Musings on life and how I choose to interpret it…

If you’ve been living under a rock these past few weeks, or were a rock all along, then maybe you’d need to be told that there’s a mini furor going on down south. The U.S are currently in the midst of elections mania: two parties deciding who would be nominated for the winner-takes-all come November. Words like caucuses, primaries, campaign stops and polls (especially polls) are suddenly dominating the media again, on a nation-wide scale. There’s still nearly a year to go before it’s actually time to sit down to business, but if you’re a politics voyeur like I am — quite recently interested, truth be told — then you would be hard-pressed not to get a whiff of the craziness that has suddenly erupted in all the press, media, bars and blogs. Every American knows about the craziness, but perhaps only one candidate can have a legitimate claim, and an aptly titled popular movement, of having galvanized the voting mass: Barack Obama.

The title: Obama-mania.

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It’s funny in a sad sort of way how carried away I can get sometimes with my vainglorious sense of self and duty. How I can pit my responsibilities against my resolutions and tattle off about inane matters one-by-one in order to tick things off as though they’re merely a hindrance or a point that needs to be acknowledged in a “ho hum whatdowehavehere today?” way. Case in point. “My dalliances with activism” just sounds so off-putting and cringe inducing that I am tempted to remove the last post away from the fleeting scrutiny of this anonymous net-world, to rid myself of this mind-numbingly self-indulgent reverie that I’ve dared to share with strangers from all stripes of ideology. But that would be a wishful sin committed in yet another guise of pride and I must live in terms with what I’ve decided to commit with.

I also need to get off my operatic bent and get straight to the damn point.

In case you were wondering what suddenly set off this barrage of yet another non sequitur claptrap — and trust me, I’ve surprised myself quite a lot as well — this is why: Yesterday, six pro-Tibetan activists of SFT from Canada, the US and the UK were detained in China after staging a bold and dramatic direct action aimed at reminding the IOC and the world in general about the upcoming Aug. 8 One Year Beijing Olympics Countdown. The two Canadian activists, Mel Raoul and Sam Price, rappelled down a section of the Great Wall of China and unfurled a 450-sq. ft banner that reads “ONE WORLD, ONE DREAM, FREE TIBET”, both in English and Mandarin. They remained on the side of the wall with the banner in its fully glorious and cheeky display for more than two hours before the Chinese authorities descended on them and whisked them away for detention. No one knows yet about the whereabouts or the conditions of those six brave souls.

Let us just — for the sake of fully appreciating what just transpired half-way across the globe here — try to grasp not only the logistical complexity of launching this action from the get-go, but also the sheer amount of fortitude, of grit, determination and the fundamental belief in what’s right, that leads six young people to undertake this. To train: climbing, rappelling, evading sinister figures; to contemplate and understand the risks involved and then to hop on a plane and land in a foreign and slightly unwelcoming city; to clear customs with a large fabric emblazoned with a politically provocative message; to find a spot in a tourist-flooded area that isn’t as heavily scrutinized as some other parts; to figure out the opportune moment in deciding to rappel down the ancient stones; to hold on to your message as long as it takes; to land an ideal vantage point to capture this momentous show of defiance and declaration; to guide the international news media as it tries its best to catch up and cover; to humble two powerful forces; to harden the resolve of thousands of aspiring activists and humanists all across the world; and to accomplish all of the above-mentioned without spilling a drop of blood in malice or uttering a word of threat. ‘Amazing’ does barely any justice.

Try ‘humbling’.

Now, this isn’t the first time that SFT has dared unsettling the beast right under its very nose. Just three months ago, four members of this chapter-based, youth-oriented organization donned heavy parkas and brandished another large banner with the same message from high atop the base camp of Mt. Everest (on the Tibetan side). I barely managed to write about it then and quickly offered the video of the action as a substitute for my inability to give due thought and admiration.

