Why I Stand for Tibet？Voices from our Members– S1

May 25, 2025

13 min read

In the first article of this series, we share the story of Lobsang Sanggye. His support for Tibet is deep rooted in his faith.

Since the founding of Chinese Youth Stand For Tibet, many have assumed we are Tibetan. In fact, most of us were born in China as ethnic Han Chinese. Precisely because of that, we cannot turn a blind eye to the suffering Tibetans have endured. We stand up not because we are Tibetan, but because we are human—with conscience. Supporting a Free Tibet is our responsibility as Chinese. Today, we share our personal journeys to show why we chose to speak out—and to invite more to break the silence with us.

I haven’t been with Chinese Youth Stand for Tibet (CYSFT) for long, but on this occasion of our first anniversary, I’d like to mark this moment in my own words. I hope our presence can inspire more Chinese people to pay attention to Tibet, and I want to contribute what I can—joining CYSFT, as well as broader efforts to support Tibetan people.

To me, we’re not a political group, nor are we driven by self-interest. And while justice and human rights are at the heart of what we do, our actions are also rooted in something even deeper: a sincere affection for Tibet—for its people, its language, and its culture. It’s this sense of connection that gives our work meaning, and that makes our articles, events, and dialogues both thoughtful and heartfelt.

Rather than citing expert opinions or digging through historical records to prove a point or explain things away, we prefer to approach issues from a more humane perspective—through empathy and understanding. We try to place ourselves in the shoes of Tibetans, to grasp the thoughts and choices behind their actions.

Take, for example, Dechen’s article on the third anniversary of singer Tsewang Norbu’s self-immolation. The piece wasn’t framed around glorifying a Tibetan hero. Before his death, Tsewang Norbu was a rising star in the music world—a gifted artist with striking looks, someone who could have been an idol or the boy next door. Set aside his ethnicity, but imagine someone like him in our own lives: he could’ve been our brother, our boyfriend, or a son any parent would be proud of. What a beautiful thing that is?

The article traced his inner journey—the emotional and moral struggles he may have faced, and what might have driven him, at the height of his youth and talent, to choose a path of resistance so extreme it ultimately cost him his owm life. That kind of perspective, I believe, moves people more deeply than any heroic narrative, which can be our featured style of writing.

On the occasion of CYSFT first anniversary, I would like to share my own experience of supporting Tibet.

Rooted in Faith

My support for Tibet and the Tibetan people doesn’t stem from opposition to a particular power or regime. It comes from faith and spiritual connection. As a Buddhist, I began studying at a Dharma center after arriving in Toronto. There, I met people from various origins—Koreans, Japanese, Vietnamese, Bhutanese, Canadians, Americans, Tibetans, and Chinese.

We called each other “Dharma friends,” learning Vajrayāna together as brothers and sisters on the path. Through shared practice of our Yidam, we became part of the same Yidam family—a spiritual bond that transcends borders and bloodlines.

Learning and practicing with Tibetans, standing together in protest outside the Chinese consulate, raising our voices for a free Tibet—these connections didn’t come from books or media, but from lived, personal experience.

During a six-day Dharma gathering, we observed the Eight Precepts. One evening after class, I rushed to join a protest demanding the release of the 11th Panchen Lama. As I arrived, I saw familiar faces—Tibetans I had been studying and meditating with. I can’t speak Tibetan language, but we smiled in recognition. That warmth was something I’d never felt within Chinese people.

Photos of Elder Monk Mengcan during his practice in Tibet

Elder Monk Mengcan’s Tibetan Dharma name was Gönchok Thubten. He studied under the Gelug school of Tibetan Buddhism. In 1941, he entered Tibet with the aspiration to study Vajrayana teachings, but only stayed for ten years. The Gelug tradition requires about twenty years to complete the study of the major canonical texts, so he left before receiving any Vajrayana empowerments. In 1950, when the Chinese PLA entered Tibet, they were looking for Tibetans fluent in both languages to serve as translators. He refused to be a guide for the army and was consequently arrested and placed into a political "thought reform" class. During the "reform" process, he was found to be increasingly "reactionary", and was sentenced to 15 years in prison for "counter-revolutionary crimes", followed by another 18 years of labor reform, totaling 33 years in prison.After his release, he dedicated himself to making up for the lost years of his life by teaching the Dharma. He taught and spread the Dharma for 34 years, and entered parinirvana in 2017 at the age of 102.

