIBET gave rise to exciting stories, but it was indeed jianku, and the social problems made a hard place even harder. Near the end of my trip I ate dumplings at Fei Xiaoyun's restaurant, and as I ate, she complained about her situation. Business was bad, and her life was boring; she worked fifteen-hour days and she had no friends in Lhasa. She missed her son, back in Chengdu, and she probably wouldn't see him until the following year. She asked me how long it had been since I'd been home, and I said I hadn't left China in more than two years.

"We're the same," she said. "Both of us are a long way from home." I agreed, and she asked if I missed my family. "Of course I miss them," I said. "But I'll see them next month, when I go home."

It was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes went empty and then filled with tears. We sat alone in the restaurant. It was unusual for a Chinese to show emotion in public, and I didn't know what to say. Silently I ate my dumplings while she cried, the late-afternoon sun stirring the Lhasa flies that were thick about the table.

Tibet had started to depress me, and I was looking forward to leaving. Strangely, it almost seemed worse for not being as bad as I had always heard. There were definite benefits of Chinese support, and I was impressed by the idealism and dedication of some of the young Han teachers I had met. But at the same time, most efforts to develop the region were badly planned, and it was frustrating to see so much money and work invested in a poor country and so much unhappiness returned. And often I felt that the common people, who knew little of Tibet's complicated historical and cultural issues, were being manipulated by the government in ways they didn't understand. But although I was certain that nobody was truly happy (most of the Han didn't like being there, and most of the Tibetans certainly weren't happy to have them), I wasn't sure who was pulling the strings. One could go straight to the top and probably find the same helplessness, the same strings. It was mostly the irrevocable mistakes of history, but it was also money -- simple economic pressure that drove a mother away from her son to a place where the people did not want her.

This was not the first time I'd seen somebody cry in Lhasa. Five days earlier I'd spent the evening in front of the Jokhang temple, where I talked with two Tibetans. The first was a doctor who had done time in prison for writing an article warning Tibetans to protect their culture, and the second was a fifty-three-year-old who described himself as a common worker. Both men were eager to speak with an American, and they had a great deal of faith in America's ability to help solve the Tibet question. That saddened me as well. I wanted to tell them that in America there are many FREE TIBET bumper stickers, but they sit next to license plates that often bear the names of forgotten tribes who succumbed to the same forces of expansion and modernization now threatening Tibet. And the Chinese solution to the Tibet question -- throwing money at the problem -- also seemed very American. But I held my peace and listened.

"Look at this pillar," the worker said. He was standing next to the temple entrance, and he rested his hand on the worn red wood. "If a house doesn't have pillars, or if the pillars aren't straight, what will happen? It will fall down. It's the same thing here -- our pillars are our history and our politics. If we don't have those, our society will collapse, and all of it will be lost -- all of our culture."

It was dark, and I could barely make out his face, but I could see there were tears in his eyes. There was no more politically sensitive place in Tibet; virtually every major protest had happened in front of the Jokhang, and I knew it was unwise to speak so openly here. He glanced over his shoulder and continued.

"You need to tell the people of America what it's like here," he said. "You need to tell them what needs to be done." I nodded and shook his hand, but I realized I had no idea what I would recommend, or what the people of America could do. Perhaps we could build casinos.

美丽的草原

楼主欺负银；

和解团结

楼主欺负银；
美丽的草原 发表于 2009-10-16 22:34

:lol:

