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In the heart of Sichuan’s Aba region, the Kirti monastery stands as a symbol of Tibetan resistance, closely watched by Chinese authorities. As the Dalai Lama celebrates his 90th birthday, the BBC gained rare access to this heavily surveilled area, revealing a community grappling with cultural erosion and a looming showdown over the spiritual leader’s successor.
A monk, cloaked in crimson robes, risked speaking to us despite being tailed by eight unidentified men. “Things here are not good for us,” he whispered, before warning, “Be careful, people are watching you.” The monastery, a focal point of Tibetan defiance since China’s annexation of the region in 1950, remains under tight control. A police station sits at its entrance, and surveillance cameras monitor every corner. Aba, known as Ngaba to Tibetans, has a history of unrest. In 2008, protests sparked by a monk displaying the Dalai Lama’s image escalated into a riot, with at least 18 Tibetans killed by Chinese forces. The town’s main street, dubbed “Martyr’s Row,” became infamous for over 150 self-immolations in the years that followed, as Tibetans demanded the return of their exiled leader. China’s Communist Party, which views the Dalai Lama as a separatist, has intensified its grip. New roads and railways signal economic investment, but Tibetans say it comes with more troops and restrictions on their faith. Displaying the Dalai Lama’s image can lead to imprisonment, and new laws mandate that Tibetan children attend state-run schools, learning Mandarin and delaying Buddhist education until age 18. One monk lamented the demolition of a nearby Buddhist preaching school, calling it a blow to their heritage. The Dalai Lama’s recent announcement, made from exile in India, that his successor will be chosen after his death, has heightened tensions. Beijing insists the next Dalai Lama must be approved by the Communist Party and born in China, a move critics say aims to control Tibetan Buddhism. Scholar Robert Barnett warns that China’s policies, including Mandarin-only schooling, could erode Tibetan identity, leaving little room for their language and traditions. In Aba, daily life reflects this clash. Tourists marvel at prayer wheels and Buddhist murals, while locals face pervasive surveillance, from facial recognition at hotels to ID checks at petrol stations. As Tibetans cling to their identity, the question of who will succeed the Dalai Lama—revered as both a spiritual and resistance figure—looms large. With China poised to enforce its choice, the world watches to see if Tibet’s voice will be heard.