This won’t be the case now. For one thing: I’ve met, talked and shared drinks with the two Canadians who unfurled the massive banner. They’re both either gainfully employed or pursuing post-graduate studies. They’re grounded, unassuming and definitely not driven by impulse at every other corner. In other words: they’re not your typical, in-your-face, hard-core activists, man. I’m pretty certain the other four are, more or less, the same. This is not meant to lampoon your average political activist, but just to give you an idea — a level of intimacy, if you will — about the kind of people who believe in the non-violent struggle of the Tibetan people. Sure, we’ve got our share of grizzled, passionate to the point of extreme-activists, but they don’t set the gold standard around here. Generally speaking. Instead, what we harbour here is a delightful balance of practicality and idealism that supports creativity and encourages individuality in the dithering dynamics of an energizing group.

And when I tend to get distracted by the constant minor waylays of my daily routine, it serves as a good reminder in humility and perspective that there are others who are willing to risk their own neck and comfort for the sake of those who are unable to speak under the duress of the red, iron hand. Sam’s done it more than once already, just so you and I know. And did I mention Kate, our very own Superwoman always in the thick of everything? She’s in Hongkong at the moment doing some mad media-handling bizness. What about Lhadon Thethong? Not only does she kick China’s red ass constantly from high atop the office of SFT Int’l, she’s royally kicking their red ass right in their very own backyard. Or front-yard. At this very moment. On blog. On TV. Is it just me or are us Canadians grossly over-represented in matters of PRC ass-kickery?

I would like to congratulate these six individuals. And I would like to sincerely thank everyone involved — for deciding that the dangers presented to themselves from this action pales in comparison to the magnitude and to the extent of the lives that they’ve affected and will continue to. I hope they come out of this safe and relatively unscathed. I would like to extend a note of comfort and thanks to the family and friends who’ve either supported or reluctantly tagged along to the whirlwind lives of their loved ones. And I would like to conclude this note with a nod to that one feeling that far surpasses any mention of humility, acknowledgment or appreciation.

Hope.

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For further information and up-to-date coverage of this action, please visit our SFT Int’l Blog.

For all the details and latest from Lhadon in China, please visit her Beijing blog.

Wow. Words can barely encapsulate the admiration I have for these activists for taking the action right into the heart of the beast by hopping half-way across the globe and setting up tent at the base of the world’s highest mountain and THEN sticking it right into the faces of those Chinese expedition team-members. Man, oh man. Words cannot do justice. At least not mine, in any case. So here’s the video:

More about the action here. Thank you Tendor, Shannon, Kirsten Westby and Laurel Mac Sutherlin. Hope you’ll all be fine and just, thanks again for putting yourself in line for the millions of Tibetans who want an Olympic torch to grace the slope of the Mt. Everest of only a Free Tibet.

It happened sometime in the middle of the March 10 rally as our procession was slowly turning the corner from Queen St. and heading north of St. George St. towards the Toronto Chinese Consulate. I was leading a pack of hyperactive, bratty kids – some barely out of pre-school – and I was thinking to myself that this wasn’t a good route at all, that we were going through a residential neighbourhood with a general exposure level of almost nil. Zilch. Some people dumping their weekend house garbage and recycling materials stared at us curiously, but otherwise went about their ways. Some looked from their windows and balconies, wondering what this long line of colourful flags and people clad in dresses were up to on this Saturday afternoon. Put bluntly, we were shouting to no one but ourselves.

So, as I was leading the line, minding the kids and trying not to get pissed off at whoever orchestrated this rally route, a small Tibetan girl tugged at my jacket and asked me impatiently as little children are wont to do, ‘Are we there yet?’

Are we there yet? A question so simple would require a rejoinder equally straightforward. But seeing as to how I had to constantly make sure that the children weren’t getting too close to the leading van and also not straying too far from the others behind, I ignored her, distractedly. The chorus, inevitably, soon followed. Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

I tried the soothing way first. ‘Not too long now, children, just another two blocks and you’ll see.’ ‘Come on, now! Let’s keep those feet rolling.’ And ‘Do you want the old people to go by us?’

It worked for a few minutes before they eventually caught up to my sweet nothings and demanded how long exactly this block I was referring to was. I then had to adopt the stern drill sergeant stance: glaring at them whenever they raised their hands despondently or accused me of lying. It didn’t work for long either.

