China’s enthusiasm for controlling risks is not the Tibetan way. What is most striking about contemporary Tibetans is that they deal with risks, including the risk of the party state’s force majeure, neither with zealous fixation on control, nor the bitterness of the Uighur resistance. Tibetans, taking their cue from customary light touch, flexible risk management instead manage the intrusiveness of the party state with a close and intuitive reading of when and how to push back, and when to yield, in the interests of the long term.

Instead of matching obsession with obsession, tribal loyalty to the party-state with tribal loyalty to an exclusive minority nation, Tibetans tackle the everyday tasks of managing the risks of surveillance, grid management, compulsory slogan chanting, criminalisation of dissent, the social credit regime of algorithmically assigned punishments and rewards, with some aplomb. They know when to stage ritual displays of fealty to the party-state and its well salaried job opportunities. They also know when and where it is possible, even if only in private, among trusted intimates, it is possible to relax and be heartfelt.

There’s nothing like seeing a young Tibetan cadre hectoring a visiting high lama, based far from China, demanding aggressively that he obey all directives, not assemble crowds, in no way deviate from the official line, almost shouting in his face, a pantomime of official arrogance. Then, staged performance done, to the satisfaction of a hidden Han superior, the same cadre, as the lama leaves, grabs her baby and holds it up for the lama to touch on the head, in blessing, away from the official gaze. Two performances, moments apart, with little doubt as to which one came from the heart. That’s risk management with aplomb.

Such stories abound. Tibetans know how to make ritual displays of fealty to a hegemonic party-state that demands primary loyalty to the fiction of a unitary, sovereign nation-state that all Tibetans experience as an arrogant, racist conflation of the Zhonghua Han race with the Chinese state. They know when and where such ritual tribute must be paid, and then get on with their lives. They are not conflicted by their official identity as Zhonghua minzu citizens clashing with a secretly nursed alt-identity.

It is not only in risk management that Tibetans are flexible, accommodating whatever arises, making necessary adjustments, and carrying on. Flexibility is more generally a Tibetan stance towards contingency, the coincidence of causes and conditions arising, that thwart or facilitate. Tibetans generally flow like water, around obstacles, moving on, not troubled by the strain of maintaining an essentialised identity that is breached by the demands of the party-state. This is a legacy of the pervasiveness of Buddhism, even among the many who have no overt Buddhist training. To perform loyalty is not to betray an inner self. To perform is to perform, as circumstances require.

If circumstances are adverse, this is to be accepted, not as a personal blow but as the maturing of inscrutable past karma from past lives long lost to conscious remembrance, not worth agonising: why me? It’s not all about me. When, in 2001, the Dalai Lama was asked what is the saddest thing that happened in his life, he said: “Some occasions now when newly arrived Tibetans explain about their life stories, and tortures, and there are a lot of tears. Sometimes I also cry. But I think sadness is comparatively manageable. From a wider Buddhist perspective, the whole of existence is by nature suffering. So, suffering is some symptom of samsara. That also is quite useful. That’s why I sustain peace of mind”[1]

This situational fluidity is not only a way of individually coping with the jealous gods of the party; it is a social response too. Tibetans are good at thinking through the consequences of behaving this way or that. If they aren’t good at it, they listen to those who are.


China has always seen Tibet as inherently risky, even life-threatening, in ways that are almost unmanageable, in these times of risk management. The contrast between Chinese and Tibetan attitudes to risk is a lens that tells us much. Take a look at China’s Journal of Catastrophology (yes, there is such a word in Chinese English). 

China routinely classifies Tibet as risky because of its thin air, extreme cold, proneness to earthquake and much more, and in recent years has developed many maps of the inherent riskiness of Tibet, for example, to snowstorms that are a hazard to pastoralists caught with herds that in autumn need to descend to lower altitude winter pasture but are trapped at the pass by deep snow, that even hardy yaks cannot paw through. Mapping such risks, familiar to drogpa nomads for thousands of years, does not mean risk mapping leads to risk management of risk abatement or risk compensation.  It does not provide drogpa with weather risk reports, or an indexed snowstorm herd loss insurance program, of the sort successfully implemented in Mongolia, enabling herds to be quickly rebuilt after losses.

Yet China now invests heavily in risk management, making it is sign of the party-state’s mastery of nature, and capability for quick and effective response to disaster. One of the biggest restructurings of government in the 2018 rearrangement of ministries was to create a new Ministry of Emergency Management, which takes powers and staff from several other ministries to comprise a brand new agency.  Official China has made it clear that its response to earthquakes, floods and other disasters is to be a measure of regime legitimacy, and party members are expected to be first on the scene when disaster strikes.[2]

Tibetans, by contrast, live with risk, as the coming together of causes and conditions that can arise at any time. This applies to natural disasters and unnatural ones such as the imposition of class warfare on the whole of Tibet, because that was consuming revolutionary China, and the  never ending official fear of “splittists”, whose dislike of Han arrogance is seen as an existential threat to the whole of China. Tibetans see these bouts of persecution come in waves. They sometimes resist, and sometimes decide, for the sake of the long term, to roll with the punches.


Sometimes it is all about the long game, about what it takes to survive the cruelties of this moment, in order to work gradually towards the ongoing saliency of Tibetan culture, including Buddhist insight that keeps minds supple. The eminent historian of Tibet Prof. Tsering Shakya suggests: “The Chinese state has been successful in projecting Tibetan and Uyghur people as backward populations resisting development. So there is a growing backlash in China against what might be best termed religion-based identity politics. China has successfully used this to its advantage, portraying the situation in Tibet and Xinjiang as part of the fight against the global rise of religious fundamentalism. However, there is a big difference in how the two communities are treated: Beijing is relatively soft on Tibetan Buddhists compared to Xinjiang Muslims. This is because Tibetans are not seen as the same kind of security threat as Uyghurs are and because of the growing popularity of Tibetan Buddhism.”

How did it come to pass that any Tibetan can call today’s punitive approach “relatively soft on Tibetan Buddhists”, only months after major Buddhist practice centres such as Larung Gar and Yarchen Gar were literally torn apart by bulldozers?

Tsering Shakya has a point, if one looks at the long term. For Buddhist insight into the nature of reality to survive meaningfully it must be realised, fully lived by its practitioners, at least enough of them to maintain a cohort of teachers who can transmit inner meanings to the next generation. The Tibetan Buddhists have managed to survive far greater persecution than current spasms, when for almost two decades all manifestations and organisations for Buddhist practice were violently suppressed, in the name of revolution and class war. In the hills, in mountain caves and other classic retreat places, practitioners persisted in realising in wholly embodied ways the insights of the Buddhist texts and teachers, then returned to society to exemplify them. As early as 1962, in his petition to Mao, the Tenth Panchen lama identified what was at stake: “Those who have religious knowledge will slowly die out, and religious affairs are stagnating, knowledge is not being passed on, and so we see the elimination of Buddhism, which was flourishing in Tibet and which transmitted teachings and enlightenment. This is something which I and more than ninety per cent of Tibetans cannot endure.”

The unbroken transmission of lineages of Buddhist insight, through invasion, the Great Leap, famine, the Cultural Revolution and beyond, is a remarkable achievement, barely noticed by an outside world that does not believe that transformative retraining of the mind is possible, or that continuity of transmission means more than institutional survival.

Not only has the inward path continued, unbroken, exile spread it worldwide, and the vacuity of newly wealthy China created a market for it in the biggest cities across China.[3] This strongly suggests flexible Tibetan risk management has been central to taking adversity as opportunity, a core proposition of the tantric path. The classic analogy is the peacock in the jungle, devouring poisonous plants; thriving and giving its resplendent tail a more iridescent glow.

Tsering Shakya is surely right about the growing popularity of Tibetan Buddhism, among urban Chinese finding out that wealth is not happiness. They open to the Buddhist insight that the rich man is often the most anxious, because he has more to nervously protect from risks and to make his money always grow. Whether Tibetan Buddhism appeals to young Tibetans, in exile or in Tibet, is moot, but Chinese flock to the lamas, seeking a meaningful life, beyond mere accumulation.

This is no small achievement. It could not have happened if Buddhism had been branded a foreign religion, like Islam and Christianity, quintessentially unChinese, which was the official position during the revolutionary decades.

The inculturation of Buddhism as a Chinese religion with Chinese characteristics, originally achieved 17 centuries ago, had to be renegotiated anew, with a party-state preconditioned to view all religion as poison. There is nothing inevitable, in a China that persists in insisting everything has to exhibit nebulous “Chinese characteristics”, about Buddhism regaining its standing as home-grown. This is especially true of Tibetan Buddhism, which appears superficially dissimilar to the Chan/Zen tradition, populated by different gods and demons, rituals and ritual masters nothing like the institutional Buddhism of Chinese monasteries. For decades, revolutionary China classified Buddhism as alien, Tibetan Buddhism as doubly foreign, and even today the sight of wealthy urban Chinese devotees prostrating before Tibetan lamas provokes deep unease among party officials. Hence the spasmodic outbreaks of state violence to separate teachers from students, policing the artificial distinction between laity and clerisy with walls and regulations, as if dealing with a contagion. Inevitably, the tools of risk management, of quarantining danger, are deployed.

The growing popularity of Tibetan Buddhism took great skill, patience, forbearance, fluidity and forgiveness, even an openness to the barren lives of one’s tormentors and torturers.

It took decades. It was accomplished without co-ordination or an overt strategy, as even now there is little room in the public sphere for Buddhist voices. Yet the transition occurred, a populist, nativist revival of Buddhism as a practice of mind training transcending race, class, gender and any other conventional identity. That could only be achieved by exemplary teachers leading exemplary lives, even if there were (and are) both Han and Tibetans tempted to cash in on widespread naïveté about how to choose a good teacher.

These are matters seldom spoken of, acknowledged or even recognised in the global diaspora of Tibetan exiles. As Tsering Shakya reminds us: “Unfortunately, much of Tibetan diaspora has become formulaic, and lacks ingenuity and creativity. Their rhetoric is confined to social media and the personality politics of a small, non-representative group of the population.” The self-appointed task of exile is to be voice of the voiceless, which requires the 97 per cent of all Tibetans, who continue to inhabit Tibet, to be voiceless victims, occasional heroic resisters, and little more.

This constricted view occludes recognition that in daily life Tibetans manage the obnoxious, racist Han Chinese presence, not just to survive the day, but to maintain Tibetan culture by focusing on long term risk management. Tibetans push back against official China’s demand for loud displays of loyalty, by manifesting behavioural compliance, and getting on with their lives. Tibetans push against Han centric racist depictions of Tibetans as backward, uncommercial, uncompetitive and unproductive, with subtlety and insistence on expanding the use of Tibetan language in public media, in public signage, in education curricula up to and including college degree courses taught in Tibetan.

Tibetans know exactly what triggers neuralgic twitch in the party-state, where the red lines are, how to push right up to the red lines, but not cross. They know full well the party-state long ago lost heart for genuine brain washing, for an inner conversion among Tibetans to seeing the world as Han see it. Official China has settled instead for a self-deluding ritual performance of “loving the party” which deludes only those who demand it. To Tibetans it is just another tax, a new wulag.

The worst part of those mandatory performances of Chineseness is that they are time consuming, but they do not threaten core identity, since Tibetans are light on core identity. All those hours of cadres earnestly explaining how kind the party is to the masses, how many benefits it has brought, all those slogans to be memorised and reproduced, all take time better spent at home with the family, or, if you are a monastic bedevilled by a “democratic management committee” of ideological enforcers, time better spent meditating.

Performative Chineseness is a punitive tax, but the result is you get to keep your state financed secure job, or to stay on in the monastery, and get on with the inner path of transformative mind training. Those may be individual benefits, but they are also prudent investments in the long term continuity of Tibetan culture and values, and in managing over the long term the corrosive aspects of alien rule.

At Yarchen Gar, in 2018, only months after the bulldozers ceased demolitions of the meditation practice huts of thousands of nuns and monks, international tourists were being shown around a peaceful contemplative community at work on inner transformation, with no mention of the turmoil, no hint as to the upheavals as officials demolished, expelled, trashed, demarcated Yarchen Gar and nearby Larung Gar into separated lay and monastic zones in the name of cross-infection control. On paper, official China had asserted itself, contriving a zone of ritual practice with no guidance from teachers, and a monastic professionals zone with no students. Having asserted state sovereignty, the bulldozers left, and oral transmission of inner realisations resumed across the walled divide between amateur and professional, lay and monastic, decreed by official intervention. Life goes on.

Serthar Larung Gar was first destroyed by methodical official vandalism two decades ago, for the same reasons: “The growing popularity and international recognition of the institute however acted as a catalyst for very real Chinese concern. The devotion Khenpo inspires among Chinese Buddhists had been of concern to the Beijing authorities for some time. One reason was explained by a Tibetan Buddhist teacher living in the West: ‘Most of the monks studying at Serthar from China are well-educated and from urban rather than rural areas, just the sort of people that the authorities would not wish to be influenced by Tibetan Buddhism or Tibetan views.’”[4]

Not only is this Tibetan long game invisible to China’s enforcers, it remains invisible to Tibetan exiles, who have little idea what these new religious movements, popular both among Tibetans seeking a meaningful life, and among Han from all over China, signify. The daily practices of discovering the full powers of the mind remain as opaque to young exiles as to the enforcers of the party-state, all of them sharing the modernist insistence that religion is nothing more than a jumble of arbitrary dogmas. Exiled Tibetans ceased being drawn to monastic life decades ago.

Yet this rigorous mind training tradition is the source of Tibetan inner strength, resourcefulness, flexibility, ability to consider consequences and manage risks without being defined by them. Most Rukor blogs are also exercises in risk assessment. Each post tries to balance news of new risks with careful assessment of which of China’s master narratives actually mean much, on the ground.

The devotion of the Tibetans to Buddhist insight, and now the devotion of millions of Han Chinese as well, are gradually turning minds at the highest levels in China. Not only does this protect Tibet from the yanda  “strike hard” disaster of Xinjiang, as Tsering Shakya says, it also means the Tibetans are slowly taming China, spasmodic outbursts of official destructiveness notwithstanding. Tibetan Buddhism is now not only normal, and acceptably Chinese, it ensures on all sides that situations do not spiral into a vortex as they have in Xinjiang. Both sides, Tibetan society and the party-state, know the limits, the tacit boundaries not to be crossed.

The khenpos of Larung Gar and Yarchen Gar are willing to stand back when China’s cycles of risk control and suspicion peak, let the destruction play itself out, and when it is spent, rebuild anew. This cycle has repeated. China is slow to learn that punitive correction of suspicious behaviour is counter-productive; or that meditation practitioners will always seek reliable spiritual guides and follow those they find, despite regulatory separations. Compared to the Cultural Revolution these statist “rectifications” are brief and useless. The connection between meditator and Vajra master is heart to heart, mind to mind direct transmission, transcending bureaucratic divisions of labour.

Tibetans worldwide should recognise, acknowledge and celebrate the strengths of Tibetans in Tibet, rather than focussing exclusively on overt and costly resistance. Unfortunately, innovative reinventers of Buddhist insight such as Larung Gar and Yarchen Gar are noticed by exiles only when persecuted. As soon as they cease being human rights headlines, they cease to be of interest.

So Tsering Shakya is surely right in saying Tibet has been spared the fate of Xinjiang, and this is an achievement of the Tibetans, who ought to be hailed for their skilfulness in crossing the great rivers of modernity with Chinese characteristics, feeling for each stone footing, one by one. It was in Tibet that China first learned the techniques of grid management, mass surveillance, disappearances, detention and torture. It was specifically Chen Quanguo, Party Secretary of Xinjiang, who spent years running Tibet Autonomous Region before transferring to Xinjiang, bringing his armamentarium of repression technologies with him.

Now, compared to the agonies of Xinjiang ripped asunder by mass incarceration and indoctrination, Tibet has been spared the worst, yet Tibetans persist, at every opportunity, in asserting the Tibetan difference, and not accept being classified as inferior Han. This, on a national scale, is risk management with aplomb.

