CHINA’S PLAN FOR CAPTURING ALL TIBETAN RIVERS

 

BIG, BIGGER, BIGGEST

A major official agency, the Yellow River Water Conservancy, has grandiose plans to dam all the major rivers of Tibet, and pump massive amounts of water (using hydropower generated in Tibet) uphill to the Yellow River of northern China.

First, here is how the officials of the Yellow River Water Conservancy (YRWC) define their latest epic plan, followed by an analysis of whether this pharaonic project will ever be built.

http://www.yellowriver.gov.cn/hdpt/wypl/201302/t20130217_128113.html

TITLE: Preliminary Research on the Feasibility of the “Datongdao” Project for Yellow River Shipping

 

Development of the Yellow River for Navigation and its Necessity

1.1

For a long time, people have been much more concerned with the exploitation of water resources than with the development of marine shipping. The Northwest of our country is dry, with little rainfall, and has a great need for water. There are vast areas of wilderness waiting for development, which really means they are waiting for large quantities of water to be brought in, because once they have water, the desert can become green, and only on that foundation can development begin. So people are very interested in projects to bring water from the South to the North. With regard to the extremely challenging idea called the “Western Line”, many tempting plans have been proposed for large-scale water relocation. People have grasped the importance of water resources, but there is another important point still missing — marine transportation and shipping. The Yangtze River (Chang Jiang) has the best conditions for marine shipping of any river in the world, and can carry a greater volume of goods than any other river, but its utilization is not up to the standard of the Mississippi and Rhine, the other 2 great shipping waterways of the world. The Three Gorges project should have provided the best opportunity for full and efficient use of the Chang Jiang’s shipping potential, but at that time, development proceeded under the principle of “power generation first, marine shipping second”, and so the project never lived up to its potential to promote marine shipping. There is a limit to what electric generation can do for our country, but the river’s capacity to carry goods can keep growing and growing as the riverbed is excavated deeper, so the potential long-term economic benefits are very great. Even under the limits imposed by the current condition of the Chang Jiang, the Chang Jiang river basin area accounts for a solid 45% of China’s GDP, and stands firmly as the main economic development axis of the entire country. If it can be said that survival and ecology are tightly linked to water resource management, then development and becoming strong and prosperous are even more tightly linked to the development of marine shipping.

 

1.2

The key characteristics of marine shipping are high capacity and low cost, and it is suitable for the transportation of energy sources, minerals, heavy chemical products, heavy equipment, grain, livestock, and other large goods. This is most clearly seen with ocean shipping. Since China opened up for economic development, the fast development of the Southeast coast clearly proves the advantage conferred by marine shipping. The Yellow River basin, and the Northwest provinces, which are closely linked to it, have rich energy and mineral resources, and enormous potential for production of agricultural and animal products. It is an ideal area for large-scale marine shipping of heavy goods, and has potential far exceeding the Chang Jiang. Developing Yellow River shipping, and especially opening it up to the ocean for navigation of ships exceeding 10,000 tons, is a fabulous prospect which the Yellow River basin could only dream of for centuries past. Therefore, opening up navigation of the Yellow River, and especially enabling ocean navigation for super-heavy class vessels, is of great necessity, and the day when it comes true is the day when the Yellow River basin and the Northwest will spread their wings and fly.

 

1.3

Continued improvements in quantity eventually result in a revolution in quality. As quantity increases, quality also improves, and qualitative improvements open the way for even greater improvements in quantity. The huge scale and vast area of the Yellow River corridor are an opportunity for a qualitative leap, and the economic and societal benefits which navigation of that corridor could bring, and what it would mean for the entire country, are of incomparable value, almost beyond words. Therefore, for continued high growth rates in China’s economy, expanding domestic demand, faster societal transformation, and sustainable development, opening up the Yellow River waterway could provide an enormous driving force forward, and is of the utmost strategic meaning.

 

 

2

The Necessity of Construction of the “Western Line” Water Diversion Project

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2.1

As humans make ever greater use of water resources, and as the world’s climate grows ever warmer, the importance of strategic planning in water resource management is ever more prominent. In the next 30-50 years, as renewable energy sources come into widescale use, the importance of energy to societal and economic development will gradually give way to the greater importance of water resources for societal and economic development and human survival.

2.2

China has total water reserves of 2.8 trillion cubic meters, which is 4th in the world. But per capita water reserves are only 2300 cubic meters, which is 1/4 of the world average, and comes in 121th place. China is therefore among the 13 most water-poor countries in the world. Of China’s more than 600 cities, more than 400 are in short supply of water, and more than 200 have severe water shortages. More than that, China’s North-South distribution of water is severely skewed. 44.3% of the population live in the North, and 59.6% of arable land is in the North, but the North has only 14.5% of China’s water resources, with average per capita water reserves of 747 cubic meters, 1/3 of the national average. Among the North’s water supplies, the Yellow River, Huai River, and Hai Luan River are most prominent. The river basins of those 3 account for about 30% of both national agricultural output and GDP, but they possess only 7.2% of the country’s water. As water supplies become tighter each day, water quality degrades, plant ecology deteriorates, and the land is subject to desertification. This has developed into the harsh reality we now see of dust storms. Ongoing water shortages in the North have already become a great obstacle restricting economic and societal development, and severely threaten sustainable economic growth for the people.

 

2.3

The Great Western Line water diversion project is the groundwork for the Yellow River shipping waterway project, and without it, there is no room to even talk about opening up the Yellow River for marine shipping. That is because the Yellow River has only 50 billion cubic meters of flow per year, not even enough for human consumption and industrial use. During dry periods, the probability is great that the Yellow River could even run dry, and not have enough water flow to float ships. The Yellow River shipping waterway project can provide full utilization of the Western Line water diversion project; with it, much more efficient use can be made of the water diverted into the Yellow River basin. Without it, it will be very hard to “digest” the high capital expenses incurred by the Western Line project and its long period for break-even on investment. The Western Line project can provide a foundation, and the Yellow River shipping waterway project can make it worthwhile. The 2 projects are tied together as one; without the other, neither of them could achieve its potential.

 

2.4

Aside from providing the water needed for marine navigation, the Western Line project can also provide much-needed water resources. To the dry Northwest, that is highly desirable and seemingly unattainable. Only with large quantities of water, the Northwest can improve its soil, check the expansion of deserts, and finally rein in the raging dust storms. The trend of “local improvements in human habitat, but ongoing degradation as a whole” can be turned back, the poverty and backwardness of the West can be changed, the ever-growing gap between rich and poor can be shrunk, the ongoing sluggishness of domestic consumer demand can be improved, and economic development can be expedited. Therefore, the Western Line project, as challenging as it is and as long the distances which must be crossed between river basins are, is utterly imperative and must be carried out.

3

Overall Situation of Yellow River Navigation

3.1

The Yellow River shipping waterway, with the assistance of the Western Line water diversion project, will use the existing Yellow River riverway, and will open up navigation from the Bohai Sea to Lanzhou. The riverbed of the Yellow River will be excavated and dredged, to permit passage of 50,000-ton class vessels from the mouth of the Yellow River to Lanzhou, and with that, it will become the greatest “golden” waterway of the world. The main Yellow River shipping route will be 3300 kilometers in length, from Dongying at the mouth of the Yellow River into the Bohai Sea, all the way to the upstream area of Lanzhou. It will pass through Shandong, Henan, Shaanxi, Shanxi, Inner Mongolia, Ningxia, and Gansu, a total of 7 provinces, providing access for 50,000-ton class ships. The shipping route along the Wei River (渭河)a tributary of the Yellow River, will extend for 388 kilometers, from Tongguan at the mouth of the Wei, to the midstream area of Xianyang, for passage of 50,000-ton class ships. The shipping route along the Yiluo River, another tributary, will extend 50 kilometers, from the mouth of the Yiluo to Luoyang, for passage of 50,000-ton class ships. The shipping route along the Fen River, yet another tributary, will extend 600 kilometers, from Hejin at the mouth of the Fen, to the upstream area of Taiyuan, for passage of 50,000-ton class ships. The Datong shipping route, from the Qingshui River, to Datong, and on to Tongzhou, will extend for 1000 kilometers, from the upper reaches of the Qingshui River, in the middle of the Yellow River, along the Sanggan River, through the Guanting water reservoir, to Tongzhou District in Beijing. It will pass through Datong, and connect to the northern stretch of the Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal in Tongzhou, allowing passage of 1000-ton class vessels. On the lower reaches of the Yellow River, the Wei River (卫河)and Majia River secondary shipping routes on the North bank, as well as the Jialu River and Huiji River secondary shipping routes on the South bank, will all connect to the Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal, for passage of 1000-ton class vessels. The Beijing-Hangzhou Canal is 1700 kilometers in length, and can carry 10,000-ton class vessels. At its Northern reaches, it permits passage through Tianjin and into the Bohai Sea, whereas at its Southern end, it reaches Hangzhou, and permits passage out into the East Sea. As such, the entire marine shipping network will on one hand reach up to the Bohai Sea, on the other down to the East Sea, and going inwards, all the way to the heart of the West, forming a super-network which will encompass half the country.

 

4

Overall Situation of Water Diversion Project

4.1

The Western Line water diversion project, will draw 150 billion cubic meters of water from 6 rivers: the Brahmaputra, the Nu River, the Lancang River, the Jinsha River, the Yalong River, and the Dadu River. The water will be sent to the Maqu Daguaiwan super-reservoir on the upper stretches of the Yellow River. Out of that water, 50 billion cubic meters will pass through man-made canals, sending 10 billion cubic meters to Qaidam Basin in Qinghai Province, 30 billion cubic meters to the Taklimakan Desert in Tarim Basin in Xinjiang Province, and 10 billion cubic meters to Lop Nur. The remaining 100 billion cubic meters will flow out along with the existing waterflow of the Yellow River, allowing many hydropower stations serving Lanzhou to operate at full capacity, as well as providing 50 billion cubic meters for diversion along the river branch at Qilihe District of Lanzhou. Those 50 billion will be carried by man-made canals, through the Hexi Corridor, sending 10 billion cubic meters to the Turpan Basin in Xinjiang, another 10 billion to the Junggar Basin, and 30 billion to boost the laggard waterflow of the Shiyang River, Hei River, and other rivers. The balance of 50 billion cubic meters will flow through the Yellow River to the ocean, boosting the river’s water level to permit navigation.

 

5

Construction Plan for the Shipping Waterway

5.1

The construction can be divided into 2 phases: phase 1 will include tributary river projects, discharge channel projects, tributary shipping waterway projects, shipping canal projects, and water-supply canal projects; phase 2 will include the main shipping waterway project, water locks, reservoir, widening of the Beijing-Hangzhou canal, and water-supply canals into the Northwest.

 

5.2

Tributary projects: These projects will start from the highest class of tributary rivers. First, simple, temporary dams will be built to shut off the entrances of the level-3 tributaries and their large and small gullies [1], and they will be drained of water. Then, the riverbed will be dredged, and the slopes on either side of the river will be graded. Since gentle slopes are advantagous for preventing soil erosion, a 15-degree slope is best. Then, simple, temporary dams will be constructed on the level-2 tributaries and their large and small gullies, and the same procedure as above will be followed. Last will be the level-1 tributaries and their large and small gullies, with the same procedure again. As these projects progress to the lower-class tributaries, the amount of water to be drained will be larger and larger, so if it proves necessary, low-lying land can be found for excavation of temporary drainage reservoirs, or the water can be discharged through canals into other rivers.

 

5.3

Discharge Channel projects: The Wei River (卫河)and Majia River, on the north bank of the lower reaches of the Yellow River, will be blocked off with temporary dams. Then the base of the trapezoidal cross-section of their entire riverbeds will be widened to a minimum of 100 meters, with a minimum depth of 9 meters, a normal water level of 6 meters, 15-degree slopes on each side, and an average downhill slope of 0.04% or less. The Jialu River, Huiji River, and other similar tributaries on the south bank will be dealt with in exactly the same way.

 

5.4

The discharge channels on the north bank will be situated at the mouth of the Fen River, and will flow through man-made channels to the Wei River (卫河), Majia River, etc. The discharge channels on the south bank will be situated at the mouth of the Qinhe, and will flow into the Jialu River, Huiji River, etc. The trapezoidal cross-section of the discharge channels will be 150 meters wide at the base, at least 9 meters in depth, with a normal water level of 6 meters, a 15-20 degree slope on either side, and an average downhill slope of 0.04% or less.

 

5.5

The discharge channel for the Wei River (渭河)can make use of the existing Luo River; man-made channels will conduct water from the mouth of the Wei River to the middle reaches of the Luo River, and further down, other man-made channels will connect the Luo River to the discharge channels on the south bank. The trapezoidal cross-section of these channels will be 20 meters wide at the base, at least 9 meters in depth, with a normal water level of 6 meters, and a 40 degree slope on either side. There is no need to pay special attention to the downhill slope.

 

5.6

The discharge channel in the upriver area of Lanzhou will conduct water through Lanzhou, along the West side of the Yellow River, through Jingtai County, and into the Hexi Corridor. At Wuwei it will flow into the Shiyang River. This channel will help in transporting water through the Hexi Corridor to Xinjiang.

 

5.7

Shipping Canal projects: Upstream from the temporary dams at the mouths of the Wei (渭河) and Yiluo Rivers, a large dam with water locks will be constructed, whereas upstream from Xianyang and Luoyang, dams extending down below ground level will be constructed. The trapezoidal cross-section of the riverway will be at least 400 meters at the base, with a depth of no less than 18 meters, a normal water level of 15 meters, and a slope of 20-25 degrees at the sides, as well as an average downhill slope of 0.04% or less. The trapezoidal cross-sections of other tributary rivers will be decided based on whether they will be opened for shipping, and if so, what the class of ships sailing on them will be.

 

5.8

Canal projects: The canal from the Qingshui River, through Datong, and on to Tongzhou will have a dam with water locks at the entrance of the Qingshui. Another dam with water locks will be located at the exit of the Guanting water reservoir. The trapezoidal cross-section and slope will be the same as the discharge channels on the north and south sides of the lower stretches of the Yellow River.

 

5.9

Channels for Diversion of Water for Human Use: The discharge channel upstream from Lanzhou, also known as the Northwest Channel, will have a branch which will carry water for human use, stretching from Jingtai, along the Yellow River on its Northwest side, to Hohhot.

 

5.10

After the phase 1 projects are completed, the temporary dams for the Wei River, Majia River, Jialu River, and Huiji River, as well as other discharge channels, will be dismantled. All the temporary dams constructed at the mouths of level-1 tributaries will remain. The discharge channel on the upstream side of Lanzhou will be opened up. At the exit of the Northwest Channel, near Lanzhou, a temporary dam will be built on the side toward the downstream side of the Yellow River. The portion of the channel cut off by the dam will be drained. The water can be used locally, or if it is too much, it can be diverted into the desert and used for irrigation.

 

5.11

Main Corridor project: At the mouth of the Yellow River, going out into the sea, a temporary dam will be built. On the downstream side of the temporary dam at Lanzhou, a dam extending below ground level will be built. The trapezoidal cross-section of the dry river bed will be at least 500 meters at the base, with a maximum depth of no less than 18 meters, normal water level of 15 meters, sides with slope of 20-25 degrees, and downhill slope same as the shipping channels. In the canyons of the upper and middle stretches of the Yellow River, the natural features of the terrain and its green cover can be maintained, but the depth and width of the channel must be made to reach the desired dimensions.

 

5.12

The entrance of the Wei River (渭河) water-supply channel will be directly across from the exit of the Lanzhou Northwest Channel.

 

5.13

Water-lock projects: Three dams extending below ground level, with water locks, will be constructed on the dry riverbed at Heishanxia [2], Tuoketuo, and Yumenkou. They will divide the drained riverbed into 4 sections, from Lanzhou-Heishanxia, Heishanxia-Tuoketuo, Tuoketuo-Yumenkou, and Yumenkou-Dongying. All three dams will have multiple locks, including one pair for 50,000-ton class ships, one pair for 20,000-ton class ships, one pair for 10,000-ton class ships, two pairs for 5000-ton class ships, and two pairs for 1000-ton class ships. The chamber inside the 50,000-ton class locks will have effective measurements of 300 by 50 by 12 [3]. The width of the water-lock dams will be about 800 meters laterally, and 1500 meters in the longitudinal direction [4].

 

5.14

Water reservoir projects: At the Maqu Daguaiwan area, there will be a water reservoir with a capacity of 150 billion cubic meters. On the inner side of the Daguaiwan area dikes will be built, and will connect with the mountains surrounding the area to form a vast reservoir 30 kilometers wide, 90 kilometers long, and 60 meters deep. The cofferdam dikes built around the reservoir will be trapezoidal in cross-section, with a 45 degree incline on the inner side, and a 30 degree incline on the outer side, running for a total length of 240 kilometers, at least 184 meters thick at the base, 60 meters tall, and at least 20 meters thick at the peak. The reservoir outlet will be on the downstream side of the Maqu Daguaiwan area. The dikes will be constructed using gabions, with geomembrane on the inner side, and filled with earth dug up on site.

 

5.15

Widening of the Beijing-Hangzhou Canal project: When the elevated riverbed of the Yellow River comes down to ground level [5], and connects with the Beijing-Hangzhou canal, the original capacity of the canal to carry vessels up to 1000 tons will make for a severe mismatch with the 50,000 ton vessel capacity of the Yellow River. Therefore, the capacity of the canal can be increased to carry 10,000 ton vessels, and the elevated portion of the canal in Shandong can be lowered to the same elevation as the connections with the Yellow and Yangze rivers. As the entire course is made flat and level, it will also be deepened and widened. The trapezoidal cross-section of the canal will be at least 300 meters at the base, at least 15 meters deep, with a normal water level of 12 meters, and a 20-25 degree slope on the sides. The average downhill slope of the canal will be decided by the relative elevation of the Yellow River and Yangze River riverbeds. If the slope is excessive, then the construction of water locks must be considered.

 

5.16

At the point where the main Yellow River shipping channel exits to the sea at Dongying, the bottom will be dredged to a depth of at least 25 meters. In the gulf port at the mouth of the Yellow River, the depth to which the mooring berths will be dredged will be decided according to the depth which the ships require.

 

5.17

After the phase 2 projects complete, all the tributary and main riverbed temporary dams will be dismantled. The bypass channels running along the Wei River and Yiluo River will be taken out of commission, but can be left in place in case they are useful in the future. The discharge channels on the north and south sides of the lower reaches of the Yellow River will be kept and will serve as secondary river channels. The primary river channel on the lower end of the Yellow River will become its primary shipping channel, and the secondary river channels will become secondary shipping channels. The primary and secondary Yellow River shipping channels, along with the Qingshui-Datong-Tongzhou canal and the Beijing-Hangzhou canals will all connect for passage of shipping traffic, and will form the backbone [6] of the new marine shipping network.

 

5.18

The discharge channels chosen for use during the Yellow River shipping channel project, are all preexisting riverways, which will greatly reduce the work to be done and the amount of movement required. The discharge channels used on the upper stretches of the Yellow River, however, do include some man-made channels for diversion of water to the Hexi Corridor. These discharge channels will not require too much work, will not occupy too much space, and will not require many people to be relocated.

 

5.19

Since the average downhill slope of the Yellow River riverbed is as high as 0.46%, the limited water volume available cannot maintain the required depth when descending such a steep slope. If we were to limit the average slope to no more than 0.06%, the height of each big dam with water-locks would have to be extended as high as 400 meters, or more. If that was the case, the work required to build each dam, and the technical difficulty involved, as well as the work involved in building dikes on either side of the riverway, would be greatly increased. The enormous dams and dikes, protruding hundreds of meters from the ground, would form huge barriers, as well as being a safety hazard. While our plan does involve a certain degree of height to the dams, we solve the problem primarily by making the base of the dams extend down below ground level, thus increasing the difference between water level behind and in front of the dam, and making it possible to flatten out the slope of the riverbed. The height of those huge 400-meter dams will mostly be *below* ground level, greatly mitigating the safety hazard, and reducing the technical difficulty of construction. This way, the above-ground height of both dams and dikes can be kept within reasonable limits.