莫小贝女侠

呼唤编译对文章检查，不知道有没有像公盟那样喜欢走私呢。

和解团结

呼唤编译对文章检查，不知道有没有像公盟那样喜欢走私呢。
莫小贝女侠 发表于 2009-10-17 00:38

你读一遍不就完成检查了嘛，我本来想把这个发到外媒传真那里，不过这个实在太长了，有些懒得翻译了，另外又是和西藏有关的，所以就直接发到这里了

有谁愿意的话可以把这个发到外媒传真原文库那里，可能会有有空的人给翻译

阿修罗

楼主辛苦了！

豆油

在西藏的政治意见，往往会像天空的蓝色硬球，绵延的群山明确以上。在西方舆论中，“西藏问题”的解决：西藏不应成为中国的一部分，然后才在1951年强行吞并，它是一个独立的国家。中华民族是残酷的占领者谁是企图破坏西藏的传统文化。达赖，西藏，谁在1959年逃往印度的传统精神领袖，应该被允许返回，并恢复对不论是在他的统治独立或至少是西藏文化自治。总之，在西方人眼里只有一个答案，西藏问题：自由西藏。

对汉人-华裔-谁在西藏，一住就是答案完全一样，但完全不同的。他们为中国什么所谓的“解放西藏。”美志远是汉族，1997年他被派往我国政府作为“志愿者援藏”在西藏中学，他在那里当老师的作品。他的室友，扎西，是一个谁作为一名大学生在向相反的方向西藏，四川省，在那里他获得了师资培训。这两人都是二十四年岁。他们是谁英雄路附近，这是中后藏人谁作出贡献的“和平解放西藏的”20世纪50年代命名的生活很好的朋友。这就是美志远认为西藏-一个和谐的地区，得益于中国的支持。当我问他为什么，他主动去那里工作，他说，“因为我们都知道，西藏是一个欠发达的地方，需要的人才。”


我去西藏探讨这一第二种观点，希望一睹西藏问题，通过中国的眼睛一瞥。在来西藏，我花了作为志愿者的英语老师在一两年，在四川，这让我特别喜欢美志远会议志愿者教师感兴趣的小学院。我也谈到与其他年轻的政府，派工人，谁是来寻找财富的企业家，以及4个星期，这是我重点，我花了在拉萨和其他地方的时间是在有大量汉族移民。

在所有的片断，构成了西藏问题，这是迄今为止最具爆炸性的：达赖喇嘛已经将目标瞄准的最大威胁之一汉人移民到西藏的文化，以及该问题的敏感性是明显的，在一些统计数字。据北京，汉族仅占三名西藏自治区人口比例，而一些流亡藏人宣称的数字其实一半以上增长。西藏人认为又一次企图破坏他们的汉族文化的涌入，中国看到这个问题，邓小平在1987年，他说没有，“西藏是人烟稀少。二百万藏人不足以应付发展的任务，如一个巨大的地区。没有派遣到西藏汉族，帮助....危害的主要问题是什么是最好的西藏人西藏如何在快速发展的步伐，并提出在中国四个现代化的领先地位。“

不管官方中方的观点精度，许多由政府派在西藏汉族工人清楚地看到在服务方面的作用。他们也许是在西藏问题上最重要的历史角色，但他们也是最经常被忽视。他们为什么要到西藏？什么他们认为这个地方，他们如何改变它，又哪里会看到他们的角色？

高明一22岁的英语老师，告诉我：“一个方面是，我知道我们应该愿意前往边境地区，对少数民族地区，场所，建库-困难。这些是中国的哪些部分需要帮助。如果我能去了新疆，我会，但我知道，西藏也是一个地方，需要教师。这是主要原因。另一个方面是，西藏是一个自然的地方- -有没有污染，在这里，几乎没有人，多少是不变。所以我想看看这是什么样子。“

史明志，一个24岁的物理老师，说：“首先，我得说，由于同样的原因，你到这里来旅游-因为这是一个有趣的地方。但我也希望来帮助建设国家。你们知道，在这个地区的志愿者都是党员，如果你是一名党员，你应该愿意去一个建库的工作场所。因此，你可以说，我们都有理由为爱国未来-也许这是最大的原因。但我也来，因为这是一个很好的机会，而工资比在中国内地高。“

这些年轻人谈在许多方面与在世界任何部分理想志愿者类似谈话。除金融工作的动力，在西藏，许多人的动机相同-冒险的意义上说，希望看到新的东西，对服务的承诺。和政府的宣传强调了这一服务意识，通过像孔繁森，从东部的中国谁在西藏工作后，他在一次车祸中死亡成了著名的工人，干部烈士的数字。韩工人告诫，研究“老西藏精神”香港和其他干部，他们所服务的地区，在中国认为迫切需要的人才。

