LHASA - For centuries Tibet has been the
embodiment of an exotic fantasy. A Buddhist
Shangri-La, mysterious and remote, locked away
within high mountains from the frenetic modernity
of the outside world. But as the first train ever
pulled up to Lhasa station on July 1 having
hurtled across frozen tundra for more than 1,000
kilometers, a new chapter in Tibet's history
began.
The Qinghai-Tibet Railway has
unlocked the gate to the top of the world and
unleashed with it a torrent of admiration and
criticism. It's the world's longest and highest
highland railway, an engineering marvel the
Chinese government says will bring about an
economic renaissance in a region that has thus far
remained poor and underdeveloped. However, critics
have raised the alarm
regarding the destructive
potential of the railway for Tibet's pristine
environment and unique culture.
The
Tibetan government in exile with the Dalai Lama at
its helm has also highlighted the increased ease
with which troops will now be able to be deployed
in Tibet along with what they say is a political
move on the part of Beijing to bring about
demographic changes in the area by encouraging an
influx of Han Chinese into the region.
The
first Beijing-Lhasa Express rolled out of Beijing
West Station at 9:30pm on July 1. A standard coach
ticket, called a hard seat, sells for 389 yuan
(US$48) from Beijing to Lhasa, while the price for
hard sleeper or bunk costs 813 yuan and the price
for a shared compartment or soft sleeper is 1,262
yuan.
The maximum train speed is expected
to reach 100 kilometers per hour in the frozen
earth areas and 120 kilometers per hour on
non-frozen earth.
On the inaugural run,
cameras flashed both inside and outside the train,
passengers and onlookers alike hungry to record
the moment. The excitement of being part of
history in the making bound those on board, and
passengers scurried between compartments, striking
up conversations, and unusually for normally
reticent Chinese, voicing opinions.
"Tibet
can't remain shut off from the world forever,"
said Li Dan, a 27-year-old student from Jilin
University. "It's not healthy for any culture and
change is not in itself bad."
But more
than any other topic it was the potential for
suffering altitude sickness once in Tibet that
first-time tourists seemed to obsess about. Lhasa,
the traditional capital of Tibet and the capital
of the Tibet Autonomous Region of the People's
Republic of China, is at 3,600 meters, and much of
the route from Golmud in Qinghai province in the
northwest onward is more than 4,000 meters above
sea level.
Recorded announcements
constantly replayed warnings for passengers to
contact rail staff if they felt uncomfortable.
The first day of the almost 48-hour trip
saw the train wind its way south to Hebei and
Shanxi provinces and then west to the home of the
Gobi desert in Gansu province. The journey's most
stunning scenery, however, was reserved for day
two when the Golmud-Lhasa stretch took about 850
passengers through the highest point on the trip:
the 5072-meter Tanggula Pass border between Tibet
and Qinghai.
Construction of the
1,142-kilometers Golmud-Lhasa section began June
29, 2001 and cost about about US$23.68 billion.
The pass is part of the formidable Kunlun
range of mountains, long considered impenetrable.
The range forms the northern flank of a huge area
of permafrost that stretches for hundreds of
kilometers across the Tibetan plateau toward the
Himalayas. Above the permafrost is a layer of ice
that melts and refreezes daily with the rising and
setting of the sun. Laying railroads through such
terrain was thought to be impossible until China
took up the challenge five years ago.
Chinese engineers solved the problem by
developing a technique that enabled them to
permanently freeze the top level of ice and
prevent it from its daily pattern of melting and
refreezing. Coolants are pumped into the earth
ensuring that the ground near tunnels and pillars
remains frozen.
There has been some
international skepticism regarding the
sustainability of this solution, and some have
even predicted that the railroad will collapse
within 10 years. Chinese authorities, however,
maintain confident in their technology.
"The Qinghai-Tibet railway is the
realization of a 100-year-old Chinese dream," said
an announcement on the train's public address
system. The mood on board was consequently
self-congratulatory. "We Chinese can achieve
anything," a China Central Television (CCTV)
journalist boasted.
It took more than
100,000 workers to lay the rail tracks and
complete other construction since work on the
railway started in 2001. The altitudes at which
they had to work were so high that crew members
often had to be outfitted with extra oxygen
supplies strapped to their backs. Zhu Zhengsheng,
vice director of the Ministry of Railways, called
it a "a miracle" no one died of altitude sickness
during construction.
From Golmud extra
oxygen is pumped into the train, and attendants
demonstrate the use of special oxygen sockets
situated throughout the carriages.
Through
the window the visceral beauty of the landscape
packed an almost physical punch. There was a
collective gasp as 50 Tibetan antelope or
chiru ran alongside the railway tracks for
a few minutes. Wild donkeys and horses could be
spotted in the distance and the hulking shapes of
yaks were framed dramatically by snow-capped
mountains.