 

6

Plan for the Water Diversion Project

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6.1

150 billion cubic meters of water are to be drawn from the Brahmaputra, the Nu River, the Lancang River, the Jinsha River, the Yalong River, and the Dadu River, and be diverted to the upper Yellow River. Of that amount, 50 billion cubic meters will be taken from the Brahmaputra, approximately 30% of its yearly flow of 165.4 billion cubic meters; the Nu River will contribute 24 billion cubic meters, roughly 35% of its yearly flow of 74 billion cubic meters; from the Lancang River, 26 billion cubic meters, roughly 35% of its yearly flow of 74 billion cubic meters; from the Jinsha River, 28 billion cubic meters, roughly 20% of its yearly flow of 143 billion cubic meters; from the Yalong River, 12 billion cubic meters, roughly 20% of its yearly flow of 60.4 billion cubic meters; and from the Dadu River, 10 billion cubic meters, roughly 20% of its yearly flow of 50 billion cubic meters.

 

6.2

The water outlet on the Brahmaputra will be the point where the level-2 tributaries Palongzangbu and Yigongzangbu flow into the (level-1 tributary) Layue River. The diverted water will flow east along the Sichuan-Tibet Highway, from Mibo to Bashe, and will join the channel for water diverted from the Nu River. The merged channel will continue flowing along the Sichuan-Tibet Highway, from Xiaya to Changdu, and will merge with the channel carrying diverted water from the Lancang River. The channel, now carrying water from 3 rivers, will continue along the highway, from Jiangda to Dege, and will then merge with the channel carrying water from the Jinsha River. The merged channel will will continue along the highway, past Que’er Mountain, through Manigange to Ganmu, and will then merge with the channel carrying water from the Yalong River. Now carrying water from 5 rivers, the merged channel will continue along the same highway, through Huhuo, to Lianghekou, on the Dajin River, a tributary of the Dadu River. There, it will merge with the water diverted from the Dadu River, and will turn north, flowing along the Aba Highway, through Rangtang and Aba. It will continue flowing to the upper Yellow River, and will cross over the Yellow River and flow into the Maqu Daguaiwan reservoir.

 

6.3

Previous proposals for the Western Line water diversion project, have generally recommended using natural (downhill) water flow to transport the water, so as to reduce the operating costs of water diversion. However, this would make the technical difficulty of the project very great. It would mean building highly elevated reservoirs, and excavating long, deep tunnels for the water to flow through. If we take a different perspective, and abandon the idea of natural water flow, instead using external electric power to pump the water, that extreme technical difficulty can be avoided, though the operating costs will of course be much greater. If we can bear those operating costs, then the plan described above is feasible. The difference between the Datongdao water project and most other water projects, is that the economic and social benefits to be reaped are far greater. Most water projects take a long time to recoup the construction costs, or even never recoup them at all. In contrast, the Datongdao project has enormous meaning; in effect, it can turn Henan province, Shanxi province, Shaanxi province, Inner Mongolia, Ningxia province, Gansu province, and Anhui province into “coastal” provinces. At the same time, it will make Qinghai, Xinjiang, and Tibet take a giant step towards parity with central China, as if the “golden coastline” of Southeast China was extended all the way into the belly of the deep West. So the Datongdao project can pay back all the capital expenses of the entire project, it can compensate for all the damages caused, and it can pay for the high operating expenses of electric pumping. Therefore, there is no reason why this project cannot proceed by use of electric pumping for water transport, thus easily avoiding the difficulty of building elevated reservoirs and deep, long-distance tunnels. Besides, the enormous power generation capacity which the Brahmaputra Daguaiwan power station will provide, will do much to relieve the strain on the existing power network.

 

6.4

If electric pumping is used all along the entire water diversion course, then there is no need to worry about altitude and levelness when choosing the route to be taken, so a route which takes the pipes along a public highway will be simplest and most convenient for construction. The volume of the reservoirs and channels for diverted water will not be an issue for water delivery, so construction of reservoirs at the water inlets and outlets will not be required. In the high mountains and deep valleys of the Southwest, there will be no need to build dams or dig long, deep tunnels, and the need to build roads for transporting construction supplies into remote areas will be greatly alleviated. Basically, all the tricky technical parts of the Datongdao and Western Line projects will disappear. With no high-altitude reservoirs, no deep tunnels, and pipes and channels running along public highways, the quantity, difficulty, and expense of construction work will be slashed. The investment capital required to set up water pipes and channels, and the high operating expenses of pumping the water, can all be carried by the enormous economic and social dividends provided by marine shipping. The electric power generated will be seasonal, which is disadvantageous for any other use; but for water diversion, it’s perfect. When the rivers are high, the hydroelectric power stations will produce at full capacity, just when the pumps need the most power. When the rivers are at moderate level, the hydroelectric stations will generate a moderate amount of power, and the power consumption of the pumps will also be moderate. When the rivers are low, water will not be diverted. Any hydroelectric power generated during the low season, as well as any excess power during the high season, will be given to Tibet.

 

6.5

The great canyon of the Brahmaputra forms a “U” shape facing toward the Northeast. The water reservoir which is to be built on the Brahmaputra will be toward the end of one branch of the “U”, at Paiqu town. That part of the canyon has yearly water flow of 68 billion cubic meters. The dam will be 50 meters high, and will pass 40 billion cubic meters through the generator turbines each year. The generator station itself will be located close to the other branch of the “U”, will have a capacity of 35,000 megawatts, and will connect to the reservoir through a sloped tunnel 30 meters in diameter and several kilometers long. The top and bottom of the tunnel will have a 2.2 kilometer difference in elevation, and will pass enough water to generate 150 million megawatt-hours per year.

 

6.6

The power used for pumping the diverted water could be brought in from elsewhere, or could be transmitted from the Brahmaputra power station. Ideally, the power generated from the diverted rivers would be used to cover the power needs of the whole diversion project, though this would increase the required investment and difficulty of construction. Even if it is deemed necessary to buy power from elsewhere, the economic benefits of the Datongdao project are still enough to pay for its operating expenses. Of course, if building the new power stations proves too difficult to do right away, the project could initially run on purchased electricity, and when the time is right, the Brahmaputra power station could be built. Or, if China’s level of engineering and construction expertise advances in the future, maybe converting the water diversion channels over to use natural water flow rather than pumps would become feasible.

 

7

Research Needed on Key Technological Questions for Shipping Channels

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7.1

Through simulation and experimentation, the required downhill slope of the main shipping corridor sections, tributary shipping channels, and canals, as well as the height of the dams, and the dimensions, structure, and number of water locks can be determined.

 

7.2

Generally, a single set of water locks can raise a ship by 30-35 meters. To raise a ship over 400 meters, it will have to sequentially traverse more than 10 sets of locks. That will make the size of the big water-lock dams in the longitudinal direction exceed several kilometers. If we limit the number of locks to be traversed to cross a single dam to 5, then each set of locks will have to elevate ships by close to 100 meters, which would require a major breakthrough in water-lock design.

 

7.3

Geological analysis and experimentation will be required on the sites slated for construction of big water-lock dams. Through design modelling, the structure and dimensions of the dams can be determined (with a goal of achieving over 100 years of useable lifetime).

 

7.4

After calculating the steady-state water flow through the Lanzhou dam, the size of valves required and hoists for actuating the valves can be calculated. Estimates of the water level in the shipping corridors and below the Lanzhou dam will be made, and the design of the PLC programs for real-time control of water flow in and out of the water locks will be determined.

 

7.5

Likewise, according to the steady-state water flow through the Qingshui-Datong-Tongzhou canal dam, the size of valves and value actuators required will be calculated. Estimated water levels will inform the design of the PLC programs for control of water locks.

 

7.6

Likewise, calculations will be made for the Wei River (渭河) dam, the other tributary shipping channels, and the channels to Qinghai and the Hexi Corridor.

 

7.7

After soil study on the sites for reservoirs, the type of dike construction required to prevent leakage, and the dimensions of the dikes will be decided.

 

8

Research Needed on Key Technological Questions for Water Diversion

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8.1

According to the cross-section and flow required through each of the water inlets on the source rivers, the design of the equipment for drawing water and the PLC programs for adjusting and controlling pump output will be determined.

 

8.2

Likewise, the cross-section and flow through the channel into the Brahmaputra hydroelectric station will determine the valves and valve actuators to be used, as well as the design of the PLC programs for controlling and adjusting water flow.

 

8.3

Regarding the 30-meter diameter, 40 kilometer long tunnel or pipe for sending water from the reservoir to the hydroelectric station, study is needed to see how to reduce leakage, to provide more electric power (at the cost of higher construction capital).

 

8.4

To control flow and reduce energy wastage, the water from each source river will go through its own set of intake pipes before flowing into the main pipe. The number and diameter of the intake pipes will be determined according to the desired volume of water to be drawn from each river. Likewise, according to the volume which each set of intake pipes adds to the flow in the main pipes, the number of main pipes and their diameter at each section will be determined.

 

9

Other Relevant Questions

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9.1

The section from Lanzhou-Heishanxia is 290 kilometers long, with a drop of 280 meters, for an average slope of 0.96%. To reduce that slope to 0.06%, the drop must be reduced by 263 meters. If the dam at the bottom of this section is 150 meters high, the base of the dam at the top must be 113 meters below the ground. For Heishanxia-Tuoketuo, the distance is 950 kilometers with a drop of 250 meters, for a slope of 0.26%. To reduce that to 0.055%, the drop must be reduced by 198 meters. If the dam at the bottom is at ground level, the base of the dam at the top must be 198 meters below ground. For Tuoketuo-Yumenkou, the distance is 720 kilometers, drop is 610 meters, making a slope of 0.85%. To reduce slope to 0.045%, the drop must be reduced 578 meters. If the dam at the bottom is 150 meters tall, the base of the dam at the top must be 428 meters below ground. Yumenkou-Dongying is a distance of 1340 kilometers, with a drop of 340 meters, for a slope of 0.28%. To reduce the slope to 0.04%, the drop must be reduced by 328 meters. The outlet of this section will be at sea level, so the base of the dam at the top must extend 328 meters below ground. In these 4 sections, the greatest difference in water level across a dam is 478 meters; if that difference must be traversed through 5 sequential sets of water-locks, then each set of locks must have doors more than 100 meters tall. There is no way that such doors could be manufactured in a single piece and transported from elsewhere; they can only be built in place.

 

9.2

The elevation of the Qingshui River is about 500 meters, and the water level in the Guanting reservoir will be over 400 meters. So the slope of the channel leading to the reservoir will be rather shallow. At the entrance of the Qingshui from the Yellow River, a dam with water-locks, several tens of meters high, can be built. After the reservoir, the channel leading to Tongzhou is rather steeply sloped, so a dam with water-locks and 400+ meters difference in water level across the dam will be needed.

 

9.3

These dams which extend down into the ground, will require excavation of a vastly greater amount of earth, with a corresponding increase in construction cost. But on the other hand, those deep reservoirs will not require as much land area, reducing the number of residents who will have to be relocated.

 

9.4

When excavation for the dams reaches a certain depth, the earth will turn to bedrock, and further excavation will be much more difficult. To overcome this difficulty, we can do research and development of equipment for cutting away bedrock, as well as equipment for suspending and moving loads on cables drawn across the river in mid-air.

 

9.5

If the water level of the Fen River is too low, water can be drawn from the source of the Sanggan River (where the Datong canal is) and supplied to the Fen River. That water can flow through the Qingshui River, into the Fen River, and back into the main flow at the exit of the Fen River.

 

9.6

The shipping channel will pass through canyons in the Lanzhou-Heishanxia and Tuoketuo-Yumenkou sections. If the sides of the canyons are structurally sound, they can be left as is (with their green cover), and do not need to be widened. However, the base of the channel must be at least 150 meters wide.

 

9.7

The water-supply channel running from the Wei River (渭河) can use natural, downhill water flow. The tunnel required for this channel may be as much as 50 kilometers long.

 

9.8

Because the slope of the 4 sections of the main shipping channel will intersect with ground level (starting below ground level and moving above ground level), to stay out of the way of the 10,000-plus ton ships passing through, some cross-river structures can pass directly at ground level, some must cross over at a certain minimum height, and some may cross over underneath the river bottom.

 

9.9

Suppliers for large water locks, icebreaker ships, rock cutting equipment, and cross-river cable cars must be searched out and selected. If necessary, R&D of this equipment can be done specially for the Yellow River project.

 

9.10

Because the reservoir for diverted water will be on the upper Yellow River, and the volume of water to be diverted will vary with the seasons, water diversion will primarily be concentrated from May to November. This means that the required pump power and pipe capacity will be more than double what it would have been if the water diversion was evenly spread over the whole year.

 

9.11

Because this project will convey water at high pressure over long distances, equipment for real-time detection and reporting of water leaks will be needed. Also, in case of sudden pressure spikes caused by mechanical breakdown, real-time pressure monitoring and automatic pressure blow-off valves will be needed.

 

9.12

Suppliers must be selected for water pipes and pumps.

 

10

Influence on the Environment

============================

 

10.1

Because of the large, high-volume reservoir on the upper Yellow River, other reservoirs will not be needed at the water inlets and outlets for water diversion. The dam at the Brahmaputra power station will be less than 50 meters high, and not excessively large, so the chances of causing a geological disaster is small. Even if a geological disaster was to occur, it would be unlikely to cause disastrous consequences. The water transmission pipes will be running along rivers and highways, not through long underground tunnels, so even if struck by a major earthquake, they would not be a threat to human life.

 

10.2

The limits imposed by geography on the routing of water transmission pipes, means that aside from the Brahmaputra, the water outlets and points for drawing water will mostly be at the upper reaches or the sources of the supply rivers. The water will be drawn in stages. On the condition that river ecology should kept fairly good, we will try to avoid laying excessively long pipes or using too much energy [7]. The water drawn from the Jinsha River, Yalong River, and Dadu River will be 20% of their yearly flow. On each river, water will be drawn at 2 points, one “water outlet” and one “water-drawing cross section” [8], each point taking 10% of the river’s flow. The water flow required to maintain healthy river ecology is 50% of this cross-section flow [9]. The water drawn from the Nu River and Lancang River will be 35% of their yearly flow, and will be drawn using 1 “water outlet” and 2 “water-drawing cross sections”, each point taking 11.7% of the river’s flow. The ecological water quantity will be 50% of this cross-section flow. The water drawn from the Brahmaputra will be 30% of its yearly flow. The proportion of water drawn at the Layue He water outlet, as well as the proportion diverted through the electric turbines will both be 60%, with ecological water flow of 40%. Basically, this conforms with accepted norms for ecological water flow, and will have only limited impact on the river ecology.

 

10.3

Building the reservoir for diverted water on the upper Yellow River will mean there is no need to build large reservoirs on the supply rivers. The technical difficulty of building a reservoir is the same no matter where you put it, but the upper Yellow River area is broad and open, and easy to access. This is much better than building a reservoir in the mountains and gorges where few people live, and where fault zones are closely concentrated.

 

10.4

Aside from the power station, the supply rivers will have no dams and no reservoirs, causing only limited damage to plant and animal life. This will make it possible to maintain the original ecology fairly well. The impact on ecology and the environment will be reduced to its lowest possible limit.

 

 

Benefits of the Projects

========================

 

11

Overall Benefits of Marine Shipping

===================================

 

11.1

Currently, the Yangze River basin accounts for 45% of China’s GDP. The Yellow River basin’s contribution to GDP is only 20% of the Yangze River basin. But after the Yellow River shipping corridor opens up wide, the Yellow River area has room for development far exceeding that of the Yangze River area. It has rich energy and mineral resources, vast areas of arable land, ample sunshine, unique tourism resources, and the potential for a booming cruise industry. All this potential can be fully set loose by the Datongdao project. If we set 2030 as a baseline for completion, we estimate that in the first 10 years after completion, GDP would grow by 14%; in the 2nd and 3rd 10-year periods, GDP growth would slow down by 2%; and in the 4th and 5th 10-year periods, it would again slow down by 1.5%. If the project is not carried out, during the same time period, we estimate that GDP growth in the 1st 10 years would be 7%, dropping by 0.5% for each 10-year period following that. Under these 2 projections, over that 50-year period, tax revenues would differ by 20% of current GDP (social discount rate of 7%), and financial benefits would differ by 5% of current GDP [10].

 

11.2

If GDP growth in the Yellow River area was to drop by 1.5% in the 3rd 10-year period, and again in the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th, and if we estimate GDP growth in the Yangze River area at 7%, dropping 0.5% every 10 years, then in 32 years, the Yellow River could equal the Yangze River in economic output. Each would account for 30% of GDP, forming 2 pillars of the national economy. After another 38 years, the 2 areas would differ by a ratio of 2:1. In other words, by 2062 the Yellow River basin and Yangze River basin could each account for 30% of GDP, and by 2100, the Yellow River basin could exceed the Yangze River basin by a factor of 2, accounting for 45% of GDP, and forming the greatest axis of economic development in the entire country.

 

12

Ecological Benefits

===================

 

12.1

The diverted water combined with the natural water flow of the Yellow River will total about 105 billion cubic meters per year. The water will be allocated as follows: To satisfy the needs of marine navigation on the Wei River (渭河), 10 billion cubic meters will be divided off and sent to the source of the Wei River; 5 billion cubic meters will go to the Jilantai desert lake; 20 billion cubic meters will be used to promote the growth of plant cover on the Loess Plateau, 10 billion of that going to the Ansaiwangyao Reservoir, and the other 10 billion to both Haotongyinchagan Nur (desert lake) in the Maowusu drylands, and Hongjiannao (desert lake) in the Kubuqi Desert; 10 billion cubic meters will go to areas along the Yellow River itself, 5 billion of that to Wuliangsuhai in the Hetao area, 3 billion to Liangchengdaihai, and 2 billion to Huangqihai in the area of Chahar Right Front Banner Tugui Town [11]; 5 billion cubic meters will flow into the Qingshui He-Datong-Tongzhou canal; and the original 30 billion cubic meters plus 50 billion more will be available for domestic and industrial use for residents of the Yellow River basin. The remaining 5 billion cubic meters, plus 10 billion more which will flow from the Wei River back into the Yellow River, will promote the ecological health of the Yellow River delta, and will finally flow out into the Bohai Sea. The amount of water available for human consumption and industrial use along the Yellow River will be increased by 20 billion cubic meters, and that for ecological use will be increased by 30 billion cubic meters.

 

12.2

The Datongdao is not only a massive shipping corridor, but also a huge ecological protection area. The ecological protection plan will be formed alongside the marine shipping corridor project plan, and will be carried out in parallel, harmoniously, with a goal of ensuring that the positive environmental impact will far outstrip any negative effects. Central China will benefit from a new and impregnable “green wall” [12]. A new “Great Wall of water” will be built, and for all of China, the trend of “localized improvements in living environment, but ongoing degradation as a whole” will be completely turned around.

 

12.3

20 billion cubic meters of the diverted water will be used for large-scale expansion of the grasslands and forests of the Loess Plateau. After several decades, the Loess Plateau will return to the warm and rainy climate, lush vegetation, and vast primeval forests of 6000 years ago.

 

12.4

100 billion cubic meters of diverted water will be used for large-scale conversion of deserts to healthy land, effectively arresting the ongoing spread of dust and sand storms. The areas which give rise to sand storms will be both shrunk and surrounded, and the deserts will turn into an oasis, until the source of sand storms has been completely rooted out.

 

12.5

In China, the cost of environmental pollution and ecological damage was calculated in the mid-90’s as 8% of GDP. The World Bank proposed a figure of 13% instead, whereas the whitepaper “Environmental Protection in China (1995-2005)” took it to be 10%. According to calculations by the China Academy of Science, the cost of environmental damage has already risen to 15% of GDP. If we take 10% of GDP as an estimate, and further estimate that the environmental improvements brought by the Datongdao project will reduce those damages by 1/3, the environmental value of the project will be 3.3% of GDP. If we use China’s 2010 GDP of 40 trillion RMB for the purpose of estimation, the environmental value of the project works out to 1.3 trillion RMB.

 

13

Power Generation Benefits

=========================

 

13.1

In areas, the project will increase power generation capacity. After water diversion, 100 billion cubic meters of water will be available for hydroelectric stations from Maqu all the way to Lanzhou, including those already built, those under construction, and those yet to come.

 

13.2

In other areas, the project will reduce generation capacity. Power stations already built, under construction, and yet to come on the Nu River and Lancang River will suffer a 35% reduction in capacity, and 20% for those on the Yalong River, Dadu River, and Jinsha River. The total loss in power generation will equal that produced by stations on the main riverway of the Yellow River, below Lanzhou, before water diversion.

 

13.3

With 2030 as a baseline year for completion, 20% of the difference between the increases and decreases, when projected over a 50-year period, will go to increasing national tax revenues (social discount rate of 7%). The 10% of pure profit will go to financial benefits. Of course, if the decreases exceed the increases, then the power generation benefits will turn into power generation losses.