中央对他们的任务是jianku.I听到这个术语的概念时，中反复描述西藏的条件，生活，尤其是志愿人员援藏，谁事先承诺为8年，建库。大多数政府派出工作人员到汉族干部援藏属于此类-教师，医生，行政人员，以及其他谁为两年或三年服务。在经过一个较低的水平，大学毕业，美志远也没有资格获得这样的立场，并因此被迫作出了8年的承诺。牺牲尤其令人印象深刻的考虑，他假设它会对他的健康产生严重影响。许多华人认为，在一个长时间不高海拔地区生活的重大损害肺部，和一些工人告诉我，这是最大的缺点在西藏生活。 “这对你不好，”美志远解释说，“因为当你在一个地方住这个高，肺部扩大，并最终影响到你的心。它缩短你的生活。”我在西藏期间，我认真听取了青年教师谁是抽烟这个理论（1几个不同的居留），但一般来说，所涉及的肺部扩大，加重心脏的压力。没有医学证据支持这一看法，事实上，像中国，在那里每4人死亡1，是因为肺部疾病，高，西藏空气清新，污染严重的国家可能是补药。不过，这种看法增加了牺牲精神，它是由政府支付结构，链接薪金高度：较高的工作，鼓励你，你的工资越高。

在大约1000元（120美元），每月挣梅志远一半是当地干部教师进行。即便如此，他的工资是2至3倍，他将作为四川农村教师，他是能够发送一半的收入家乡的父母，谁是农民。这是很好的中文水平，似乎根本没有钱，而是对一个年轻人足够的诱因使愿意缩短他的生命。离开前，他八年的行动将承担高达2.00万元高额罚款- 2,400元，近两年的工资，或者，对于像美志远的农民家庭，约20万吨大米。


统一祖国之梦


从中医的角度看，西藏一直是中国的一部分。这当然是一个简单的和不正确的看法，但西藏的历史是如此混乱，人们可以看到，在这一个愿望。中方可以忽略某些时期，并指向其他人，他们可以举出1792年，当清朝皇帝派中国军队，以帮助西藏赶走入侵尼泊尔，或解释说，1728年至1912年有庆ambans，帝国管理员，驻拉萨。事实上，这些ambans权力随着时间的推移逐步减少，并从1913年西藏享有事实上的独立至1951年。不偏不倚的仲裁者会发现西藏独立参数超过了历史的中文版引人注目的-而且，也许会发现，我们有一个更强有力的要求去西藏的历史比美国确实在许多美国西部。

最重要的是，对于那些希望中国西藏的原因发生了很大变化，多年来。对于清朝，西藏重要的是严格作为缓冲状态; ambans并派军队，以确保该地区保持和平，但他们在相对较少的行政变动，也没有努力迫使西藏人采用中文或中国海关。在清代认为，西藏是中国的一部分，但同时它是不同的东西，寺院和达赖喇嘛被允许维持对大多数内部事务的权力。

在20世纪初，随着清朝崩溃，中国竭力克服帝国主义列强，成为西藏重要的民族主义的新理由。知识分子和政治领袖，包括孙中山，认为中国的历史权利，西藏已被西方列强，特别是英国，1904年入侵西藏，迫使达赖喇嘛第十三打开关系的侵犯。由于西藏从中国下滑控制，民族主义言论进一步源源不断地放到一个熟悉的模式西藏损失-侮辱在19世纪和20世纪初，外国列强，由于香港前往英国，东北和山东日本，台湾的美资国民党。到时候茅择栋成立于1949年人民共和国的中国，西藏已计算到国家的卓越任务：一度强大的祖国统一。

