The Dalai Lama no doubt draws crowd like a rock star.
The celebrity monk, during his 75-minute lecture avoided any discussions on the recent crackdown on the Tibetan monks in Lhasa by the Chinese government. Instead, he talked about peace and love, giggled quite often and called out to the people to look inwards in a not-so-perfect English. For most westerners, he was also quite "accented"
Over 5,000 people gathered to hear the monk tell them how to be happy. Funny though considering America is one of the wealthiest nations in the world and many would think if you can buy a house or a car and have a ranch or a holiday home, you would find happiness.
But seems the chase never ends. And American dream is busted for many. And then they turn to the east for spiritual guidance on how to be happy because the obvious did not work so well.
So they came, drawn by the promise of happiness at last, expecting a tiny monk whose country has been robbed him and can lay no claim to any material possessions, to help them find contentment, resolve their inner conflict and turn toward simplicity.
The Dalai Lama did not say anything different from what we, as Hindus, have been familiar with from the very begining. He did not offer any keys. Just a simple logical answer that has eluded the west for long. Capitalism and free market only breeds more desire, the never-ending desire to own, to add and to consume. It makes humans compete with each other, taking away the simplicity of relationships.
The long-standing argument against socialism is it kills the motivation, the incentive to strive for more. But it's not true.
Socialism is more human, more nurturing and more personal. The gap between the rich and the poor is appalling and is unfair because the resources of the world belong to all and not just to those with muscle power.
The Dalai Lama has often called himself a Marxist monk and has favored an ethical distribution of wealth.
On Tuesday, he repeated the same message that Buddhism, Jainism and Hinduism stand for. To attain inner peace, shun the external delights because greed brings suffering.
He also talked about Indian Constitution's interpretation of secularism, which does not separate religion from state but promotes equality for all religions and faiths and calls for no discrimination on the part of the state. That's unlike the west where state and religion are separate. To me, religion is at the root of all political beliefs and as such you can't separate the two. To understand and to make for an state where all have equality, one has to look at the two that have always been intertwined, entangled and will always remain so.
As usual, he avoided speaking directly on Tibet but he alluded to the issues though like the importance of culture, of allowing for equality of all religions and traditions.
When he was asked about the future of Tibet after he is dead, he said he will watch from heaven. Because, he is a reincarnation, maybe he believes another Dalai Lama will carry on the struggle for Tibetan people.
Many feel the struggle for Tibet will end after his death and it is a only a matter of time.
He clarified yet again he did not want separation for Tibet but only autonomy as outlined in the constitution so that Tibetans can practice their culture and religious beliefs.
"Whle world knows we don't want separation," he said.
For many Dalai Lama is a spiritual guru who can lead them to contentment, but he is also a political figure and as such courts controversy. There were protests outside the university. While one group addressed the political side of him, the other called him a hyocrite asking him to allow for religious freedom. The Dalai Lama banned the worship of Dorje Shugden years ago.
To me, as a politcal leader and spiritual leader of the Tibetans, he needs to consolidate his position. Another sect that worships a protective deity, may undermine his own stature.
About the protests, one more thing. At least the Chinese students are organizing. They did it through phone and emails and facebook but maybe in the future they will unite to protest the regime that has been blamed for many human rights violations.
This time, they were patriotic and were against the media distortion of China.
The future will bring about many changes though. I am hopeful.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Thursday, April 03, 2008
At Proctor's international night ...
Utica is a complex city. When I turn into Eagle Street and drive past Seymour Avenue, Taylor Avenue and into the inner city, it always looks familiar, almost inviting. Here's where I can identify with people, relate to what they have to say. Elsewhere, I feel uneasy, my accent and color taking over who I am.
But here, in the heart of the city that's been resusticated by refugees, almost salvaged from the ruin that it was headed to, I almost feel at home. It is a place where I can be. In a way, it's liberating.
Today, as I walked into Proctor's international night celebration, I saw cultures intermingling, but the mix, with all its influences, was strangely elemental, like it never let go of what was its own.
Burmese and Karen girls fused their ethnic tunics with western wear. To me, it made a statement almost. But it wasn't that pronounced. Maybe that's where the problem lies.
A Karen boy I met while I was walking to the gym, told me how proud he felt wearing his Karen shirt. On the way, an American friend asked him what was it that he was wearing. And he struggled to tell her ... looking for words that could define all that the blue tunic meant to him. He muttered "Karen shirt". The puzzled look on te girl's face wasn't encouraging and he looked confused as he searched his limited vocublary to fit the concept in.
It is our unifrom, he said to her. She still looked confused, not quite getting the "uniform".
Later, in the queue waiting to enter the gymnasium, he took off the shirt, folded it and put it in his pockets. Maybe he did not want to be bothered with too many questions.
When I asked him, he said he was feeling shy and just wanted to enjoy the evening.
Inside, it was quite the opposite. The assertion of cultural identity was strong.