 

14

Tourism Benefits

================

 

14.1

Tourism benefits will mainly come from 2 sources; first will be increased tourism in the Yellow River basin, especially a booming leisure cruise industry, and second will be increased tourism in the great Northwest. Right now, the yearly rate of growth in the Chinese tourism industry is 10%. With 2030 as a baseline year for completion, if the project is not carried out, tourism growth in the 1st 10-year period will be 8%, decreasing by 0.5% each 10 years after that; whereas if the project is carried out, tourism growth in the 1st 10 years will be 14%, decreasing by 1% each 10 years after that. Projecting through a 50-year period, 20% of the difference will go to increasing national tax revenues (7% social discount rate), and 8% pure profit will go to financial benefits.

 

15

Exploration of Related Questions

================================

 

15.1

Regarding the citizens displced by the project, either their land can be bought out, new towns can be built for them in other locations, or they can be encouraged to immigrate to other areas, etc. Some can work in the new shipping and tourist industries, can be employed to work on ecological improvement projects along the river, or can share in the ongoing development of the Northwest and the Yellow River basin.

 

15.2

The discharge channels will mostly run along the course of existing rivers, and will take up little land and result in the displacement of only a few people. Resettling those people will not pose a problem. Those employed as farmers can continue working in the agricultural sector, which will experience great growth from the Datongdao project. They will become modern agricultural workers. In the aftermath of the project, rapid economic development will ensue in both the Yellow River basin and the Northwest, opening up plenty of work opportunities for all who work in other industries.

 

15.3

As large quantities of water are diverted into the Tibetan and Qinghai plateau, including the Three Rivers Conservation Area, the Norgay Conservation Area, and the Mount Hengduan Biodiversity Protection Area, the whole area will become much more suitable for human habitation, and will become a good place for displaced citizens to move in to.

 

15.4

The water diversion project involves 3 rivers which cross national borders, namely, the Brahmaputra, the Nu River, and the Lancang River. Development and exploitation of these rivers will raise the question of environmental impact on other countries. Because these rivers experience a heavy flow of water during the wet season, the countries downstream are often struck by floods. And water diversion will be carried out during the wet season. During the dry season, water will not be diverted. This will help to alleviate flooding in the downstream countries during the wet season, and during the dry season, the water available for their use will not be reduced. Actually, with such a great disparity between the wet and dry seasons, exploitation of the rivers for water diversion or for hydroelectric generation will produce very different effects on the downstream nations. If the water flow was even year-round, it would remain even under both water diversion and hydroelectric generation; it’s just that the flow would be less under water diversion. With variable flow, the hydroelectric dams could store water up to a certain point in the wet season, but after that, they would have to open up the watergates and let the water flow past, resulting in floods downstream. Conversely, during the dry season, the dams would have to hold back the water flow to maintain their reservoir level, resulting in a conflict of interest with the people downstream who need that water. In contrast, water diversion does not conflict with the interests of others in any way; when the water levels are high, water will be diverted, evening out the flow downstream, and when water levels are low, water will not be diverted, so if there are droughts downstream, that will have nothing to do with the water diversion project. The greater the variability in water flow, the better water diversion looks. Regarding the downstream countries, often beset by floods, not only will water diversion not cause a loss of water in the dry season, but it will alleviate or even put an end to the damage inflicted on them by floods.

 

15.5

The environmental benefits the project will bring to the Yellow River and other recipients of water, will far outstrip any environmental damage caused to the supply rivers and the Yangze. According to the principle of diminishing marginal utility [13], when the supply of some good increases, the utility derived from its use will also increase, but after a certain level of supply is surpassed, the marginal increase in utility derived from further increases in supply will diminish. If 50 billion cubic meters of water was added to the Yangze, which already possesses 1 trillion, it wouldn’t do much good, or if 50 billion were taken away, it wouldn’t cause any great loss either. In contrast, adding 50 billion cubic meters to the Yellow River, which only had 50 billion cubic meters of flow to start with, will result in huge benefits. Besides, because the water will be drawn in stages, along with other innovative measures designed to reduce the impact on the supply waterways, any damage caused will be very limited. The value of that water to the Yellow River basin, will be orders of magnitude greater than its value in the Yangze River basin.

 

 

Posted in Tibet | 1 Comment

SAVING PLANET EARTH BY SHUTTING OUT THE NOMADS

IS IT THE SCIENCE OF ECOLOGY, IS IT CHINA’S MISUSE OF SCIENTIFIC RHETORIC, OR IS IT JUST ME THAT DOESN’T GET IT?

China says it is doing the Earth a service by banning grazing, and the Tibetan nomads who graze their herds on the grasslands of eastern Tibet, the most fertile pasturelands of the Tibetan Plateau.

The ending of nomadic livelihoods is justified, China says, as the best, and only, way of rehabilitating rangelands that are degrading. The science of ecology is used to justify widespread removal and nullification of land rights, and the closing down of a way of life that sustained the whole Tibetan civilisation for thousands of years.

This use of ecology as justification for social engineering and exclusion, largely goes unchallenged. Environmentalists generally applaud China for increasing the size of its protected areas, nature reserves, rehabilitation zones, carbon sequestration areas; without looking a bit more closely at what actually happens on the ground, in the name of these lofty goals.

 

ROUNDTABLE ON THE ECOLOGY OF TIBET

FOUNDATION FOR NONVIOLENT ALTERNATIVES

NEW DELHI MARCH 2014

STATE OF THE ECOLOGY/ECOLOGY OF THE STATE

Presentation by Gabriel Lafitte

glafitte1@gmail.com,         #gltibet    +613 59623434

 

Ecology is a relatively new science, an attempt at encompassing and uniting the many narrowly specialised sciences that proceed by isolating atomistic fragments of complex realities, to identify their nature, causes and effects. The driving idea behind the new science of ecology was that we must be able to integrate all the atomistic knowledge into a whole, a big picture, if we are to act skilfully in the world, to maintain biodiversity, respect nature and yet maintain productivity for human use.

Ecology is focussed on ecosystems. By definition, an ecosystem is an enduring assemblage of plants, animals, soils, climate and many other factors, that over time is in equilibrium. The fact that a definable associated population of plants and animals exists in a specified area is itself a priori proof of equilibrium. Thus, also by definition, disequilibrium threatens that ecosystem. These days the disequilibrium that most immediately comes to mind is global climate warming.

When ecology took off, in the 1960s, these assumptions were necessary, if there was ever to be a science of wholes and parts, not just of isolated units that might or might not add up. As man’s mastery over nature accelerated, it seemed essential that we have some way of capturing, in words and numbers, what nature is, how it all hangs together. But those assumptions turn out to be unworkable; and hard to  make useful, since the amount of data required to capture the dynamics of even a simple ecosystem is so huge that there has hardly ever been the resources, time and money, to do it. So the promise of ecology remains largely unfulfilled. Sixty years of the science of ecology has led only to frustration that no ecosystem has been meaningfully mapped; the dynamics of a living, interdependent system are just too great to capture numerically or comprehend.

The impulse to seeing the environment as a connected whole with interlinked parts drove the introduction of ecology and still does. But in practice it has never been effected—the reductionist simplification of looking for ‘causes’ is too deeply embedded in sciences’ knowledge practices.

This doesn’t mean ecology has fallen. As an idea, and an ideal, it remains potent, perhaps more so now than ever, again because we now grapple with the human power to change the planetary climate, and every ecosystem on the planet. This seems especially so for Tibet, where warming is happening faster than anywhere except at the poles.

Ecology, and Tibet as part of China, are the same age, both created after WWII. It was only when the Tibetan Plateau was incorporated into China in the late 1950s that modern scientific categories and concepts were applied to Tibet. Until then, the traditional Tibetan sciences, of the medicinal properties of plants and ores, metallurgy and of experimental investigation of the nature of the mind, sufficed.

 

SCIENTISING THE TIBETAN PLATEAU

The entry of modern science, including the science of ecology, was part of China’s proof to the world of its claim to Tibet. China was civilising Tibet, erasing a blank spot on the scientific map, bringing to the world of science one of the last untaxonomised, uncategorised of inhabited lands. This was part of Tibet entering history, entering the path of development and progress, leaving behind its feudal darkness, isolation, stagnation and ignorance. The figure of Mr.Science had been depicted as China’s saviour, China’s entry into modernity, for generations, and now China would introduce Mr. Science to Tibet too.

By far the most important scientists who crisscrossed Tibet, sometimes in large expeditions, starting in the 1950s, were the geologists. To this day, if one looks up scientific publications on the Tibetan Plateau, whether in Chinese or other languages, most of it is geology. This is understandable, since Tibet is the most dramatic of continental collisions, still ongoing. But China’s geologists were mainly interested in locating economic deposits of minerals, confirming China’s long-held belief that the ores of Tibet could enrich a revolutionary China determined to overtake the UK in steel production, as fast as possible.

The geologists were praised as exemplary, model workers, sacrificing lives of comfort to work in the badlands of China’s far west, as guerrillas of the era of socialist construction, to definitively locate those deposits. So exemplary were these warriors of socialist construction, so willing to eat bitterness and endure hardship, they became idealised role models held up to the youth of the Cultural Revolution as the fearless pioneers to emulate.

It took decades, but the geological guerrillas did find those ores, firstly chromite and oil, then massive deposits of copper, gold and silver together, right on the continental collision lines, on the banks of Tibet’s great rivers, which were formed by the collision of the Indian and Eurasian continents. Gradually they proved the Tibetan Plateau is indeed a mineraliferous province, to be exploited just at the time the world’s factory relocated inland, to the foot of the Tibetan Plateau, needing raw materials not so readily sourced from abroad.

While geology flourished, so did other sciences, all of them basic to creating a new economy of intensified productivity. In the first 52 years of China’s Tibet, to 1991, not one book was published by Chinese scientists about ecology in Tibet, but there were many books of taxonomy, identifying and categorising the thousands of unfamiliar species of Tibet. The first volume on vegetation of Tibet was published in 1966, supplanting the traditional materia medica texts identifying Tibetan plants of medicinal use. Nothing further was published while China’s Cultural Revolution focused instead on denouncing everything old and educated, speaking bitterness against all old knowledge. But in 1983 a volume on the fungi of Tibet was published, and the first of the five volumes of the Tibetan Flora. The Linnean task of categorising the plants of Tibet had been basically conquered. Further, in 1985 Tibetan Bryophytes was published, and next year Tibetan Lichens, with Tibetan Diatoms in 1990, also Tibetan Economic Plants.  For fauna, there was a similar emphasis on economic animals, specifically on the insects that might attack new crops and scientific agriculture. As early as 1981 the first volume of Tibetan Insects was published, followed in 1984 by Locusts in Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, Tibetan Aquatic Invertebrates in 1983, as well as Records of Tibetan Birds. In 1986 came Tibetan Mammals and in 1987 Tibetan Amphibians and Reptiles. In all of these, the emphasis was on how to recognise each species. The assignation of Greek and Latin names for all that lives in this Tibetan terra incognita remained paramount.

By the 1990s, it became possible to start thinking ecologically, as well as taxonomically; to consider the wholes made up of the taxonomised parts. 1995, for example, saw not only the publication of Tibet’s Fish and Fish Resources, but also Study on Tibet Plateau’s Forest Ecology. This first title on ecology focused on the readily identifiable vegetation classes and communities of eastern Tibet, stratified by altitude into distinct zones, a phenomenon noted a century and a half earlier by Joseph Hooker, who chose to botanise the Himalayas precisely because all vegetation classes, from tropical to arctic, could be conveniently found on a single ascent. The availability of Tibet’s forests, in catchments above the headwaters of the Yangtze, was convenient also for China’s loggers, so much so that Study on Tibet Plateau’s Forest Ecology came out only after three or more decades of ruthless exploitation of Tibetan forests, and only three years before exploitation was officially halted, by decree, to conserve watersheds and protect downstream Yangtze users from floods.

These books, all in Chinese, pioneered the insertion of global science into Tibet, and laid the foundations for today’s intensive extractive economy, but also today’s concern with the Tibetan Plateau as a unit, as a unique island in the sky, so big and high that even the jetstream diverts around it, differently in summer and winter. The Tibetan Plateau gradually emerges from the torrent of detail, as a singularity, standing out in every way from its surrounds, as a spectrum of ecosystems ranging from remnants of subtropical forest to alpine desert, from humid southeast to arid northwest.

Yet even now, in 2014, it is hard to speak of the ecology of Tibet, because knowledge of Tibet, which is close to two percent of the planetary land surface, remains fundamentally fragmented, patchy, skewed towards economic payoffs, neglectful  of the human uses and stewardship of the vast plateau and its millennia of sustainable human curation. The number of scientific reports of Tibet continues to grow, but mostly they are narrower and narrower in focus.

 

IS THERE A MORE INCLUSIVE PICTURE?

At the same time, efforts to synthesize available data into much bigger pictures are having remarkable results. Climate science is a prime example. Only quite recently was it possible to connect knowledge of regional climate systems, generating a dawning awareness that the entire planet has a single climate system, of great complexity, still not well understood, with many variables, interdependencies and forcings. But the bottom line is that the planetary climate should be understood as a system, and moreover, a system that can be changed by human interventions. That’s ecology on a grand scale.

Likewise, it has only recently dawned on biogeographers that the collision of India with Eurasia, and the uplift of the Tibetan Plateau, happening at a particular phase in the evolution of life, had a profound effect on the biodiversity of the entire northern hemisphere, including even North America. There is growing evidence that the creation of the Tibetan Plateau not only initiated the monsoonal climate of Asia, and widespread warming;  but also initiated much later a global cooling, which led to the dispersal of Tibet’s cold climate plants and animals across a much colder Eurasia. So Tibet, known today as the source of Asia’s rivers, is also the source of Asia’s climate, and of the biota, plants and animals, of much of the northern hemisphere.

If the Tibetan Plateau was scientifically unknown until the middle of the 20th century, this cannot be said of the surrounding lands, of both India and China. The prior scientising of both China and India has had a profound impact on how Tibet, the blank canvas to be filled, was conceived as a scientific object. In India, long before the science of ecology was born, the British took great interest in forests and mountains, rivers and jungles, beasts and birds, and proceeded to survey this jewel in their crown. The Great Trigonometrical Survey of India went on to surreptitiously triangulate Tibet as well, setting the scene quite literally for the British invasion of 1904.

British categories, later to become foundational to the science of ecology, were inscribed as hard, exclusive concepts. Forests were to be preserved, by excluding the natives, who were to be fenced out and punished if caught inside the fence. The idea of inhabited forests best protected by their inhabitants was alien to British scientific thinking, a basic mistake now being repeated by China, as it excludes forest dwellers from rehabilitating decimated forests, and closes pastures in the name of protecting watersheds.

 

ECOLOGIES OF THE SOVEREIGN NATION-STATE

Thus we come, inevitably, from the state of ecology to an ecology of the state. India under the British Raj, revolutionary China embracing Mr. Science, and contemporary Tibet would seem to have little in common, separated not only in space but by two or more centuries of scientific change. Yet all share some basics, including a panoptic, urban, imperial gaze that, everywhere it gazes upon, sees lack, stress, disequilibrium, threat, danger, and crisis.

This remote gaze justifies strong statist interventions, and the creation of regulatory regimes single-mindedly focused on rectifying the dangerous disequilibrium identified by the scientific gaze. Thus villagers are locked out of their forests, and today Tibetan pastoralists en masse are excluded from their pastures and officially designated as “ecological migrants”, as if the nullification of their land tenure security and livelihoods is voluntary. Although the science of ecology aims at holistic inclusiveness, this has eluded both the ecologists and the policymakers, who revert to exclusive, narrowly focused policies that attempt to solve one narrowly defined problem by creating others.

Just as the British Raj knew little and cared little about the lives of India’s forest villagers, so China today knows little about the lives, practices, biodiversity conservation work and sustainable land management strategies of the Tibetan pastoral nomads. What China doesn’t see is nine thousand years of skilful nomadic use of pastures with a light touch, always moving on well before the grasses are overgrazed. What China does see, often by satellite observations from 400 kms up in space, is that the rangelands are degrading, which may (in largely unspecified ways) threaten downstream China’s water supplies. Hence the sedentarization policy, since 2003, of tuimu huancao,  closing pastures to grow more grass. Implementation of this policy, ostensibly for ecological rehabilitation, has resulted in the exclusion of hundreds of thousands of nomads, who now lead useless, dependent lives on urban fringes, with no skills for entry into the modern cash wage economy.

The exclusive, either/or logic that so often drives administrators to solve problems by further exclusions might seem a betrayal of the holistic vision of ecology. Yet ecology, as a science, from its beginnings, has treated the human presence as external to the natural ecosystem. This is the fatal flaw of ecology. At the heart of ecology is the romantic assumption that a “natural ecosystem” is wild, free, uncontaminated by human presence. This has tainted China’s perception of the vast grasslands it has struggled to govern since mid 20th century. China’s grassland scientists continue to speak of “the contradiction between grass and animals.” Taking the form of a classic Marxist dialectic that demands resolution, this utterly simplistic proposition asserts the inevitable incompatibility of ecosystem health and grazing by domestic animals. The more animals, the less grass; and vice versa, the fewer animals, the more the grass grows. As a proposition, this moronic oversimplification denies the very possibility of a grazing economy, even though pastoralism is a major rural way of life on every continent.

 

THINKING LIKE A STATE: EVERYTHING IS A PROBLEM

When China says the rangelands are degrading, it means that anything less than the amount of grass that would grow in the absence of domestic animal grazing. As soon as cattle or sheep appear, by definition the rangeland is degrading. This implicit assumption is seldom made clear. It is a romantic, either/or assumption, that grassland must be similar to a rainforest wilderness, untouched by human hand or the animals of the herders, lest its pristine purity be degraded.

This toxic assumption now justifies China’s civilising mission as protector of Tibet’s ecological environment; protecting the pristine watersheds of China’s great rivers against the degrading, ignorant, greedy grazing practices of Tibetan herders, who are blamed for the degradation caused by concentrating herds behind compulsorily fenced winter pastures, with no guaranteed access to summer pastures, nomadic mobility much reduced by decree.

The ecology of the state takes us away from the specifics of China in Tibet, or Britain in India, to a wider consideration of how the modern state, with its claims to exclusive sovereign jurisdiction within its defined territory, insists on problematizing its domain, then solving those problems administratively. The project cycle begins with identifying and defining the problem, and concludes with independent certification that the official solution was indeed effective. This elaborate process of policy making and implementation has become so familiar we no longer imagine how it could be otherwise. The ecology of the state includes a wide array of diagnostic technologies to define problems, with a preference for remote generation of data collected by geostationary satellites, uncluttered by local contested knowledges. Having objectively diagnosed the problem, the state these days has a huge menu of interventions, ranging from direct state action through to state financing of market based solutions of such complexity that tracking outcomes is increasingly difficult.

Tibet will soon become part of this new world of Payment for Environmental Services (PES), with compulsorily retired nomads dependent on officially supplied subsistence rations now deemed to be recipients of PES and/or REDD+[1] compensation payments that, in turn, legitimate China’s ongoing consumption of more polluting coal than the rest of the world put together. Tibet will be integrated into the global mechanisms of offsets, compensation and payments that, for a modest fee, enable the most heavily polluting and resource intensive of industries to keep going.

China is keen to embrace these market-based mechanisms that get the heaviest of industries off the hook, and enable business as usual, while climate globally continues to warm, nowhere more so, in the inhabited world, than in Tibet. China is also keen to claim moral leadership in global ecological responsibility by excluding pastoralists from their pastures because of the officially designated “fragile ecology” of the most productive pasturelands of eastern Tibet.  The ecology of the state is the mindset of an official class that thinks like a state, classifying eastern Tibet exclusively as a “fragile ecology” which has no purpose now other than as a region for growing grass. In such ways the ecology of the state trumps the state of the ecology.

It wasn’t always thus, nor need it be so. Those who think like a state have so normalised the exclusion of the nomads, as the inevitable solution to a problem of the state’s making; that we easily forget there are other ways of looking at the grasslands, ways that are much more local, richly detailed, intimate and specific.