从而改变了西藏从一个缓冲国，在中国共产党的自身视野的独立和自由的帝国主义势力的核心部分。奥维尔斯科勒，是中国长期的观察员说，即使在今天，这是大多数中国持有的看法。 “我不认为有任何更敏感的问题，”他说，“与台湾可能是个例外，因为它的前身，统一祖国的梦想-一个梦想，历史上一直是几乎每一个中国的目标领导者。对这个问题涉及主权，它涉及对我国领土的统一，特别是它在西方作为食肉动物的问题触及了中国主权的侵犯。“

讽刺的是，中国，像一个受虐待的儿童长大谁重新对下一代的苦难，犯了类似的罪恶西藏：推翻寺庙和暴力的土地重新分配，在文化大革命的混乱，以及限制的思想和宗教信仰自由权利，一直持续到今天。并在任何形式的帝国主义，损害做了很多工作在履行职务的名称。当谈到中国前1951年西藏，他们强调该地区的封建神权政府的缺点：寿命三十六年，百分之九十五的藏族人是文盲，百分之九十五的人口是世袭的农奴和奴隶拥有寺庙贵族。大家都认为，西藏人受到在坏的制度，中国在道义上有义务解放他们。前往西藏之前，我问我的该地区的华人朋友。最喜欢西贡，一40浩个回应岁的摄影师：“这是一个奴隶社会，你知道，他们也非常残忍-他们会切断他们的奴隶和仇敌的脑袋。我见过对此电影。如果你是一个奴隶，一切由主控制。所以，当然，在解放领主反对富人的变化[由中国提起]。就像你的美国历史上，当美国解放黑奴的。后来的黑人支持他，但当然富有阶层没有。在历史上它一直这样-这是拿破仑时一样推翻国王路易，以及诸侯都反对拿破仑，因为他支持穷人。“

我的朋友是不是一个受过教育的人，但许多中国知识分子作出同样的比较。江泽民主席在他1997年访问美国相类似的说法（尽管他正确地确定为伟大的解放者林肯）。有关西藏文盲率和平均寿命的统计数据是准确的。虽然中夸大了封建制度的弊病本世纪中叶，西藏是极需要改革-但自然西藏人当然希望它自己的改革。

另一个在西藏的职责方面是，需要快速现代化的意识，并应考虑对文化的考虑之上。对于西方人，这是一个困难的角度来理解。西藏是吸引了我们，正是因为它不是现代的，我们的文化理想和反唯物主义的地方已成为一点，因为奥维尔谢尔说：“西方想象的精神启蒙形象的地方-人们穿上'吨使别克，他们做好业。“

但对中国，对他们来说现代化是姗姗来迟，别克看起来太棒了。我注意到，作为一个中国，这当我的老师写作班花时间考虑美国西部在我的第一年。我们讨论了西部大开发，我提交了一份19世纪后期问题的学生：大平原印第安人，他们在危险的文化，正由白人定居者的压力。我问我的班能想象他们是美国公民提出解决方案，几乎所有反应的方式这个学生所做的工作：“世界正在变化和发展。要把印度人适合现代生活。印度人用于生活各地平原和移动频繁，没有固定的家，但它是非常不切实际的现代生活....我们需要我们的国家是一个强大的国家，我们必须使我们的印度人适应现代生活，与时并进在只有这样，才能加强该国的社会。“。

几乎所有我的学生来自农民背景，最喜欢中国，其中大部分是一代只有一个极度贫困中删除。我的自由和文化艺术，他们认为痛苦和无知。在我第二年我重复使用不同类的教训，询问是否有任何类似中国的平原印第安人土著人民。所有回应时表示，西藏人是相似的。我问中国在西藏的义务。答案建议我的学生有更多的美国历史教训，从比我本来打算任教。一个学生回答说：“首先，我将用我的友谊，帮助[藏族]。但是，如果他们拒绝我的友谊，我将用战争来发展它们，就像美国人与印第安人一样。”