Tibet perhaps has been spared the worst also because it is not on the road to anywhere much for China’s belt and road expansion, other than Nepal and a suspicious India. Xinjiang, however, is the heart of all of China’s Eurasian sphere of influence plans. Tibet, land of snows surrounded by mountains, has yet again been spared, because of its special topography.

While Tibet barely figures in China’s grandiose Belt & Road Initiative plans, remaining an exceptional outlier, it figures prominently in China’s new era planning for a consumption services economy, part of China’s transition from manufacturing as the path of wealth accumulation, to a demand-driven consumer society.  Tibet’s place in new era China is as a destination, for Han tourists in their tens of millions, exercising their leisure consumption rights.

China markets Tibet as a wonderland. This has its hazards, not only objectification of Tibetans as exotic Other, but also the emptying of rural Tibet to pander to Han fantasies of pristine wilderness no-man’s land depopulated to superimpose Han fantasies of primal discovery. The official plan to make almost half of Tibet national park runs the risk of depopulating prime pastoral landscapes, in the name of not only tourism but also water provision for lowland China.

If that is to be the fate of Tibet, it’s still far from the agonies of Xinjiang and Tibetans may even find the transition from rural to urban life manageable. It seems the urbanisation trend these days is as much pull as push. Tibetans feel drawn to urban comforts, as do folks just about anywhere in a globalised world, and less coercion is needed.

How are Tibetans managing the risks and rewards of urbanising? Many Tibetans now say as much as 10 per cent of the two million population of Xining is now Tibetan, while only a few years back Xining, although in Tibet, was in no way Tibetan, not even a Tibetan senior school.

Tibetans now consider the consequences of city life, and the possibilities of families living both on the pasture and in the city, depending on the needs and opportunities of both. When you are young, and in need of good schooling, you live in the city, because China closed so many local schools. When you are old and in regular need of medical care, you go to the city. If you are adult, young and healthy, you stay on the land. These are the everyday risk management decisions Tibetans make, aware that despite the seductions of city life, there is also the cost of speediness, distraction, crowding, the loss of quiet and even the solitude the lamas have always exhorted us to seek, to explore the mind. The recent pop ballad hit by Lobsang Nyima reminds us Tibetans do know how to do that urban/rural risk management process, embracing the new while mindful of the value of spaciousness, upland on the high plateau.[5]

The Tibetans have survived risks and disasters, of natural and human origin, with inner strength, flexibility, enormous resilience and an eye on the long term. They will deal with rapid urbanisation with those strengths available.


[1] Pico Iyer, Over tea with the Dalai Lama, Shambhala Sun, November 2001

[2] Christian Sorace,  Party Spirit Made Flesh: The Production of Legitimacy in the Aftermath of the 2008 Sichuan Earthquake, China Journal, 76, 201

[3] Gareth Fisher, From Comrades to Bodhisattvas: Moral dimensions of lay Buddhist practice in contemporary China, U Hawaii Press, 2014

[4] Destruction of Serthar Institute: A special report, Tibetan Centre for Human Rights and Democracy, 2001, 28

[5] https://highpeakspureearth.com/2018/music-video-city-by-lobsang-nyima/



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The Tibet lithium moment

If there’s one topic this blog has come back to again and again, it is lithium.

We have been told many times that, as electric vehicles become a big market, demand for this lightest of metals will boom, and Tibet is at the forefront of lithium deposits, both as brines collecting naturally on the beds of salt lakes, and as rock deposits, called spodumene.

If lithium finally booms, to power the batteries of the electric cars, does that mean extraction of Tibetan lithium will intensify? That boom has been a long time coming; lots of excited tech investors on the lookout for the next big thing may regret plunging into lithium stock too early, or too late.

During those many false dawns of the “lithium boom” there was a lot happening under the hood. Specifically, when very few car buyers showed much interest in all-electric cars, the manufacturers discovered no-one much wants a small car that putters round the city for an hour or two, then needs to be plugged in to recharge. No sir. What early adopters, trend setters, influencers want is a car that looks cool, accelerates fast, turns heads, and runs for several hours before needing to recharge. All of those premium market specs make for very heavy batteries, requiring as much as 10,000 times the amount of lithium needed to keep your mobile phone alive.

So when electric car sales do finally take off, demand for lithium will be strong. For this reason, and in keeping with China’s state-directed high tech ambitions, Chinese companies are seeking to dominate lithium production not only in Tibet but worldwide.

At a time when investor interest is strong the Sichuan based Tianqi Lithium 天齐锂业股份有限公司 is emerging as the dominant player, in China and worldwide, after its audacious takeover of the biggest lithium producer in Chile, raking in its lithium from high, dry salt lakes, very similar to the main Tibetan lithium source, the salt lakes of the Amdo Tsaidam Basin.

Tianqi is paying billions of dollars to buy out the Chilean lithium producer SQM, and as a result is heavily in debt, at a time when China, facing a trade war with the US, is increasingly nervous about its big corporations taking on so much debt. The party-state has stepped in and bluntly ordered some big Chinese investors (in Hollywood, for example) to pull back and pull out.

Since this promised lithium boom has taken many years to materialise, China’s government isn’t the only one getting a bit nervous. The price of lithium has actually fallen in 2018, not because anyone doubts the intensification of demand is at last happening, but because twitchy investors now worry that there are so many new mines and extraction projects coming into production, there could be oversupply, and they will not make the fortune they are gambling on.

If you aren’t an anxious fortune hunter, the bottom line is lithium demand is now growing, and that means fresh pressure on the salt lakes of both Qinghai and the Chang Tang of far western upper Tibet, and also Tianqi’s spodumene deposit, which Tulku Tenzin Delek was so concerned about, in Kham Kandze Lhagang, costing him his life after years of prison.

That’s a recap of the backstory told more than once on this Rukor blog.



What is truly new, making this moment actionable for Tibetans and their friends, is that China’s biggest lithium producers in China and around the world have judged this to be the time to launch their IPO listing, selling shares to investors in the hope of reducing that debt, raising capital, spreading the risk.

When a company launches its IPO it is acutely vulnerable to getting a bad reputation. If investors decide a particular stock is radioactive, stay away at all costs, the hoped-for share price tanks, the float raises only a fraction of what the owners hoped for, and everyone learns a hard lesson. This can make a difference of billions of dollars. It puts Tibet back on the map.

This is also a moment in which, in keeping with stock exchange rules, the company floating its shares is obliged to issue a comprehensive prospectus, informing investors of all the risks they are taking. This is an unparalleled moment of compulsory disclosure, and in the case of Tianqi Lithium’s prospectus, the downloadble disclosure document is hundreds of pages long, giving us insight into their assets and plans, so much so that we can usefully mine the disclosures of this miner.

New data on what is happening in Tibet

We learn a lot from this pitch to investors, more than is usually available to Tibetans, who are never consulted about mining their lands, and figure only fleetingly in the 690 pages of data Tianqi has disclosed to the Hong Kong Stock exchange (which also owns the venerable London Metals Exchange). Despite the absence of the Tibetans of Kham Kandze Lhagang from the Tianqi prospectus, Tibet is far from absent.

What Tianqi brings to the market is two spodumene lithium deposits, one in Western Australia, well south of the city of Perth, the other in Kandze. A third deposit, not rock lithium but a remote briny salt lake in Tibet, is also partly owned by Tianqi but does not feature much in Tianqi’s declared plans.

Tianqi’s two prized assets, the active Greenbushes mine in Australia and the proposed mine at Kandze Lhagang (Jiajika) emerge, in Tianqi’s voluminous documentation, in contrasting ways.

First (p.157) is Tianqi’s map of where its’ Tibetan lithium deposit is:

Tianqi (pages 438 and 519) describes its ownership of this Tibetan lithium deposit, in a district of Kandze Lhagang where there are other lithium deposits, owned and extracted by other companies, causing much distress to the Tibetan community. Rukor published photos of those mines in 2017.


Since Tibetans find industrial scale mining so distressing and offensive, surely Tianqi, as part of due diligence and full disclosure, must name Tibetan opposition as a risk factor? The Tianqi prospectus devotes no less than 43 pages to itemising all the risks investors are taking when they buy Tianqi shares, yet the grief of the Tibetans of Lhagang is nowhere mentioned.

However, Tianqi does name other risks, and that’s where its’ two spodumene lithium deposits, in Australia and Tibet, geologically similar but worlds apart socially, reveal sharp contrasts. Tianqi warns investors that Aboriginal native title holders have outstanding claims to the Greenbushes mine, which are yet to be resolved. There is no such mention of indigenous Tibetan claims.

Then there’s a minor problem with environmental compliance, which has halted lithium extraction in Kandze Lhagang for years, although Tianqi insists it is all to do with a competing miner, not them:

Then there is the very issue that most distresses Tibetans: the toxic chemicals and buried heavy metals exposed by mining and the processing of the ores:

Finally, there is the danger of ice storms and terrorist attacks, probably not in West Australia, so maybe this is an indirect reference to Tibet?

On top of all this, there is Tianqi’s part ownership of Drangyer Tsaka, a salt lake with an extraordinary concentration of lithium salts, in the far west of upper Tibet, technically part of Shigatse prefecture, but so remote there is little incentive to fully industrialise lithium extraction when the Tsaidam Basin in Amdo is much more convenient, and China now has ample access to lithium from Chile, Australia and around the world. Nonetheless Tianqi does boast of its stake in Drangyer Tsaka (Zabuye in Chinese), not surprising because other stakeholders include the battery maker-cum-car manufacturer BYD and the canny Warren Buffett, who knows a winner ahead of the pack. See Warren Buffett in action, and yes, that’s Bill Gates with him.


As a result, we now have financials on Zabuye for the first time:

So is there anything Tibetans can do? All too often, as threats to the land and people of Tibet arise, Tibetans look on, unable to intervene effectively. That’s why an IPO is a special moment. Both Tianqi and its financial adviser, Morgan Stanley, have a lot at stake, at a time when reputation is everything. Morgan Stanley’s reputation was tarnished by its role in causing the global financial crisis a decade ago, resulting in a penalty payment of over # billion paid to regulators in 2016.


The protests in Kandze, including many self-immolations, were unable to halt the exploitation of Tibetan minerals. It is not often that Tibetans have real leverage, and opportunity to hold mining companies accountable. Such a moment has now arrived.

This is where another backstory comes in. Way back in 1999 the police procedural drama Law & Order: Special Victims Unit aired a thriller in which Tibetan activists persuaded American investors not to put their money into an IPO float of a Chinese state-owned oil company, with oil fields in Tibet, seeking to list shares on the NY Stock Exchange. The result of this short, focussed, professional advocacy was that investors stayed away from the stock offering, its price sank, the company raised many billions of dollars less than they hoped, and China decided it’s just too damn difficult raising capital in the US.

What is truly remarkable about this almost forgotten ep from two decades ago is that it’s true. It actually happened. The company was China National Petroleum Corporation (CNPC). Tibetans seized the moment of opportunity, wrote to potential investors warning them stockholders would face a divestment campaign by Tibetans that would drive down share prices, so better not get in, in the first place. It worked. CNPC lost billions.

The Law & Order script writers did take a few liberties to make it more dramatic. On TV the Tibetan activist who triggered the IPO collapse was a young Tibetan woman, murdered by China in revenge. In reality, this whole story was discovered, written up and pitched to Tibetans in DC by some old geezer in Australia, not even a Tibetan.

Seldom do Tibetans have opportunity to ride the dynamics of global capitalism to make a difference, in the lives of Tibetans in Kham Kandze. It can be done. Watch that old Law & Order ep for yourself, be inspired. This is the moment.

What is took, over 20 years ago, to hold CNPC accountable was one carefully crafted lawyers letter to prospective investors, and a brief alliance between Tibetans and what today would be called the Trump evangelical base, whose concern over CNPC was its involvement in war in oil-rich Sudan, costing many Christian lives.

The DC based Tibetans assessed the controversial IPO was pitching not for day traders, short term investors, but for long term investors looking for reliable returns from a big corporation sure to deliver. The letter they wrote was shaped by that astute judgement. It was pitched at professional fund managers, in the superannuation insurance industry, who manage the accumulated savings of others on a big scale.

Those professionals have an obligation to invest wisely, not in volatile stocks likely to fall as well as rise. By warning them in advance that the IPO was controversial, and stockholders would be under pressure to sell, to free themselves of taint, there would be more sellers than buyers, and the price would fall, and those professional managers would be blamed, by everyone who lost money on their bad decision to buy in the first place. better not to buy at all, just let this IPO go.

In its 43 pages of listed risks, Tianqi nowhere mentions those Tibetans, despite its obligation to disclose to potential investors all foreseeable risks. This is the moment of transparency to make Tibetan concerns heard.



In this lithium boomtime moment, Tianqi Lithium is not the only Chinese lithium miner to launch an IPO in the hope of raising one billion dollars from investors wanting a slice of the action, in the expectation of big profits ahead.

The other company, also floating its shares on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange, is Ganfeng, and its prospectus is similarly full of useful disclosures. Such moments of transparency are rare for Chinese mining companies, on their march to global domination of lithium supply.

Ganfeng is of less immediate concern to Tibetans in that it has its lithium deposits and mines around the world, and in coastal China, but not in Tibet. Not yet. In May 2018 it hedged its bets by buying Qinghai Liangcheng, with access to the salt lakes of Qinghai Tsaidam, not for immediate exploitation but for the day, as demand accelerates, when technologies of separation of salts keeps pace with demand.

The Ganfeng prospectus reveals why Chinese lithium miners, Tianqi and Ganfeng included, are buying lithium deposits in south America, Canada, Australia, as well as Tibet, despite the abundance of lithium in the Tsaidam salt lakes.

It’s all to do with purity. There are many metals mixed together in the Tibetan salt lakes, mainly magnesium, potassium, lithium and sodium salts. Traditional uses for lithium did not require absolute separation, but lithium batteries do, especially if they are to discharge energy quickly while driving a heavy electric car, then recharge quickly. As electric cars have gone upmarket, the level of purity of lithium required has gone up. The biggest fear is fire, of an overheating battery struggling with impurities bursting into flame.

Is it this tech glitch that at the moment saves Tibetan salt lake lithium from intensive exploitation? If so, that protection may not last. So the last word goes to Ganfeng (p.92) from their IPO prospectus:

As China, and its lithium corporations, are close to their goal of global domination of supply, their current pattern of buying lithium deposits around the world may yet swing back to Tibet, if the demand forecast above, with a CAGR (compound annual growth rate) forecast from Ganfeng, happens.

Ganfeng may have little need of Tibetan lithium right now, and Tianqi may for some time rely mostly on West Australia, but the boom has finally arrived, demand is accelerating, and the Tibetan salt lakes, long a source of magnesium, sodium and potassium (potash) salts for Chinese industry, may also be exploited profitably for lithium.











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Official China is fixated on controlling everything, including the weather, even when science struggles to provide methods for doing so. China boasts of doing weather modification in Tibet, having spent six decades trying to seed rain over water catchments to compensate for lowland China’s wasteful overuse of water.[1]

It’s a classic case of policy overshooting science, as there is precious little scientific evidence that cloud seeding works. [2] This is especially true given the vast size and low population density of the Tibetan Plateau: does it really matter if cloud seeding causes the rain to fall here or five kms away?[3] And what if the fall becomes destructive hail, common enough in Tibet without cloud seeding artillery making it worse?

China does not, however, boast of its far bigger impact on Tibetan skies, threatening the health of all living organisms in Tibet: its’ persistent production of illegal chemicals that destroy the protective ozone layer of the upper atmosphere.