 

ALTERNATIVES TO THE SIMPLICISMS OF STATIST PERSPECTIVES

Once we start looking through the eyes of Tibetan pastoralists, everything changes. Their holistic perspective includes the human presence, from the start, as benign or malign, depending on good or bad motivations, skilful or unskilful grazing practices. The traditional way of preventing degradation was mobility. In pastoral societies worldwide, mobility is essential to both productivity and sustainability. However mobility was quickly curtailed by those who, in China, think like a state which must be able to enumerate, locate and at all times keep under observation its citizens. Mobile pastoralists evade visibility and scrutiny, making the task of the state much more difficult. Civilisation begins, in a classic Chinese formulation, with penning the animals, bringing feed to them; while the uncivilised wander hither and thither with their animals, effectively leading lives little better than that of the animals they herd. This core distinction, and the “contradiction between grass and animals” continue to afflict the ecology of the Chinese state.

Ecology, as a science, does have a place for the instrumental indigenous knowledge of ethnobotany, grazing strategies, risk management and land use practices, as adjuncts to the scientific generation of data and models of ecosystems. But the Tibetans have a more profoundly holistic approach, arising out of millennia of extensive land use, primarily as gatherers of whatever nature provides. It is time we heard more from those Tibetan voices, if we are to better understand the state of the ecology of Tibet, and come to grips with the hold the ecology of the state has on what we define as possible and desirable.

Those Tibetan voices are now speaking up more than ever, telling us that traditional pastoralism was sustainable, not so much by maintaining Tibetan grassland ecosystems in equilibrium, but by accepting the reality of disequilibrium on a plateau so high, cold, arid and unpredictable that the genius of the nomads was their ability to live, not despite uncertainty, but because of it. Their flexibility, moving herds only short distances seasonally in good years, but great distances in bad years, was a way of living off uncertainty, making extensive use of the entire plateau with a light touch.

If we are ever to fulfil the promise of the science of ecology, we need a more robust holisitic approach, that is not grounded in the scientific quest for singular, data-defined causes. It is the scientific preoccupation with causes that has made ecology a disappointingly unfruitful science, fixated on the ideal that singular causes can and must be found and defined.

The robust holism of the Tibetan pastoral nomads is an obvious alternative to the impoverished state of ecology, and the punitive ecologies of the state that result from simplistic science. The nomads of Tibet look upon the pasture, the animals and themselves, knowing what goes with what, what can be done, and what the limits are, when to move on, without being obsessed with causes, drivers, dynamics, models of equilibrium, etc. The nomads share with the lamas an emphasis on skilful action in the present, based on mindful inclusiveness, without separating subject and object. Like the lamas, their emphasis is on motivation, acting with a good heart, and on being alive to the constantly shifting realities of the moment. Like the lamas, they are far less interested in aetiology, origins, causes, drivers that remain hidden from view and extremely difficult to discern with any confidence.  The lamas always say that good causes lead to good results; bad causes to bad results, and that’s as far as we need to take it. They tell us it is fruitless to dwell on finding specific causes for the problems of this moment, what matters is to respond to problems constructively.

The robust holism of Tibet’s traditional land managers –the nomads and farmers- is a major topic, for another time.

 

 

 



[1] REDD+ is the abbreviation for Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Degradation, now with a plus sign added to signify an ever widening scope. It is a UN program. http://www.un-redd.org/

 

 

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WE ALL WANT A WIN-WIN WORLD

……………..BUT FOR THE TIBETAN NOMADS, THAT’S NOT HOW THE WORLD WORKS

China and Australia, after years of delay, are now moving to finalise a Free Trade Agreement (FTA). There is a silent partner at the table. Both countries are confident a deal can and will be done, with a wide range of beneficiaries. On the Australian side, it is wool, dairy and meat producers who hope to gain the most.

The invisible presence at the negotiating table is the indigenous wool and dairy producers of China’s far inland, whose traditional pastoral livestock economy is being wound down and excluded, at the very time urban China’s demand for dairy, wool and meat is booming.

Not so long ago, it seemed improbable that China would take to dairy products. It was often said the Chinese are lactose intolerant. Not so. The hippest health food of the new rich in China’s cities is yoghurt. Dairy demand is booming so much that supply struggles to keep pace, especially in Inner Mongolia’s China’s main domestic source, its industrial reputation badly damaged by the deliberate addition of melamine powdered plastic to powdered infant formula, ruining the kidneys of hundreds of thousands of Chinese babies. China’s new middle class want not only milk, but safe milk, and Australia looks on while New Zealand exports boom. Hence the urgency of an FTA.

Australia rode to prosperity over the past 30 years on the back of a simple concept: complementarity. What China needs is what Australia has, in abundance. They can’t get enough of our coal, iron and many other minerals, wool, cotton, maybe soon natural gas. Our prosperity is the result, almost the only developed economy to have avoided a recession for over two decades.

But the neatness of complementarity isn’t the whole story. In some ways, Australian and China are competitors, not at all complementary, especially when it comes to the economies of the poor provinces of far inland China. Australia and China are the world’s two biggest grasslands, and in China, that means the grasslands are in troubled minority ethnicity areas including Inner Mongolia, the Tibetan Plateau and Xinjiang. These are the pastoral regions, vast pasture lands where sheep, cattle, yaks, goats and sturdy horses thrive. For thousands of years they have produced wool, butter and much more, in abundance, while maintaining sustainable grasslands by always moving on well before exhausting the grasses.

In 2006 the first railway line across the Tibetan Plateau opened for business. China’s official media featured stories of the opportunities for Tibetan nomads to make their fortunes selling their surpluses to distant urban markets. It didn’t happen. No entrepreneurs came forward to process, value add, package and market Tibetan dairy products, not even after the Inner Mongolia dairy factories ruined their reputations in 2008 by adding melamine to milk powder. To this day Chinese mothers anxious for the health of their babies try to source tins of safe infant formula in Hong Kong, even in London or on visits to Australia. Little wonder the dairy industry, in Tasmania and Victoria, are keen on an FTA, as soon as possible.

Even though long life milk could easily get from Tibet to the urban markets of China, many of the most productive Tibetan pastures are actually being depopulated, by official decree, of both people and animals. Since 2003 a policy of “closing pastures to grow more grass” has been in place in the Tibetan upper watersheds of the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers.  Hundreds of thousands of skilled pastoralists are now semi-urban fringe dwellers, their livelihoods and rangeland management expertise made redundant by the grazing bans. For China, watershed protection for downstream lowlanders comes first; the pastoral nomads are surplus to requirements.

This is not the first time Tibetans have missed out on adding value to their traditional economy. Back in the 1980s, when China first opened up, wool scouring plants were built by every county government in China’s vast grassland. The idea was good. Instead of greasy, unsorted wool going to market, with semifine fibres mixed in with coarser grades, wool would be treated with respect, as in Australia, to be sorted, washed, carded and combed, a new industry that could supply China’s coastal woollen mills with a high grade product.

But the local government cadres who built and ran the wool scours were greedy, too keen to get rich quick. They built too big, borrowed too much, competed with each other for raw materials, drove profit margins down and down and finally went broke after trying to fool the woollen mills into paying for heavier bales by adding stones. Not only did the local governments lose the wool war they started, but ever since Tibetan wool has languished, deemed irredeemably low grade, suitable only for beating into felt.

The integration of Tibet into the Chinese economy could be highly beneficial for all concerned, as the Dalai Lama has said. The complementarities exist. But it hasn’t worked out that way. Development in Tibet has ignored the traditional pastoral economy, failed to invest in it, focussing instead on enclaves of mineral extraction, urban hubs, highways, power stations and now a mass tourism industry, none of which do much for Tibetan employment, incomes, poverty alleviation, or even creating much by way of linkages between the Tibetan economy and the infrastructure-driven modern economy imposed from above.

All of this is known to Australian agricultural economists who have worked in China over several decades. Although Australia  has provided some technical assistance to Tibetan pastoralism, it is Australia that has benefitted enormously as the source of almost all of China’s wool. Any qualms about Australia trumping the under-invested Tibetans is set aside by claiming that the fine wool Australia produces, and the coarse wool Tibet produces are two quite separate industries, that don’t compete. Complementarity yet again.

And yet again, that’s a tad too simplistic. Even with almost no assistance in breeding low-micron fine wool sheep, Tibet has plenty if semi-fine wool. As the World Bank said a decade ago: “China’s past initiatives to develop a fine wool industry have succeeded in developing a livestock resource and advancing skills in animal husbandry. However, the product has not been able to compete with imported wool because herders have had no proper incentive to present the product for sale correctly. Therefore, the incentives faced by herders needs to be made the central focus of fine wool activities….. Wool of medium fineness (23-25 microns), is often referred to in China as “unsellable”, but in fact makes up a large proportion of Chinese wool imports. Similarly, China has a well established carpet industry that needs supplies of white strong (27-40 micron) wools: several Chinese breeds can and do produce such wools, for which prices are currently very low…..  The current wool prices received by herders are so far below national and international levels (adjusted for transport and quality considerations) due to the shearing, grading and baling practices.”[1]

Tibetans wish the China-Australia FTA well. But not everything is win-win. The excluded Tibetans fall further behind. Australian  dairy exports will boom, as Australian wool into China did decades ago. At the same time, there is much Australia could do to help the pastoralists of Tibet.

It might seem strange that the dairy farmers of Australia and New Zealand compete with the pastoral nomads of Tibet for the health-food fashionistas of China’s cities. That is no more strange than recognizing that Tibetan depoits of copper, gold, silver, lithium and many other metals compete with Australian mines to supply the world’s factory, now shifting inland from coastal China, moving closer to Tibet. Since Tibetans gain nothing from mining other than toxic environmental legacies, that’s a competition Tibetans are happy to lose. But Tibetans do want a chance to enter the modern economy, on their own terms, making maximum use of their comparative advantage in livestock production. They have not been given that chance, and are now excluded not only from urban markets but from their own pasture lands, deemed surplus to China’s requirements.

Yet China is not always insensitive to minority ethnicities.  China’s resistance, in the current FTA negotiations, to increasing access to the Chinese market for Australian sugar, is on the grounds that sugar in China is grown in minority areas, and they deserve special protection. So far, no-one is helping the Tibetans, who are being integrated into the global economy, but in ways that make their traditional strengths redundant. When the Dalai Lama speaks of the potential for Tibet to benefit from integration with China, it’s not what is actually happening that he had in mind. We can all do better.

Do the Tibetan pastoralists, starved of investment and marketing help, shut out of China’s domestic markets, now want a say in the terms of the China-Australia Free Trade Agreement? No. But now we know this FTA disadvantages Tibetans further, Australia could invest modestly in exporting our successful Landcare model to China, so Tibetan pastoralists can work, with government help, on their pasture lands, to repair degrading areas. In Australia we don’t impose grazing bans and put graziers on the dole if the land they lease deteriorates. We work together to solve problems of watershed protection and land management. Let’s help China regain the trust of the Tibetans, by helping them all to be more productive.

 

 



[1] World Bank, Gansu and Xinjiang Pastoral Development Project Appraisal Document, Report #25703-CHA, 2003, 23, 42, 44

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THINKING LIKE A STATE

HOW CAN TIBET BE IN ANYONE’S NATIONAL INTEREST?

Tibetans have a genius for timing, for seizing the moment when it arrives. Such moments are rare, even more so these days in a world distracted by each rich nation’s internal problems, deficits, austerity programs and precarious economies.

Yet there is a highly professional band of Tibetans and proTibetan organisations who never give up, and keep lobbying the politicians of the western world, and also top officials of foreign ministries and official aid agencies, in the hope of achieving something for Tibet.

In recent months, thanks to the  good connections maintained by Offices of Tibet, International campaign for Tibet, Tibet Society and Australia Tibet Council, I have had opportunity to meet politicians and senior foreign policy officials, in the British Parliament, the European Parliament and Commission, and the Australian Parliament.

In each case I have tried to pitch fresh ways of looking at Tibet, of understanding what is going on, in a fast changing area no longer remote or separate from the global economy. Each time I have provided the politicians and officials with briefings, including recommendations on practical steps they can take, that would improve Tibetan livelihoods, strengthen the traditional Tibetan economy, and give silenced and choiceless Tibetans ways to organise themselves, in pasture user groups, for example. These are all modest proposals, but doable, at a time when China increasingly gets what it demands, because no one is willing to speak up.

These are new ideas, which sometimes don’t get much response, such as when you discover that an EU official responsible for negotiating with China on environmental issues, in practice is interested only in selling European environmental equipment into the Chinese market, and neither knows nor cares about Tibet.

But, as the Dalai Lama has often reminded us, never give up, you never know when those seeds might germinate, when the right moment might come. Those loyal, highly professional staffers and lobbyists of the Offices of Tibet, ICT, ATC, Tibet Society and others, just keep showing up, keep asking that the world pay attention to a nonviolent campaign that will never die or magically go away, until the Tibetans have the cultural autonomy they need.

This short series of blogposts gives you a look, over the shoulder, of those pitches to the politicians, those folks who instinctively think like a state. We too need to learn to think like a state, in this age of competitive, exclusive states that care for little beyond national interest. So you could also read these briefings as an exercise in learning how to adopt the discourse of state language, for Tibet.

 

 

 

UK Parliamentary Group on Tibet, Foreign &Commonwealth Office BRIEFING

15 OCTOBER 2013: TIBET

 

Tibetans applaud the UK for establishing a consulate in Chongqing, as did the US some years ago by establishing a Chengdu consulate, both well located as listening posts for what is happening further west.

The commercial case for the Chongqing consulate has been compelling, especially if, in an economic sense, one considers Chongqing and Chengdu together as the megalopolis of western China, a new hub of the world’s factory, already exporting hi-tech manufactures overland by rail, effectively reinventing the old silk route, and shortening delivery times dramatically, compared to sea shipping. Hewlett Packard computers now make the journey from Chongqing to Rotterdam in sealed containers on flatbed rail trucks that can be swiftly interchanged as rail gauges change at international borders on the long but smooth journey to the European logistics hub in Rotterdam. This is the way of the future, and UK businesses understand the importance of having a presence in the Chengdu-Chongqing hub, backed by a British consular presence.

Thus far, this is a straightforward story of globalisation and the benefits of trade. But the story starts, not in Chongqing but in the raw materials the Chongqing requires, to make the elaborately transformed manufactures that end up in Rotterdam, and into our lives, as our next smartphone or tablet.

Chongqing/Chengdu’s location far inland has many consequences. There are compelling reasons why central leaders excised Chongqing from Sichuan decades ago and brought under direct control from Beijing, in order to fast track its growth, as the city at the top end of the Three Gorges Dam lake, ideally positioned to prosper by sending its goods downriver and straight out into the global shipping lanes. It didn’t work out that way: Yangtze shipping remains small scale, and instead the direct rail route, only recently built, has supplanted the ocean, for the first time in 500 years, as the link between one end of Eurasia and the other.

Until now, China’s insatiable demand for raw materials, both minerals and energy, has also been heavily reliant on imports brought by ship to coastal manufacturing hubs. The inland shift, while attractive as a strategy for keeping down labour costs, cannot rely on getting Middle East oil or Brazilian iron ore up the Yangtze to Chongqing, still less to Chengdu. Instead local sourcing of both energy and minerals is necessary for the success of the Chongqing/Chengdu success story.

A major source of both minerals and energy for western (and eastern) China will very soon be the Tibetan Plateau. If one compiles a list of all the hydropower dams built or about to be built on the major rivers rushing down from the plateau uplands; and the belt of copper/gold/silver mines with extractable reserves of as much as 80 million tonnes of copper; plus the Tibetan salt lake lithium, potash, magnesium and sodium deposits; and many other mines; a picture emerges of Tibet as a major source of the Chongqing boom. If one then adds the waters of Tibet, urgently needed for parched northern China, we see the Tibetan Plateau fast shaping up as the source of the next wave of China’s prosperity.

This adds a whole new dimension to our framing of the Tibetan question, and it puts in fresh perspective issues we are used to seeing solely in a human rights framework. Take, for instance, the ongoing wave of protest suicides by Tibetans, a total sacrifice of the self to galvanise attention to not only repression of culture but also mining. The protests by Tibetans against mining have been frequent, and invariably criminalised by authorities, and violently repressed. A map of where the mines are, where the protests and self-immolations are, shows great overlap.

But, right now, the mining is still on a modest scale. However, world-scale copper/gold/silver/molybdenum mines will very soon be in full production near Shigatse, the second city of central Tibet, at Gyama just upriver of Lhasa; and in a cluster of mines around Yulong in eastern Tibet, above the headwaters of the Yangtze and Mekong. All are on or close to major rivers, and on steep slopes that make very difficult the secure containment of toxic waste tailings, which will be needed for centuries after the mines are exhausted, lest heavy metals get into Asia’s major rivers, creating a trans boundary crisis.

Also firmly on the official agenda of China’s 13th and 14th Five Year Plans, for 2016-2025, is the construction, through the mountains of eastern Tibet, of a massive canal to divert waters from the Tibetan upper tributaries of the Yangtze, across to the upper Yellow River, all at high altitude, on the Tibetan Plateau. This too will have major impacts.

A further consideration is the extraordinary increase in hydropower, and the transmission of electricity generated on the eastern edge of the Tibetan Plateau, not only upriver to the new mines and smelters, and downriver to Chongqing; but also much farther downstream, all the way across China to Shanghai and Guangzhou. In fact the ultra-high voltage power lines (a major user of copper) are already in place, built by Siemens.

This integrated, multi-decade infrastructure construction program has the full backing of the state and is about to come to fruition,  realising at last China’s long held dream that it will makes its fortune from Tibet, the western treasure house, or Xizang.

Tibetans understandably see the constant encroachment into their sacred mountains, pilgrimage routes and productive pastures as theft, and despoliation. All of these infrastructure projects are for the benefit of industries far away in the lowlands. All are capital-intensive and use construction technologies all based on a construction workforce skilled in such work, all literate in Chinese as the language of project implementation. Tibetans seldom get any employment, except as casual unskilled labourers at best. Remote areas hitherto distant from urban centres of Chinese power suddenly swarm with Chinese construction crews and technologies.

The many protests of recent years will persist, and probably intensify as the encroachments escalate. Inevitably, the British consulate in Chongqing, likewise the US consulate in Chengdu will find themselves having to deal with the many consequences of China’s routine resort to coercion and violence to quell those Tibetan protests.

A proactive response to this clearly discernible trend of worsening relations between Tibetans and lowland Chinese, is for Britain to foster an export market in British expertise in participatory resource management, community-based co-management of land and minerals. Britain is rich in such expertise. London-listed mining multinationals have learned to do what it takes to foster good relations with local host communities, and promote their standards worldwide.

Tibet is now part of the global economy, in a way not seen since the Tibet-Kalimpong-Calcutta-Halifax wool export trade was interrupted by war close to a century ago. At that time, the UK had diplomatic posts along the trade route, in Tibet.

The wheel turns. The globalisation of Tibet creates a complete commodity value chain, which starts in the mining of a remote mountain in Tibet, and ends up as a lithium-ion battery in the smartphone in your pocket. Tibetans, and their supporters worldwide, are well aware of this, and the UK can consider the ramifications.

Briefing provided by:

Gabriel Lafitte

www.rukor.org

glafitte1@gmail.com

+61407840333 (Australia)

 

 

Briefing for Mr Nicholas Hanley,

Head of International Relations Unit of the European
Commission’s Directorate General on Environment

29 October 2013

 

It is increasingly often said that, despite China’s intense desire to be accepted as a global player and major power, its policy settings seldom give effect to such a mature role.

China’s environmental performance continues to fall far short of its rhetoric. China promises greater energy and resource efficiency, yet coal consumption in the current Five Year Plan 2011-205 rises from 3 billion tonnes to 3.8 billion tonnes. China refuses to accept any global climate change treaty, which imposes emissions quotas on it, demanding instead exemption from mandatory carbon emission reduction amounts, on the grounds that historically Europe started emitting extra carbon centuries ago. This effectively negates Europe’s efforts to reduce emissions.

China in the Tibetan environment

When it comes to Tibet, the gap between the official narrative and ground truth is especially discordant. On paper it appears that a huge area of the Tibetan Plateau has been declared as nature reserve or protected area, in which mineral extraction is absolutely banned, and often local populations are also excluded, on the grounds of watershed preservation, grassland growth, carbon sequestration and climate mitigation.

In reality, according to the reports not only of local Tibetan communities but also high profile international visitors, and academic researchers, mining continues to expand in nominally protected areas, even though it is technically illegal. In practice such mining is sometimes quite intensive, and often conducted by the same local levels of government that technically are responsible for compliance with national environmental law. As awareness of China’s laws gradually spreads through Tibetan communities, this leads to great frustration that there is no-one who can be petitioned. Protests are met with coercion and state violence, as if all protests against mineral extraction are a threat to the very existence of China.

