We explored Tibet in a convoy of eight Toyota Land Cruisers. As we passed peasants trudging under heavy loads, I could not help thinking that we must convey the impression of feeling superior, that we are The Chosen People. When we stopped for a "restroom break" high in a mountain pass, I wandered over to a cluster of our people and joked that we must appear to the locals like a caravan of royalty.
"Are you kidding?" one of the men scoffed. "This is a trip from hell. We got cars, sure, but my driver can't even shift properly, grinds gears all the time. The Cruiser ahead of us leaks oil. That one"—he pointed at a cloud of dust on the road behind us—"can't keep pace with the rest. I don't think royalty would tolerate this!"
It was true that, by American standards, the trip was rough. We struggled over ancient silk roads that at times were no more than potholed riverbeds. The thin Himalayan air took a toll on both vehicles and people. At one stop, we were inundated by clouds of biting insects. On the other hand, the scenery was spectacular beyond imagination and we usually enjoyed clean beds and decent food. We talked with nomads who defied Chinese edicts not to speak to foreigners. Our guides dutifully showed us the home of the Panchen Lama, who at six years old had been handpicked by the Chinese to replace the boy previously chosen by the Dalai Lama, who had disappeared. Since the Panchen Lama must confirm the next Dalai Lama, Buddhist monks and civilians alike took to the streets in protest; untold numbers were imprisoned, expelled, and executed. As we continued along, we paid our respects at numerous monasteries that had been destroyed during the Cultural Revolution.
Traveling around Tibet, time and again we witnessed Chinese oppression. It had a profound impact, serving as a constant reminder that Tibet was an occupied land, its people enslaved, its natural wealth exploited. We discussed the idea that the United States behaves in similar fashion in countries with resources our corporations covet. Several of the participants had traveled to the Amazon with me. They had witnessed the terrible destruction of cultures and rainforests at the hands of our corporations. They had heard the voices of indigenous people determined to die fighting if necessary to protect their offspring against our encroaching materialism. They had seen U.S. soldiers wandering the streets of Amazonian towns, in a fashion similar to that of the Chinese in Tibet. Members of our group often compared the Chinese presence with that of the United States government and our oil, lumber, beef, pharmaceutical, and consumer-goods companies throughout the Amazon, Middle East, Africa, and Asia, and in the wars of occupation in Afghanistan and Iraq.
On our way back to Lhasa and knowing that we would depart for Nepal the following morning, we drove across the spectacular Karo La and Khamba La passes. At seventeen thousand feet, our caravan stopped to view a glacier. One of our guides explained that the ice had reached almost to the road two decades earlier, but changes in
climate had caused it to recede by a quarter mile or more. Sheep and yaks grazed beside our vehicles. Between them and the glacier were several black tents. Roughly shoulder height and perhaps twelve by fifteen feet, they were firmly anchored to the ground by heavy straps that traversed their ridge poles. Smoke poured through their roofs. Behind the tents, red, blue, yellow, green, and white prayer flags, suspended from a series of tall poles interconnected by a web of twine, fluttered in the chill breeze that swept down off the glacier.
As we stepped out of the Cruisers, Tibetans emerged from the U-nts. The men wore woolen slacks, heavy jackets, and caps, the women long dresses festooned with brightly colored aprons. Our guides explained that they were nomads who live much as their forefathers did before the time of Christ. Through our interpreters, the nomads told us that Yetis ("Abominable Snowmen") lived on the glacier. They assured us that until recently they had seen them several times a year, but over the last ten years, with the glacier receding, the Yetis had vanished.
As we talked about the devastating impact of global warming on the earth's glaciers, someone noticed that the nomads had set up a little stand, and that one of our women, famous for her ability to hone in on a bargain, was hustling from it toward us. She informed the group that the nomads were selling crystals they had found on the ground vacated by the glacier. The majority of our people rushed to the vendor's stand as the word quickly circulated that this would be the last opportunity to buy directly from the people—as opposed to Lhasa stores.
When I asked a guide about the authenticity of the crystals, he muttered that he did not want to interfere with the nomads' income; then, shaking his head, he added that he had heard about a factory in China that produced such things.
I and a couple others stood watching as our group bargained with the Tibetans. "So much for global warning," one of my companions observed.
"There's that magnificent glacier," the other said. "Here are these tents, the people, yaks . . . and our group gets seduced by crystals that are probably nothing more than glass."
Asking a translator to accompany me, I approached an old man and woman and a young girl who were sitting nearby. The old woman was holding a long rope that was attached to a yak. The animal's shaggy back was covered with a beautiful blanket decorated with brown and tan triangles; thrown across it was a small saddle that I took to be the little girl's. The three of them smiled warmly at me. The old woman stood and brought the yak to my side offering to let me pat it. Then she sat back down and invited me and the translator to join them.
After introductions, I asked how they felt about the Chinese. They glanced at each other. The girl hid her face and peered through spread fingers, first frowning at me and then giggling. The old man spoke up.
"You know," he said with a toothless grin, "we are accustomed to rulers from other lands. Our stories go back long before my grandparents' grandparents, of kings who invaded us. We have a name for their soldiers: Nomad Killers." He patted the girl on the shoulder. "Why should things be different in her time?"
"The problems began," the old lady continued, "when men took over." I asked what she meant.
"Look at today. Everything is run by men. I once lived in the city and tried Buddhism, but I saw that all the important jobs there, just like the government, were held by men."
"I have to agree," the old man said. "In past times the women kept us men under control." He grinned. "We can get pretty wild, hunting and cutting forests, that sort of thing. The women used to say when we had done enough."
This talk reminded me of the Shuar of the Amazon. They believe that men and women are equal, yet have different roles. Men kill animals for food, cut trees for firewood, and fight other men. Women raise children, grow crops, tend the household fires,and have the very important job of telling men when it is time to stop. The Shuar explain that men hunt animals and cut trees even when there is enough meat and wood, unless women rein them in. When members of the Shuar visited the United States they were shocked by the way nature had been destroyed and paved over with highways, cities, and shopping malls. "What happened to the women?" they asked. "Why haven't they stopped the men? Why do your women always want to buy more things?"
It was amazing to find similar sentiments among tribes deep in the Amazon and nomads at the top of the Himalayas. On the drive back to Lhasa I kept thinking that perhaps those two groups represented true human values and that to change the world all we had to do was bring the male and female into balance. Given the corporatocracy's maleness and its interests in promoting mass consumption, the "all we had to do" was a pretty big "all"; nevertheless, defining it made the task seem less daunting. The important fact was that the corporatocracy's structure was based on masculine hierarchies and its power revolved around our willingness to accept as "normal" an extreme form of materialism. I also realized that we had to get both genders off the shopping addiction. How indicative that the U.S. president, after 9/11, urged citizens to go shopping to reduce stress, bolster the economy, and defy terrorists! Even here in Tibet, yak herders who were far removed from the world of shopping malls had received the message; despite their own noncon-sumptive lives, they were selling to us.
I recalled Dr. Judith Hand's book, Women, Power, and the Biology of Peace. In it, she points out that warfare historically provided a vehicle for men to perform their biological imperative of spreading sperm, while social stability is preferred by women, who are charged with bearing, nurturing, and raising children. She contends that in order to realize more peaceful societies women must play larger roles in the decision-making process. What I had just heard from the nomads seemed to confirm Dr. Hand's onclusions. It occurred to me that since women are often the primary shoppers in modern families, it is essential to help them understand that today's global strife is driven by the corporatocracy and that to promote peace they need to change their attitudes toward materialism. They also need to demand that the companies whose products they purchase treat their employees—regardless of where they live—equitably.