My Han Chinese Buddhist teacher Shi Mengcan spent ten years practicing in Tibet. He witnessed the Communist invasion firsthand. When asked to be a translator by communist army in 1950 , he refused, saying, “ Chinese Communist Party wants to destroy Buddhism. My Tibetan masters and fellow classmates are here in Tibet—I won’t help you do any harm to them.” Thus he was jailed as a counterrevolutionary for fifteen years, then sentenced to eighteen more years of forced labor.

Only after walking a similar path myself did I truly understand how deeply he felt—and how precious what he was trying to protect.

The Universal Altruism in the Tibetan Spirit

Tibetan faith isn’t just confined to words or ritual—it’s lived through daily action. They embody the Dharma through how they live: letting go of attachment, facing suffering with courage, and cultivating renunciation.

Though many Tibetans in Canada live in freedom and stable, they continue to speak out for those in Tibet under Chinese rule, and often stand in solidarity with struggles beyond their own community.

This altruistic spirit goes beyond ethnicity, religion, or politics. Tibet’s significance isn’t just about preserving its own culture, land, or people. Tibetans think of the whole world and all sentient beings. Their very existence reflects the Bodhisattva spirit, embodied by Avalokiteshvara.

As a Buddhist, I deeply believe that all sentient beings have the capacity for empathy. Whether human or animal, when we witness suffering, compassion arises naturally. This empathy doesn’t come from political correctness or ideology—it’s the most basic and sincere form of love.

Stand with Tibetans isn’t only driven by concerns for justice or human rights. It doesn’t even come from deep reflection—it’s an emotional need. When I see such kind, selfless people suffering under long-term oppression, violence, and suppression by Chinese rule, I feel that this is not just Tibet’s tragedy, but a stain on all of humanity.

In his latest book, Voice for the Voiceless, His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama recounts nearly 75 years of peaceful resistance for his people and homeland. Faced with the guns of the Chinese regime, he and his people have always responded with olive branches and flowers—with sincerity and compassion, trying to soften even the hardest hearts.

To this day, His Holiness has never excluded Han Chinese from his teachings or blessings. Even while living in exile in India, when giving empowerments, he includes those in China who have faith in him among his recipients of Dharma teachings.

Voice for the Voiceless

Here in the free world, we can speak about what happened in Tibet—the invasion, the deception, the long colonization. We do so to honor the more than one million lives lost in the Land of Snow for their pursuit of peace. We hope the truth can be heard: that over a million Tibetan children are being held in boarding school camps run by the Chinese Communist Party, separated from their families, language, and culture.

It’s about making visible one of the darkest places in terms of human rights—where free speech doesn’t exist, where media is tightly controlled, and even learning one’s own language is forbidden. Refusing to remain silent is a way to resist erasure. Saying “Tibet is not Xizang” is simply to affirm that the name and identity of Tibet will not disappear, even if forcibly divided and absorbed into five provinces.

Let the world see the discrimination Tibetans face in China, the Tibetan political prisoners whose sentences far exceed those of Han political detainees, and remember the 169 Tibetans who self-immolated in the name of freedom.

Let people across Asia pay attention to the damming and diversion of rivers in Tibet—developments that threaten the ecological balance of the entire region, and our shared planet.

To speak up for Tibetans doesn’t require a political stance—it can simply come from a basic sense of human conscience.

Tibet: A Spiritual Beacon for the World

Historically, Han Chinese regimes like the Tang, Song, and Ming had no hostile relationship with Tibet. In the late Qing and during the Republic of China period before the CCP took power, Han forces, driven by territorial ambition, occupied parts of Tibet but were soon expelled. Basically, a peaceful neighborly relationship remained between China and Tibet. Religious and cultural ties defined the bilateral relations.

Legally, Tibet missed the chance to assert its independence through the League of Nations in the early 20th century. That absence left it vulnerable as global power structures shifted after World War II. The newly founded Communist regime took advantage of this, invading and forcibly incorporating Tibet into the People Republic of China.

This open act of aggression against a smaller nation was met with long-term inaction from the international community—and has never been rectified.