China now has a plausible story of how it is contributing to global climate change mitigation by imposing grazing bans, which depopulate the Tibetan countryside, undermine food security in Tibet, negate traditional pastoral economies, and  reduce the displaced nomads to utter dependence on state aid, in the name of the best of globally agreed environmental goals. It would seem, in China’s argument, that it is a scientifically objective necessity that the nomads cease their customary livestock production because the rangelands cared for by the Tibetans for 9000 years are now badly degraded. China argues that the displaced ex-nomads are all voluntary “ecological migrants” who have chosen to sacrifice their herding life for semiurban dependence on the state, because they understand this as a contribution to saving China’s rivers and the planet’s carbon.

This plausible discourse is in much need of independent evaluation, not only by technical experts focussing on narrow elements of implementation but also by social scientists capable of looking at policy results, perverse unintended outcomes, and transboundary impacts of the new, intensive extraction economy on far downstream communities below the Tibetan Plateau.

 

Potential EU roles

What is badly needed is fresh, evidence-based monitoring of how China’s national policies are actually implemented, across a plateau the size of Western Europe. Implementation varies greatly. Policies which  at first glance appear entirely beneficial, to reforest or reseed degraded lands and pastures, actually  exclude human populations and fail to create pasture user groups to work collaboratively with the pastoralists. China says “Tibet is China’s Number One Water Tower,” but this reframes the purpose of Tibet, no longer as self-sufficient sustainable livestock production, but purely in terms of the needs of lowland China. To call Tibet China’s water tower is not a compliment, it seals the fate of Tibet, especially in the upper watersheds of the Yellow, Yangtze and Mekong, as a zone whose overriding land use excludes ongoing human occupation (except for accelerating illegal mining).

Land tenure rights are another major issue in Tibet, as the policy of grazing bans, now a decade old, increasingly require pastoralists to surrender what were given as long term land tenure security. Europe has been at the forefront of increasing land tenure security for the first dwellers of China, as a policy that gives Chinese villagers in or near forests a sense of ownership and co-management. Yet in Tibet, land tenure is eroding, and land users are losing access to lands they used sustainably for millennia.

It is thus all too easy for China to pick up, as its buzz words, key concepts of global environmental governance, such as payment for environmental services. China may soon introduce PES to Tibet, as an extension of the long established twinning of downstream Chinese provinces with upstream Tibetan counties, in the name of development. That twinning has provided Chinese mining companies with access and connections to Tibetan resources, only encouraging intensive extraction and avoidance of legal compliance. PES payments intended for Tibetan communities to desist from their own indigenous path to development, only holds Tibetans back from finding a place in the global economy.

These are complex issues, requiring utmost care in designing European aid interventions, and scrupulous care in examining closely how the framing concepts of environmental governance can, in practice, disempower and dispossess traditional land users, which perversely encouraging rampant, uncontrolled extraction of Tibet’s resource endowment.

The EU’s current initiatives to create a regulatory regime to exclude conflict minerals from the commodity chain are very relevant to Tibet. The same Chinese SOE mining companies operating in Congo are now rapidly intensifying mining in Tibet, despite frequent Tibetan protests and protest suicides by Tibetans. EU initiatives to require environmental compliance as part of any agreement with China on foreign investment, and the EU conflict minerals directive, can do much to ensure that environmental concerns are mainstreamed, and global standards become applicable to remote areas in Tibet, where standards have been widely flouted.

 

 

BRIEFINGS ON TIBET FOR AUSTRALIAN PARLIAMENTARIANS

REALISTIC PROPOSALS FOR HOW AUSTRALIA CAN HELP TIBETANS IMPROVE LIVELIHOODS AND HUMAN CAPITAL

 

Presented to the All Party Parliamentary Group for Tibet, 3 March 2014 by Gabriel Lafitte, glafitte1@gmail.com, www.rukor.org

 

This series of three briefings acknowledges that raising Tibet as a human rights issue is aggressively rejected by China. This new approach is based on Australia’s strengths and the basic human needs of the six million Tibetans of the Tibetan Plateau (2010 census data), in five Chinese provinces, where they are disadvantaged, under-invested, under-capitalised, largely illiterate, peripheral minorities facing systemic discrimination and a downshifting of human services such as health and education to poor counties unable to finance adequate service delivery.

Australia and China are the world’s two biggest grasslands.  There are many complementarities between two drylands specialising in wool and livestock production, much that Australia can contribute in the delivery of landcare, community conservation, and the provision of services to remote communities.

These briefings are based on decades of monitoring situations on the ground in Tibet, and on past Australian successes (and failures) in technical assistance to Tibetan areas. These are constructive proposals, opening up fresh initiatives that improve the lives of Tibetans, without triggering accusations of “interfering in China’s internal affairs.”

These policy proposals also offset the likely impacts on Tibet of an Australia-China Free Trade Agreement that, as expected, increases access to the Chinese market for Australian dairy products and wool, which are the two exportable surplus commodities of the Tibetan Plateau that could find markets in China’s cities.

These recommendations cover the whole Tibetan Plateau, not only the 75 legally autonomous Tibetan counties constituting the Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR), but the further 75 autonomous Tibetan counties in Qinghai, Sichuan, Gansu and Yunnan provinces. This is in accord with China’s latest whole-of-government Work Forum on Tibet, which decided to include all Tibetan areas.

  1. How to strengthen the agricultural economy of Tibet. Australia doing something practical for Tibet: Australian aid, Tibetan sheep, dairy products and pastoral nomads.
  2. Training Tibetans: Educational disadvantage in remote regions, need for higher ed scholarships, study tours of Australia, also vocational education focussed on community landcare, river basin management, livestock production and other commonalities linking the two greatest grasslands of the world -Australia and China.
  3. Tibet’s resource extraction economy, Chinese and Australian mining corporations and their global interactions, mining standards and compliance; with specific suggestions about an Australian conflict minerals regime.

BRIEFING ONE:                       RURAL TIBET

 

The economy of the Tibetan Plateau is predominantly pastoral, producing a marketable surplus of dairy products, wool and other animal products. Among China’s factories and upmarket urban consumers, both wool and dairy are in demand. China’s woollen mills have ceased taking Tibetan wool, even though Tibetans are capable of producing fine fibre, low-micron wool. The booming urban demand for yoghurt and other dairy products is met from Inner Mongolia and New Zealand, with growing Chinese interest in Tasmanian dairy, and Australian hopes of competing with New Zealand if an FTA is concluded.

Genetic improvement of Tibetan sheep breeds, and assistance in sorting, cleaning and caring for fine wools, and especially in marketing, could get higher returns for Tibetan pastoralists, whose wool at present is used solely for low-price, low-quality felt making. Tasmanian carpet-wool sheep may be best suited. This would somewhat compensate Tibetan producers from their exclusion from the value added supply chain. Teaching Tibetans how to form Pasture User Groups (PUGs) and marketing cooperatives would overcome the failure, 30 years ago, of the county-level wool scouring plants set up by local governments as middlemen between Tibetan wool growers and urban woollen mills. Their failure set Tibetan producers back badly.

Australia, through ACIAR funding, has invested modestly in animal production in Tibet, but in specialist technical assistance that seldom benefit pastoralists who have long been seen, in the eyes of China’s government, as unproductive.

Australia has much to offer in models of comanagement of protected areas, and ongoing pastures threatened by land degradation. Australia has been a leader in providing pastoralists with the science and the finance to invest in rehabilitation of degrading rangelands; rather than excluding land users, nullifying their land tenure and imposing grazing bans, which are current Chinese practice. Community-based management of risk and rehabilitation is well established in Australia, in remote areas.

Australia is also a major barley producer. Barley is the staple of the Tibetan farming economy, with much scope for genetic improvement of yields.

Past experience of Australian and other international assistance suggests that such projects are not just a transfer of knowledge and/or technology; that Chinese partner agencies often discontinue such projects once foreign funding runs out. For such projects to work, they need to engage directly with Tibetan end users, who are organised in formally recognised groups, empowered to make ongoing decisions about implementation. Project design, from the start, requires a higher level of hands-on supervision by donors to ensure the intended recipients actually benefit. When successful, such projects demonstrate to official agencies that active participation by rural Tibetans generates productive and sustainable outcomes.

BRIEFING TWO:             TIBETAN EDUCATION & HUMAN CAPITAL

Literacy levels in Tibetan areas (in Tibetan or Chinese) remain low. Education budgets are the responsibility of local government, which means that poor counties have poor schools, inadequate equipment, absenteeism, poorly qualified and poorly trained teachers, and a high dropout rate. China’s recent centralisation of schooling, in Tibetan areas,  especially in junior middle (lower secondary) schooling requires boarding children in county towns, depriving families of the seasonal contribution of the young to pastoral production, and the transmission of cultural values. Tibetan parents say that if a child graduates from primary school, s/he seldom wants to go back to nomadic pastoralism, but cannot go forward into the modern market economy because the few secondary schools are distant and places are few. This leads to lives of dependence, alienation, unpredictable bursts of casual unskilled work, and a fringe-dweller existence.

Australia’s Closing the Gap programs aim at improving literacy, vocational training and employment opportunities in areas remote even by Tibetan standards, as well as health outcomes. There is much China could learn from Australia’s experience.

In Tibetan areas, the modern industries that are booming, such as urban construction, mining, and tourism, are conducted in Chinese, prefer hiring Chinese workers even at the unskilled level, and often have formal barriers such as written exams that prevent Tibetan participation in the workforce. Even though tourists naturally want to connect with Tibetans, few Tibetans can pass exams in a Chinese syllabus on approved versions of Tibetan history and gain accreditation as guides. This is further reinforced by rigid implementation of hukou household registration rules that limit the mobility of Tibetans to job markets within one province.

Australia has deep strengths in the teaching of the national language as a second language for migrants, in multicultural and bilingual education; in creating employment opportunities in remote indigenous communities, and in mining companies creating training programs to recruit indigenous employees. This is transferrable knowledge.

At a higher education level, the limited number of Tibetans at university would benefit greatly from scholarship-funded opportunities to do tertiary studies in Australia. In the US, the Fulbright scheme provides such opportunities; Norway and some German universities have much experience in working to overcome the under-resourcing and imbalances of education provision in Tibet. AusAID scholarships, despite budgetary constraints, can go a long way, as they have, over recent decades, for Mongolians and their families who come to Australia to study.

 

 

BRIEFING THREE: RESOURCE EXTRACTION ECONOMIES OF AUSTRALIA AND TIBET

China’s manufacturing hubs are moving inland, much closer to the Tibetan Plateau, and increasingly sourcing the raw materials of the supply chain from Tibet. As the world’s top brands relocate to Chongqing and Chengdu, their copper, gold, silver, molybdenum, lithium, water and hydropower increasingly come from a newly intensified exploitation of Tibetan resources. Tibet is being rapidly incorporated into the global economy, but on terms not of Tibetan making.

China’s state-owned mining companies (SOEs), at the forefront of intensive extraction of gold/copper/molybdenum deposits, and state-owned hydropower builders at the forefront of cascades of dams on all major rivers from Tibet, employ few if any Tibetans, pay no royalties to Tibetan areas, introduce huge immigrant workforces to remote areas, disrupt sacred sites and pilgrimage routes, and impose on remote local communities massive tailings dams that must hold, in steep, seismically active terrain, for centuries after mining has exhausted the deposits. Tibetan communities are deeply unhappy, seeing only pain, with no gain. This is a major driver of the protest suicides, or self-immolations that demonstrate the depth of Tibetan grief, with an equally Tibetan insistence on nonviolence towards others.

China’s miners and dam builders do not belong to global codes of conduct and organisations designed to ensure that impacted host communities are engaged, and benefit directly through subcontracting business opportunities, vocational training and corporate investment in community facilities. Mining practices, such as the landslide at the open pit Gyama mine upriver from Lhasa in April 2013, killing over 80 mine workers, show disregard for OH&S standards, and the cheapness of expendable lives, that is common throughout the mining industry in China.

DFAT says 200 Australian mining companies are involved in 700 projects in Africa. For China, too, Africa is the frontline of global sourcing of raw materials. Not only are Chinese mining companies investing heavily in Australia, but also in Africa, where deposits change ownership between Australian and Chinese hands, with increasing frequency. Chinese miners in Australia comply with Australian laws and standards, but not in Africa or in Tibet. It is in Australia’s reputational interest that Chinese extraction and dam building corporations be encouraged to invest in treating their workers and host communities well, by adopting international standards such as those of ICMM, the Ruggie Principles etc.

Already, the new owner of much of the old Caltex refinery at Kurnell, Sydney, is a major shareholder in the copper smelters of the Chinese state owned company that owns, monopolises and exclusively smelts copper concentrate from the Tibetan copper mine at Shetongmon, west of Lhasa. Trafigura now owns both the Kurnell bitumen plant and a major stake in a new copper smelter owned by Jinchuan. More such connections are likely.

With more than 120 recent Tibetan protest suicides, Tibet is becoming a conflict zone, with mining a key issue.

Globally, the concept of “conflict minerals”, to be rigorously excluded from the supply chain, is integrated into EU and US regulatory regimes. Australia too has sanctions to specifically exclude from the supply chain minerals from Congo extracted by violent warlords. The US Dodd-Frank Act provisions, and EU conflict minerals regulations go further, and may well be applicable to Tibet, if present Chinese  SOE practices are not reformed.

Lithium extraction from salt lakes of the Tibetan Plateau is China’s primary domestic source of a commodity essential to making the batteries that power smartphones, tablets and electric cars.

Consumers worldwide will soon be aware that Tibet is in their pocket, that globalisation links them directly to exploitation of Tibet, in their choice of high-end brands manufactured in western Chinese factories.

This is compelling reason for Australian mining companies, with diplomatic support, to do all they can to persuade their Chinese partners to do in Tibet, and in Africa, what they already comply with in Australia.

 

 

 

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WHY ARE CHINA’S INTELLECTUALS DEAF TO THE PAIN OF THE TIBETANS? 1 of 3

A SERIES OF THREE BLOGS ON CHINA’S LEADING INTELLECTUALS AND THEIR SELF-REFERENTIAL WORLD

 

ONE: THE ENDURING APPEAL OF ESSENTIAL CHINESENESS

 

Many Tibetans, whether in or beyond Tibet, take whatever opportunity that arises to engage with educated Chinese, in the hope of sparking dialogue, even a meeting of minds.

The results are usually disappointing. Inside Tibet, Tibetans and Chinese seldom meet as equals, and it is extremely rare that Chinese living in Tibet have learned Tibetan. It is also rare that Tibetans feel welcome in China, in the great cities where the educated Chinese gather. Most Chinese would say they have never met a Tibetan, except perhaps as a street peddler of jewellery or traditional medicine ingredients.

Outside Tibet, in the global diasporas of modernity there are many opportunities for Chinese and Tibetans to meet, now that both peoples are scattered across the planet. Opportunity may exist, yet they usually fizzle, in mutual incomprehension, as if there is no common ground. Whether face to face, or online, the attempt usually goes nowhere and it quickly becomes clear that there is nothing more to say.

This puzzles many Tibetans, who invest much effort in reaching out, trying to imagine openings that will be fruitful. They take the initiative, rather than leaving the heavy lifting of dialogue to their leaders, in the intuitive belief that the long standing incomprehension and stalemate will never lift by itself. Each side has its own universe of discourse, repeated frequently, seldom varying, which the rest of the world has tired of, and neither listens to the other. They end up preaching only to themselves.

Some efforts at creating dialogue are pursued with vigour, flair and the resources of well-designed websites and publications, yet still fail. Tibetans appear unexpectedly, fleetingly, adventitiously in Chinese lives online, even in a restaurant run by a Tibetan family whose objective, more than money, is to talk with customers to generate understanding of Tibet. Tibetans expect to meet anyone, comfortably and without rancour, to begin the gradual process of drawing them into a world of Tibetan values. The Sherpa did this with the mountaineers who employed them, often creating lifelong friendships.[1]

Perhaps these Tibetans expect too much. Perhaps they are naïve in expecting openness. Or perhaps they focus too much on what Tibetans think Chinese ought to know, namely the pain of the Tibetans under repressive, claustrophobic control. This is definitely not what Chinese audiences are ready to face. It’s just too confronting, and there is too much baggage in the way.

It’s that baggage that puzzles frustrated Tibetans, who have tried every way they can think of to get the conversation going. Even when meeting dissidents critical of China’s government, the same blank incomprehension arises when Tibetans start speaking from the heart. This seems to be not only an obstacle arising in the minds of those who identify with the official line; it affects young and old, pro and anti the ruling regime. Something lies in the way; too many ghosts litter the path.

To an outsider, Tibetans and Chinese seem alike in many ways, one of which is a reverence for tradition, history, precedent, hierarchy and authority. Both speak of events many centuries ago as if they happened yesterday and thus explain the present moment. Both routinely use the past to serve the present.

These pasts lead in different directions, setting up different roadblocks. Getting to a common ground, a starting point that might enable connection will not be easy.

A knot of preconceptions, especially among educated Chinese, is the assumption that a Sinocentric worldview is axiomatic, that China is such a great, ancient, sophisticated and continuous civilisation lacking in nothing, has all that is needful. China has all the categories and concepts of rule, of universal benevolence, of being the centre of everything, so it is always necessary to refract experience through the lens of Chinese characteristics. So pervasive is this belief, many who deal with China, including many western diplomats and businessmen, fall under its spell when it is deftly deployed.

These are stories educated Chinese tell each other about what is so exceptional about Chineseness. Inevitably, they solidify Chineseness, giving it a continuity over thousands of years, as a force of history, even a force of nature, a framework within which everything fits.

So widespread is this move, it can be affixed to almost any topic, with the result that China can be exempted from what the rest of the world takes to be universal, such as the idea that to be born human is to be born with rights. The insistence on applying “Chinese characteristics” to anything allows for positioning China advantageously, under all circumstances. Thus China can be, according to circumstances, both a developing country entitled to concessions, subsidies and privileges; and at the same time a highly developed peak of civilisation entitled to deferential treatment.

National special pleading and exceptionalism are not of course unique to China, but in China this is an art form, confined not only to an official class accustomed to thinking like a state but more widespread, almost a popular sport. Like any new fashion, it has its celebrities. An intellectual who can make the case that China stands uniquely above universal norms becomes a hero. Zhao Tingyang’s new idea repackaging a largely-forgotten ancient concept: “made him a star in China’s intellectual circles, helping to extend his influence beyond the confines of philosophy into the realm of international relations. Four years later, he published a second volume further developing his tianxia (literally, ‘all-under-heaven’) theory [which] has had a huge impact on China’s community of international relations scholars, stirring up excitement as well as curiosity. This is due, in part, to the fact that Chinese scholars in this field have not been able to produce a theory as sophisticated as his, even though this has been on their agenda for some time.”[2]

To outsiders, Zhou Tingyang’s thesis on China’s natural world leadership may seem opaque, even obscurantist, best passed over as an embarrassment rather than a breakthrough in international relations. But he remains much admired in China.

The stars who champion China’s uniqueness are inventors of tradition, so popular their novelties can travel from exciting novelty to core interest of the nation-state within a few years, embedded in China’s incessant claim to be sui generis, unique, beyond compare and without equal. This is a surprisingly popular sport, not confined to the few whose profession is to think like a state, and make the national interest their embodied stance.

This goes back to the uneasy compromise China made in the late 19th century when confronted with the military power of the west. The literati elite coalesced round the broad principle that China must take from the west all those technologies that are useful, while holding fast to Chineseness as the core principle. This famous formula has held ever since, no matter how hard it is in practice to distinguish what is usefully modern, and what is eternally Chinese as the guiding principle guiding all applications of modernity.

The appeal of foundational Chineseness for those prospering in today’s China is obvious. The party-state has energetically promoted this Sinocentric mythos, which can be introduced as a trump card into almost any negotiation. Beyond the party-state are the many whose fortunes are being made, in a time of rapid wealth accumulation, who have every reason to make use of this all-purpose shield deflecting all expectations that China abide by the rule of law, or universal norms of environmental responsibility. It is not hard to see why this appeals to the military, to angry young nationalist bloggers with no hope of ever finding a wife, and those who hope to make a fortune by conforming.