对支持北南双方


不论中国的动机，也不论在西藏的失败，驱动器，以开发该地区已被昂贵。据北京，20多万汉族工人担任西藏自20世纪50年代。西藏税收几乎是不存在的，藏族农民，不像在内地的，自领取税务，土地的自由契约，以优惠的税收代码已成立，以鼓励业务。低利息贷款可用，来自尼泊尔的商业进口免税。尽管地方财政不足，政府投资正在稳步发展现代化的基础设施。从1952年到1994年，中央政府在该地区投资42亿美元，并在1994年北京启动62大基础设施的最终投资预计将超过四八〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇美元项目。据估计，超过90西藏政府收入的比例从区域外来。

这种人力和金融资本投资的方式更加复杂，外来实现西藏问题。外电报道往往把西藏资源的开采，这是典型的殖民情况，这是一种误导。虽然北京是肯定做与西藏的木材和矿产储量所能，中国在该地区花费了巨额资金，如果自给自足都来了，它不会很快到来。西藏也有重大的军事价值：中方不希望看到在外国力量，如印度的影响力，但甚至没有这似乎值得的巨大投资。 1996年中国在西藏的时间约为6亿美元。一位外国观察家谁研究了该地区的角度提出：“对于在同一年，美国给予了8.00亿美元的援助对非洲的总和。这是整个非洲-我们对亿万谈人。在西藏，只有两个半万。所以，如果他们成为独立的，谁将让他们种钱？“

“除非你是一个完整的卢德，”夏伟说，“不相信，道路，电话，医院，以及诸如此类的事情，那么我认为中国必须与一个重大贡献的西藏现代化的基础设施记。在这个意义上说，西藏需要中国。但这不是削弱可怕的野蛮的中国与西藏的处理。“

几乎每一个中国的支持方面有两方面，教育也说明了这一点。我遇到了像美志远，谁是与服务意识贯穿韩青年教师人数：他们是认真的，训练有素的教师，他们是在对教师的实际需要的地方工作。志愿者是一个教师在一所中学英语短缺情况十分严重，许多学生不得不推迟到下一年，待更多的汉族教师，预计到达他们的英语学习的开始。我参观了在其中的230个中学教师区，60人汉族，藏族教师许多人在内地培训在我国政府的费用。与内地这种联系似乎是不可避免的，因为华人已从无到有西藏的公共教育系统。在他们到达后，1951年，在西藏有没有公立学校，而现在有4000多名。

同样的学校，我看到了低学费令人印象深刻的设施。在一个城市我参观了当地的中学三个，其中两个是新近落成的校园好得多，比我已经习惯在中国看到。第三个学校，其理由功能的大型建筑起重机祈祷旌旗猎猎，目前正在装修与一名来自内地的投资，帮助七百二十点〇 〇 〇美元。在大多数中国不同学校的学生，在当地第一中学没有支付学费，甚至是高中学生，谁在中国一般须支付的数额很大，最多有70美元学期，包括董事会支付的。一切可能的措施来鼓励学生留在学校：学生的学费和寄宿费减少了一半，如果只有一个家长工作，以及交通和偏远地区的牧民往往是免费的。

在这样一个贫穷的国家政策是令人印象深刻的慷慨，本质上，藏族学校比中文学校资助。这是迫切需要的资金：在西藏的成人文盲率仍是百分之五十二。只有78儿童百分之小学开始，和那些只有百分之三十五进入中学。但中国的援助必须考虑到的东西有人在学校里教的范围内-这是西藏重要的问题。

一天早晨，我参观了一个宽敞，美丽的校园小学，新的建筑物和草地操场一直延伸下一个1.4万英尺的山影西移。学校的900名学生大多是藏族。我停下中央信息董事会宣布，将在那里中文编写。

