Tibetan writer jailed

 

 Tashi Rabten



Given my (young) age and (lack of) qualifications, the appearance of this little book may be premature. After an especially intense year of the usual soul-destroying events, something had to be said, and after pondering on whether to speak out, I finally produced this humble little book between 2008-09, shed like a drop of blood. (Tashi Rabten in his Introduction to Written in Blood)

While the West sleeps in complacency another poet, Tashi Rabten, editor of the banned Tibetan literary magazine Eastern Snow Mountain (Shar Dungri), is imprisoned for daring to write. Copies of the journals & books in which he wrote critically of Chinese government repression in Tibet, especially a book of essays that he co-authored, entitled Written in Blood, were confiscated and publicly burned.

Cases of writers, teachers, poets, entertainers & activists being summarily sentenced and jailed, particularly in the Ngaba county, are actually increasing there. Self-immolations are almost a weekly occurrence. These are the narratives and writings of which Nobels are made.

Below is an example of poetry that will cost a young poet four years of his life, and that's worth protesting. I fear poetry wrung from the heart of oppression will go unnoticed in a country (mine) where cultural expression is viewed (& practiced) as a national entitlement, mostly at taxpayers' expense. Where nothing inflames poetic passions more than the threat of less government subsidies for the arts.

Young Tibetan Master, show us the way out of our "darkness of night".

My Tibet*


by Theurang (Tashi Rabten)

Is it you, the flame that burns in the middle of a storm?
Is it you, the boat that rocks in the sea?
Is it also you, who offers the torch of life in the darkness of night?

Is it you, where there is no freedom?
Is it also you, who is chained and shackled?
Is it you, who writes her history in blood?

Are you a warrior?
Where are your battlefield and the weapons?
Are you a prisoner?
What crimes have you committed?

Is it your sky that the sun shies away from?
Is it your vow to let yourself be silent?
Are these your border guards, the long guns surrounding you?

Freedom is different from restrictions
Because of which you move,
Because of which they tie and bind you, isn't it?

Isn't it you who is being murdered?
Isn't it you who is being jailed?
Isn't it you who is being tortured?
Why is it that you still want to move?
Do you want to move amidst shadows of guns?

No.

Isn't it you who can never be cowed down?
Isn't it you who fiercely burns with passion?
Isn't it you who marches ahead into history?

Don't you need to move even more?
Don't you need to move till the time runs out and the life ends?

*from Burning Tibet