 



[1] Vincanne Adams, Tigers of the Snow and Other Virtual Sherpas,

[2] Zhang Feng; The Tianxia System: World Order in a Chinese Utopia, China Heritage Quarterly #21, 2010

 

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WHY ARE CHINA’S INTELLECTUALS DEAF TO THE PAIN OF THE TIBETANS? 2 of 3

A SERIES OF BLOGS ON CHINA’S LEADING INTELLECTUALS AND THEIR SELF-REFERENTIAL WORLD

TWO:                 THE DISSIDENT LIBERAL LEFTIST WANG HUI: FRIEND OF TIBETAN HYDRO DAM PROTESTERS

 

Not all Chinese intellectuals belong to the party-state establishment, or toe the mass line. Although open dissent in Tibet is not tolerated, in Beijing there is open debate on many matters, and polite but persistent disagreement with official policies on many issues. Yet, when it comes to Tibet, even the dissident intellectuals, who critique contemporary China, fall back into conventional views.

Bold voices in Beijing continue to dissent from the compulsory mass line of a party that once championed the revolts of the masses as legitimating its’ own revolutionary uprising. Having succeeded in seizing power, the revolutionary party thereafter insisted that its “mass line” is forever after the embodiment of the will of the masses, including the Tibetan masses. Uprisings such as that of the villagers of the Jinsha River just below Tibet are the nightmare of a deeply institutionalised party-state that above all fears “mass incidents” that portend a threat to the stability required for the elite to continue, uninterrupted, with their wealth accumulation.

A star of new leftish thinking is Wang Hui, who also has a global audience, since he has read all the theorists of globalisation, the social theorists famous worldwide, whose writings are these days all available in Chinese translation. Enormously erudite, Wang Hui himself is on the global lecture circuit, offering a distinctively Chinese perspective on the debates on capitalism, and how the contemporary world works. A harbinger of things to come, Wang Hui is a global intellectual celebrity, welcome in  seminar rooms everywhere for offering a challenging fresh take on familiar debates on topics such a modernity, globalisation, capitalism and the nation-state. His 2014 lectures during his visiting professorship at Goldmsiths College, London, are livestreamed, a sure sign that China can produce its own brands of intellectual star.

Wang Hui is interesting, too, because he has not simply ignored Tibet, as many Chinese intellectuals do. He has written much about Tibet, both a sympathetic reflection on Tibetan environmentalists campaigning against hydro dams, and a lengthy dismissal of the Tibetan protests since 2008. That essay, 90 pages long in English translation, has attracted little attention from Tibetans, but does much to explain the deep seated obstacles to any meaningful dialogue between Tibetans and Chinese.

Like so many of China’s leading intellectuals, seeking, through their guoxue or “national  learning” to save China by reviving concepts that Confucius himself thought of as antique, Wang Hui’s voluminous rereadings of ancient texts unsettle familiar dualisms without advancing new alternatives. Wang is a textual scholar, a professor of language and literature. The present moment in China is his overriding concern, yet there is no investigation of it, only the grandest of generalisations, and a selective light of the past directed onto the present.

In a party-state which in 2013 made a point of officially banning all discussion of past mistakes of the party,[1] it is understandable that Wang Hui, for all his researches and writings, has only achieved one half of the task he set himself, to investigate the origins, in China and the west, and likely futures of two key modern concepts: science and democracy. Wang’s work on China’s embrace of “Mr. Science” as one of its saviours is deeply illuminating. Understandably, he has not yet felt the time is right to explore with equal depth China’s need for “Mr. Democracy.”

But the external pressure to avoid critiquing the absence, in China, of a self-conscious, mobilised, organised, articulate, citizenry and civil society –the key elements of actual democracy; added to Wang’s reticence and inconclusiveness, leave a big gap, which the social sciences could be expected to fill. Wang fruitfully hints at what might be discovered. He suggests that China today is creating modernisation without modernity. This is a cryptic suggestion, which could readily become a research agenda for both political science and economics, both of which struggle –in places beyond China where such open struggle is possible- to depict the dynamics of today’s China.

The dilemma is readily expressed. On one hand, China is booming, wealth accumulation is accelerating, entrepreneurs have unparalleled opportunity, and the Market-friendly reforms announced by Xi Jinping late in 2013 are intended to allow market forces to become the drivers. Yet on the other hand China remains highly repressive, the party-state fixated on command and control, ruthlessly quelling dissent, and with state-owned enterprises dominant, and given favoured treatment. Neoliberal orthodoxy suggests private enterprise is the engine of growth and prosperity, not a heavy governmental hand addicted to social engineering, the agglomeration of favoured SOEs into national champions, the state picking and choosing its favoured winners. Today’s China seems to be both neoliberal and a profound contradiction of neoliberalism. Equally, China cannot be dismissed as totalitarian, dirigiste, a monolith of state control. So what is it?

Wang Hui has a simple answer, characteristic of his usual move, when faced with a seeming dichotomy, which is to exclude neither and lean to including them both. The repressive regime clamping down on “mass incidents” and popular protest is the essential precondition, he suggests, for the primitive accumulation of wealth by an elite of bureaucratically well-connected entrepreneurs, and entrepreneurial bureaucrats. In this sense, China achieves modernisation: fast rates of growth and wealth accumulation monopolised by an elite, massive state-led investment in the infrastructure of modernisation, while the masses remain poor, and without an adequate welfare system or social safety net. Political repression holds back modernity, an active participant citizenry advocating their interests, and renegotiating their identities, as modernity steps the individual out of the shadows of the ancestors. Thus we have modernisation without modernity. This could be a substantive research agenda for the social sciences, but that is not politically possible. Wang himself has little opportunity to develop this further, and no inclination to do so by fieldwork.

To proponents of the vaguely defined “China Dream”, the party-state’s mass line insists that this is the best of times, wherein China comes to realise its dream of modernity, prosperity and global eminence. However there is in China a liberal new left, highly critical of China’s embrace of state capitalism, with its corruption, monopolies, primitive accumulation, concentrations of wealth in the hands of a few, bloating inequality and contempt for the masses silenced by the coercive power of the state. Despite the censorship and repression, these leftish intellectuals continue to speak up, and critique the obscene rush to get rich, while exploiting the excluded. Yet on the new left, a patriotic insistence that global norms do not apply to China is as strong as among the insiders of the party-state who are busily getting rich.

Wang Hui is not a leftist in the sense of nostalgia for the good old revolutionary days under Mao. But his skepticism about today’s China extends only so far: in many ways he remains a conventional patriot, with conventional views about the inviolably sovereign Chinese nation-state, China’s transition from dynastic empire to modern nation-state, and the role of minority nationalities. Not only does he follow convention, as a renowned historian of philosophy, he has come up with lengthy and ingenious new arguments for closing Chinese minds to Tibetan calls for breathing space.

To achieve this, Wang Hui takes his usual roundabout route, displaying at length that he has read and digested everything ever written, before gradually arriving at the present. In the case of the Tibetans, this requires a lengthy excavation of what European philosophers said about Tibetan Buddhism centuries ago, which of course was largely nonsense. This excursus through the history of European ideas might seem entirely irrelevant to an understanding of the pain of today’s Tibetans, yet the Tibetan uprising of 2008 and how China should respond is Wang Hui’s ultimate objective, in an essay of 90 pages.

Wang selectively overlooks the ways the greatest of European philosophers of the 18th and 19th centuries mistook Tibetan Buddhism, and Buddhism generally, as a gloomy, other-worldly faith emphasising only the suffering of existence and the bliss of non-existence. He instead accentuates the positive. Gradually Wang Hui moves forward, always looking at Tibet through western eyes, filled with romantic fantasies, arriving, in Zurich at the turn of this millennium, at an exhibition of the fantastic western imaginary of Tibet, painstakingly assembled by leading contemporary European deconstructionists seeking to debunk the Shangri-la romanticism.

But to Wang Hui this is final proof that Tibet is a figment of western imagination, as are western concerns about contemporary human rights in Tibet. Dreamworld Tibet, the 2000-01  Zurich exhibition of utopian and dystopian fantasies of Tibet, western and Chinese, was assembled in order to clear space for Tibetans to represent themselves, but Wang Hui takes it as an opportunity dismiss all nonChinese voices, leaving the way open for an exhaustive reprise of Chinese imperial annalists on Tibet as a tributary of China.

This is Wang Hui’s characteristic move, surveying comprehensively what the west has said on any topic, only to dismiss it all as Eurocentric,  in favour of the unique contribution available from Chinese tradition, as interpreted by Wang, with ingenious novelty. Wang dismisses the idea that China’s 20th and 21st century tasks in Tibet are to turn an 18th century empire into a modern nation-state in which everyone identifies as a citizen of a unitary state that transcends ethnicity. The dichotomy of empire and nation-state he dismisses as just another western dualism that does not apply to China, which has for a thousand years shown every sign of being a nation-state, since the times of the Song dynasty. Drawing on Japanese analyses done at the height of Japan’s imperial advance, Wang suggests that the Song dynasty “uses economic rule as the base of centralized authority and was the first dynasty in which a ruler governs the myriad people in a unified manner. The results of this economic centralization would be an extremely solid legacy for later dynasties. The decline of an aristocratic culture and its replacement with a mature prefectural system, namely a system of absolute centralization and a bureaucracy, which greatly influenced political culture and made it different from that of the Han and Tang dynasties because the Song government standardized the imperial examinations, which gave rise to a new class of gentry and bureaucrats.”[2]

To Wang Hui, the distinction made between empire and nation-state is meaningless, just another Eurocentric claim to superiority that has no basis. “The dichotomy formed within the narrative of European world and political history between the so-called ‘empires’ and ‘nation-states’ was in reality a theory to legitimize the European nation-state. What I really wish to do is to break down this dualism, and to negate the dualistic relation. Neither do I see the transition between empire and nation-state as a necessary condition for the transformation into political modernity; I would not describe the problem in this way.”[3]

China’s leaders over the past century and more have all felt it was essential to adopt the western model of the nation-state, as a way of regaining national strength and a sovereign place in the world for China. Yet to Wang those Chinese Republicans and Marxists were pursuing a goal that required only reasserting the achievements of Song China 1000 years ago, since “the seeds of modernity already existed”, under the Song “system built around a core of imperial authority, the prime minister, and the civil service [which] was a highly rationalized state system.” The Japanese too felt the need to build a strong state, and so did the Japanese scholars of the 1930s on whom Wang relies for discovering the modern state in China a millennium ago. So Wang then quickly parts ways with the Japanese, critiquing “the opposition they constructed between empire and nation-state according to the framework of European world history.” This European idea, Wang says, is to be repudiated because empires fail to accord formal equal sovereign relations to other nations, “instead being characterized by relations of tribute and a hierarchical structure of social relations.” By contrast, the nation-state, at least legally, “is formally defined by relations of equality within the nation-state system.” It is this dualism Wang is keen to dismantle as yet another European imposition on the world, but he refuses to categorise China as either.

To Tibetans, the distinction matters. China, at its fullest imperial stretch, under the Manchu nomad rulers, the Qing dynasty, in the 18th century, controlled Tibet, which had to pay tribute. But during the 18th, and 19th centuries, up until the mid 20th century, there was no attempt by China to actually govern, to change or intervene in ground realities in Tibet, to establish the modern system of  “economic rule as the base of centralized authority in which a ruler governs the myriad people in a unified manner.” That is exclusively the project of the Chinese Communist Party.  China under the CCP was determined to achieve was the assimilation of Tibet into a unified nation-state with secure borders, a loyal population and all imperial influence driven out.

Converting an empire into a nation-state was of the highest importance to the party-state, and remains an unfinished agenda, especially in Tibet. To Tibetans, the distinction between empire and nation-state is crucial. Wang Hui dismisses the drive to create the modern, unitary nation-state as a Eurocentric teleology, but it remains a teleology, a destiny prescribed for Tibet, that has driven CCP policy for its 65 years in power.

China felt it must become a recognisable nation-state, recognised by the other nation-states, in order to stand up and regain sovereignty. The nation-state, by the time China grew determined to repulse the western imperialists, at the end of the 19th century, had become a necessity, and in its strongest form, the unitary nation-state with no concessions made to federalism or autonomous minority ethnicities. It took a century to realise the vision of the unitary state, in which ethnicity is no longer a collectivity, a nation with collective claims, within the nation-state, but is merely an individual choice of identity, as a member of a chosen ethnic group.

Empires make no such claims. Empires contain the raw and the cooked, a jumble of ethnicities, the conquered, unassimilated peoples who often have quite different legal systems and gods of their own. China has often accommodated such difference, and often been itself ruled by outsiders, notably the nomads of the north, the Mongols for a century, and later the Manchu for two and half centuries. As Wang Hui says, “empires understand both sides of borders or the various frontiers as their own”. They are fluid, opportunistic, expanding when circumstances are favourable.

Why does Wang Hui dismiss this highly useful distinction between empire and nation-state? Because it is a western invention, and some western theorists have added a teleology, in which the nation-state becomes the highest form of government, a melding of territory and culture, thus the highest stage of human social evolution.  Hence it is to be rejected. The idea of empire is a manifestation of western imperialism.

WANG HUI, THE FRIEND OF TIBETAN ENVIRONMENTAL CAMPAIGNERS

But there is more to Wang Hui than nativist reprise of versions of Confucianism. He did not come out with his elaborate insistence on Tibet as a tributary of China, and Tibetan protest as a phenomenon of western romanticism, until the events of 2008, months before the Beijing Olympics, forced him to declare his patriotism. Prior to that, he wrote an unusually warm, uncomplicated story celebrating his friendship with young  Bai and Tibetan minzu intellectuals, and his involvement in their successful  campaign to persuade China’s highest leaders to cancel a plan to hydro dam one of the most beautiful rivers, within a UNESCO World Heritage area. This essay appears in English in a collection of his 2004-08 writings, and seems to have not had publication in Chinese.[4]

The essay is a tribute to the “Son of the Jinsha River”, the activist Xiao Liangzhong, who died young, exhausting himself in his round the clock campaigning to mobilise communities against the construction of a hydro dam across the Jinsha (upper Yangtze)  at  Hutiao Xia or Tiger Leaping Gorge in 2004, not far below the areas designated officially as Tibetan Autonomous Counties.

Wang Hui, then editor of the liberal Dushu journal, had published  a 2001 ethnographic piece by Xiao, and they had met. Wang published more by the energetic young anthropologist, but, he says, never found time to take a look at a novel Xiao wrote. As the campaign against the dam gathered strength, a Tibetan scholar Ma Jianzhong, recruited Xiao to join, and they organised a symposium in the prefectural capital of the Tibetan portion of Yunnan province, Zhongdian, later renamed Shangri-la (Shang-er-li-la) to attract tourists. The symposium, an attempt at framing the hydro debate on Tibetan terms, was called “Tibetan Cultural and Ecological Diversity.”

Xiang recruited the famous editor into his world, persuading him to stay, in Zhongdian, in Xiao’s family home, during the symposium. There Wang discovered the modern Tibetan academy, authors of encyclopaedic Tibetan histories, erudite Tibetan monks who had come from Qinghai, and, from Beijing, “Mr Zhambei Gyaltsho, a colleague of mine from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences who as in the Institute of Ethnic Literature. I was part of the Institute of Literature, and purely due to this separation, we had never met.”

In this region of many nationalities, with Han Chinese the newcomers, the Tibetans of the upriver  uplands made a strong, inclusive case for “ecological and cultural diversity as being very closely linked, and that any attempts to differentiate groups within a community based upon ethnicity and religion would rapidly erode its cultural multiplicity and any other of its organic relations, producing new inequalities. Xiao Liangzhong’s interest in his hometown did not arise from his interest in a particular ethnic or cultural group, but rather in the social networks woven together through history and their multiplicity.”

Seeing this Tibetan move to include all, Wang Hui became involved in the drafting of a proposal calling for the dam project to be halted. Wang was able to appreciate that the Tibetans were not chauvinists, and skilfully included everyone, and he got further involved.

This essay in praise of a few activists of Tibetan, Bai and other minority ethnicities displays Wang Hui’s Confucian piety, but it also precedes his rejection of the Tibetans as a people and their call for breathing space. The essay opens with Wang Hui arriving in a remote village to pay his respects to the young man’s grave, on Tomb-Sweeping Day, a scene he evokes in detail, without explaining that, as others have since said,  Xiao’s death galvanised the villagers, who “believed he died to protect his homeland, and his death motivated them to protect it, too. Some if the villagers thought of him as a river spirit who could bless and protect their home. The death of Xiao Liangzhong caused an upsurge in local sentiment against the dam project.”[5] When the community put up the memorial declaring Xiao “The Son of Jinsha River”, an old farmer said: “Rivers on the earth are like veins in the human body. If you were to block off your own veins, you would die. The earth is the same.” An old woman said of the young man who died that he “was just 32 years old when he left us. I’m more than 60 –I’ve lived long enough. If I could exchange my body of flesh and blood for the long-term peace and stability of this land, so that the Tiger Leaping Gorge Damn wouldn’t be built, I would be willing today to have my body smashed to pieces and my bones ground to powder.”

It was this mobilisation that succeeded in pressuring the Yunnan provincial government to cancel the dam, as long as the protesters dispersed quickly, which they did. This account, more detailed than Wang Hui’s, makes it clear that the climax, well after Wang’s Tomb-Sweeping Day homage to his young friend, was achieved by 10,000 angry villagers surrounding government buildings, demanding justice, holding officials hostage, and refusing to disperse despite the threat of the ruthless armed police quelling them. Only when it was clear that both the Tibetan prefectural officials and the Yunnan provincial officials accepted their demands did they save everyone’s face by going home.

The skill of the Bai and Tibetan intellectuals in the Confucian arts of recruiting Wang Hui as protector and patron did much to give the social movement momentum, but it was won by mass protest, the courage of people who have been lied to too often. That’s not how Wang Hui tells it, but in Liu Jianqiang’s retelling of a long personal involvement with reporting the issue.

The villagers, victorious until a renewed hydro damming push by Beijing in 2012, drew deeply on Chinese tradition, as does Wang Hui, both in his Tomb-Sweeping Day homage and his rejection of the Tibetan demand for cultural space, on the grounds that it was the nation-state of China that has long ruled Tibet, and Tibetan protests are western fantasies.

Chinese tradition, Confucian but also Buddhist and Taoist, is rich in precedents, exemplary stories and concepts of propriety, enabling everyone to pick and choose. The old woman, offering her body to be smashed to pieces and her bones ground to powder, succinctly summarises a classic Tibetan meditation practice, called Chöd, in which the meditator cuts clinging to existence by imagining, as vividly as possible, exactly the old woman’s scenario. For the meditation practice to work, transforming the inborn subjective attachment to “I”, it must be done with total sincerity and conviction, as the old woman demonstrates.

This old woman, spontaneously offering, in specific detail, that her body be smashed and ground to dust, is clearly familiar, through long practice, with imagining just that experience, as her offering of the self, of all attachment to existence,  the core of self-ish-ness.[6] This is beyond the comprehension of Chinese people today. The willingness of Tibetans to die, in order to perpetuate the inner strengths of Tibetan culture, in the face of Chinese ignorance, indifference and persecution is equally inexplicable, as Wang Hui demonstrates, at length, in his long essay on the 2008 Tibetan uprising.

That’s the focus of the next blog in this series.

 



[2] Viren Murthy,  Modernity Against Modernity: Wang Hui’s critical history of Chinese thought; Modern Intellectual History,3,1(2006), pp. 137–165

[3] Wang Hui, The End of the Revolution: China and the limits of Modernity, Verso, 2011, 126

[4] Wang Hui, Son of the Jinsha River: In Memory of Xiao Liangzhong, 173-190 in Wang Hui, The End of the Revolution: China and the Limits of Modernity, Verso, 2009

[5] Liu Jianqiang, Defending Tiger Leaping Gorge, 203-235 in Sam Geall ed., China and the Environment: The Green Revolution, Zed Books, 2013

[6] Edou, Jerome. Machig Labdron and the Foundations of Chod. Ithaca: Snow Lion Publications, 1996.

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WHY ARE CHINA’S INTELLECTUALS DEAF TO THE PAIN OF THE TIBETANS? 3 of 3

A SERIES OF BLOGS ON CHINA’S LEADING INTELLECTUALS AND THEIR SELF-REFERENTIAL WORLD

THREE:    THE DISSIDENT LIBERAL LEFTIST WANG HUI: THE PAIN OF THE TIBETANS IS A FIGMENT OF WESTERN FANTASISTS

 

 

CHINA, CENTRE OF ALL UNDER HEAVEN

There is so much in Chinese tradition to draw on that leading intellectuals compete by cutting and pasting as they choose, almost always from Confucian classics, as their contribution to contemporary China’s greatness, the realisation of the “China Dream” and China’s exceptionalism. Their agenda is, as it has been for generations, to save China, and to strengthen it. For a century, from late 19th to very late in the 20th century, the consensus among intellectuals, reformers, modernisers and nearly all political parties, was that Confucian tradition was at the heart of China’s backwardness and inability to stand up to the west. Then, almost overnight, the magnetic poles flipped. Confucianism suddenly went from being the root cause of China’s failures to being the secret source of its contemporary strengths.