The Tibetan Plateau, as Chinese scientists have reminded us for decades, is our planet’s Third Pole. It is like the Arctic and Antarctic not only in being a polar extreme of frigidity but in other ways too. That includes having an ozone hole in the upper atmosphere, which ruins the capacity of this ocean of air above us to protect us from damaging radiation coming at us from outer space, especially from the Sun.[4]

While the ozone holes above the North, South and Tibetan Poles has been well known to science for decades, it seemed a cure was in place. Unlike the climate change treaty negotiations which faltered in Paris in 2015, after crashing in Copenhagen in 2009 due to China’s intransigence, the world has rightly celebrated the 1988 Montreal Protocol on Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer as a great success. That treaty, banning the industrial production and use of ozone-depleting substances (ODS), was universally accepted, and observed. It became a model for how the world could manage to unite to deal effectively with a threat common to us all, the only one of the environmental conventions that actually works.

Because ODS remain active in the upper atmosphere for a long time, there has been so far very little shrinkage in the polar ozone holes, but the world was on the right track, all countries working together, and Tibetans, vulnerable to high levels of damaging ultra -violet (UV) rays, could look forward to a gradual diminution of the danger.

Attention turned to more urgent issues, including global climate change, confident that one major problem was solved, and we could move on. Little has been heard of the ozone holes, for many years, least of all the ozone hole over Tibet. However, the story is far from over.

Now, thanks to remarkable investigative reporting within China, it turns out that levels of ozone-depleting chemicals are again rising, and the culprits are Chinese companies making the same polyurethane foam that turned Grenfell Tower in London into a funeral pyre. Innumerable buildings in China are coated in that foam insulation, and its manufacture is cheapest when the industrial process releases to the air the ozone depleters, stripping the planet, especially at its poles, of its protective outer layer.

Polyurethane foam is a miracle of modern science. It is easily manufactured and readily compressed to be transported to where it will be used. When squirted out of its container it instantly foams and hardens, expanding to a size far greater than when it is inside a pressurised canister. It effortlessly fills all the space it can expand into, such as awkward spaces between the outermost shell of a building and its newly installed rigid polyurethane cladding, thus sealing the gap, trapping air and heat, shutting out cold and drafty air, making it effective as an insulator. It can be applied without need for an expensive, skilled operator: just point and squirt.

There are just two downsides. First, as those incinerated in Grenfell Tower discovered, it is not only flammable but burns fiercely, ascending a building, trapping those on upper floors in a fire started far below. Secondly, it needs a propellant, to carry it from its canister to where it is supposed to stay rigid, in place, an instant filler of space. That propellant, having done its job, becomes part of the atmosphere, slowly wafts upward into the stratosphere, where it persists for five decades, destroying ozone molecules wherever it bumps into them.

So destructive are these propellants, especially CFC-11, they make a hole in the protective ozone layer shielding life on earth from the harm of ultraviolet radiation. Not only do these CFC propellants ascend, they congregate at the three poles, and do maximum damage there, seasonally, in the spring and summer. These are powerful reasons why those propellants were banned by the Montreal Protocol of 1988, with China’s industries paid handsomely to reduce their use and replace the CFC propellants with less damaging alternatives.

Despite such concerns, the use of polyurethane foam to make space disappear, to fill gaps, seal buildings from the weather and reduce the skills required for builders (and their pay), the use of foam has continued to expand.[5] This is specially so in China, which has had an urban construction real estate boom lasting decades. Everyone with access to capital, whether their own or that of others, has poured it into real estate speculation, into the urban construction of endless apartment tower blocks, in the sure expectation that no other investment of capital gains so  constantly in value, without ever falling, like real estate. There is every incentive to take as many shortcuts as possible, in the rush to erect towers that will be bought by others, and maybe occupied eventually, by strangers. One shortcut is the widespread use of foam, inside walls, and outside a building’s walls to seal the gap with the added cladding.

Officially, these urban construction shortcuts can be and are now manufactured without production of ozone depleting substances. Not only did China pledge to eliminate their production, and require substitutes to be used, China demanded, as a developing economy, to be financed globally to compensate its manufacturers to switch production to the less ozone-depleting alternatives.

The global Clean Development Mechanism (CDM) was made for this purpose, to finance switching to alternative manufacturing processes less harmful to the environment, in emerging economies that have only recently industrialised. China fitted the bill better than anywhere.

The core weakness of CDM was that it was intended to achieve change in circumstances where, without CDM finance, that change would not have happened. But how does the donor determine whether an applicant would have made the change anyway, incentivisation or not? In a command and control economy, in China, a strong state has the power and ability to order entire factories to close, corporations to merge, whole industries to shut down for months, in the high pollution season, and it routinely exercises those powers.

All official statistics showed China had drastically reduced its ODS production as promised under the terms of the 1988 Montreal Protocol, and was widely congratulated.

Even if the world had –through the World Bank and the Montreal Protocol- paid much more than necessary, ODS manufacture had officially almost ceased, and China proclaimed its credentials as a good global citizen. Too late, after several years of CDM grants, the international community realised, in 2011, that CDM had been systematically abused by China, with the production of ozone depleting substances (ODS) at the heart of the scam.


It was only in 2018 that the US government agency monitoring the actual measurable level of ODS in the upper atmosphere concluded that the ozone holes were not diminishing as expected, and that more ODS were being manufactured and released into the atmosphere, finding their way to the poles. For years, the scientific monitors had waited patiently for any sign that the polar springtime ozone holes were diminishing, but they knew ODS last for decades, and that even a single chlorine atom can pull apart hundreds of ozone molecules.

What they weren’t expecting was that in 2018 ODS production was rising again, despite all the official reports, and had probably been rising, unnoticed, for years.

The monitoring team at the US National Oceanic & Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) has the capability to detect where the ODS originated, by satellite-based measurement. The NOAA announcement diplomatically identified this only as “East Asia.” This was a diplomatic blurring, perhaps necessary given the many tensions between the US and China, and also between President Trump and NOAA, which he ordered to stay out of anything to do with climate change. Despite its vagueness as to source, NOAA’s May 2018 announcement took the world by surprise, and made news.

The NOAA report, led by Stephen Montzka, based in Boulder, Colorado, is from a team capable of discerning global atmospheric flows and patterns, understanding the planetary atmosphere as one whole system. They understand interdependence, རྟེན་ཅིང་འབྲེ ལ་བར་འབྱུང་བ་.

The sources of those ozone depleting gases were revealed with pinpoint precision a month later, not by any official pollution monitoring agency, or remote sensing satellite operator, but by old-fashioned on the ground sleuthing by environmental activists, in China. The London-based Environmental Investigations Agency, an NGO collective which has repeatedly exposed environmental wrongs worldwide, released a detailed and specific report, a follow through of its earlier reporting of China’s predatory  extortions over ODS manufacture.

EIA’s July 2018 report named names. Blowing It details who, how and where illegal ODS production is happening in several Chinese cities, with photos of stacked pressurised barrels holding compressed CFC-11, and of its use in blowing foam onto the walls of a Chinese warehouse to insulate it.

The Environmental Investigation Agency’s 2018 report on the new polluters is detailed and specific. EIA reports that: “EIA has evidence from eighteen companies in ten provinces that they use CFC-11. Detailed discussions with company executives make clear that these are not isolated incidents but instead represent common practice across the industry.

EIA’s calculations show that emission estimates associated with the level of use reported by these companies can explain the majority of emissions identified in the atmospheric study. In addition there is significant potential for illegal international trade in CFC-11 containing pre-formulated polyols for foam manufacturing in other countries.

“EIA has uncovered shocking new evidence that explains at least the majority of the mystery of the unaccounted CFC-11 emissions. Information collected from foam production companies in China confirms that CFC-11 continues to be extensively produced and used illegally in China’s PU [polyurethane] foam industry.”

“China has a growing PU foam market, estimated to represent about 34 per cent of the global market in2011. According to documents submitted to the Executive Committee of the Montreal Protocol’s Multilateral Fund (ExCom MLF) the industry sector comprises about 3,500 small and medium-size enterprises.

“Producers and traders of PU foam blowing agent told EIA sources that the majority of China’s foam industry continues to use CFC-11 due to its better quality and lower price. One seller of CFC-11 gas, Yantai Jinpei International Trade Co., Ltd estimated that 70 per cent of domestic blowing agent used CFC-11 and explicitly discussed exports in addition to his domestic sales.

“He stated that if CFC-11 was mixed with ‘white agent’ it could be exported without a license and that, unlike CFC-11 gas, it could not be tested. When questioned about the use of environmentally friendly blowing agents, the seller stated “BASF and Bayer have their own blowing system. But if you go with their environmental-friendly blowing agent, you’d have to purchase other ingredients from them too. And it’s a price fixing system. Very different from what you can get from us pricewise.” Large stacks of drums containing the banned CFC-11 were shown to EIA sources and their use demonstrated in the production of foam. Several factory representatives acknowledged the illegality of their actions; one factory confirmed keeping a stockpile of the legal alternative to CFC-11, HCFC-141b, as “just for show” when inspections occurred.

“With respect to exporting foam blowing agents containing CFC-11, the company representative stated “Do you know how we deal with strict export custom inspection? We get those big lumber core boards, build up a container for four barrels of [white agent] and seal it carefully. Nobody at the custom would open it up. Seriously, how can anyone do inspections on that? We also spread putty on those containers to make it really messy. No one cares to take a look.” The representative also claimed to hold a CFC-11 stockpile of hundreds of tonnes.

“The company representative stated that 70-90 per cent of their production used CFC-11 and that HCFC-141b represented just a small amount of use. He also stated “We purchase CFC-11 and mix it up. You see, nobody comes to inspect on our processing work…How do I explain this…in times of frequent environmental policy enforcements, we get inspected too. But the truth is we don’t have any pollution! We have connections with the local environment administration. When the municipal environmental bureau runs a check, our local officers would call me and tell me to shut down my factory. Our workers just gather and hide together. It’s pointless… government is going too far in these environmental protection efforts.”

Of the ten provinces (of China’s 33) where illegal ozone depleters are deliberately manufactured, most are in the east, but one is in the northwest, one in the southwest, much closer to Tibet: Xi’an Lvjianbao Construction Materials, Shanxi Province, and Chongqing Chuduan Insulation Materials, Chongqing.

EIA timed its release of this global setback to the eve of a Montreal Protocol workshop in Vienna, which quickly made this new danger to the poles its top agenda item. EIA, and NGO which knows how to work with states, released its report to China before going public.

The result was that: “The Government of China stated it would cooperate and use the mechanism of the Montreal Protocol to discuss the matter in an ‘open, transparent and active’ manner, use science to understand the sources of the emissions and take action to ensure the continued success of the treaty. In a bilateral meeting, the Government of China assured our climate campaigners it was already taking steps to follow up on the information we had provided to China several weeks before the public launch of the report. The Government has yet to be convinced, however, that illegal use and production of CFC-11 is occurring in China on a scale large enough to account for the unexpected rise in emissions reported in Nature.”

Is this crisis now over? The next global gathering of the Montreal Protocol on Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer is larger, more formal and more binding on all signatory states, and is in November 2018, in UN jargon MOP30, meaning the 30th annual meeting of all parties to the 1988 Montreal Protocol. The world’s most successful environmental treaty is now at stake, and this time the global system is unlikely to again pay China hundreds of millions of dollars to close factories that should have long ago closed, or never opened.

The official UN Ozone Secretariat report from the Vienna meeting takes the new evidence very seriously, and says it will be included in the key document for adoption by MOP30, the Executive Summary, with many recommendations, which fulfils the four-year cycle built into the Montreal Protocol, of a comprehensive assessment every four years of all available scientific evidence of where we are at, as a planet, on ozone depleting emissions, and what is to be done next.

China’s bad actors are again on the agenda. If China remains “yet to be convinced that illegal use and production of CFC-11 is occurring in China on a scale large enough to account for the unexpected rise in emissions,” it will need to produce evidence pointing elsewhere. 

The polyurethane manufacturers who told EIA investigators they regularly use illegal CFC-11 rather than the alternatives which don’t damage the ozone layer, are big companies with lots of local government connections and support, but they aren’t the biggest. Biggest of all is state-owned ChemChina, which now owns a German subsidiary that makes polyurethane making equipment. For ChemChina, a high priority is to research ways of getting rid of chemical smells in brand new cars, which are off-putting to eager buyers. That chemical smell constrains China’s ambition to become a world leader in car making, not only on Chinese roads but worldwide, so the leakage of odorous volatile organic compounds (VOCs) from the polyurethane used all over a vehicle interior is a national project attracting state subsidies.

Research to rid new cars of a fishy “new car smell” is in the hands of a ChemChina subsidiary, Liming Research and Design Institute, an institute that began life in Tibet, in 1965. Liming’s website says it was originally based in Datong, a grimy industrial city north of Xining, in the Tibetan province of Amdo, Qinghai in Chinese.

Why would a chemical industry research lab set up in Tibet, way back in 1965? Qinghai 53 years ago was at the heart of China’s military industrialisation program, with nuclear weapons research and testing not far away on the shores of Qinghai Lake (Tso Ngonpo in Tibetan).

Polyurethane is a petrochemical, made from oil (and more recently from coal). China hoped Qinghai would provide not only a secure location for heavy military industrialisation, but also supply the raw feedstocks to support a large scale petrochemical industry.  An oil field was discovered in the Qinghai Tsaidam Basin as early as 1955, and “by the end of 1956, there were more than 14,000 workers and staff on 106 teams doing petroleum prospecting work, including former People’s Liberation Army officers and soldiers.”[6]

Extraction of oil from the Tsaidam Basin has continued ever since, at a rate of up to two million tons a year, enough for a petrochemical industry to be established in Gormo (Golmud in Chinese), with salt lakes handily nearby providing another raw material essential to petrochemicals. However, the Tsaidam oilfield was not big enough for revolutionary China’s ambitions, and was decisively eclipsed by the discovery in 1959 of Daqing, a much bigger oil field, in China’s far northeast.

Not only did the oil industry shift its focus, so too did Liming Institute, but it remains proud of its origins in Tibet, at the height of the Third Front campaign to militarise China to become a nuclear equal of the US and USSR.


Polyurethane is a multibillion dollar industry in China, and no-one seems much fussed if the manufacturers take cost cutting but illegal shortcuts to pump it out, as long as treating the global atmosphere as a waste dump attracts little attention.

China says it is committed to long term climate warming mitigation, but manufacture of illegal CFC-11 is far more damaging than carbon dioxide emissions. China’s focus is not on climate but on weather, because a centralised, authoritarian party-state has persuaded itself weather –where and when it next rains- is controllable. Climate is too big, too globally interconnected, too long-term, and in the short-term there are profits to be made. But what is at stake is the cost to human health, and the health of all sentient beings, and plant life, especially in Tibet, of an ozone hole that will persist for decades to come.

The health threat up close is the next blog in this series.


1] Committee of Weather Modification of China Meteorological Science Association (zhongguo qixiang xuehui rengong yingxiang tianqi weiyuanhui). 2009. Festschrift for 50 Anniversary of China Weather Modification Industry (Zhongguo Rengong Yingxiang Tianqi Shiye 50 Zhounian Jinian Wenji). China Meteorological Press (Qixiang chuban she), Beijing.

GUO Xueliang and ZHENG Guoguang, Advances in Weather Modification from 1997 to 2007 in China, Advances in Atmospheric Sciences, VOL. 26, NO. 2, 2009, 240–252

[2] Shiuh-Shen Chien, Dong-Li Hong, Po-Hsiung Lin, Ideological and volume politics behind cloud water resource governance – Weather modification in China, Geoforum 85 (2017) 225–233 [Three Taiwanese scientists critique of China’s compulsion to make clouds water on command]

[3] WANG Lijun, YIN Yan, YAO Zhanyu, et al., Microphysical Responses to Catalysis During a Stratocumulus Aircraft Seeding Experiment over the Sanjiangyuan Region of China, ACTA METEOROLOGICA SINICA VOL.27, #6, 2013, 849-

[4] China: Experts warn of ozone hole over Qinghai-Tibet plateau, Xinhua News Agency , August 12, 1999

[5] Zhifang Li, Pengju Bie, et al., Estimated HCFC-22 emissions for 1990-2050 in China and the increasing contribution to global emissions, Atmospheric Environment 132 (2016) 77-84

[6] Gregory C Rohlf, Agricultural Settlement to the Sino-Tibetan frontier 1950-1962, PhD dissertation, U Iowa, 1999, 387

Gregory Rohlf. “Dreams of Oil and Fertile Fields: The Rush to Qinghai in the 1950s” Modern China: An International Quarterly of History and Social Science Vol. 29. 4 (2003) p. 455 – 489

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What is at stake is the viability of human life, all sentient life, indeed all life in Tibet, right across the Tibetan Plateau.