There were booths set up that handed out ethnic food. Students who either came as immigrants, or were born into immigrant families such as the Polish or the German, and refugees, wore their traditional clothes and proudly displayed their culture, often through food, sometimes with dance.
Suddenly music took over. The nature of the music itself was indicative of the mix. At times, it sounded familiar. I was like Bollywood music. But then it took turns, with lots of beats. It then became techno.
A bunch of Somali Bantu girls took the center stage when they started to dance. Their long-flowing gowns were secured tightly at the waiset with a scarf. And they danced with abandon like they did not care. Afterall, it was their night. It was in celebration of diversity. They did not have to be demure then.
They danced a unique dance. It was part hip-hop but then it was also traditional. They pulled in the guys from the crowd, teased them, yet had their head scarves on. They shook their hips and did little twists.
For a woman standing next to me, it was almost a provocative dance. She whispered to me how her parents would have killed her if she danced like that.
What struck her was how the Somali Bantu community in Utica has remained true to their culture, she told me.
This is one group that always wears its own clothes, she said.
To the girls who danced, encouraged by the whistles and the cheers, nothing else mattered.
They were asserting their identity for all to see. Yes, they had arrived.
It was a touching moment when a Somlai Bantu boy danced, waving a Dominican Republic flag. For a momemt, it all seemed so perfect. This was a melting pot. Boundaries did not matter. Identities merged in.
But it is always an illusion. Integration does not come too easy.
But at least for a few moments, it was like living in a perfect world.
I saw familiar faces. They smiled at me. A young boy who had translated for me once when I had inteviewing Imam Ferhad Mujic who is not so proficient in English, came up to me to say hello.
I was just so happy to be there. At least nobody was noticing me. My own color was blending in with so many others that it did not matter. The Proctor gym that evening became the equivalent of a color-blind society.
But here, in the heart of the city that's been resusticated by refugees, almost salvaged from the ruin that it was headed to, I almost feel at home. It is a place where I can be. In a way, it's liberating.
Today, as I walked into Proctor's international night celebration, I saw cultures intermingling, but the mix, with all its influences, was strangely elemental, like it never let go of what was its own.
Burmese and Karen girls fused their ethnic tunics with western wear. To me, it made a statement almost. But it wasn't that pronounced. Maybe that's where the problem lies.
A Karen boy I met while I was walking to the gym, told me how proud he felt wearing his Karen shirt. On the way, an American friend asked him what was it that he was wearing. And he struggled to tell her ... looking for words that could define all that the blue tunic meant to him. He muttered "Karen shirt". The puzzled look on te girl's face wasn't encouraging and he looked confused as he searched his limited vocublary to fit the concept in.
It is our unifrom, he said to her. She still looked confused, not quite getting the "uniform".
Later, in the queue waiting to enter the gymnasium, he took off the shirt, folded it and put it in his pockets. Maybe he did not want to be bothered with too many questions.
When I asked him, he said he was feeling shy and just wanted to enjoy the evening.
Inside, it was quite the opposite. The assertion of cultural identity was strong.
There were booths set up that handed out ethnic food. Students who either came as immigrants, or were born into immigrant families such as the Polish or the German, and refugees, wore their traditional clothes and proudly displayed their culture, often through food, sometimes with dance.
Suddenly music took over. The nature of the music itself was indicative of the mix. At times, it sounded familiar. I was like Bollywood music. But then it took turns, with lots of beats. It then became techno.
A bunch of Somali Bantu girls took the center stage when they started to dance. Their long-flowing gowns were secured tightly at the waiset with a scarf. And they danced with abandon like they did not care. Afterall, it was their night. It was in celebration of diversity. They did not have to be demure then.
They danced a unique dance. It was part hip-hop but then it was also traditional. They pulled in the guys from the crowd, teased them, yet had their head scarves on. They shook their hips and did little twists.
For a woman standing next to me, it was almost a provocative dance. She whispered to me how her parents would have killed her if she danced like that.
What struck her was how the Somali Bantu community in Utica has remained true to their culture, she told me.
This is one group that always wears its own clothes, she said.
To the girls who danced, encouraged by the whistles and the cheers, nothing else mattered.
They were asserting their identity for all to see. Yes, they had arrived.
It was a touching moment when a Somlai Bantu boy danced, waving a Dominican Republic flag. For a momemt, it all seemed so perfect. This was a melting pot. Boundaries did not matter. Identities merged in.
But it is always an illusion. Integration does not come too easy.
But at least for a few moments, it was like living in a perfect world.
I saw familiar faces. They smiled at me. A young boy who had translated for me once when I had inteviewing Imam Ferhad Mujic who is not so proficient in English, came up to me to say hello.
I was just so happy to be there. At least nobody was noticing me. My own color was blending in with so many others that it did not matter. The Proctor gym that evening became the equivalent of a color-blind society.
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