The great game of China’s establishment intellectuals, left and right, is to pick which aspects of Confucian tradition best can be made to reframe debate, make Chinese characteristics into universals, which at the least exempt China from the universals of others, such as universal human rights, and at most proclaim China as the natural global centre of all under heaven.

It is this fixation on extracting concepts from the 2500 years old Spring and Autumn Annals for contemporary repurposing that preoccupies not only the party-state and its intellectual supporters, but also the leading critics as well. Their preoccupation with Confucian precedent, a contemporary trahison des clercs, serves the interests of the party-state even when it is critical of the inequality, corruption and excesses of the regime.

These days what used to be the consensus, that Confucian tradition is largely irrelevant to contemporary China’s problems, is voiced only by lonely, imprisoned outsiders such as the gentle Liu Xiaobo, who says ”Deep down, emotionally, the Chinese remain closed off. In their heart of hearts, they want to find some superior cultural tradition of their own that will help them create a unified system of belief. They are constantly engaged in a quest to find some source of national pride with which to console themselves. Confronted with the powerful culture of the West, the Chinese search for a spiritual crutch in the ancient culture that once made them so proud.”[1] It is for these sentiments that Liu Xiaobo is the only Nobel Peace Prize winner in gaol.

These are among the deeper reasons why Tibetans make so little progress when they reach out, in Chinese, to Chinese audiences.  Wang Hui’s elaborate refusal to take seriously the anguish of the Tibetans is itself exemplary. His lengthy recitation of imperial precedent, his insistence that it was the Manchu emperor Qianlong who, in the 18th century “established the Kashag system that placed the Dalai Lama at the head of the government,” repeats familiar arguments that, since the imperial annalists regarded the Tibetans as tribute-paying outer barbarians, whose “local” government is established or disposed of by Beijing, the actual voices of actual contemporary Tibetans can be ignored.

What is truly remarkable in Wang Hui’s 90 pages on contemporary Tibet is that almost nowhere does he hear Tibetan voices, or listen to Tibetan complaints that echo his own critique of contemporary China’s state capitalism, gross inequality, rapacious resource extraction and environmental damage. Seldom does he sit and talk with actual Tibetans, although he says “I have always been deeply curious about Tibetan culture and wanted to investigate the Tibetan region more thoroughly.”[2]

 

TIBET AS A PHANTOM OF THE WESTERN MIND

Wang Hui’s elaborately contrived deafness to Tibetan pain is, unfortunately, typical of educated Chinese, including critics of the party-state. Exceptions are rare. One might expect the exceptions to be social scientists, trained in empathy, verstehen, in the classic ethnographic method of standing inside as well as outside the culture being studied. No such sympathetic reports are to be found in the writings of China’s social scientists. The few open-minded accounts of the lives, values, cultures and practices of Tibetans, and other minority nationalities, come from Chinese biodiversity scientists and human rights lawyers.

For Wang Hui, the protests by Tibetans can be explained away as the strains and contradictions of the arrival of modernization in a religious society, in which Tibetans confuse the inevitability of globalization with Sinicization. The strong global sympathy in 2008 for protests by Tibetans is explained away as the delusional fantasies of Western imperialist romanticism. Wang writes: “Most Chinese have no idea that what they are facing are Westerners saturated in several centuries of orientalist knowledge, for whom Tibet is something purely internal or, rather, a wholly fabricated internal other.”[3]

Assembling his evidence that Tibet is a phantom of Western orientalist fantasy, Wang takes a long detour through Rousseau, Kant, Hegel, Herder, Madame Blavatsky, Adolf Hitler, James Joyce, William Butler Yeats, James Hilton, the Central Intelligence Agency and many more; a ground already well trodden by many Western scholars[4] out to clear away projections, to enable Tibet and Tibetans to come into focus on their own terms. But for Wang Hui, this constitutes evidence that, for Westerners, “the existence of the Orient/Tibet is a necessary premise upon which their selfhood is constructed.”

Some Westerners, having repudiated the orientalist fantasies, deconstructed the Shangri-la mythos and also criticised the CIA’s use of Tibetans as Cold War pawns, have gone further, entering fully into Tibetan lifeworlds, as practitioners of Tibetan Buddhism. While there may not be many Euro/Americans who have dedicated their lives to the inward journey of meditative insight into the nature of mind, under the guidance of Tibetan teachers, one might suppose their views worth noting, as an alternative to the speculations of 18th century philosophers. Wang Hui, far from ignoring such voices, includes them, as one might expect of an intellectual drawn to universals, which could include Buddhism, in that the Buddhists of Tibet say the Buddhist path of insight into the nature of mind is meaningful for anyone born human, irrespective of culture.

Wang Hui chooses to quote from Matthieu Ricard, a French-born monk in the Tibetan tradition with decades of experience of the transformative inner journey: “It’s called ‘mixing your mind with the teacher’s mind,’ the teacher’s mind being wisdom and your mind being confusion. What happens then is that by means  of ‘spiritual union’ you progress from confusion to wisdom. This purely contemplative process is one of the key points of Tibetan Buddhist practice…… You can’t go and meet with Socrates, listen to Plato debating, or sit at St. Francis’s feet. Yet suddenly here were these beings who seemed to be living examples of wisdom. I said to myself: ‘If it’s possible to reach perfection as a human being, that must be it.” [5]

For Wang Hui, this is further proof that the West is in the grip of a deeply imprinted collective orientalist delusion about Tibet.  It does not occur to Wang to consider Ricard’s experience of decades of immersion in Buddhist practice and an attempt to find words for the deeply transformative power of Tibetan mind training, and Ricard’s unusually intense ethnographic encounter worth considering as an insider perspective. These quotes from Ricard prove to Wang Hui that the Tibetan lamas “are the creation of Westerners rather than the descendants of Tsong-kha-pa.”[6] Thus does Wang dismiss global concern about human rights in Tibet, the authenticity of the Buddhist tradition in Tibet, and the pain of the contemporary Tibetans.

Wang Hui says he wants to hear more Tibetan voices, yet seems oblivious to their presence online, in Chinese and in Tibetan, despite acute dangers, obstacles and censorship. He is also unaware of the corpus of fieldwork done in Tibetan areas. For two decades, the Institute of Biology at Yunnan University in Kunming, has published careful fieldwork accounts of conservationist practices of the many minority nationalities of Yunnan, practices based on traditional indigenous knowledge. In hundreds of reports, chapters and articles, they add up to a remapping of knowledge invisible to a party-state bent on engineering modernisation on a grand scale, through massive infrastructure projects that frequently have perverse outcomes that could have been prevented, if traditional knowledge was acknowledged and respected.

The biologists take care to adopt the conventions of scientific writing, in which the observer remains unseen, not part of the story. But when Beijing based human rights defence lawyers decide to see for themselves what the Tibetans are carrying on about, the tone is straightforward reportage, remarkable only because, in China, it is so unusual.[7]

This “Investigative report into the social and economic causes of the 3.14 incident in Tibetan areas”, by the Beijing-based Gongmeng Law Research Centre in 2009, adopts the structure and stance of objectivity of the social sciences, but Tibetan voices constantly break through: “The assistance and ‘development’ brought by the Han is often accompanied by forced change and conflicts, and the wishes of the Tibetan people themselves are not respected. ‘A Tibetan’s prosperity is more about freedoms such as religious belief, a respect for people, a respect for life, the kind of prosperity you get from extending charity to others.’ (Interviewee, Norbu].) ‘Reform and opening up brought with it new values for the Tibetan people […] forcing people to accept ‘development as the last word,’ and forcing them to accept ‘consumption as the last word’. In this process […] of transforming a people who had originally based their values on faith at the same time as transforming Tibet itself by means of modernization the lives of the people there were also transformed.’ (Interviewee, Li Xiaoshan.) From the level of actual benefits, the current rapid process of modernization has not given the ordinary Tibetan people any greater developmental benefits; indeed, they are becoming increasingly marginalized. In the course of researching and interviewing, we saw on more than one occasion the schisms, bitterness and hardships being faced in Tibetan areas today.”

This frankness, and the space provided for subaltern Tibetans to speak for themselves, were quickly repressed and the authors punished. Five years later, in 2014, the Gongmeng report remains one of the few occasions Tibetan voices were heard and reported by educated Chinese who took the trouble of going to Tibet to see for themselves.

 

 



[1] Liu Xiaobo, A Spiritual Tool, in Geremie Barme ed., New Ghosts, Old Dreams: Chinese Rebel Voices, Times Books, 1992, 385

[2] Wang Hui, Son of the Jinsha River: In Memory of Xiao Liangzhong, 181

[3] Wang Hui, The Politics of Imagining Asia, Harvard, 2011, 154

[4] Peter Bishop, Donald Lopez, Martin Brauen, Frank Korom and Robert Barnett are among many who have written extensively on this

[5] Jean-Francois Revel and Matthieu Ricard, The Monk and the Philosopher: A father and son discuss the meaning of life; Schocken, 1999, 5,9, quoted in Wang Hui, The Politics of Imagining Asia, 150-2

[6] Politics of Imagining, 151

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TIBET: THE LABORATORY RAT OF GLOBAL CYBER WARFARE?

THE TIBETAN FRONT LINE OF THE CONTEMPORARY SECURITY STATE

Thanks to the unending flow of top secret documents  going public, we now know that every state spies on everyone, not only to monitor terrorists but also to manoeuvre for military, political and commercial advantage.

We have long known China does this, to intercept the military and commercial secrets of rivals; and to censor and disrupt the communications of its own citizens and critics. But now we know everyone who has the capability does it, because they can. Cyberwarfare has become the norm, hidden behind the vague rationale that this is nothing new; this is merely the anarchy of global international relations loosed upon the world.

Now that the extent of this each-against-all world is known, we can start to trace the lineages of this new absolutism, this Hobbesian world where the strong take full advantage of the weak. How did we come to a situation where it is regarded as fair enough, inevitable, even normal, that the nation-states of the world regard all others as competitors and/or enemies, whose weaknesses are to be exploited?

The simplest answer is that the spy agencies of all powerful nations do this because they can, because they managed for a decade or more to keep it largely secret, because both legislation and popular concern lag far behind their new technical capabilities to intercept everything and anything. We could say that the post-9/11 security state has normalised such measures; and that the 2001 attack on New York’s World Trade Center coincided with an exploding capacity to intercept all electronic communication. We can look back on the past decade, or 13 years, as a turning point, a time when Islamic fundamentalism was answered by a security fundamentalism that has become pervasive and toxic.

As we look back over the years since 2001, Tibet looms large, as the laboratory in which these new tech advances were trialled, tested, and perfected. The Tibetans were the laboratory rats, on whom all the new technologies of interception, deception, disruption, disinformation and destruction of the enemy’s communications system, were trialled. The new weapons of cyber warfare were, as is now well known, trialled by the Chinese government, with the Tibetans, in and beyond Tibet, their front line.

As a frequent visitor to Tibetan communities in India, I often met bright young tech heads who were into helping the Dalai Lama and exiled Tibetans maintain some integrity and security of their computer systems, to be alert to hack attacks and secret siphoning of data to nearly untraceable addresses in China. A decade ago, as the stories slowly grew, that China was attacking not only the Tibetans, but American corporate secrets, even the US military, seeking to copy stealth fighter jets and missiles, it seemed quite obvious that the Tibetans were the front line, and successful cyber attacks on the Tibetans were then replicated on other targets in the US military and corporate worlds.

It occurred to me that the defences invented by those tech heads, young unpaid volunteers working alongside exiled Tibetan web managers and computer systems administrators,  were valuable, not only to the Tibetans, but much more widely. Naively, I asked one or two if they were able to sell their expertise to American corporations which were starting to realise they too were vulnerable to “day zero” attacks by newly invented viruses and other malware that sought to penetrate their commercial secrets. I asked a few times if they could make a little money, to keep their volunteer work at the front line going, by offering their knowledge, as consultants to the American computer industry. Well, they said, we get a few nibbles here and there, a few approaches, mostly from computer security consultancies seeking to make a reputation for themselves as being the most advanced and successful in protecting clients, but that’s all.

At first I thought it a bit odd. Maybe the Tibetans were just too obscure, too far off the radar, to be recognised as a front line. But years went by, and I kept, occasionally, wondering. The more news that came out about the extent, depth and sophistication of Chinese penetration of American defence and business secrets, the more I expected to see American cyber warfare defence experts swarming Dharamsala, the Himalayan village that is global centre for the exile Tibetan dream of regaining space, inside Tibet, for Tibetans to be themselves.

That never happened. My puzzlement remained unanswered. Only now is it clear that every state with the capacity to do so was indeed not only monitoring the Chinese intrusions, but was busily going beyond defence to offence, to scooping as much data as possible, from wherever possible. They were and are all doing it to each other, and there is now no phone or computer that is safe, no telecommunication that is private, no clear distinction between defence and offence. Data collection on a staggering scale has become so routine that the states amassing it  now struggle to make use of more than a tiny fraction of it.

I used to think the governments of the western world were reluctant to speak up for the Tibetans because they feared China’s punishment, even though China’s threats seldom amount to much more than a loss in Norwegian sales of smoked salmon.[1] Again, I was naïve. They did know, they were watching, and they were doing the same themselves, while preferring to keep it all as quiet as possible.

The Tibetans were the lab rats, not only for China but for the global cyberwar machine. The Tibetans, under the Dalai Lama, have long called for “universal responsibility”, and for the west to adopt a  more unified response to China, to avoid being picked off one by one for Chinese reprisals. But in a realpolitik dog-eat-dog world, universal responsibility is a naïve, impossible dream. Reality is each against all, to the winners go the spoils.

This is not the first time the Tibetans have been used, and abandoned, by outside forces. In the 1960s, the US Central Intelligence Agency trained and armed the Tibetan resistance which had been steadily beaten back by China’s Liberation Army in a war which lasted years, ending with the exiled Tibetans being flown to American bases in the Pacific and the Rockies for insurgency training. A decade later, Richard Nixon, in the hope of enlisting China as an ally in containing the Soviet Union, made his historic deal with China, the Tibetans were hastily dropped, an embarrassment to the new normal.

In 1904, the British invaded Tibet, having persuaded themselves that the Tibetans were flirting with the Russian empire, and that Tsarist Russia, already overextended, had serious designs on Tibet. Having invaded, finding not only no Russians but also no Tibetan officials with whom to negotiate, the British eventually withdrew. But the damage had been done: thousands of Tibetans dead, and in the longer term, the clearest possible message to China that the entire world must join the global system of exclusive nation-states. Tibet must become China’s, or risk becoming someone else’s colony. The most remarkable consequence of the British conquest of Lhasa is not that it was pointless, but that it took China a further 45 years to create an army strong enough to make Tibet Chinese.

In all these historic moments, Tibet has been a pawn of bigger games, the Great Game as the British grandly called it. In the ascendency of the contemporary security state, Tibet yet again has been a pawn, receiving neither help nor overt sympathy from western governments as China probed, pried and destroyed Tibetan online communications. All concerned were too busy watching, learning, copying and taking their own steps to gain similar capabilities. The world is poorer, more fragmented, competitive and anarchic, as a result.



[1] Andreas Fuchs and Nils-Hendrik Klann, Paying a visit: The Dalai Lama effect on international trade; Journal of International Economics 91 (2013) 164–177

 

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ECLIPSED BY THE RESOURCE CURSE?

MONGOLIA’S PASTORAL NOMADS IN NEOLIBERAL FREE FALL

 

In Mongolia, a democracy for almost 25 years, popular disappointment in the corruption of successive, elected governments has reached a point of disillusion deep enough to trigger symbolic warrior attacks on the parliament by horsemen armed with bows, arrows and rifles. The statist response has included speech stigmatising these most traditional of challengers as terrorists, demanding and succeeding in obtaining lengthy prison sentences.

As a resource extraction economy supplants the traditional mobile pastoralism as the main source of wealth, popular discontent now regards the alternating elected main parties as equally venal, with Mongolia’s parliamentarians among the richest in the world. Discontent with a democratic system and public sphere dominated by vested interests is widespread, sharpening rhetoric on all sides. Yet the challenge of the mounted warriors was an isolated incident.

A more common response to rising inequality is to try to participate in the mining boom. In Mongolia the full spectrum of mining is found: from the largest of transnational corporate world-scale extractive operations  reliant on technology rather than labour-intensive employment; through to the smallest-scale artisanal miners washing for gold specks in the rivers that flow through the pastures, often called ninjas, for the green plastic bowls they attach to their backs as they tramp between  prospecting sites.

The shift from a pastoral to an extractive economy has led some observers to call the pastoral nomads of Mongolia an oppressed minority, victims of global capitalist exploitation. Yet Mongolia only a generation ago, at most two generations ago, was largely a pastoral society, despite a high urban concentration in the capital city. A pastoral nomad, Sambuu, was President of Mongolia, from 1954 to 1972, at a time when, supposedly, Mongolia was utterly under the Soviet thumb.

How can a majority become a minority? Pastoralism is fast shrinking, both in the numbers who make a living from raising livestock and as a proportion of GDP now that the biggest of coal and copper/gold mines are in operation. But a simple dualist opposition of pastoralism and mining oversimplifies. The biggest of the mines are in the south, in the Gobi, the driest part of Mongolia most prone to climate extremes. The climatic extremes included a bitter winter (dzud in Mongolian)  at the end of 1999 and again two years later, with icy gales so severe that many subsistence graziers lost most of their herds. In the Gobi “a clear majority of placer gold miners are herder households who lost their livestock to dzud. Overall, tens of thousands of small-scale miners are engaged in placer gold mining and represent a major source of conflict with place gold mining companies. For a period, the presence of small-scale miners was tolerated…”[1]

In 2011 the Mongolian government reported: “Due to decline of animal husbandry in 2010, a number of heads of livestock fell by 11.3 million and heads of offspring by 6.4 million compared to the previous year.  Due to high natural losses production of livestock originated products, such as meat, milk, wool and cashmere, dropped significantly.”[2] The proportion of the population classified as poor rose from 29 per cent in 2007 to 39 per cent in 2010. Since then, according to the World Bank,  poverty has shrunk, but in rural areas remains at 35 per cent.[3] This is a contrast with the Soviet bloc era, when pastoralists, organised in collectives, had close to 100% literacy, guaranteed incomes, even state pension at the age of 55.

Mongolia is a big country (the size of France, Germany and Spain combined) with plenty of surface gold available, now that a centralised command and control economy is gone, replaced by weak democratic governments disinclined or unable to do much for the poor.

Disappointment with the fruits of democracy followed a deeply ambivalent response to the unexpected collapse of the Soviet bloc, into which Mongolia had been integrated as an industrial supplier of meat, wool, hides, dairy and other livestock products. Regimentation, collectivisation, government monopolies on buying and processing rural produce all collapsed, to be replaced by markets which favoured the most favoured and penalised the weak. The result was an acceleration of the peri-urban ger districts encircling the built cityscapes of Ulaan Baatar. The rural poor, escaping  the disastrous effects of dzud, erected their circular felt tents (ger) or built and fenced small timber houses, as a winter shelter and temporary refuge. As long as they believed these unserviced districts (no sewers, no piped water, often no electricity) were temporary, they were tolerated as a uniquely Mongolian adaptation, an urbanisation not to be labelled as slums or shantytowns, yet barely tolerated officially and frequently blamed for crime, violence, overgrazing, deforestation and pollution of the water table. But the ger districts, already expanding in the Soviet era, have become permanent, leaving the number of Mongolians actually making their living from mobile pastoralism a minority. Individual families in these districts may pack their ger and return to the pasture lands when seasons improve, thus maintaining the tradition of nomadic mobility, but overall, the ger districts continue to grow.

Mongolia’s official response is that: “the increased population of Ulaanbaatar resulted in shortcomings in service delivery which caused by the overload of hospitals, schools, roads, water supply, engineering facilities, as well as a shortage of housing and socio-cultural amenities. Additionally, air pollution, soil degradation and water contamination have impacted adversely on inhabitants’ health. On contrary, as the number of permanent residents of rural areas has being sharply decreased, livelihoods of rural people became stagnant. The main reasons are lack of basic services and infrastructures, absence of modern facilities, not meeting the demand and requirements of the population in rural localities, and lack of environment conducive to the human development and business opportunities. Population of the local areas and remote regions became sparse due to migration therefore cost of basic social services and commodity price have increased, which negatively affect the population livelihood.”[4]

While Mongolia’s government argues that a depopulating countryside is even harder to service, government revenues are soaring, thanks to the big mines now nearing full production , which have ready markets close by in China. But it is conventional economics that concentrated populations are more efficiently served with modern infrastructure, in contrast to the rural bias of Mongolia’s end of the Soviet bloc.