Life on earth exists because life created the atmosphere of the planet, generating the benign environment for the flourishing of all forms of life. A planetary envelope of air with enough oxygen for animals, enough nitrogen and carbon dioxide for plant and aquatic growth, enough CO2 to keep the planet warm but not too hot, and enough ozone to keep out ultraviolet radiation from causing skin cancers and cataracts, is not the outcome of  just physics. It is the collective exhalation of all life on earth.

China has gathered data on ultraviolet radiation since 1961, but paid little attention to it. However, in 2017, all available data were assembled, generating a map showing how much sharper ultraviolet radiation is across the Tibetan Plateau than in lowland China.[1]

That ozone is generated in the tropics, and global atmospheric circulation takes it to shield the poles. That is one insight learned by the scientists who discern the single planetary system that is our collective atmosphere. We are all intimately connected by the air we breathe, as the Tibetan lamas have always reminded us, so to pollute the air where I live is to spit in your face.

Nowhere is more vulnerable than Tibet. Of the three poles, only the Tibetan Plateau is fully inhabited, by the six million Tibetans plus, these days, four million immigrants from lowland China, on 2010 Census figures.

The Arctic experiences worrisome drops in protective ozone levels only intermittently. The Antarctic, uninhabited except by scientists, gets nearly all the ozone attention, precisely because it is a science research hub, and ozone remains a core scientific focus of research, even when public interest in ozone peaked and faded. Further, the ozone hole extends occasionally into Argentina, Chile, Uruguay and even, sometimes, into southern Brazil.

Although it is Antarctica that gets by far the most attention, it is the Tibetan Plateau that is most worrisome. If the world largely forgot about ozone, it has totally forgotten the ozone hole that appears every spring above the Tibetan Plateau. Even Tibetans don’t know much about it.

Scientific focus is overwhelmingly on Antarctica, whether one searches ozone on Google or academic databases, to such an extent one might think Tibet is a minor sideshow. This is not so. There is much, in obscure academic journals, such as the journal Plateau Meteorology, 高原气象,   that comes six times a year, since 1982, which has published 13 articles on ozone starting in 1991. Ozone levels over Tibet have been measured since 1958.

Most such research findings are only in Chinese, and China has done almost nothing to educate Tibetans about the dangers of the ozone holes letting in toxic ultraviolet radiation, so ordinary Tibetans know little, even though scientific research on the Tibet ozone hole (or ozone valley as Chinese scientists call it) abounds.


To be born in Tibet is to experience the precariousness of life, with few modern interventions. As The Lancet said in 2016: “China can in fact be divided into five distinct so-called nations based on the epidemiological characteristics of each. In Shanghai, Tianjin, Zhejiang, Beijing, Hong Kong, and Macao, mortality rates are low and life expectancy is high even compared with high-income countries. In Jiangsu, Hainan, Guangdong, Fujian, Hubei, and Hunan, life expectancy is relatively high because of low rates of ischaemic heart disease and stroke mortality, but rates of cancer and COPD mortality are high. In a third group of mainly north-eastern provinces (Shandong, Jilin, Liaoning, Shanxi, Shaanxi, Henan, Anhui, Hebei, Inner Mongolia, Heilongjiang, and Ningxia), life expectancy is in the mid-range of all provinces, with high levels of mortality due to ischaemic heart disease, stroke, and cancers.

“In the fourth group of provinces, mostly in southwestern China (Jiangxi, Chongqing, Yunnan, Gansu, and Sichuan), life expectancy is lower than average and rates of COPD mortality are relatively high (although with relatively low ischaemic heart disease and stroke mortality). Finally, Tibet, Xinjiang, Qinghai, Guangxi, and Guizhou have life expectancies which are more characteristic of low-income countries. For men life expectancy in 1990 ranged from 55·2 years in Tibet to 74·1 years in Shanghai, a gap of nearly 19 years. By 2013 the range was from 68·4 years in Tibet to 80·2 years in Shanghai, a gap of 11·8 years.”[2]

Although many Tibetans don’t live long enough to get cancer, it is increasingly common, especially as China does little to discourage smoking. Despite the many barriers to accessing health care, Tibetans are gradually living longer, and cancers become more common.



Shigatse People’s Hospital has emerged as a key centre for evaluating the new immunotherapy treatments for cancer, even though the only Tibetans who could pay for such treatment are the yartsa gumbu caterpillar fungus millionaire traders.[3] Who else could finance treatments costing $100,000 or more a year?

This is not an auspicious time to discover an intractable, recalcitrant ozone hole above Tibet.


Scientists have found two ozone holes above Tibet, one at 10 to 18 kms above sea level, and another above it, at 45 kms above sea level, in the outer atmosphere. The uppermost ozone hole seems to be strongly influenced by the 11 year cycle of solar activity.[4]

Since the Tibetan Plateau floor is itself four to five kms above sea level, it reaches so far into the sky it is naturally half way up to the lower, and bigger, ozone hole. The altitude of Tibet makes its naturally prone to ultraviolet radiation that is more intense than elsewhere on earth. It was only in this century that the prevalence of blindness among Tibetans was surveyed, and its causes. The result of a large scale survey near Lhasa of Tibetans 40 or older showed 8.43% are blind, and cataracts, exacerbated by exposure to ultraviolet radiation, was the cause of 55% of blindness, even though cataracts are readilyremediated surgically.[5]

Tibetans are also bombarded with ultraviolet rays to the skin, a primary cause of skin cancer. Traditionally, Tibetans are outdoors a lot, especially pastoralists. In 2009 a team of Tibetan and Norwegian scientists, building on research in the 1990s by a Tibetan researcher Phurbu Tsering[6] (in Chinese Pu Bu C R) reported: “Because of the high altitude of the Tibetan plateau, most UV-controlling parameters are favourable for transferring UV radiation to the surface, making the UV environment on the plateau quite unique. In this paper, the main focus is on presenting results from three and a half years of measurements of UV-B radiation in Lhasa, Tibet. Thus, during spring and early summer relatively large values are recorded. The high level of the UV-B radiation during the growing season may be harmful to living organisms. The UV-B dose rates during the summer on the Tibetan plateau are among the highest at any habituated place in the world. But the amount of harmful UV-B radiation received in Lhasa during the growth season is higher than that received in equatorial regions in Africa.”[7]

They point out that a cloudy day does not shield sentient beings from UV radiation, and may actually increase exposure. In 2009, another Tibetan and Norwegian science team reported that Tibetans, knowing excessive exposure to the sun is damaging, limit direct sunlight on skin, though it is essential to creating needed vitamin D in the body, and those nomads are the most careful.[8] Nomads are well aware of the damage to skin the sun can do, and have long used the whey that separates itself from sho, Tibetan yoghurt to protect themselves.

How can Tibetans now protect against the ozone hole? What can Tibetans in exile around the world, and their friends, do ensure the Third Pole ozone hole attracts the attention it deserves?

The third in this series of three blogs discovers an opportune moment, amid the trade wars, to protect Tibet.



[1] Liu, H., and Co-authors, 2017: Two ultraviolet radiation datasets that cover China. Advances in Atmospheric Sciences., 34(7), 805–815,  free download from: http://www.cmsjournal.net:8080/Jweb_jmr/EN/volumn/home.shtml

[2] Maigeng Zhou, Haidong Wang et al, Cause-specific mortality for 240 causes in China during 1990–2013: a systematic subnational analysis for the Global Burden of Disease Study,  2016, Lancet, Volume 387, Issue 10015James Milner, Paul Wilkinson, Trends in cause-specific mortality in Chinese provinces, 2016, Lancet, Volume 387, Issue 10015, 204-205

[3] Pasang Tsering (BaSang CiRen), Xinhua Wang, Ziwen Long, The evaluation of immunotherapy and chemotherapy treatment on melanoma: a network meta-analysis, Oncotarget, 2016, Vol. 7, (No. 49), pp: 81493-81511, http://www.oncotarget.com/index.php?journal=oncotarget&page=article&op=view&path%5B%5D=13277&path%5B%5D=42141

[4] Huang Fu-Xiang, Liu Nian-Qing, Zhao Ming-Xian, Solar Cycle Signal Of Tropospheric Ozone

Over The Tibetan Plateau, Chinese Journal Of Geophysics Vol.52, No.5, 2009, Pp: 913∼921

Jiao Boyang Su Yucheng Guo, Shengl,i Guo, Dong Shi, Chunhua Li, Jingyuan Cang, Zhongya, Fu Shuai

Distribution of Ozone Valley and Its Relationship with Solar Radiation over Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau,

焦铂洋 苏昱丞 郭胜利 郭栋 施春华 李婧媛 苍中亚 傅帅,青藏高原臭氧谷的分布及其与太阳辐射的关系, Journal of Tibetan Plateau Weather, 高原气象 2017,36(05),1201-1208

[5] Gui-Qin Wang et al,  Prevalence and risk factors for eye diseases, blindness, and low vision in Lhasa, Tibet,  陨灶贼允韵责澡贼澡葬造皂燥造熏灾燥造援6熏晕燥援2熏Apr.18, 圆园13, International Journal of Ophthalmology, 2013

[6] Pu Bu, C.R.(Phurbu Tsering), Sigernes, F., Gjessing, Y., 1997. Ground-based measurements of solar ultraviolet radiation in Tibet: preliminary results. Geophysics. Res. Lett. 24, 1359–1362.

Pu Bu, C.R., 1998. Solar Ultraviolet Radiation on the Tibetan Plateau: Measurement and Modelling. Ph.D. thesis. ISSNL: 0800-6369, ISBN: 82-90569-71-86-98.

[7] Gelsor Norsang , Ladislav Kocbach, Wangmu Tsoja , Jakob J. Stamnes , Arne Dahlback, Pingcuo Nema (Phuntsog Nyima, Ground-based measurements and modeling of solar UV-B radiation in Lhasa, Tibet, Atmospheric Environment 43 (2009) 1498–1502

[8] Gelsor Norsang , LiWei M, Arne Dahlback, Ciren Zhuoma (Tsering Dolma), Wangmo Tsoja et al., The Vitamin D Status Among Tibetans, Photochemistry and Photobiology, 2009, 85: 1028–1031

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Chinese scientists have shown considerable interest in the effects of UV radiation in Tibet on plant growth, less interest in human impacts.

Yet international travellers to Tibet are warned to take great care to avoid sunburn, and to make use of the many traditional Tibetan preventive strategies, such as spreading yoghurt whey over exposed skin.

The German pilgrim Anagarika Govinda, in Tibet 60 years ago, told a worldwide audience: “Tibet is a country where one is ever up against the unexpected and where all accepted rules of nature seem to be changed. The contrast between sunshine and shade is such that if for any length of time one part of one’s body would be exposed to the sun, while the other remained in the shade, one could develop simultaneously blisters, due to severe sunburn, and chilblains due to the icy air in the shade. The air is too rarefied to absorb the sun’s heat and thus to create a medium shadow temperature, nor is it able to protect one from the fierceness of the sun and its ultra-violet rays. When riding, I often found my feet getting numb with cold, while the backs of my hands, which were exposed to the sun while holding the reins, got blistered as if I had poured boiling water over them, and the skin of my face came off in flakes, before I got sufficiently acclimatised. In spite of applying various ointments, my lips cracked open, so that eating and drinking became difficul

t and painful.”[1]

Han Chinese assigned to Tibet felt similarly. China’s interest in understanding short-term weather and long-term climate in Tibet was an early priority. LIPAP, the Lanzhou Institute for Plateau Atmospheric Physics, headquartered well below and beyond the plateau, was the first base for recording ultra violet radiation, starting 1958, when there was no talk of an ozone hole, merely of “oscillations.” China’s meteorologists consistently downplay the dangers of the ozone hole, preferring bland descriptors such as “ozone valley.”

The Institute of Meteorological Sciences of Qinghai was created in the late 1970s and in 1981 formed a special research group planning to map an Atlas of Clouds over the Qinghai-Xizang Plateau. The team took three years, travelling 40,000 kms on rough roads, usually spending one month in each spot to capture the cycles of clouded formation, transit and dispersal. The result, published in Chinese and English, in Beijing and San Diego, in 1986 was the Atlas of Clouds over the Qinghai-Xizang Platea, 212 pages with hundreds of colour photos.[2]

Why was China so focussed on the meteorology of Tibet (Xizang in Chinese)? One reason is that measurements and data published for use by scientists around the world established China as a modernising country that valued science, thus adding legitimacy to China’s alien rule. But the main reason is that the Tibetan Plateau, being due west of lowland China, deeply influences the climate of the lowlands, right across China and into the Pacific as well. China needed to know what was coming, from Tibet.

Tibetan vulnerability to ultra violet radiation would not be problematic if it kept to the levels first recorded in the late 1970s, but as early as 1994 Chinese scientists warned that ozone levels over Tibet were falling, and an ozone hole seasonally appearing.[3] By 2003, the processes forming that ozone hole in May each year were well understood.[4]

Even though that ozone hole has persisted for three decades, the prospects for it to heal have seemed good. In fact, Chinese scientists in 2016 predicted ozone levels over Tibet right to the end of this 21st century, based on known current trends.[5] Their conclusion is that the ozone hole will heal, and once more provide greater protection for Tibetans from cancer-causing UV. This cheery conclusion, of course, is based on the assumption that the manufacture and release of ozone-depleting substances has been stopped, an assumption that turns out to be false.

The Chinese scientists, from key research institutes in Nanjing, also warn of another factor limiting the extent of ozone hole repair, even if foam propellant manufacture is halted. This is the South Asian High, a dominant upper atmosphere feature of the Tibetan Plateau each summer, at approximately 16 kms above sea level, which is 11 kms above the Tibet plateau floor, or 8kms above the highest Tibetan peaks of the Himalayas.

The South Asia High is a major driver of the Indian monsoon, essential to drawing heavy Indian Ocean clouds deep inland. The South Asia High is over the Bay of Bengal in May, pulling in cloud. It then crosses the Himalayas, well above even the highest peaks, and settles over Tibet. At the height of summer it is so big it extends beyond Tibet far to the west, as far as Iran. As summer fades, it fades. The South Asia High causes ozone to mix vertically, up and down, so it is no longer at altitudes maximally effective to protect sentient beings.[6]

The scientists warn: “In the three emissions scenarios, total ozone over the Tibetan Plateau area (26-38°N,75-105°E) shows an increasing trend, but the speed of recovery is slower than that of the global total ozone; that is, the ozone valley over the Tibetan Plateau will significantly deepen.”


Now the Tibetans face a double threat, from global monsoon drivers which no-one can alter, and from man-made ozone depleters manufactured secretly and illegally in China.

Urbanisation is the core of China’s strategy of “great rejuvenation.” Market analysts estimate that China now consumes as much as 55 per cent of all global production of polyurethane foam, and has a substantial export market as well.

Polyurethane is at the heart of Xi Jinping’s “new era”, whether sprayed as insulating foam onto buildings, or in prefabricated rigid sheets to clad apartment towers, or in a thousand familiar uses such as car-door armrests, or to hold the cold inside a refrigerator, sofas, mattresses, car and bus seats, dashboards, refrigerators, insulating heating pipelines, memory-foam pillows, artificial leather, to name a few. The pipeline pumping oil from Gormo to Lhasa is mostly underground, alongside the highway, but where it is exposed, it is coated with polyurethane spray to prevent the pipe from freezing, and the oil get too sluggish to pump.[7]


Polyurethane is made from oil and is now caught up in the trade war between the US and China. China’s chemical manufacturers may experience many difficulties, tempting them to turn even more to the cheapest sources of foam spraying chemicals, even if they harm the entire planetary upper atmosphere, especially at the poles.