It was then that I decided to get a little thorough with the kids. I slowed down to their trots, and tried to converse with an especially petulant and annoyed little boy. He had been screaming as fervently as he could for the past hour or so, and now that he was a little tired and bored, he had understandably deduced that this long walk wasn’t really as fun as it had originally started out as. I tried the peacekeeper way.

‘How goes there, kid?’ I elbowed him.

‘Dunno. When are we getting there?’ He asked a touch irritably.

‘It won’t be long now. See that light over there? As soon as we cross that, it’ll just be a block or so away.’

‘You said that about the first light. And the next one. And the next one. ’ He frowned and added, ‘I think you’re just lying to us.’

I bit my tongue and abated this swell of accusation about my supposed mendaciousness. I tried again. ‘You know, as soon as we get there (and it won’t be long), I’ll treat you with a cup of chocolate.’

The little kid ignored my olive branch offering and instead confirmed his suspicion about my dubiousness with his colleague next to him. They nodded gravely and quietly marched along.

I wasn’t going to let them slide by with such a pernicious attitude towards me, and the Chinese Consulate was close so! I sidled up next to him again, although that isn’t quite exactly how you would put it as he was barely up to my chest. He didn’t look up at me, choosing instead to stare at his dragging feet.

‘Do you know why we’re here today?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, about China’s taking over Tibet and stuff.’ He mused on it for a while and continued, ‘We’re here to free Tibet, aren’t we?’

I beamed and poked further, a little hopefully, ‘Do you know what’s happening in Tibet right now?’

‘Not really. I don’t care, really. What are we doing here anyways? I’m tired and I wanna go home.’

Sensing a dead end again, I quickly followed, ‘You know, every step that you take today means that one more Tibetan in Tibet won’t have to suffer for long.’

He finally looked up to me and asked in a suspicious, yet entirely childlike way, ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, man. Whenever you walk in rallies and shout the slogans, more people will know about what’s happening in Tibet and eventually, people will start to realize that what’s happening in Tibet is wrong.’

‘How does that help Tibet? It’s not like we’re shooting and bombing the Chinese.’

‘Like this: every time another person knows about Tibet suffering, they can act in ways that can help Tibet and the Tibetans.’

‘Like shooting the Chinese?’ He asked a little hopefully.

‘No, no. We don’t shoot the Chinese.’ Why not, asked collectively by some kids from behind. ‘Because that’s not the way Tibetans are supposed to solve our problems. Because that’s what the Dalai Lama told us to.’

Why, they prodded further; their inquisitive nature now taking over their exhaustion as always. ‘Because we don’t believe in harming other people. Because that’s not the right thing to do and there are other, better ways of solving problems.’

‘Yeah right,’ some snarky kid from the back.

‘No, because, as soon as you start harming the Chinese, by shooting at them, bombing them, whatever, you are encouraging the use of violence and bloodshed. Killing and harming aren’t the only ways to solve problems.’

‘Because, when you harm someone, you will have to pay for it later. Everything you do now will somehow end up getting back at you.’

How so, was the question this time.

‘I don’t really know,’ I said, quite earnestly. ‘Just remember that for every person you harm, that person or that person’s children will try and get back to you in the future.’

A distinct murmur spread across the precocious group and I was preparing myself for another barrage of rhetorical, existential inquiries when the consulate building mercifully came into view. This seemed to shut them up better than any sweet currying I’d attempted earlier.

As they disbanded quickly as they’d assembled, with that surge of energy that always burst forth whenever there were springs to skip across or snow to make snowballs into, I sighed a relief that I tried to mask as best as I could.

I found a ledge and tried to lean on it, tired from all that coordinating and convincing. The little kid from earlier approached me and handed me his placard. ‘Thanks,’ he said quickly.

‘No worries,’ I replied, hoping now that he would allow me some few minutes before I have to start packing things up.

‘Do you need any help collecting all your signs?’ He asked.

I smiled. ‘Sure.’