Obituary of A Marcher: Pema Tashi

A few days before his death, Pema Tashi told his best friend, Leki Dhondup, that “Tibet has given me so much and I want to give back to the cause. If necessary, I will contribute my life to the struggle.” On May 10th, Pema drowned in the Kosi River at Kakri Ghat, Uttarakhand, during the March to Tibet.

Born in Arunachal Pradesh to non-Tibetan parents, he decided to become a monk by the age of six. Pema delighted his parents with his decision and journeyed down to Sera Mae Monastery to take his vows of monkhood. When he saw the announcement about the March to Tibet, he said, “I was happy because I had always wanted to see Tibet. I have lived in a Tibetan community for a long time and have always viewed Tibetans as compassionate people and this motivated me to join the march. Since I have made up my mind to go on this march, I am fearless.”

When arrested with the other 100 Core Marchers at Dehra, Himachal Pradesh, Pema said “I felt the agony and the status of a homeless refugee.” Once released from house arrest, Pema rejoined the march only to develop problems walking. They allowed him to switch to the tent building crew where he earned the reputation as a hard worker and a joker. In fact, everyone knew of Pema’s infectious joking and his friend Leki said, “he couldn’t be quiet for a minute.” He eventually got the nickname “Man of the March.” Other marchers would never refer to him as Pema. In fact, most didn’t even know that name. They simply called him “the Man.” It was said that without him on the march, there would be no joking.

As they approached what was to be Pema’s last campsite, he marveled at “the beauty of newly entered hills and felt a sensation of coming to his homeland.” After building the tents at the campsite, Pema jumped into the cold and cloudy water of the river, apparently hitting his head on a rock. He spent too long underwater and passed away a few hours later at the Almora Hospital. The entire march spent several hours in prayer for his soul and a team of monks stayed up all night praying over his body. His body was cremated the yesterday morning with a mountain of khatas.

The news was so unexpected that it has shocked us all. Pema’s passing threw me into an emotional tailspin, renewing my worries about the marchers and what awaits them as they get closer to the border. While his death was a horrible accident, Pema had said that he would be willing to sacrifice his life for the struggle for independence. It has made me think a lot about what determination means and the significance of martyrdom in a non-violent movement. I am deeply moved by the sacrifice of Pawo Thubten Ngodup, whose self-immolation still makes me cry every time I see footage of it, and the willingness of many of the marchers, including Pema Tashi, to give their lives for what they believe in. However, I must admit that I disagree with martyrdom as a tactic. The March is an amazingly patriotic and inspirational gesture that is succeeding in raising awareness about the Tibetan cause, but I personally don’t want any more of the marchers to die for it. I believe strongly that every single marcher is more of a contribution to the Tibet movement alive than if they died trying to cross the border. Unfortunately, such decisions are out of my hands.

To a hard worker, a lover of jokes and a warm person with a brave heart who died before he reached his home, everyone on the March to Tibet sends our prayers with you, Pema.

The March to Tibet

My first few days back in India were spent on the March to Tibet. The day before I flew into Delhi, 250 marchers set out on their way north towards the India-Tibet border after having spent 10 days in the capital praying for those Tibetans who died protesting for independence and participating in protests against China’s brutal crackdown and the Olympic torch relay.

I have been posting updates about the March from Dharamsala and Bangkok for the last 2 months that my colleagues on the March e-mail or call me with. Friends on the March have been calling me to tell me about how hot it was that day or how much they missed the iced coffee or their favorite breakfast spot back in Dharamsala. I’ve posted the photos they send and I have watched all the live streaming videos. But being there in person was entirely different.

Getting from Delhi to the where the marchers were camped – two days’ walk – took 8 hours. One person would point us in one direction, and then the next person would point us in an entirely different direction. Entire groups of people would surround me and my Tibetan friend as he explained in Hindi where we were trying to go, staring at us like they had never seen something so odd. We were crammed into an extremely noisy shared taxi with a dude who kept rubbing my knee and the other people staring at me. We were lost for hours with a driver who we ended up befriending because both he and my friend grew up in Nepal. We shared a dinner with him at McDonalds’ and in the end, he refused to let us pay once he learned that we were joining the March to Tibet. Eventually the driver left us at a hideous Western-style cinema hall that stood out like a sore thumb in the dingy dusty outskirts of Delhi, and we were finally rescued by two drivers from the March.

I spent the next 4 days as one of the marchers. I walked with them, sweated under the hot sun with them, splashed in the cool water at rest stops with them, ate with them, talked with them, was eaten alive by mosquitoes with them, and hummed along with their prayers and singing of the national anthem. I was reunited with the monks that I made practice media soundbites despite their broken English at the non-violent training before the March started. I made friends with the Western support marchers whose presence I had previously been very judgmental about. I overcame my own insecurities about bathing and squatting in the bushes surrounded by 250 monks and nuns. I had some Tibetan lessons. I got a tan. And I picked up an amoeba! It was 4 of the most fulfilling days I’ve had since I’ve been here. The dedication of the marchers and the volunteers who are making the march possible was so inspiring. They have given up the commitments and responsibilities of their daily lives to stand up for their country-men and -women, and for their country. It made me feel spoiled that being here and fighting for their freedom is my job, that I get paid to do this while they are sacrificing their livelihoods to do the same thing.

When it came time for me to leave, one monk friend came to give me a khata – the white Tibetan scarf given as a blessing for a safe journey. Even though I had only been with them for 4 days, I was given khata after khata, until they were falling off my shoulders. Normally when Tibetans thank me, I feel really awkward. But this time I was really touched. The marchers held my hand and we yelled “Bho Gyalo” – which has come to mean more to me each time I yell it.

As we drove away, I couldn’t help but wonder if there were some of them we would never see again. This thought has followed me back to Dharamsala and has left me an emotional blob, overflowing with a muddle of love, longing, frustration, anger, discouragement, and sadness. I’ve been running through scenarios in my head of what could be lying ahead for my friends. They could be arrested by Indian police and allowed no where near the border, which could frustrate them to the point where they do something drastic like self-immolation. They could hand in their registration certificates (their only identification as “foreigners” in India), plunging them into a legal quagmire. They could be ignored by Indian officials and allowed to approach the Tibet border. As they cross into their homeland, they could be shot by Chinese soldiers like those who were shot trying to escape over the Nangpa-la pass two years ago. Or they could be carted away to be tortured in Chinese jails. These thoughts have been overwhelming at times, making me alternately want to run away from it all and join them again. But in my stronger moments, I am committed to staying here so that when something happens to the marchers, we can make sure that the world knows. And when they reach Lhasa (or are forced to return to Dharamsala), I will be there to welcome them.