该委员会详细介绍了四十八点七八零万美元投资已经由省政府在内地，并显示了祖冲之，五分之一世纪的中国数学家简短的传记。旁边这是一个通知，告诉学生“记住这一宏伟目标。”他们敦促工作一倍，从1980年的水平，中国的国民生产总值，他们也提醒，到2050年中国需要实现国民生产总值和人均在发达国家的中等收入排名。除了这些目标是一项长期的政治部分，上面写着，部分
我们要实现社会主义现代化建设的目标，我们必须坚持经济建设。我们要进行的国内改革和对外开放的政策，世界....我们必须反对资产阶级的自由，我们必须反对阴谋作出对帝国主义的和平演变保持警惕。
这是小学生沉重的东西（而事实上，如果我是一个中国的宣传，我认为在告诫藏族儿童抵抗帝国主义两次），并指示如何政治化的一所中文学校气氛。尽管近来中国经济的变化，教育系统仍然依赖于过去。这种保守主义贯穿教育的各个方面，语言开始。学校，我访问了两名混合汉族和藏族，和类是由种族隔绝。这里原因是语言：大多数藏族儿童没有开始学习，直到小学国语，甚至许多藏族高中学生，如汉族老师抱怨，不懂中文好。这种分离导致了不同的课程-例如，藏族学生每天藏语班，而汉族学生使用英语教学的额外时间。对于中国，这个系统似乎是公平的，尤其是藏族学生有权利加入汉族类。

但西藏人认为，有一个在中国，特别是在较高的水平，威胁着他们的语言和文化的过分强调。所有的类韩老师教授的中文或英文，并在初中和高中的藏族教师，大部分都应该使用普通话（尽管我与那些说他们经常使用藏语，否则他们的学生将不会明白）。在任何情况下，重要的资格考试中强调，这反映了社会，流畅是成功的关键，尤其是在政府任何职位排序。另一个更基本的问题是，藏族学生不堪重负。一个汉族老师告诉我，他的学生来自游牧地区，在那里他们的家人住在帐篷里，主要，但期间平均一天中，他们可能在藏，汉，英语三种语言，几乎没有任何共同之处类。

政治和宗教问题是至关重要的。在拉萨，我遇到一位21岁的西藏大学的学生谁是他的学校的反激怒了宗教的立场，这对西藏学校的标准。 “他们告诉我们，我们不能信仰宗教，”他说，“因为我们应该是建设社会主义，你可以不相信社会主义和宗教。但当然，大部分学生仍然在信教-我会说80到百分之九十，我们都是虔诚的。“他的同学，一个共产党员，一个抱怨的历史课程。 “我们研究的历史，是所有[西藏的历史]，”他说。 “其中大多数我不相信。”这些也坚决反对现有的程序，发送特殊的西藏中学和高中的学生在内地学习，那里没有任何抵消了中方的看法西藏学生。

这些投诉反映近期教育改革的成果。他们中的一系列在1994年，典型的，同时代表良好，中方的支持，坏的方面。一方面，政府加大了对扫盲运动，另一方面，它解决了控制教育的政治内容更加仔细的安抚该地区的希望。确实有了一些这种方法成功：我见过谁受过教育的藏族与中国密切合作，确定了一些。扎西，美志远的室友，似乎完全舒服的藏汉两种文字：他在四川学习，他有一个好工作，他有政府的支持表示感谢。当我问他是西藏最大的问题，他提到的语言-但不是在许多藏人的方式做。 “有那么多[西藏]学生不会说中文，”他说，“如果你不能说中文，很难找到一份好工作。他们需要加强学习。”

大多数藏族群众都似乎不太可能接受面值中国的支持。但显然，在政治上他们被拉到的若干方向一次，并与教育的藏族青年，我的谈话是令人目眩的经验。他们提出的问题多不等（“哪个你认为会赢，资本主义还是社会主义？”），以怪异（“这是真的，在美国当你去你的兄弟或姐妹的家吃晚饭，他们收取你的钱？” ），和周围的环境，往往同样的不稳定。一个星期一早上，我看了升旗仪式在一所中学，学生和工作人员的列队仪式，听国歌，随后，团结，他们宣誓效忠共产党，热爱祖国，奉献学习和努力工作。随着西藏高山耸立以上，这是一个超现实的场景-它变得更因此，当学校的政治顾问，在与牙银三十出头的西藏，走过来，问我是哪里来的。当我告诉他，他说：“在这里，我们在西藏已经从您的-如百事可乐，可口可乐，电影，这样的事情西方国家的影响力。我的意见是，有好的和坏的东西从西方传来。例如，关于性的东西。在美国，如果你结婚了，你决定要另外找一个情人，你怎么办？你离婚，不管它如何影响你的妻子和孩子。但这里的人很宗教，和我们不喜欢那种没有思想。“