Part of China’s new era is a new concern for pollution control, and polluting factories are increasingly inspected by the national party-state monitors, and increasingly the penalties for transgression are high, sufficient to enforce use of the slightly more expensive spray propellants that don’t cause holes in the ozone layer.

China often denies the existence of well-documented problems, such as detaining Uighurs en masse for mandatory recitation of party-state slogans in re-education camps. Only when the number of detainees reached into the millions, and documentation piled up for months, did China minimally acknowledge the issue.

The loss of ozone kilometres into the sky above Tibet is even less visible, it’s not a thing, it’s an absence, and no-one has educated Tibetans to be aware of this danger to skin and eyes, to protect themselves from cancer and cataracts.

China may yet crack down on the polluters, who have for years silently flouted the global rules of the Montreal Protocol on Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer; or, at a time of trade turmoil, it may back its manufacturers and shield them from scrutiny. Only consistent publicity about the problem will make China do the right thing, if Tibetans speak up for the skies of Tibet.

Expect to hear more as this global effort to rein in China’s rogue foam chemical makers, regains momentum. Just as global science produces every few years a comprehensive synthesis of all that is known about climate change, to establish a fresh consensus on what needs to be done, so too with the ozone holes. Every four years two UN agencies, the World Meteorological Organisation and UN Environment Programme (UNEP) jointly publish the Scientific Assessment of Ozone Depletion. The next is due at the end of 2018, to be launched at the MOP 30 meeting of all signatory governments in Ecuador, November 2018. This issue won’t go away.

In a world in turmoil, no-one wants yet another worry. But someone has to speak up. UNEP administers the Montreal Protocol, but is not a strong and effective UN agency, its headquarters are in Kenya, and its next, decisive move on ozone holes is in Ecuador. Who will speak for Tibet?


Seeking justice, Tibetans have long hoped the UN could deliver it. The UN today is weaker than ever, its authority undermined at every turn by its most powerful members, its organs captured by abusers and polluters. What does get results these days is a swelling wave campaign on social media that focuses attention.

China needs compelling reasons to enforce its own environmental laws, to override local governments protecting local polluters. China is very publicly committed to “constructing ecological civilisation”, and be a world leader in good environmental citizenship.

The gap between rhetoric and reality, between promise and performance, needs to be better known. Despite China’s campaign slogans, it is in reality more focussed on weather than climate, on making more rain over Tibet by blasting Tibetan skies with silver iodide, than the long haul of reducing emissions and halting CFC-11 production. China’s industries and their local government protectors are more focussed on getting crazy rich than on the ozone threat hanging over Tibet.

How to get traction? The omnipresence of polyurethane may be the key. The seats and dashboards of Volvos made in Chengdu are made of polyurethane and exported to the US, unless Trump’s tariffs squash transPacific trade. Where does Volvo get its polyurethane? Can it prove it does not destroy ozone above Tibet as part of its supply chain? This is true of all cars made in China.  There are hundreds of such stories, of global corporations to whom reputation is everything, the key to commanding premium prices for their products, key to raising capital, key to maintaining stock price.

Volvo’s Chinese owner Geely plans to make a massive profit by floating shares in Volvo cars on the Stockholm Stock Exchange late 2018, to nostalgic Swedes who recall the good old days when Volvo was a Swedish company. Auspicious moment for a popular campaign to ensure Volvo polyurethane doesn’t destroy Tibetan skies, or its use of lithium in its advanced electric vehicle plans don’t source lithium from Tibet Tsaidam Basin.

Polyurethane is a global industry, and now attracts much foreign investment in new factories in China making both polyurethane (PU) and its chemical precursor, methyl di-p-phenylene isocyanate (MDI). In a globally integrated commodity chain, at a time the globalised order is already challenged on national security grounds, an environmental challenge may be very timely.

China’s biggest polyurethane manufacturer, Wanhua Chemical Group 万华化学, is also the world’s biggest. Its shares are traded on the Shanghai Stock Exchange, and its biggest nonChinese shareholder is from Quebec. The second biggest manufacturer is the German giant BASF which, in China, is in a joint venture making MDI for polyurethane on a large scale. Polyurethane is one of the most globalised industries, in which the biggest companies worldwide also manufacture in China, or provide technology for China’s manufacturers. US President Trump has singled out polyurethane exported from China to the US for punitive tariffs. The last thing China’s polyurethane industry needs right now is for environmentalists to call attention to the ways polyurethane made in China destroys life in Tibet.



As a child of European migrants to Australia I stayed out in the sun far too often, in the 1950s and 1960s, before white Australians got serious about sun protection. I had my first skin cancer diagnosis when I was 38, and the cancers gradually proliferated, getting more seriously invasive and life-threatening. Now, aged 69, I have had many long and complex operations, repeated cycles of radiation and chemotherapy, with immunotherapy becoming available just when all options seemed exhausted and the doctors telling me I had months left.

I also developed cataracts in both eyes, both dealt with effectively by operations.

The dangers of exposure to ultra violet radiation are to human skin and eyes. Excessive exposure to UV is a primary cause of skin cancers which can gradually metastasize, invading the body, spreading through the lymphatic system, nervous system or into the blood, causing further cancers in other organs, and kill.

Ultra violet in the eyes causes cataracts, a clouding of vision amenable to surgical repair, in countries where surgery is non-infectious and affordable.

Both skin cancers and cataracts are treatable, especially now, with new immunotherapy infusions that remind the immune system to recognise cancer cells and deal with them. However, these treatments are very seldom available to Tibetans, both because of very high upfront costs, and remoteness from hospitals.

Even when the full range of treatments is available, including surgery, radiation, chemotherapy and immunotherapy, they are complex, expensive and may result in a prolonged life, but at a price of impairment, disfigurement and ongoing disability.

For all these reasons, prevention is far better than cure. At sea level, protection is easy: not too much direct sun exposure, use sun protection creams, wear a hat. In Tibet, four or five kilometres into the sky, in thinner air, the danger is greater.

With a persistent ozone hole over Tibet, the danger is even stronger, as ozone is uniquely able to block ultra violet radiation, just one way the planetary atmosphere nurtures all sentient life. Tibetans face an added burden of dangerous ultraviolet radiation.

The ongoing consequences of all those medical interventions, available only in a rich country with a taxpayer-funded public health system, are, for me, cloudy vision in one eye, chronic and irreparable radiation damage to shoulder and neck muscles, constant muscular spasm and tightness, dry mouth, a droopy eye that cannot fully close, and lots more. I need to do exercises frequently to loosen up a bit.

And I am one of the luckiest. If I was in Tibet, I’d have died years ago. Even in Australia, as I sit routinely waiting to see a doctor, in line in a public hospital, I meet people whose cancer history is very similar to mine, but their skin cancer got to a major organ –eye, tongue, throat, brain- and they are more surgically mutilated than me.

So this story of the ozone hole over Tibet is for me personal.

Gabriel Lafitte


[1] Anagarika Govinda, The Way of the White Clouds, 1968,  61

[2] Science Press, Beijing and Academic Press, San Diego

[3] Zhou, Xiuji and Chao Luo, Ozone valley over Tibetan Plateau, Acta Meteorologica Sinica, 8(4), 505-506, 1994.

[4] Liu Yu, Li Weiliang, ZHOU Xiuji, and HE Jinhai, Mechanism of Formation of the Ozone Valley over the Tibetan Plateau in Summer-Transport and Chemical Process of Ozone, Advances In Atmospheric Sciences, VOL. 20, NO.1, 2003, PP. 103- 109

[5] Su Wei; Guo Dong; Guo Shengli; Shi Chunhua; Liu Renqiang et al,  苏昱丞; 郭栋; 郭胜利; 施春华; 刘仁强; 刘煜; 宋刘明; 徐建军, Ozone change trend and possible mechanism in the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau in the summer of the next 100 years, Transactions of Atmospheric Sciences 2016 vol 39 #3  309- 未来百年夏季青藏高原臭氧变化趋势及可能机制

[6] 覃皓,郭栋,施春华,等. 2018. 南亚高压与邻近地区臭氧变化的相互作用 [J]. 大气科学, 42 (2): 421–434. Qin Hao, Guo Dong, Shi Chunhua, et al. 2018. The interaction between variations of South Asia high and ozone in the adjacent regions [J]. Chinese Journal of Atmospheric Sciences (in Chinese), 42 (2):421–434

[7] Ruixia He, Huijun Jin, Permafrost and cold-region environmental problems of the oil product pipeline from Golmud to Lhasa on the Qinghai–Tibet Plateau and their mitigation, Cold Regions Science and Technology 64 (2010) 279–288

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Have we all been so busy disliking Donald Trump we have failed to notice how deeply he has rattled China?

We are so sure we have it right that Trump is an idiot, a self-obsessed, clueless blunderer and serial liar, we have failed to notice China sees him very differently, and is quailing.

How could anybody not get that Trump crashes about, without strategy, attacking America’s oldest allies, cosying up to odious dictators, trash talking everything we hold dear?  If that’s what we tell ourselves, we are missing a much bigger perspective. Even if the stories we tell ourselves are true, that’s not all, and the parts add up to a quite different whole. That’s the conclusion reached in China, at the highest elite levels of the Communist Party and its think tanks.

What we take as Trump’s erratic, unpredictable lashing out in all directions to divert attention from his mistakes and failings, China sees as a masterful tactician exerting maximum pressure to the point where no further concessions can be made, who then shifts his demands elsewhere, while declaring all is well.


What we take to be crude bullying, China sees as concerted bullying by a bully who is willing to take big risks, including short term losses, in order to get his way on a range of fronts, economic and military. Official China recognises that Trump’s bullying can succeed, since the global economy is denominated in US dollars, and China does have to give ground. Above all, China has to stop its adolescent swagger about rising and rising. China has to stop its aggressive posturing in the South China Sea, and tack to minimise the damage. The tone of China’s public face has to become bland and neutral, just like Deng Xiaoping used to urge, not brash and boastful, as it has become.

China is very used to picking its quarrels with care, to bilaterally bully smaller countries into compliance. When Norway gave Liu Xiaobo a Nobel Prize, China stopped buying Norwegian salmon as punishment. There are many such examples.

China’s willingness to finance infrastructure construction in poor countries also came with a nationalistic arrogance that required Chinese workers to do the construction, Chinese finance to be repaid even if the project went sour, and ceding of sovereignty to China of troubled ports if the project went bankrupt.

China was getting a bad name, not only for theft of intellectual property but for its global buying of farmland, mines, factories and hitech; and it didn’t much care. As long as those who resisted were small, or even big corporate airlines flying to Taiwan, they could be bullied, and China was enjoying throwing its weight around.


But facing off against the US, not just about trade but about currencies, corporate takeovers, intellectual property, hi tech plans to make national champions, and regional security, that’s a lot to defend all at once. “Tactically, nearly all scholars concur with Tu’s recommendation that China “seek peace through war” (战争换和平 yi zhanzheng huan heping) in the face of pressure from the Trump administration.”[1]

When Trump made North Korea the issue trumping all others, China gave ground, went along with the demand that sanctions pinching the North Korean economy be applied in earnest. Trump’s bullying may not have extracted anything meaningful from Kim Jong-un, but it did make Xi Jinping yield, and then yield some more, and then more. That is what has led to this rethink, at the top.

The head of the European Council on Foreign Relations told his Financial Times readers: “In Chinese eyes, Mr Trump’s response is a form of ‘creative destruction’. He is systematically destroying the existing institutions — from the World Trade Organization and the North American Free Trade Agreement to Nato and the Iran nuclear deal — as a first step towards renegotiating the world order on terms more favourable to Washington. Once the order is destroyed, the Chinese elite believes, Mr Trump will move to stage two: renegotiating America’s relationship with other powers. Because the US is still the most powerful country in the world, it will be able to negotiate with other countries from a position of strength if it deals with them one at a time rather than through multilateral institutions that empower the weak at the expense of the strong. My interlocutors say that Mr Trump is the US first president for more than 40 years to bash China on three fronts simultaneously: trade, military and ideology. They describe him as a master tactician, focusing on one issue at a time, and extracting as many concessions as he can.

“They speak of the skilful way Mr Trump has treated President Xi Jinping. ‘Look at how he handled North Korea,’ one says. ‘He got Xi Jinping to agree to UN sanctions [half a dozen] times, creating an economic stranglehold on the country. China almost turned North Korea into a sworn enemy of the country.’ But they also see him as a strategist, willing to declare a truce in each area when there are no more concessions to be had, and then start again with a new front. For the Chinese, even Mr Trump’s sycophantic press conference with Vladimir Putin, the Russian president, in Helsinki had a strategic purpose. They see it as Henry Kissinger in reverse. In 1972, the US nudged China off the Soviet axis in order to put pressure on its real rival, the Soviet Union. Today Mr Trump is reaching out to Russia in order to isolate China. In the short term, China is talking tough in response to Mr Trump’s trade assault. At the same time they are trying to develop a multiplayer front against him by reaching out to the EU, Japan and South Korea.”[2]

The CCP directive to turn the boastful  volume right down was issued publicly, in early July 2018, in three sharply worded articles in the CCP official mouthpiece the People’s Daily, aimed squarely at intra-party blowhards who have had free rein to throw China’s weight around, including the People’s Daily’s own inhouse sibling, Global Times.[3] For once, this was not a secret inner party neibu directive the rest of the world only hears of much later, or never. The urgency of the situation, the size and complexity of the party-state required a public shot across the bows of the nationalist boosters, warning them to shut up.

Many who do watch China may not have noticed those People’s Daily diktats, which weren’t translated into the English edition. Thus we may not have noticed how much China’s tone has changed, the sudden absence of hubris.


That change did happen. Donald Trump is responsible.

Fortunately, we have a thorough English translation, by Geremie Barmé, at the tail end of his long post about literary allusions. People’s Daily launched its sibling rivalry: “In order to set right a trend in media writing that favours exaggeration and braggadocio, one that values style over substance, while at the same time taking advantage of this moment to continue our support for writing that is ‘concise, grounded and salutary’ — as articulated by General Secretary Xi Jinping — we champion a vibrant writing style that celebrates shimmering clarity of expression. It is to that end, that starting today the People’s Network is publishing a series of opinion pieces under the title ‘Three Critiques of Writing in a Hyperbolic and Boastful Style.’”

The articles attacked: “Works written in a hyperbolic style with headlines contrived to be sensationalistic, work that presents arrant fabrication as reality, not only are a disservice to the reader, they fail the basic requirements of effective communication while at the same time polluting our media eco-system.”

Signalling the need for a change of tone: ”People must realise that such overblown writing and media reports do not add value; just because a nation trumpets its achievements does not necessarily make it strong. By flaming extreme emotions and erroneously spreading biased ideas you are doing nothing more than encouraging a false sense of reality, reinforcing among your readers purblind smugness and unsubstantiated self-aggrandisement. In fact, articles written in this hyperbolic style reveal nothing particularly new and are actually a cause for concern. For instance, some offer blatant exaggerations and make broad claims on the basis of scant evidence. They trumpet that: ‘It is universally acknowledged that in such-and-such a field China has created a series of “World Firsts”. They declaim: ‘Don’t Worry, China’s real scientific and technical knowhow has already surpassed that of the USA to become Number One in the World’.  Then there are various one-sided fantasies that demand you accept their claims lock-stock-and-barrel; even though they are merely based on a few scant pieces of information from overseas they magnify reality and make such claims as: ‘China is already centre stage in world affairs’; or, ‘China is now the Leading Global Economy.”

We could dismiss this as just a tactical shift that does nothing to deflect China from being tyrannous to its own citizens and obnoxious abroad. Yet the shift is based on a reading of President Trump as a highly recognisable type, familiar not only to China but to anyone who did an MBA in any business school. China has concluded that Trump embodies the art of war, is the ideal general who wins all his battles not by actually waging war but by bluff and bullying, by feints and manoeuvres, by exerting maximum pressure, and by knowing when to step back and declare success, before swiftly moving on the exert maximum pressure on another front.