So the countryside continues to be under-invested, neglected, under-capitalised, and wealth continues to concentrate in the capital-intensive extraction zones, and in the city. The pastoralists have, in a generation, gone from being seen as the true Mongolians, heirs of Chinggis Khan; to becoming peripheral small scale producers vulnerable to fluctuating climates, too scattered to modernise efficiently.

This doesn’t mean all pastoralists are poor, far from it. Concentrations of wealth among livestock producers are not as visible as the bling of the urban new rich, the hurgan bayan, literally, the “rich lambs”, who drive round Ulaan Baatar in their Hummers and tinted glass Jeeps. Wealth in the countryside is, as ever, measured by animals on the hoof which are spread out across the pasture to even the grazing pressure. What is not obvious is who owns the remaining millions of sheep, goats, yaks, horses and camels (the Mongolians define themselves as “the people of the five animals”).

Some of the rich lambs got rich through moving fast and first to commandeer land and herds in the free for all that followed the unexpected collapse of the Soviet bloc. They took possession of lands and assets that had belonged to the negdel, the nomad collectives that organised large scale livestock and meat production, invested in rigorous animal health services, quality control, meat freezing and export to the Soviets, and reliable wages to the pastoralists. All that vanished suddenly, seized by the bold and well-connected. These days, it is said by those in a position to know, that the national marketing of meat is controlled by only three families, whose political influence reaches so high they are able to arrange official subsidies at times that maximise their profits. Nomadic herding was never the egalitarian arcadia imagined by folk in the West, but these days the extremes of inequality are more extreme than ever, in a land with an egalitarian ethos promoted by the negdel.

Fortunes can be made in meat, in a country where autumn is the killing season, a tradition in a land so cold over the long winter that meat can be safely frozen in the earth by one’s ger tent, with no need for electricity. These days, with meat a highly marketable commodity sellable not only within Mongolia but to China’s People’s Liberation Army to the south, he who commands industrial freezers gets to hold onto the plentiful meat of autumn until the lean months of spring, and then make a fortune. If one has the right connections, the Ministry of Agriculture, in the name of the national interest in maintaining meat supply year-round, can be persuaded to establish a meat reserve in spring rather than autumn, buying its bulk meat supplies at premium prices, at public expense.

The great herds owned by the rich lambs are dispersed across the countryside, herded by poor nomads whose karma, in a highly risky climate, ran out and have little choice but to herd the animals of others. The rich are further favoured by the industrial logic of modern livestock production, which emphasizes division of labour and specialisation. Owners of big herds can separate them by age and gender, can concentrate on breeding programs, and sending young adult males to fattening yards close to cities prior to slaughter. To those that have shall be given. The rich get richer, the poor find their fortune as their karma ripens unpredictably.

The urban new rich and the oligarchs of rural Mongolia overlap. Mongolia is in the phase of primitive accumulation, as Marx called it, zerleg kapitalizm (wild capitalism) as it is called in Mongolia. But there are plenty of other ways of getting rich, in a land of great mineral wealth, cashmere wool production, tourist attractions, an urban real estate boom and a stock market for Mongolian companies floating their wares.

Mining is not new. Copper was one of Mongolia’s main exports to the Soviet bloc. But the scale of exploitation now is world class, so big that only the biggest of global multinationals such as Riotinto can finance and operate extraction. The Oyu Tolgoi mine, in the Gobi of southern Mongolia, with a ready Chinese market, is a colossus. It will, its owners say, become the third biggest copper mine in the world. After many delays, 2014 is the year OT (as everyone calls it) goes into full production. Oyu Tolgoi is forecast to produce 150,000 to 175,000 tons of copper in concentrates and 700,000 to 750,000 troy ounces of gold in concentrates, tripling in later years as the open cut operation goes underground. This single mine tilts the whole Mongolian economy towards extraction, making pastoralism, by comparison, seem too hard, too risky, too unrewarding. The resource curse is upon Mongolia.

It is all too easy to blame this on foreign multinationals, as if they invented capitalism and imposed it on Mongolia. But in the early 1990s, when I was president of an Australia Mongolia Society, the Mongolian government was energetically offering its mineral patrimony to Riotinto, BHP Billiton, and anyone else who might dig it up. I set up meetings for a Mongolian minister visiting Australia, at a time when Mongolia, reeling from the Soviet collapse and its entry into the hard world of hard currency, was more than keen to capitalise on its abundance of minerals. In reality, it took 20 years for those prospects to be realised, and some of the delay was due to deep ambivalence in Mongolia as to whether exploitation of the copper/gold deposit needed a foreign owner and operator. The result is that the Government of Mongolia now directly owns 34 per cent of the mine, and stands to earn not only profits but royalties revenue as well, boosting national GDP by about 30 per cent.

The protesters on horseback, traditionally dressed to emphasize their popular legitimacy, who fired at the national parliament and are now goaled, accuse all the major parties of endemic corruption. This strikes a popular note, in a land of deep pastoral tradition where fortunes are made and lost quickly and unpredictably, with the calamitous blizzards of a dzud only the most dramatic of risks a livestock herder must face. Mongolians are deeply suspicious of the new rich, and perhaps with reason. Like the oligarchs of Russia, assets were for the seizing as the Soviet bloc fell apart, and mineral wealth only adds to the opportunity to privatise wealth while socialising the costs of extending services to the dwindling nomadic countryside.

Rebecca Empson, an anthropologist, says when Mongolians look at the new rich, “the turns of fortune involved in the accumulation of this kind of wealth are frequently judged as suspect. Somebody somewhere, it is often claimed, must have been seriously cheated in order to secure these possessions.”[5] Although capitalism, in Mongolian, is called kapitalizm, it is hardly a foreign import, nor is it unique to global mining giants.

For years after the Soviet collapse, the conventional euphemism among economists was that Mongolia, and all the postSoviet nations, were in “transition”, implying both an orderly process and a predestined destination, of modern, late capitalism, complete with its orderly markets and oligopolies. Mongolia’s “transition” was disorderly, rapacious, benefiting the brazen.

Tsetsegee Mounkhbayar, leader of the protesting horsemen, is behind bars, officially guilty of a terrorist threat to the state, sentenced in early 2014 to 21 years; likewise five of his cavalry companions. But his protest is popular. Among his demands was that parliament not repeal legislation passed in 2009 to protect pasture land, popularly known as “the law with the long name.” But the messy reality is that it is not only giant mining corporations taking pasture land as their private fiefs, but also the rich lambs, the new class of former cadres who seized their moment.

Now, one of the few voices heeding the concerns of the masses is the Mongolian government’s National Human Rights Commission, which in its latest report, of November 2013, said of the district where the Oyu Tolgoi mine powers ahead: “we met with herders who lost their pastureland and so had to resettle in the soum [district] center asking another herder to take care of their cattle which survived the changes. Other herders might have left the province for another place. For others who stay in their home land, their nomadic lifestyle is being destroyed. Traditionally, it was usual for herders to move around for better pastureland four or more times a year, but now moving around for one or two times is considered ‘many’. Due to shrinking pastureland, some herders are forced to spend summer at their winter camps.”

The 2009 Law With the Long Name is officially the ‘Law to Prohibit Mineral Exploration and Mining Operations at the Headwaters of Rivers, Protected Zones of Water Reservoirs and Forested Areas’. This well-intentioned law failed, not only because of big mining companies but also small pastoralists seeking their fortunes panning for gold in streams coming from Mongolia’s mountains, bearing flecks of gold.

Mongolia’s abrupt ejection from the command economy cocoon into the global neoliberal marketplace has been a rough ride, favouring the well-favoured rich lambs. The rough riders led by Ts. Mounkhbayar diagnose Mongolia’s acute embarrassment of riches distributed unevenly, but solutuions are at hand.

 



[1] Giovanna Dore and Tanvi Nagpal, Urban Transition in Mongolia, Environment, vol 48 #6 July 2006

[2] Government of Mongolia, MILLENNIUM DEVELOPMENT GOALS IMPLEMENTATION, THE FOURTH NATIONAL REPORT, 2011

[3] World Bank, Mongolia Economic Update, November 2013, 15

[4] Government of Mongolia, MILLENNIUM DEVELOPMENT GOALS IMPLEMENTATION, THE FOURTH NATIONAL REPORT, 2011, 33

[5] Rebecca Empson, The Dangers of Excess: Accumulating and Dispersing Fortune in Mongolia;  Social Analysis, Volume 56, Issue 1, Spring 2012, 117–132

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HARD MEN FOR HARD TIMES IN TIBET

PROVINCIAL MINDS

What the global diaspora of Tibetans seldom manage to do is to look at Tibet thru Chinese eyes, not only in Beijing’s eyes but also from the perspective of Lanzhou, Chengdu, Xining and Lhasa. Things look very different if these provincial capitals are the starting point. Lhasa is showered with central money, whatever provincial leaders ask for they get, the whole world is looking. The security state flourishes. Tibet Autonomous Region cadres are adept at stoking Beijing’s conspiratorial mindset, eliciting ever more money for the grid management system that intensively monitors all human activity, ready to intervene when anything unusual happens.

For Xining the Tibetans are far too big to ignore, yet are also seen as a minority dragging on Qinghai’s progress. Tibetans are less than 20% of provincial population, yet occupy 95% of Qinghai’s area, in counties and prefectures legally designated as areas of Tibetan governance. Tibetan (and Mongolian) areas, include the mineral and energy rich Tsaidam Basin and the great Chinese river sources. Amdo/Qinghai has a coherent Tibetan intellectual class capable of holding their own, of leveraging their necessary role as teachers, translators, editors, reporters, tv show hosts, film makers into cultural capital, an uneasy modus vivendi based on a long history of living together.

For Lanzhou Tibetans are a nuisance, only one of many difficulties

For Kunming it’s the success of rebranding one remote corner Shangri-la, the hill station for display of new wealth, plus intensive mining, all that’s needed is the infrastructure of extraction, which is rapidly arriving.

Arguably, in all these four provinces -TAR, Qinghai, Gansu and Yunnan- there is a tacit understanding, despite the palpable tensions, that prevents situations from boiling over. The exception, among the five Chinese provinces into which the Tibetan Plateau is split, is Sichuan. Overwhelmingly, the Tibetan protest suicides, the security state’s extremes of repression, even mass shootings, have been concentrated in the Tibetan portion of Sichuan.

Why are senior cadres in Chengdu so quick to resort to violence? What is different about Sichuan (and nearby Chongqing) that leads to such intolerance, mistrust, refusal to listen to the evident pain of the Tibetans? Why is the view from Chengdu and Chongqing so different to the stance taken by the leaders in Lhasa, Xining, Lanzhou and Kunming? This is an exploratory attempt at suggesting answers, which tell us not only about frustrated expectations in Chengdu, but also about why China’s new leaders are singling out Chongqing and Chengdu as the epicentres of a rottenness that threatens the legitimacy of party rule right across China.

The Tibetan areas annexed to Sichuan are 42 per cent of the total area of Sichuan, comprising one Amdo prefecture, Ngawa; and one Kham prefecture, Kandze. For the entire 64 years of CCP rule, these areas have seemed tantalisingly close, and promising, yet the outcome has always been frustration and disappointment. For Chengdu that 42% is the next frontier, yet stubbornly resistant to incorporation. Now at last, due to massive central subventions, a railway, hydrodams, all weather  highways and major mines are in sight, maybe even earthquake engineering sufficient to populate the plateau foothills with Han. But right now it’s all a tantalising dream yet to be fulfilled, a revolution of rising but frustrated expectations. The barrier remains the Tibetans, far too many to ignore, truculent, with a long history of dogged resistance. The answer has been to invoke the full apparatus of repression, but urban grid management as in Lhasa just doesn’t work in the rugged hills of the most densely populated yet diffused part of Tibet. Step by step the security state installed itself, as township cadres proved incapable of controlling protest, or even knowing the minds of their subjects, because they don’t speak Tibetan. So higher levels took over, shaming the local cadres for their failure, determined to teach both the humiliated cadres and the Tibetans a lesson. That too literally inflamed  a highly flammable situation. It became a provincial priority, paralleling Chongqing party boss Bo Xilai’s “smash the black” campaign, lumping Tibetans as a criminal class. The only appropriate response was to strike hard.

Yet in reality, in many parts of Sichuan Tibet,  there is tacit agreement in many areas to keep everything peaceable. Local lamas skilfully get things done, communities prosper, cadres are happy, their quotas are met, they get promoted, everyone realises it is in the interests of all to keep the peace. It’s not as if all of Tibet, or all of western Sichuan is in flames. There is still a model of how to get along.

What will happen? In the inflamed areas nothing works, not even the maximal security state that mobilises every Han to stand on street corners, doing their patriotic duty to maintain China’s face by dousing the faces of the immolators. It’s hard to imagine how this could be further intensified, even with grid management.

 

HARD MEN, HARD TIMES

While Sichuan’s leaders mobilise extreme security state fundamentalism in Kandze and Ngawa, they themselves are under increasing scrutiny by Beijing, led by China’s new leader, Xi Jinping.

What sort of emperor is Xi Jinping? He is clearly not the liberal reformer, proto-democrat, neo-liberaliser that so many in the west prayed for. Nor is he just a stolid do-nothing like Hu Jintao. He just may be a Bismarck: out to realise China’s emergence as a superpower, willing to do what it takes to fulfil China’s rise. Bismarck invented the welfare state, not because he passionately believed in the human dignity of labour and the rights of workers, but because a well fed, housed and healthy working class was essential to building national strength, if Germany was to catch up with UK and France. Maybe the political scientists are right to call up the ghost of Bismarck and Wilhelmine Germany, not only as a metaphor of China’s emergence as a regional power challenging US dominance, but also in domestic management.

Sichuan is not the only fault line rending China. The party-state may be a distinctively Chinese hybrid, but party and state do have separate interests, even contradictions. If there is a high-level advocate for neoliberal privatisation of the entrenched SOEs, at least partially, it is Premier Li Keqiang, who endorsed a proposal jointly issued by the State Council’s Development Reform Commission, and the World Bank, which urged privatisation lest China sclerose into anti-competitive oligopolies able to shut out new market entrants. But, like the ineffective Premier Wen Jiabao before him, such proposals may come to nothing, in the face of entrenched interests with insider access to the highest levels of the party. It is no accident that these reform proposals come from institutions of state, of regularised power operating under standardised rules that affect everyone equally. And it is no accident that the highest state position, of Premier, is routinely outranked by the General Secretary of the party, Xi Jinping, who, incidentally, is also China’s president.

While Xi, with his Don’t Speaks, has disappointed western wishful thinkers, does that mean he is bad for Tibet and the prospects for a modus vivendi? He is out to break the Sichuan-Chongqing model of crony capitalism married to Maoist populism. He has more power than Hu ever did, or Jiang Zemin, maybe only Mao had more. And he is clearly a party infighter, determined to further consolidate power and above all ensure the CCP hegemony persists. He is as much an economic reformer as Zhu Rongji, but probably not in the direction of privatising, since ownership matters less than control, and control is what he is about.

He is smart enough to realise the Sichuan security state is ruining the governmentality of Tibet everywhere, and that an alternative approach is needed, for the thoroughly conservative, anti-democratic purpose of buying time, a superficial peace and stability; to get on, uninterrupted, with the rise of China, led by its SOE national champions, whose bosses he appoints. It is now increasingly common to appoint a successful SOE boss to run a troubled province; they are comparable enterprises, requiring comparable managerial fixes, a willingness to do what it takes to restore peace and production.

A Chinese Bismarck would realise the security state barkers surrounding him are wrong in insisting the only way to deal with Tibetans is force. He wouldn’t have to look far beyond Ngawa and Kandze towns to find what he is looking for, that tacit social contract between skilful lamas and prudent cadres: you leave us space to get on with our lives, and there will be no trouble. It’s that simple. Not only is that the deal at a local level, it is all Tibetans, at the global level, have ever asked for, ever since the Dalai Lama made it clear 25 years ago that cultural autonomy is the key requirement. A Chinese Bismarck might realise China can live with this, it is doable, and achieves exactly what Xi needs. All Tibetans are asking for is room to get on with their lives without obnoxious intrusions of a security state obsessed with extracting from every educated Tibetan a statement of gratitude to the CCP, and denunciation of the Dalai Lama.

Xi is smart enough to recognise that the current strategy is not working, powerful enough to change course, ruthless enough to get rid of the entrenched security state, pragmatic enough to do the deal and get China off the hook. You don’t always need a democrat.

But what would drive him to tackle a reset, overriding and outmanoeuvring the strong vested interests of the deep security state? He has enough on his plate already, and the mass line, more than ever, is Don’t Speak of Tibet, don’t let Tibetans speak for themselves, if we can maintain a great silence in the public sphere we can maintain the fiction that that’s all that is needed.

What may provide the push is China’s slide into a lower rate of growth, at a time of higher expectations that the comfort and prosperity Deng promised to all over 30 years ago has failed to materialise.  China faces  the prospect of a property bubble collapse, a blow out in bad loans, a limit on further state finance to stimulate growth through a cash splash on infrastructure, a shift of manufacturing jobs to even cheaper labour countries, and many other challenges. There is much talk of China sliding into the doldrums, akin to Japan’s “lost decades” since 1990, decades of little growth.  That may be no bad thing. Japan was and is prosperous. A lower growth rate may at least slow major Chinese mining projects in Tibet. But the CCP rightly fears such a scenario, not only because it limits wealth accumulation for the rich, but limits opportunities for the not-so-rich who are increasingly frustrated at the monopolisation of wealth by the new rich and the well-connected. China is now the second most extremely unequal country in the world, only by South Africa is more extreme.

China’s leaders have adroitly averted similar dangers before, such as a banking system in the 1990s so laden with bad debt it should have collapsed. Over many years, those failing banks were recapitalised, only to be ordered, in 2009 and 2010, to again make huge, rash, unrepayable loans to greedy SOEs that took public finance in through the front door and out the back door as private equity in property speculation, which may yet burst as badly as did the Tokyo bubble of 25 years ago.

Xi Jinping may have several crises on his hands, including widespread popular expectations that wealth be shared more equitably, and the new consumer class be given greater say. He will also find, if he has any inclination to rein in the SOE national champions, that they are now far more powerful than when the last serious reformer, Zhu Rongji, took on major economic reform.

The likeliest scenario for Tibet to regain a bit of breathing space is that, in the midst of juggling myriad problems and crises, the iron fist is recognised for what it is: counter-productive and self-defeating.

The perceptive Francois Godemont notes that Xi Jinping has set aside the convention that party leaders speak only of “we”. Xi is entirely comfortable of speaking in the first person singular, thus speaking to and for China, enunciating the new “mass line”. Godemont says: “This is a strong leader who has an absolute sense of his individual, genealogical, and ideological legitimacy.” Xi Jinping may be China’s Bismarck. Hard men can do hard things that softer, well-intentioned men struggle to achieve. Xi Jinping has vowed to liquidate the tigers and the flies of corruption, and shows every sign of doing so, not because corruption is evil but because the basic social contract, the minimal trust necessary between the ruled and the ruling party, depends on effective action that catches not only flies but a few tigers too. A hard headed decision to haul away the attack dogs rampant in Sichuan Tibet could widen that tacit modus vivendi that already exists, even close to the most inflamed areas. A weak leader will be criticised for such a move, pandering to China’s enemies. A hard man can do it.  Xi Jinping’s top target seems to be the security apparatus boss who was at the forefront of the hardline in Tibet, Zhou Yongkang, a man likened to J Edgar Hoover and Dick Cheney, the hardest of hard men.

The rottenness rampant in Chongqing and Chengdu may have poisoned relations between Tibetans and Han Chinese in upper Sichuan, and ruined the reputation of the CCP across China. Xi Jinping’s ruthless determination to bring down the architects of the security state and Sichuan’s corrupt cronyism might yet  clear the way for a restart. Xi Jinping may yet realise  that he, and China, can live with cultural autonomy for Tibetans, and get off his back a great weight. And he’s tough enough to cut through the entrenched resistance, within his ranks, to any fresh approach to the deeply unhappy Tibetans.

 

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