我听到一些这样的若干意见，无疑是教育系统包括了大量的反全美宣传。我觉得这里的中国人几乎做藏族的服务，没有什么比低迷教育程度较低的藏族，谁都会有很大的信心，美国的支持，并相信我的谈话我更多的是克林顿总统，谁是当时在中国去年的状态访问期间，来到，为了节省西藏。考虑到中国在西藏的利益主要是外国帝国主义的反应，这也就不足为奇了什么使得中国愤怒，超过了达赖喇嘛和其他流亡领导人顽固寻求视线-打赢-在美国和其他地方的支持。然而，在美国藏族信仰似乎有些天真鉴于美国对本国土著人民的待遇，因为美国在西藏历史上的政策是虚伪的，适得其反。例如，美国中央情报局训练和武装在20世纪50年代的西藏游击队的，在一个关键时期，和平的大部分（如果薄弱）与达赖喇嘛和中国的合作。和平结束西藏起义时，在这些游击队发挥了作用，在残酷镇压，导致中国和达赖喇嘛的飞往印度。

美国也是现代性，而更复杂的超越中国的政治议程，这是长远隔离西藏社会必须有现代世界的起步工作。一位大学生说：“更多的钱，我们西藏人，较高的生活水平，我们就越忘记我们自己的文化。而且不管有没有中文，我认为会发生。”

鬼雄

楼上，google翻译很差劲的，千万别用这个。

Stevenyaung

这个恐怕  是  八十年代 和 九十年代 中期的现象。也确实 代表 了 一部分 藏族同胞的看法。

不过 进入 新世纪，可能 藏族同胞的看法 变了好多。毕竟政府 的政策调整开始集中在农牧民，而且 随着现代化的深入，藏族同胞也越来越觉察到现代化的好处，虽然这些好处 来得有点慢了一些。

另外一个是 藏族同胞本身的竞争力也变强了许多。本地 藏族富裕阶层的崛起有利于藏族同胞的致富以及现代意识的提升。

可能 现在 作者 说描述的现象 应该 大大减少了。因为现代化 确实 在改变 藏族同胞的日常生活，而其这种生活逐渐朝着好的方向改变。

任重道远

Peter Hessler曾经提到他的一个优势是自己以前对中国的无知,他认为无知可以避免先入为主的成见,同时也避免了以前所学跟不上快速发展的中国.
但是西藏问题必须要从历史,而且是详细的历史谈起.
相信如果让Peter Hessler今天再发表关于西藏问题的看法,他的观点应该同这篇九十年代的文章有所不同

千年明月

好长，看完了第一部分。
作者对90年代末西藏的实际情况、中国政府对西藏的巨额财政投入、全力建设西藏基础设施、努力降低西藏文盲率、在鼓励藏族孩子到学校接受教育所作的种种努力等等很多方面都作了较全面的观察和阐述，可以说相当客观。
这位作者同样提到了其他学者提到的一个有意思的问题：在一部分藏族中还存在着这样天真的想法：寄希望于美国的帮助和拯救，以为西藏独立，美国会给西藏更多的钱——正象达赖喇嘛和他的“流亡政府”一直在寻求的一样。有趣的是，作者认为美国对西藏的关注其实出于政治目的，这种“帮助”其实是虚伪的，在美国CIA“帮助”训练西藏独立武装以前，1951-1959年间西藏是和平的，而59年的“起义”正是美国插手的结果。