The same Trump we excoriate for ignorantly following his gut instinct, for not listening to advice, for scrapping the “rules-based order” is Sun Tzu’s ideal type, the warrior who wins by instinct, guts, flexibility and a willingness to stage surprises.

Chinese international relations analysts:  “emphasise Trump’s qualities as a strategist and a negotiator. His ability to hide his intentions and manipulate his opponents’ emotions makes him a skilled negotiator, they argue. They believe that Trump’s upbringing and his education at New York Military Academy have made him a strong, wilful, and efficient leader – a master strategist. His keen sense for the domestic and international political scene allows him to seize opportunities and adapt to changes.”[4]

That China looks at Trump and sees Sun Tzu isn’t because the party-state elite are struggling, and reaching for something familiar; it’s because they see deeper than we do, that in the long run Trump really is aiming at tearing up the “rules-based order” to revert to a 1920s world where might is simply right, those with the gunboats dictate to everyone else, where the US is a mighty fortress, a new creation, a world unto itself, and it can and must dominate everyone by picking quarrels with each and all, as it chooses, in one-on-one contests the US can win. No more multilateralism, no more “rules-based order”, no more diplomatic niceties, no more being world policeman.

China invested a lot in that rules-based order, profiting greatly from accession to the World Trade Organisation and the lowering of tariffs, and the relocation of entire commodity chains to China as the world’s factory. China managed to still find ways of keeping US capital from dominating its industries, inventing lots of new rules and selectively applied regulations to prevent the WTO from working as intended. Having grown fast, for decades, by entering the ranks of middle income countries, China is now poised to shift much its corporate investment, and the factories and mines and agribusinesses, to poorer third world countries, all under the “rules-based order” that many anti-Trumps mourn.


China does not misread Trump, even if they slot him too readily into the Sun Tzu mould. China is used to playing a long game, and recognises in Trump someone who also has long standing ambitions to revert the US to 1920s isolationism, armed with such overwhelming military power it can bestride the world without boots on the ground in endless foreign wars.

Trump in fact has been remarkably consistent in his backward looking vision of great America, and consistent in blaming the multilateral architecture of “rules-based order” that the US wrote and now has to more or less abide by. Elite China rightly sees the pattern that emerges from what we see as chaotic and idiotic. Back to the gilded age, back to the Monroe doctrine, back to might is right, back to bullying, back to all relations being bilateral and thus winnable by the most powerful. Trump has been saying this for decades, to anyone who would listen.

China is listening. Are we?

China now thinks it has Donald Trump’s measure, and knows how to win this kind of war. “Generally, Chinese analysts are optimistic about Beijing’s ability to manage such shifts, for three reasons. Firstly, they view China as increasingly powerful and thus able to exert its influence on US policy and Sino-American relations regardless of Washington’s decisions. Wu argues that Beijing has never had greater resources and experience with which to manage its relationship with the US. Song contends that China has more “strategic determination and execution ability” than Trump’s America. Ruan asserts that China should leverage these advantages to “proactively” mould the relationship. Wu agrees, adding that the relative stability of Chinese foreign policy allows Beijing to “consistently shape positive and constructive” relations with Washington. Many Chinese scholars believe that Beijing is already successfully constraining the US – as seen in, for example, the western Pacific.”[5]

Are we ready for the yangsi rebirth of Sun Tzu?

If China thinks Trump is Sun Tzu reborn, it is deeply convinced it knows all about winning contestation, in the manner of Sun Tzu. It is hard baked into the DNA of the elite that this is how China got to be so great. The historical reality, of course, is that when China was strong and its neighbours weak, it attacked in full force. Tibetans know this all too well, both from the 1950s and the early 18th century. Likewise, the historians know the Sun Tzu (more properly Sunzi) war as an art is an ideal, not historic reality.[6] Sunzi himself urged fully exploiting auspicious moments of military opportunity.[7] But China prefers to believe its own myths.



[1] Tu Xinquan, “Tu Xinquan: In response to Trump’s high-pressure policy, China should ‘seek peace through war’”, Cai­jing Magazine, 28 March 2018, http://yuanchuang.caijing.com.cn/2018/0323/4423634.shtml

[2] Mark Leonard, The Chinese are wary of Donald Trump’s creative destruction, Financial Times, 24 July 2018

[3] 人民网三评浮夸自大文风之一:文章不会写了吗?



[4] Yin Jiwu, Zheng Jianjun, Li Hongzhou 尹继武,郑建君,李宏洲: “特朗普的政治人格特质及其政策偏好分析”, 现代国际关系, 2017, 2, “Analysis of Trump’s political personality traits and policy preferences”, Modern International Relations, no. 2, 2017. English translation: https://www.ecfr.eu/publications/summary/China_analysis_trump_opportunity_chinese_perceptions_us_administration262   Yin is a professor at Beijing Foreign Studies University’s School of International Studies, and Zheng Jianjun is an associate researcher at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences’ Institute of Political Science.

[5]  Ruan Zongze, “Trump’s New Vision and China’s Diplomatic Options”, International Issues Research, volume 2, 2017, http://www.ciis.org.cn/gyzz/2017-03/24/con­tent_9406209.htm

Song Guoyou, “Change of Interests, Role Shifting, and Relationship Balancing – Development Trends of Trump Era US-China Relations”, Contemporary International Relations, volume 8, 2017, pp. 31-36

Wu Xinbo, “The Trump Administration and Sino-US Relations Trends”, New Model of China-US Major-Country Re­lationship Report, volume 19, 2017, Fudan University

[6] Alastair Iain Johnston, Cultural realism: Strategic culture and grand strategy in Chinese history, Princeton, 1995

[7] Ralph D. Sawyer, Martial Prognostication, in Nicola di Cosmo, Military Culture in Imperial China, Harvard, 2009, 54

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Alibaba, itself a corporation named after a fabled faraway, sank $100 million in the making of Asura, which has just crashed at the China box office. Billed as China’s Lord of the Rings, this fantasy epic, filmed partly in Amdo but mostly on computer, was meant to launch Chinese movies to a global audience and be the first in a trilogy. On its first midsummer weekend this stunt-laden spectacle performed so poorly, it was withdrawn and may never be heard of again.

As its’ faux Sanskrit graphics suggest, Asura borrows/appropriates boldly and indiscriminately from Buddhist psychology, starting with the title, referring to the realm of the jealous gods whose life of luxury and indulgence is ruined by envying those in the realm of the higher gods. To Tibetans and Chinese Buddhists, entry into the jealous god realm after exiting this life is a dead end, because the enjoyment of every available sensuous pleasure is spoiled by gossip, jealousy, scheming, trolling, flaming. That sounds rather like Hollywood celeb culture.

Chogyam Trunpa: “The realm of the asuras is highly energetic, almost in contrast to that state of spiritual absorption. It’s as if somebody had been far away a long time from their civilization, in the middle of a desert island, and they suddenly had a chance to come down to the nearest city. Automatically, their first inspiration, of course, would be to try to be extremely busy and entertain themselves, indulging in all sorts of things. In that way the energetic quality of busyness in the realm of the asuras develops.”

In the hands of a stunt coordinator turned movie director this could be the basis for a hit, not only with Chinese audiences but globally, as the cast features plenty of nonChinese actors. That was the plan. But the stunts and the tech wizardry got the better of any semblance of characters audiences can identify with.

For starters, Asura (actually axiuluo in Chinese) is literalised as a person, who has three heads and three personalities, and not latex heads but thanks to the code cutters, three grafted heads pulling this ruler in differing directions, none of which we care much about. Spectacle is all.

And the Amdo backdrops are pretty good.

The movie’s producers, in publicising its midsummer release, emphasized that the plot is based on unspecified Tibetan Buddhist mythology, as if that endears the asura realm, like Tolkien’s Shire of medieval England’s rural origins. Top CCP officials from Ningxia province, base of the movie’s makers, attended a special advance screening. Not even a classic hero, destined to win back his kingdom, played by a 19 year old hot heart throb, Wu Lei, could save this attempt at instant myth. He plays a herdsman, but don’t for a moment think this too is a nod to Tibet, to the drogpa pastoralists who (still) use the actual Qinghai landscapes in the movie to pasture their yaks, sheep and goats. This herdman is dressed to look more like an extra from Life of Brian, from a sword and sandal epic of the Euro mythos of lost origins, a shepherd destined for greatness.

But when screens all over China opened, paying customers stayed away. Asura seems to have fallen into its own jealous god realm, overwhelmed by online negativity, a torrent of trolling from the wangluo shuijun, literally “internet water army” who earn money by trashing reputations, a major industry in today’s China. They are the market economy equivalent of the 50 Cent Army (五毛党),  of internet commentators (Chinese: 网络评论员), hired by Chinese authorities to manipulate public opinion to the benefit of the Chinese Communist Party.

By trying to appeal to all audiences, this movie appealed to no-one. But the producers, swiftly cutting their losses, perhaps in the hope a re-cut might yet save them, instead blamed the trolls.

A fast action movie cut down by the fast action online assembling of negativity.  An artefact of today’s tribalised factional world undone by tribalised jealousy. An evocation of the realm of unlimited desire brought low by unlimited anger. That’s what the lamas tell us is what happens to we wanderers in samsara all the time.






If that is what tanks in today’s China, what succeeds? By far the most profitable and popular Chinese movie is Wolf Warrior 2. Apart from the American villains and largely anonymous African victims, this is an all-Chinese movie, with plenty of violence, culminating in the arch-villain Big Daddy, who we viewers have come to hate, arrogantly declaring there are only two kinds of races in the world: winners and losers.  Big Daddy snarls: “People like you will always be inferior to people like me; get fucking used to it” (这个世界只有强者和弱者; 你们这种劣等民族永远属于弱者; 你必須習慣). At this point, heroic Leng, who has been losing the fight, suddenly gets up on his feet, punches back, and says “that’s fucking history” (那他媽是以前), before beating his white opponent to a pulp. That’s what works in today’s China.



(for once, a short blog!)

Posted in Tibet | Leave a comment



This should be set to music, a dirge for all the stuff the modern world was made of, that all went over to the world’s factory in China, and out of view, coming back to our shores in aisle 12 of the superstore, more and more stuff, cheap Chinese stuff we all bought and bought and threw away or crammed into cupboards and never thought about what they were made of or where they came from.

To an old guy who grew up when cities in the Western world still made stuff, this Trump list of Chinese goods to be slapped with punitive tariffs in September 2018 reads like a trip down memory lane, an exhaustive, obsessive and exhausting list of all the things we used to make, all the industrial feedstocks that went in to making them, in factories down the road or across town, where guys worked their whole worklife and then retired. To an elderly word nerd like me, this list is nostalgia, a catalogue of the sinews of modernity.

The careful categories that live on in the classifications of the US Trade Representative (USTR) office rescue the particularities of how stuff is made, a sound poem of loss that warrants being chanted aloud, like Ginsberg’s Howl. Many of these categories end on a downbeat, on the suffix –nesoi. In trade talk that stands for “not elsewhere specified or included” just to make sure there’s no loopholes. In this official list of over 200 pages, nesoi occurs 1651 times, you needed to know that.

China’s response to this numbing list?  “Where do these lunatic ravings in the White House come from?”  白宫这种痴人说梦式的良好感觉从何而来? báigōng zhè zhǒng chīrénshuōmèng shì de liánghǎo gǎnjué cóng hé ér lái?”

The whole point of the assembling and publication of this list is to generate two months of debate, before they are due to be implemented in September 2018. It’s meant to be a killer move, the knockout blow that forces China to submit to America’s greatness. This encyclopaedia of manufactured modernity will, in theory, overwhelm China precisely because there are just so many more Chinese exports to the US than American exports to China, so China will never be able to come up with a list as big, if it decides to retaliate. Classic Trump logic.

Rather than actually assembling a list of what China actually exports to the US, this list of thousands of producer goods (economists’ bland jargon for stuff used by manufacturers rather than consumers) seems to have been put together by simply taking the entire USTR catalogue and subtracting from it whatever might be recognisable on a Walmart shelf. That’s how you get to the magic number of $200 billion.

Of course, China has myriad ways of making life hard for American companies and exporters into the Chinese market, and these tariffs will be resisted by American manufacturers not wanting to have to raise prices, who now have two months to lobby the Trump administration to stop this escalating trade war. So these tariffs may never come to pass, and if they do, they are set at only 10 per cent.

Since Trump has taken care to avoid, as much as possible, slapping tariffs on consumer goods directly, concentrating instead on the raw materials used in making consumer goods, this list is also a list of just about everything made in Tibet, that reaches China’s urban factories, but very seldom crosses the ocean to the US. So this is also a catalogue of everything Tibetan: animal, vegetable and mineral, whether produced traditionally or extracted by China’s industrialisation.

This impossibly long list contrasts with the more seriously targeted, much higher tariffs announced mid-June, aimed at China’s high tech ambitions. Among the hundreds of Chinese products on which the US has slapped punitive tariffs, there are many items of interest, notably the lithium battery buses manufactured by BYD and sold (with Chinese subsidies) to airports around the world.

https://ustr.gov/about-us/policy-offices/press-office/press-releases/2018/june/ustr-issues-tariffs-chinese-products for links to the full list, which is indeed targeted (unlike Trump) at the future, not the past, with specific focus on China’s state-sponsored emergence as a hi-tech competitor with both the US and Europe as producer and exporter of hi-tech.

Because of this forward-looking tariff policy, aimed at the Made in China 2025 list of national champions, we now have at last a real intersection with Tibetan concerns, including not only lithium but also railways and also the soybeans from America that China feeds to its livestock because it never invested in boosting food security in Tibet and is instead removing the nomads from their pastures. Lots of intersections with our various Tibetan stories.