From a spiritual perspective, Tibetan Buddhism has had a profound influence on the cultural and spiritual life of East Asia. Since His Holiness the Dalai Lama was forced into exile in March 1959, the Tibetan people, under his leadership, have built new lives in barren lands through resilience and hard work. At the same time, the Dharma of Tibet reignited faith in the Three Jewels in its birthplace—India—and from there, its light spread across the Western world.

Though this could be seen as a blessing for the world, for me, it carries a sense of sorrow and reluctance. In the end, it was through deep suffering that Tibetans brought about a revival of Buddhism and spiritual richness across the globe.

Many Tibetan names are drawn from Buddhist scriptures, verses, and words of praise. When I open a Tibetan prayer text, familiar names of Tibetan friends come up—their faces, their smiles, their strength and courage. The words of the Dharma are not just abstract terms to me, but many living souls.

My own Dharma name, “Lobsang,” carries the meaning of “good wisdom.” It’s part of the name of Lama Tsongkhapa and also reflects the compassion and expectations of my Lama in giving me that name. This connection—between Dharma and daily life, between people and teachings, between language and faith—is a key reason I feel so deeply drawn to Tibetan culture and people.

Tibet is not only a country with defined borders—it is also a vessel for a beautiful inner world. Its influence doesn’t come from material wealth, military power, or global political clout, but from the strength of its spirit. It brings the Buddha’s teachings into everyday life, into actions and conduct, showing the world the deeper value of this brief human existence.

That’s why people from different countries, who share the same spiritual aspirations, can also call themselves ‘spiritual Tibetans’.

Though Tibet has been fragmented into five provinces by communist China, and the ‘Xizang’ Autonomous Region represents only part of its land, Tibet has not disappeared. Even with the fake Panchen Lama sitting in the Potala Palace, even with the images of Chairman Mao and Chairman Xi being placed on altars to replace Buddha’s, and even as its identity is suppressed, distorted, and diminished, Tibet continues to live on—increasingly so—in the hearts of people around the world.

In an age obsessed with material gain and afraid of death, Tibetans show a rare spiritual strength. Their view of life and death, their commitment to faith, and their preservation of non-material culture offer a stark and dignified contrast to the values of materialism.

Facing Tibetans Without Shame

I’ve never taken part in persecuting Tibetans. I’m not entirely Han by blood, but I did grow up under the rule of the Chinese Communist Party, which once claimed to speak on my behalf. In that environment, from birth into adulthood, I had little understanding of Tibet’s brutal colonization—largely due to China’s censorship and propaganda. I’d heard fragments, caught glimpses of the truth, but never actively tried to learn more.

As a teenager, I felt a quiet admiration for His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama—though it remained vague, limited to a distant spiritual sense. Then, during the 2020 COVID lockdown, when even temples in China were closed, I downloaded the scripts of two memoirs by H.H., converted them to audio, and began listening each night. At first, I only wanted to better know H.H. But as I heard him recount Tibet’s history in his own words, I was overwhelmed with grief. I couldn’t sleep. I weeped alone in silence.

My hatred toward the Communist regime deepened. Knowing that I was still living under its rule, under the same sky, sun, and stars, filled me with disgust. I felt ashamed of my ignorance. The crimes against Tibet began decades before I was born and have never stopped—only grown worse. And I had known so little, felt so little.

I was also deeply troubled by China’s long-standing desire to claim Tibetan land, going back to the late Qing period. Even the small sense of pride I once felt in being Chinese became difficult to bear. I began to see it as part of a larger, blood-stained collective karma. And with that came a growing sense of shame—for the Han blood in my veins.

When I first began attending Dharma classes and Tibetan temple ceremonies in Canada, I tried to hide my identity, because I was afraid that Tibetans knew I was Chinese. To my surprise—and deep emotion—Tibetans never showed me any discrimination. From friends to monks, from volunteers to members of the community, they welcomed me warmly. Some even greeted me in Mandarin, with no trace of prejudice. That kind of kindness and acceptance was something I hadn’t expected.

I still haven’t fully come to terms with everything. My hatred for the Chinese Communist Party still spills over into anger toward China and Chinese people more broadly—something I struggle with. But I’ve come to see that the compassion and tolerance shown by Tibetans is the right path. I’m not there yet—emotionally, it’s still hard—but I’ve found an model worth to follow.