You will come across:  8506.50.00 Lithium primary cells and primary batteries, and  Motor vehicles w/electric motor, to transport 16 or more persons, incl driver 8702.40.61 Motor vehicles w/electric motor, to transport 10 to 15 persons, incl driver. This includes those BYD lithium powered buses that Warren Buffett is invested in ,a company that boasts of its exclusive access to Tibetan lithium-rich lakes in the far west of Tibet. This the bus Xi Jinping boarded in London, to be greeted when stepping off by the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge in 2015 http://rukor.org/tibetan-lithium-in-your-pocket/


So here we go:

0501.00.00 Human hair, unworked, whether or not washed and scoured; waste of human hair 0502.10.00 Pigs’, hogs’ or boars’ bristles and hair and waste thereof

0502.90.00 Badger hair and other brushmaking hair, nesoi, and waste thereof

0504.00.00 Guts, bladders and stomachs of animals (other than fish), whole and pieces thereof 0505.10.00 Feathers of a kind used for stuffing, and down

1211.20.10 Ginseng roots, fresh or dried, whether or not cut, crushed or powdered

1211.20.15 Ginseng roots, frozen or chilled

1505.00.10 Wool grease, crude

1505.00.90 Fatty substances derived from wool grease (including lanolin)

2103.10.00 Soy sauce

2203.00.00 Beer made from malt

2204.10.00 Sparkling wine, made from grapes

2204.21.20 Effervescent grape wine, in containers holding 2 liters or less

2206.00.45 Rice wine or sake

2603.00.00 Copper ores and concentrates

2604.00.00 Nickel ores and concentrates

2605.00.00 Cobalt ores and concentrates

2606.00.00  Aluminum ores and concentrates

2607.00.00 Lead ores and concentrates

2608.00.00 Zinc ores and concentrates

2609.00.00 Tin ores and concentrates

2610.00.00 Chromium ores and concentrates

2613.10.00 Molybdenum ores and concentrates, roasted

2613.90.00 Molybdenum ores and concentrates, not roasted

2615.90.30 Synthetic tantalum-niobium concentrates

2615.90.60 Niobium, tantalum or vanadium ores and concentrates, nesoi

2616.10.00 Silver ores and concentrates

2716.00.00 Electrical energy

2801.10.00 Chlorine

2801.20.00 Iodine

2801.30.10 Fluorine

2801.30.20 Bromine

2802.00.00 Sulfur, sublimed or precipitated; colloidal sulfur

2803.00.00 Carbon (carbon blacks and other forms of carbon not elsewhere specified or included) 2804.10.00 Hydrogen

2804.21.00 Argon

2804.29.00 Rare gases, other than argon

2804.30.00 Nitrogen

2804.40.00 Oxygen

2804.50.00 Boron; tellurium

2805.30.00 Rare-earth metals, scandium and yttrium, whether or not intermixed or interalloyed 2805.40.00 Mercury

2819.10.00 Chromium trioxide

2819.90.00 Chromium oxides and hydroxides, other than chromium trioxide

2825.20.00 Lithium oxide and hydroxide

2846.90.20 Mixtures of rare-earth oxides or of rare-earth chlorides

2846.90.40 Yttrium materials and compounds containing by wt. >19% But < 85% yttrium oxide equivalent

2846.90.80 Compounds, inorganic or organic, of rare-earth metals, of yttrium or of scandium, or of mixtures of these metals, nesoi

3102.10.00 Urea, whether or not in aqueous solution

3102.21.00 Ammonium sulfate

3102.29.00 Double salts and mixtures of ammonium sulfate and ammonium nitrate

3102.30.00 Ammonium nitrate, whether or not in aqueous solution

3102.40.00 Mixtures of ammonium nitrate with calcium carbonate or other inorganic nonfertilizing substances

3102.50.00 Sodium nitrate

3102.60.00 Double salts and mixtures of calcium nitrate and ammonium nitrate

3102.80.00 Mixtures of urea and ammonium nitrate in aqueous or ammoniacal solution

3102.90.01 Mineral or chemical fertilizers, nitrogenous, nesoi, including mixtures not specified elsewhere in heading

3102 3103.11.00 Superphosphates containing by weight 35% or more of diphosphorous pentaoxide

3103.19.00 Superphosphates nesoi

3103.90.01 Mineral or chemical fertilizers, phosphatic

3104.20.00 Potassium chloride

3104.30.00 Potassium sulfate

3104.90.01 Mineral or chemical fertilizers, potassic, nesoi

3304.10.00 Lip make-up preparations

3304.20.00 Eye make-up preparations

3304.30.00 Manicure or pedicure preparations

3304.91.00 Beauty or make-up powders, whether or not compressed

3305.10.00 Shampoos

3305.20.00 Preparations for permanent waving or straightening the hair

3305.30.00 Hair lacquers

3305.90.00 Preparations for use on the hair, nesoi

3306.90.00 Preparations for oral or dental hygiene, including denture fixative pastes and powders, excluding dentifrices

3307.10.10 Pre-shave, shaving or after-shave preparations, not containing alcohol 3307.10.20 Pre-shave, shaving or after-shave preparations, containing alcohol

3307.20.00 Personal deodorants and antiperspirants

3307.30.10 Bath salts, whether or not perfumed

3307.30.50 Bath preparations, other than bath salts

3402.90.10 Synthetic detergents put up for retail sale

3405.10.00 Polishes, creams and similar preparations for footwear or leather

3405.20.00 Polishes, creams and similar preparations for the maintenance of wooden furniture, floors or other woodwork

3405.30.00 Polishes and similar preparations for coachwork, other than metal polishes

3405.40.00 Scouring pastes and powders and other scouring preparations

3405.90.00 Polishes, creams and similar preparations for glass or metal

3706.10.30 Sound recordings on motion-picture film of a width of 35 mm or more, suitable for use with motion-picture exhibits

3706.10.60 Motion-picture film of a width of 35 mm or more, exposed and developed, whether or not incorporating sound track, nesoi

3706.90.00 Motion-picture film, exposed and developed, less than 35 mm wide

3808.91.25 Insecticides containing any aromatic or modified aromatic insecticide, nesoi

3808.91.30 Insecticides, nesoi, containing an inorganic substance, put up for retail sale

3808.91.50 Insecticides, nesoi, for retail sale or as preparations or articles

3808.94.10 Disinfectants, containing any aromatic or modified aromatic disinfectant

3808.94.50 Disinfectants not subject to subheading note 1 of chapter 38, nesoi

3917.10.10 Artificial guts (sausage casings) of cellulosic plastics materials

3917.10.60 Artificial guts (sausage casings) of collagen

3917.10.90 Artificial guts (sausage casings) of hardened protein, nesoi

3922.90.00 Bidets, lavatory pans, flushing cisterns and similar sanitary ware nesoi, of plastics

3926.20.10 Gloves, seamless, of plastics

3926.20.20 Baseball and softball gloves and mitts, of plastics

3926.20.30 Gloves specially designed for use in sports, nesoi, of plastics

3926.20.40 Gloves, nesoi, of plastics

3926.20.60 Plastic rainwear, incl jackets, coats, ponchos, parkas & slickers, w/ outer shell PVC and w/wo attached hoods, val not over $10 per unit

3926.20.90 Articles of apparel & clothing accessories, of plastic, nesoi

3926.90.30 Parts for yachts or pleasure boats of heading 8903 and watercraft not used with motors or sails, of plastics

4011.10.10 New pneumatic radial tires, of rubber, of a kind used on motor cars (including station wagons and racing cars)

4011.10.50 New pneumatic tires excluding radials, of rubber, of a kind used on motor cars (including station wagons and racing cars)

4011.20.10 New pneumatic radial tires, of rubber, of a kind used on buses or trucks

4015.19.05 Medical gloves of vulcanized rubber other than hard rubber

4015.19.10 Seamless gloves of vulcanized rubber other than hard rubber, other than surgical or medical gloves

4104.11.10 Tanned whole bovine skin and hide upper/lining leather, w/o hair on, unit surface area n/o 2.6 sq m, in the wet state

4104.11.20 Tanned whole bovine skin and hide leather (not upper/lining), w/o hair on, unit surface area n/o 2.6 sq m, in the wet state

4104.11.30 Full grain unsplit or grain split buffalo hide or skin, w/o hair on, tanned but not further prepared, surface ov 2.6 m2, in the wet state

4104.11.40 Full grain unsplit/grain split bovine nesoi and equine upper & sole hides/skins, w/o hair, tanned but not further prepared, in the wet state

4104.11.50 Full grain unsplit/grain split bovine (except buffalo) nesoi and equine hides/skins, w/o hair, tanned not further prepared, in the wet state

4104.19.10 Whole bovine skin upper or lining leather, w/o hair on, unit surface n/o 2.6 sq m, tanned but not further prepared, in the wet state

4104.19.20 Whole bovine skin leather (not upper or lining), w/o hair on, surface n/o 2.6 sq m, tanned but not further prepared, in the wet state

4105.10.10 Sheep or lamb skins, without wool on, tanned but not further prepared, wet blue 4105.10.90 Sheep or lamb skins, without wool on, tanned but not further prepared, in the wet state other than wet blue

4105.30.00 Sheep or lamb skins, without wool on, tanned but not further prepared, in the dry state (crust)

4106.21.10 Hides and skins of goats or kids, without hair on, tanned but not further prepared, wet blue

4106.21.90 Hides and skins of goats or kids, without hair on, tanned but not further prepared, in the wet state other than wet blue

4106.22.00 Hides and skins of goats or kids, without hair on, tanned but not further prepared, in the dry state (crust)

4106.31.10 Hides and skins of swine, without hair on, tanned but not further prepared, wet blue 4106.31.90 Hides and skins of swine, without hair on, tanned but not further prepared, in the wet state other than wet blue

4113.10.30 Goat or kidskin leather, without hair on, not fancy, further prepared after tanning or crusting, other than of heading 4114

4113.10.60 Goat or kidskin leather, without hair on, fancy, further prepared after tanning or crusting, other than of heading 4114

4113.20.00 Leather of swine, without hair on, further prepared after tanning or crusting, other than leather of heading 4114

4113.30.30 Reptile leather, not fancy, further prepared after tanning or crusting, other than leather of heading 4114

4113.30.60 Reptile leather, fancy, further prepared after tanning or crusting, other than leather of heading 4114

4201.00.30 Dog leashes, collars, muzzles, harnesses and similar dog equipment, of any material 4201.00.60 Saddlery and harnesses for animals nesoi, (incl. traces, leads, knee pads, muzzles, saddle cloths and bags and the like), of any material

4202.11.00 Trunks, suitcases, vanity & all other cases, occupational luggage & like containers, surface of leather, composition or patent leather

4202.21.30 Handbags, with or without shoulder strap or without handle, with outer surface of reptile leather

4202.21.60 Handbags, with or without shoulder strap or without handle, with outer surface of leather, composition or patent leather, nesoi, n/o $20 ea.

4202.21.90 Handbags, with or without shoulder strap or without handle, with outer surface of leather, composition or patent leather, nesoi, over $20 ea.

4202.22.15 Handbags, with or without shoulder straps or without handle, with outer surface of sheeting of plastics

4202.22.35 Handbags with or without shoulder strap or without handle, with outer surface of textile materials, wholly or in part of braid, of abaca

4202.22.40 Handbags with or without shoulder strap or without handle, with outer surface of textile materials, wholly or in part of braid, nesoi

4202.22.45 Handbags with or without shoulder strap or without handle, with outer surface of cotton, not of pile or tufted construction or braid

4202.22.60 Handbags with or w/o shoulder strap or w/o handle, outer surface of veg. fibers, exc. cotton, not of pile or tufted construction or braid

4202.22.70 Handbags with or w/o shoulder strap or w/o handle, with outer surface containing 85% or more of silk, not braided

4202.22.81 Handbags with or without shoulder strap or without handle, with outer surface of MMF materials

4202.22.89 Handbags with or without shoulder strap or without handle, with outer surface of textile materials nesoi

4202.29.10 Handbags w. or w/o shld. strap or w/o handle of mat. (o/t leather, shtng. of plas., tex. mat., vul. fib. or paperbd.), paper cov., of plas.

4202.29.20 Handbags w. or w/o shld. strap or w/o handle of mat. (o/t leather, shtng. of plas., tex. mat., vul. fib. or paperbd.), paper cov., of wood 98 HTSUS Subheading Product Description 4202.29.50 Handbags w. or w/o shld. strap or w/o handle of mat. (o/t leather, shtng. of plas., tex. mat., vul. fib. or paperbd.), pap.cov.,of mat. nesoi

4202.29.90 Handbags with or without shoulder straps or without handle, with outer surface of vulcanized fiber or of paperboard, not covered with paper

4202.31.30 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface of reptile leather

4202.31.60 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface of leather, composition or patent leather, nesoi

4202.32.10 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface of reinforced or laminated plastics

4202.32.20 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface of plastic sheeting, nesoi

4202.32.40 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface of cotton, not of pile or tufted construction

4202.32.80 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag,with outer surface of vegetable fibers,not of pile or tufted construction, nesoi

4202.32.85 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface 85% or more silk or silk waste

4202.32.91 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface of cotton 4202.32.93 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface of MMF 4202.32.99 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface of other textile materials 4202.39.10 Articles of kind usually carried in pocket or handbag (o/t leather, shtng. of plas., tex. mat., vul. fib. or paperbd.), pap. cov., of plas. 4202.39.20 Articles of kind usually carried in pocket or handbag (o/t leather, shtng. of plas., tex. mat., vul. fib. or paperbd.), pap. cov., of wood 4202.39.50 Articles of kind usu. carried in pocket or handbag (o/t lea., shtng. of plas., tex. mat., vul. fib. or paperbd.), pap. cov., of mat. nesoi

4202.39.90 Articles of a kind normally carried in the pocket or handbag, with outer surface of vulcanized fiber or of paperboard

4202.91.10 Golf bags, with outer surface of leather or composition leather

4203.10.20 Articles of apparel, of reptile leather

4203.10.40 Articles of apparel, of leather or of composition leather, nesoi

4203.21.20 Batting gloves, of leather or of composition leather

4203.21.40 Baseball and softball gloves and mitts, excluding batting gloves, of leather or of composition leather

4203.21.55 Cross-country ski gloves, mittens and mitts, of leather or of composition leather 4203.21.60 Ski or snowmobile gloves, mittens and mitts, nesoi, of leather or of composition leather 4203.21.70 Ice hockey gloves, of leather or of composition leather

4302.19.13 Tanned/dressed whole skins of Astrakhan, Broadtail, Caracul, Persian, Indian, Mongolian, Chinese & Tibetan lamb, not assembled

4302.19.15 Tanned or dressed whole furskins of silver, black or platinum fox (including mutations), with or without head, tail or paws, not assembled

4302.19.30 Tanned or dressed whole furskins of beaver, chinchilla, ermine, lynx, raccoon, sable, other specified animals, not dyed, not assembled

4302.19.45 Tanned or dressed whole furskins of beaver, chinchilla, ermine, lynx, raccoon, sable, wolf, other specified animals, dyed, not assembled

4302.19.55 Tanned or dressed whole furskins of rabbit or hare, with or without head, tail or paws, not assembled


And that’s only halfway through this compulsive list of the stuff the made world is made of.


Posted in Tibet | Leave a comment



As Tibet urbanises, electricity demand now greatly outstrips supply, especially in the winter and spring seasons of low water flow and little hydropower generation, when electricity is most needed.

In rural Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR) there are still many counties without grid electricity, relying on small and unreliable local hydro power, or individual households using batteries, solar power or dried yak dung for heat.

Outside Tibet, people often assume China rapaciously exploits and dams all rivers, yet electricity supply has fallen so far behind that TAR is now dependent on two ultra-high voltage direct current (UHVDC) long distance power grid lines to transmit electricity from both Qinghai and Sichuan all the way to Lhasa, but now these two have proven inadequate.[1]

The recent announcement that China would supply electricity to remote highland districts of Nepal, via Tibet, has only exacerbated the chronic shortages.

In a major 14 June 2018 policy announcement, China’s National Development and Reform Commission (NDRC)has instructed TAR to establish a market-based electricity supply, with sufficient incentives for corporations to invest in hydropower. There is almost no mention of photovoltaic solar power, or of wind power, though Tibet is well capable of providing both, being both sunny and windy, especially in winter.

We will soon see many new hydropower schemes, coordinated by NDRC central planners into three grids, one centred on Lhasa, one on Chamdo in eastern TAR, and one in the far west, centred on Ngari. Construction of these grids will be financed by the state, a major subsidy for corporate electricity generators. These three could eventually become one, interconnected by China’s tech speciality, ultra-high voltage direct current (UHVDC) power grids, which in turn could connect TAR to the rest of China, for exporting electricity down to lowland China, as has long been the plan in eastern Tibet. However, at high altitude, there are many dangers to safety of UHVDC.[2]

The NDRC official instruction acknowledges the dilemmas facing official China. While wanting electricity generation and supply to function as orderly competitive markets, the only available source of the considerable investment required is the party-state. Further, electricity generation and supply are natural monopolies, so what does it mean to require a market economy for electricity?

However, the problem has become urgent, NDRC says, and the way TAR authorities have managed it is intolerable. Electricity supply has been allocated to those with the best official status or connections, which means many miss out, holding back development and China’s ambition to provide electricity to remote areas, and alleviate poverty. The assumption is that power grids are needed if this goal is to be achieved, although decentralised solar power can be highly mobile, moving seasonally with a pastoral family on the move. Of the 74 counties comprising TAR, 12 have no access to grid electricity at all, NDRC says.

The tension between state dominance of the TAR economy, and the desire for a market economy in electricity is not officially labelled a “contradiction”, although the Marxist concept of dialectical contradiction usually defines policy debate in China. What is officially a contradiction in TAR is the relation between water and electricity. In other words, too much water flows, without being harnessed to extract electricity. This is the contradiction that must be resolved. NDRC says: “First, the problem of continuous and stable power supply has not been fully solved. The backbone of the autonomous region has insufficient power supply. The contradiction between the abundance of water and electricity is more prominent, the power transmission capacity of the Qinghai-Tibet DC is limited.”

China has in recent years prioritised water supply from Tibet, to China’s lowlands, as Tibet’s primary contribution to the Chinese economy and environment. Provision of water takes priority over pastoral production, farming, heavy industrialisation and other uses of water within Tibet. Widespread clear-cut logging of Tibetan forests was officially halted 20 years ago on the grounds that bare mountain slopes in Tibet caused flooding along the mid-Yangtze. China is willing to empty the land of Tibet or nomads, if that seems to enhance water provision, but that water must also generate electricity, according to the latest intervention from Beijing, which clearly comes with finance for grid construction, and regulatory power to fix prices sufficient to guarantee corporate investment in building hydropower is profitable.

Decades ago, when the holy Yamdrok Tso was dammed for hydropower, there was widespread anguish among Tibetans and their supporters worldwide that such a sacred lake, central to discerning portents and intimations of the rebirth of high lamas, could be so desecrated. Yamdrok Tso is what engineers call a pumped hydro dam, which feeds electricity into the grid for immediate consumption only at times of peak demand. The rest of the time, outside of peak hours, the water is pumped (from the Yarlung Tsangpo/Brahmaputra)  back uphill, effectively storing further hydropower potential till the moment it is needed by consumers. Effectively, the uphill lake becomes not just a storage pond for peak power, but a giant battery. How will Tibetans feel if lakes –traditionally the abode of goddesses- become batteries?

While dam building in TAR has slowed, except for the cascade of dams under construction on the Yarlung Tsangpo at Zangmu, below Lhoka Tsetang, the dam designers have been busy. They have carefully surveyed all of TAR for locations where, like Yamdrok tso, there is an upland lake and a river below that can be paired in a daily 24 hour pumped hydro cycle, or a pair of lakes, one well above the other, for pumped hydro. The engineers have found several such locations, especially in Nyingtri county, where the pace of urbanisation is fast, as Nyingtri/Bayi becomes a luxury resort area for wealth Chinese escaping the heat and humidity of Chengdu. The engineers remind us that their neatly paired lakes are almost always a considerable distance from existing grids, so much grid construction, in remote areas, will be needed.


Tibet’s abundant sunshine would be ideal for decentralised solar power, but Chinese engineers use Tibet’s solar photovoltaic (PV) potential as a further argument for greater investment in centralised grid construction, connecting the solar arrays to the grid to then be fed, in the off-peak demand hours, to the lakes to pump water back up hill. Yet again, Tibet is where grand visions can be inscribed onto the land, in ways inconceivable in overcrowded, polluted lowland urban China. Electricity delivered through a central grid demonstrates the benevolence of the centralised state; electricity generated by a panel on the grass outside a nomad tent is not the gift of the party-state.




At Zangmu only the first of the planned six hydro dams athwart the Yarlung Tsangpo/Brahmaputra has been completed, and in production early in 2016.  Built by Gezhouba, financed by the heavily indebted Huaneng, the cascade of planned dam construction has slowed, partly because of dimming prospects for long distance transmission, in the absence of an adequate grid and dwindling downstream markets. Another reason is that all of China’s major infrastructure construction projects in Tibet –railways, highways, urban construction, dams and grids- tend to squeeze construction into the summer months, as the immigrant Han Chinese workforce finds Tibet in winter far too cold to work. Gezhouba engineers even suggested intensive use of the winter sun at Zangmu, captured by solar panels, to enable construction through the winter, but little came of this suggestion, in the deep valleys where winter sun, though plentiful, seldom reaches the valley floor construction site.[3]

The directive from the NDRC is quite lengthy, yet quite lacking in specifics, other than exhorting TAR authorities to do a good job in getting more hydropower built, in conformity with national policies, including the requirement to turn farmland into forest and grazing pastures into grassy wilderness.

It is clearly up to planners in Lhasa to decide on an actual plan. So why is it necessary for NDRC to issue this public policy guidance? It is only because TAR has fallen so far behind, its regional government is so weak, passive and dependent on big brother in Beijing, and must now be instructed to make up the shortfall.

The reason this document requires eight pages is because of the complexity of ensuring Beijing’s subsidies, as they pass through the TAR government to the corporate hydro dam builders, to deliver reliable profit to the owner-operators of the new infrastructure. To ensure that, there are many things to consider. NDRC instructs TAR to allow hydro developers, for example, to be able to sell electricity beyond TAR during the summer monsoon peak electricity generating season. That will require TAR to ensure its three power grids are connected to the national power grid, by expensive ultra-high voltage direct current (UHVDC) lines capable of transmitting electricity over vast distances without loss.


Effectively, this is an instruction to TAR to get on with making construction contracts with the state-owned dam building companies, and raise electricity prices in order to attract them, rather than persist with low prices for existing industrial consumers, piling up debt and letting the supply lag behind demand. This NDRC directive is basically a public assurance that Beijing will foot the bill for this massive upgrade.

Who is the audience for this announcement? Clearly not the Tibetans, who are mentioned only in generalities, defined by what they lack, one million in TAR with no access to grid power. No mention of displacement and resettlement by hydro dams and power grids, that’s all for local TAR government to work out.

The real audience is the dam builders, who need assurances they can make money. The huge corporations who, in China, have built thousands of dams and now do so on a global scale, and the behemoth State Grid monopoly of the network, have long been dominant, not only in remote areas but in the eyes of Beijing central planners. These corporations until very recently lived in a simple world of ever-accelerating growth, with electricity demand, with the world’s factory located in eastern China, ever expanding. As state-owned corporations, they were guaranteed priority access to loans from state banks at concessional rates, and a free hand to  roam the remotest valleys to locate the best spots for damming, irrespective of local community concerns. In the first decade of this century, most of the CCP Politburo Standing Committee were engineers.

Then, in this decade, it all changed, old certainties dissolved, a new era with very different priorities was declared. The future of hydro dams, in Tibet and around China, became questionable. That’s explored further in the second of these three blogs.


[1] T.P.G. of Qinghai Province, The brief introduction of qinghai-tibet grid interconnection project (2011-11-30). http://news.xinhuanet.com/energy/2011-11/30/c_122356686.htm

T.P.G. of Qinghai Province, Qinghai-tibet grid interconnection project makes tibet’s electric power delivery become the norm (2015-10-31). http://www.qh.gov.cn/zwgk/system/2015/10/31/010185905.shtml

T.C.G. of China, Sichuan-tibet grid interconnection will be completed to connect tibet’s isolate grid (2014-08-04).  http://www.gov.cn/xinwen/2014-08/04/ content_2729497.htm

[2] HUANG Dao-chun,WEI Yuan-hang,ZHONG Lian-hong,RUAN Jiang-jun,HUANGFU Cheng, Discussion on Several Problems of Developing UHVDC Transmission in China, Power System Technology 电 网 技 术 Vol. 31 No. 8 2007

[3] ZHANG Jianhua, Utilization of Solar Heating for Winter Construction in Tibet Zangmu Hydropower Station, 水 电 与 新 能 源, HYDROPOWER AND NEW ENERGY, 2012 Number 2, 74


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China pioneered technologies for transmitting electricity at ultra-high voltages vast distances, using direct current, making it possible to dream big and plan big, to envisage criss-crossing the whole of China, connecting the remote Tibetan highlands, rich in hydropower potential with distant factory cities of coastal China. State Grid Corporation put out maps of China traversed both west to east and north to south by power grids, making the whole of China one gigantic grid.

Then it all got more complex. As China moved into the middle income bracket, and wages rose, the more labour-intensive and energy-intensive industries started shifting to lower cost countries around Asia. The central planners talked more about the need to construct “ecological civilisation” and a “circular economy” that recycles. China’s sole promised commitment to realising the Paris climate change treaty goals is to reduce energy intensity. Solar, wind and nuclear power emerged as major sources of energy, even though the grid monopolists often refused to connect solar arrays to the grid.

So now it is the giants of dam and grid building who need assurance, at the highest level, that any fresh round of construction across TAR will be well-financed, including a margin for profit. TAR remains the one province where Beijing’s diktat is not undercut by local resistance, and the TAR government has been told to get on with it. The China Dialogue website has analysed how the engineering dream derailed: China’s enthusiasm for UHV is waning. The technology is beset by conflicts of interest between grid companies and central and local governments. The lines themselves are underperforming, and more recent projects are coming online amid a period of electricity generation overcapacity. This means that approvals for new lines have slowed, and grid companies are unlikely to meet their targets for new ones. But rollouts have slowed, and few analysts expect State Grid will deliver on its 2020 target. In fact, its national UHV backbone scheme, which is the centrepiece of its UHVAC ambitions, looks unlikely to happen anytime soon. State Grid’s UHV plans suggested remarkable ambition, but did not always align with those of central and provincial policymakers. Central officials have clashed with State Grid planners on its backbone scheme, which envisions a lattice of six UHVAC lines to synchronise grids that are currently in State Grid’s territory. But officials worry about nationwide blackouts cascading across these interconnected grids. Meanwhile, the economic case for new UHVDC lines from the interior has weakened amidst slowing growth in electricity demand. Unsurprisingly, then, approvals for new UHV projects – which take 3-4 years to construct – have been slow, with just one project approved in 2016, and two in 2017. Certain regional governments targeted for UHV projects have also been sceptical. Provinces get larger boosts to gross domestic product (GDP), employment, and revenue from building their own power plants rather than importing power from other provinces. Even new lines with central government backing have sometimes failed to get provincial acceptance. For example, the UHVDC Sichuan Number Four line would take Sichuan hydropower to Jiangxi province, and was singled out for construction in the 13th Five-Year Plan (2016-2020). But as NEA officials noted last autumn, Jiangxi does not want this power.”

The great exception is Tibet, which still has a command and control economy, where the central party-state can still simply allocate resources. This is the actual circular economy in operation, not an economy of reduce, reuse and recycle, but a circle of state-directed capital expenditure, from NDRC to TAR to the dam and grid builders; from the state at national level to provincial level to the corporate state.


Where will the new dams be located? Outside of TAR, in the rugged terrain of Kham, eastern Tibet, dam building, on a massive scale continues, with dams –highest in the world- above 300m of concrete across steep mountain river gorges in highly earthquake prone districts.


Within TAR, as solar power starts to become more common, where are the paired lakes designated as batteries to store solar power? Chinese engineers have this surveyed and mapped. Conveniently, this can be done from a desk in Beijing, with no need to actually visit Tibet. Satellite cameras in orbit above the earth are good at measuring the distance to the ground, so it is not hard to locate those paired lakes, one higher than the other, close enough to constitute a system for pumping up and rushing down, according to grid demand.

However, there just aren’t enough lake pairs sufficiently close to each other with sufficient height difference, so the scientists played round with identifying terrain around existing lakes where engineers could build a reservoir above the lake to pump lake water up; or below the existing lake, forming a dyad forever cycling together.

Then they mapped the various possibilities, also noting the distance of these water battery systems to the nearest grid, and the inevitability that the state would need to step in and finance the heavy infrastructure required, both the extra reservoirs and the grid connections. Another florid tech fantasy is born: Tibet is a fertile landscape onto which to project grandiose tech visions.

If only a small proportion of the hundreds of sites labelled suitable for pumped storage hydro dams all over Tibet are ever built, and connected by power grids to each other and to lowland China, how many Tibetans will be displaced? How many teams of Han Chinese immigrants will be sent to remote valleys to construct this renewed vision of engineering Tibet?  The National Development & Reform Commission, in March 2018, issued detailed instructions on how those displaced by hydro dams are to be emigrated, compensated and treated with respect. Is this about to happen in



The Tibetan Plateau has fascinated and fixated China’s hydropower planners for decades, as the resource China most needs to extract, and then export, not only to lowland China to the east but also to the south, to Nepal or beyond, all by UHVDC ultra-high voltage direct current power grids. As recently as 2009 Chinese engineers enthused: “According to the results of the national hydropower review, the theory of hydropower resources reserves in Tibet account for 29% of the country, ranking first in the country, with annual power generation developable of 576 billion kWh, second only to Sichuan Province, ranking second in the country. Tibet will become the main battlefield of China’s hydropower construction after 2020, first of all from Sichuan and Yunnan, utilising The Jinsha River, Minjiang River and Nujiang River to transfer electricity from the eastern part of Tibet.”[1]

Those dreams of overpowering Tibet remain, especially on the fast mountain rivers of Kham, in Sichuan, but dam building has been slow, and in TAR has halted, except for the Zangmu dam. Now, it seems, due to a directive from the highest level, backed by ample finance capable of overcoming the deep corporate indebtedness of some of China’s biggest energy companies,[2] central Tibet may soon see a new burst of hydro damming.

The ultra-high voltage power lines China has built in recent years, transmitting electricity from Qinghai into TAR, and from Sichuan into TAR, could flow the other way, exporting electricity from TAR. After a lull, the engineering fixation on extraction from Tibet has burst into life again.


State Grid, by any measure worldwide a massive corporation, announced in 2017 it was upgrading the existing grids in TAR, which seldom had capacity to transmit more than 110kV, to be increased to 500kV, while interconnecting the separate grid networks of eastern and southern TAR.

In announcing this upgrade, State Grid emphasized how important it was to safeguard the new rail line from Lhasa to the luxury resort district of Nyingtri, so close to India’s Arunachal Pradesh. The single track line needs electricity to fulfil its promise of reducing an eight hour bus ride to three hours on a train that stops at only a few of the 17 stations, moving at 160 kms/hr through tunnels as much as 17kms long and bridging the Yarlung Tsangpo just above the Zangmu hydro dam. With so many bridges and tunnels, and fast speed, reliable signalling is essential for safety, requiring failsafe electricity supply, as State Grid points out.


The intensification of central Tibet is regaining momentum lost in recent years as TAR fell back to its command and control default position. State Grid has not forgotten its vision for Tibet, as its boss Liu Zhenya put it in 2012: “Hydropower will be developed in Tibet and transmitted to other regions on a large scale. Power generated in the large hydropower bases will be transmitted from Sichuan to central and eastern China, and from Yunnan to Guangdong. The volume of hydropower from the southwest region will reach 54.5 GW (gigawatts), 76 GW and 120 GW by 2015, 2020 and 2030 respectively.”[3]

State Grid has been adept at keeping pace with official China’s changing priorities. Whatever problems China has, State Grid is always the solution. When the top priority in TAR was industrialisation and mineral extraction, State grid built the first power networks. Now the agenda is beefed up securitisation of the borders with India, and a tourism consumer economy, especially in the Nyingtri county, requiring the interconnection of local grids and sharply upgrading the voltage. Above all, State Grid has never lost sight of the prospect of Tibet at last paying its way for China by exporting electricity, using electricity from afar 电从远方来 the catchy State Grid slogan.

The TAR government, if it ever doubted if it really needs such a massive grid upgrade, is in no position to argue with State Grid, whose 2016 revenue of 2093 billion yuan was 13 times bigger than the total RMB 158 billion revenue of the TAR.

TAR pioneered grid management, the securitisation of Lhasa, divided by gridlines into small units of intensive hi-tech surveillance, monitored by cameras and informers to ensure behavioural compliance with CCP policy in all public, and many private spaces. Grid management is the strategy enabling the party-state to implement its “social credit” system of punishing those deemed untrustworthy by the all-seeing security state, and rewarding the compliant.

Until now grid management and State Grid seemed to have little in common. But if State Grid, funded by the National Development & Reform Commission to build high voltage power grids all over Tibet, incentivises the hydro dam builders and pumped storage battery builders, then Tibet becomes an electrified post-industrial security state like never before.


[1] ZHOU Dashan, Tentative output plans of hydropower resources in Tibet District, Hubei Water Power 湖 北 水 力 发 电 2009 #3

[2] Huaneng Power International, MarketLine SWOT Analysis, 2017

[3] Liu, Zhenya. Zhongguo dianli yu nengyuan  China Electric Power Press, 2012 in Chinese; Translated as: Electric Power and Energy in China, John Wiley, 2013, 165

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