That’s why I believe supporting Tibetans is not about giving, but receiving. They’ve shown me that such strength—gentle yet unshakable—still exists in this world.

Place of Inner Belonging

I don’t remember when I first joined a street protest for Tibet. I just remember wearing Tibetan clothes, draped in the Snow Lion national flag, shouting Tibetan slogans. Those chants were voices I loved—each syllable carrying passion, conviction, and feeling.

I’ve never really liked politics, and I don’t see standing with Tibet as a political action.

Many of the things I’ve done in Canada—places I visited for the first time—were with Tibetan friends. Over time, I started to feel that I had become part of Tibet—not through blood, not through political alignment, and not even just through shared faith or following the same spiritual teacher. It was something deeper: a place of emotional connection and spiritual refuge.

The Chinese Communist Party has tied China and all its colonies—Tibet, South Mongolia, East Turkestan, Manchuria, and Hong Kong—onto a single war chariot. That chariot is now hurtling toward a cliff, seemingly determined to drag everything down with it.

In the current political reality, rescuing all Tibetans under CCP rule, or removing the Party from Tibet without harming its land, resources, or cultural heritage, feels almost like a fantasy.

And yet, I still hope—and pray—that before its crash comes, Tibet might be unfastened from that chariot. I don’t know how, and I don’t know if anything I do is truly effective. But I’m still willing to do whatever I can.

To My Tibetan Brothers and Sisters: Stay Alive Despite the Uncertainty of Fate

Tibetans were among the first to suffer—and the first to see clearly the true nature of the Chinese Communist Party.

They are not easily deceived. Whether through innate clarity, cultivated wisdom, or decades of lived experience under oppression, Tibetans remain awake, resolute, and uncompromising. Their resistance has lasted 75 years. From the 1950 invasion, to the 1959 uprising, to the present day, every year has been a testament to their refusal to give in.

Though the CCP may present an image of a “tamed” Tibetan people, the truth tells a different story. Tibetans cannot be brainwashed. The seeds of defiance may be forced underground for a time, but they bloom again whenever even a sliver of opportunity appears. Tibetans will never become what the CCP wants them to be.

Many Chinese dissidents, once in exile, believe the regime will fall in two, five, or ten years—that justice will surely come in their lifetime. But Tibetans took that step more than 70 years ago. They saw the truth earlier than most, and they’ve held on to their ideals of freedom longer than anyone.

For Tibetans, it has been 66 years since the uprising of 1959. Our common spiritual leader, His Holiness the Dalai Lama, has now lived nearly 70 years in exile. He is nearing 90—a compassionate elder whose presence still guides them.

How many more years must this struggle continue? For Tibetans in exile, this question carries a different weight than it does for many Chinese dissidents, as if the end were quite near.

Tibetans have already endured through two, even three generations. Some have sacrificed their lives, others have passed away, some have grown old. But time didn’t wear down their resolve. Their resistance doesn’t come with a deadline—it has become part of their daily life, part of their culture.

Young Tibetans chant a powerful slogan: Born Tibetan, Born Activist.

What’s more solid than diamond is the strength of their perseverance—and the heart that keeps kindness and hope alive, no matter how much suffering they endure.

For Tibetans still living under CCP rule, I don’t have any grand expectations. Rather than seeing them rise up with their bare hands against the most advanced weapons of state violence—only to sacrifice, only to become another name or number on a list of martyrs—I would rather they not face the barrels of guns at all.

Unlike the traditional Chinese ideals of “saving the world” or becoming a great hero in chaotic times, I simply hope Tibetans can survive.

In a reality where many Tibetans can’t even obtain a passport, can’t travel freely even to another city inside the border, and are treated as second-class residents in their own land, just living peacefully is becoming harder and harder.

No matter how powerful or ferocious, even the fiercest beast or the most evil force will fall one day. No matter how arrogant the Red China leaders, how violent their words and intentions, they too are bound by the fate of decay and death. Even the longest nights of suffering will eventually end—and dawn will come.

The body may be imprisoned, but the mind can't be chained. No walls or chains can hold back the heart that longs for freedom. Tibet has already lost too many precious lives. I only hope that those still living under Chinese rule can stay alive.

As long as there is life, there will be hope.