The train passed through the
grasslands of Kekexili, a 45,000-square-kilometer
area at the foot of the Kunlun range, the natural
habitat of the Tibetan antelope. To protect these
endangered animals from potential railway-related
accidents, 33 wildlife "passageways", mostly
trestle bridges, have been incorporated into the
railway's design at key points along the route
where the antelope are believed to cross during
their seasonal migration to grazing grounds. In
all some $192 million has been earmarked by the
government for environmental-protection projects
along the route.
Nearing Lhasa, Chinese
flags were firmly affixed atop every home, even
those of humble herdsmen. The red and yellow flags
made a strong statement of sovereignty, leaving
little room for ambiguity.
The minutes
before the on-time arrival in Lhasa at 9:00pm on
July 3 were hectic. Chinese tourists seeking
souvenirs of the trip made a mad dash through the
carriage trying to collect every passenger's
autograph. Passengers walked off the train into a
spanking new white station - the first to arrive
in Tibet from Beijing by train. Official estimates
say that by next year as many as 4,000 people
daily will arrive by rail in Lhasa.
The
first glimpse of the city, driving in from the
train station, was of a tower atop a hill. The bus
then turned a corner and the white and ochre
splendor of the Potala Palace, once the home of
the Dalai Lama and now a Chinese state museum,
swam into view. Despite being juxtaposed with the
TV tower, the palace was an awe-inspiring site,
even more so the next morning when it was
encircled in a whorl of prayer-wheel- turning,
pilgrims. A deep-abiding faith was palpable as
hundreds of Tibetans slowly walked around the
palace, a practice that is a daily routine for
many Lhasa residents.
Gnarled, toothless
old women prostrated themselves again and again on
the ground before the palace. Some were supported
by young children. Others walked dogs. The tinkle
of silver jewelry mingling with the whirling of
prayer wheels made for a strangely stirring
spiritual amalgam.
Inside, palace director
Qiangba Gesang was surprisingly nervous about the
impact of the train on the Potala Palace.
The palace currently restricts visitors to
1,800 a day. Tourists are charged 100 yuan (US$12)
and pilgrims a token 1 yuan for entry. But the
influx of tourists the railway is expecting has
led palace management to admit an additional 500
visitors per day. However, the price of an entry
ticket will be tripled to scare away the
budget-conscious and thus reduce the burden of
human weight on the fragile building.
"I
don't care about more visitors or making money,"
Qiangba said. "I care about the palace and its
protection." His main concern is that the mud and
wood structures of the 13-story palace will
collapse under the weight of a tourist influx.
"More tourists will be good for Lhasa, but not for
the palace," he said.
The Potala was the
winter residence of the Dalai Lamas and even today
houses the throne where the current Dalai Lama,
Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th in a sacred line, sat to
rule over Tibet before he fled to India in 1959.
In recent times Beijing has lifted restrictions on
religious worship in Tibet, with authorities
reluctant to appear as stifling religious
sentiment and local culture. Spaces for worship
and pilgrimage have thus been opened. The Potala,
for example, has been given a recent injection of
cash to the tune of 170 million yuan for
renovation.
But at the same time the
authorities are unwilling to take any chance of
Tibetans coalescing around the Dalai Lama into a
movement for independence. Public photographs of
him are prohibited, and even possession of his
picture can lead to trouble. When asked how he
felt about being unable to put up a single
photograph of the Dalai Lama at what is the
spiritual leader's former residence, Qiangba's
jovial expression changed. "We do whatever the
government decides," he said stiffly.
The
Potala was packed with pilgrims, a sign of the
loosening of religious controls. Some looked
curiously at the new train tourists. Lopsang, a
27-year-old monk who lives in the Potala, worries
the new train will bring in an influx of migrants
to Lhasa to the detriment of the local people.
"Local Tibetans are poorly educated," he
said. "Others from outside would have better
qualifications, so more jobs would go to them."
Lopsang echoed one of the main arguments
critics of the railway make: that the benefits
accruing from the railway will go not to Tibetans
as much as to Chinese from other parts of the
country who are coming to Lhasa in large numbers
to set up businesses. These new migrants are
better educated and also have access to lines of
credit that most Tibetans lack.
A hotel
where some train passengers stayed is owned by a
businessman from Sichuan province. A quick survey
of the shop owners along the main street revealed
the majority to be from outside of Tibet as well.
But the monk also believes the railway
will enable young Tibetans to get a quality
education elsewhere in China. "It has its good
points."
Outside the palace, a group of
Tibetan women worked on restoring a section of the
Potala's roof. The sun glinted in their hair and a
heavy Chinese flag unfurled behind them. As they
worked they sang a song of beauty and strength and
stamped their feet in unison in an impromptu
dance.
"They sure are great singers, but I
am not so sure about them as workers," joked a
Foreign Ministry official from Beijing.
On
the knickknack-packed streets of Lhasa's old town,
Hindi film music played as some locals tried to
speak to the train visitors. The center of Lhasa
had a prosperous look. Its roads are free of pot
holes, and swanky shops selling fashionable
clothes and cutting-edge electronics give it a
posher air than even the glitzier parts of New
Delhi or Mumbai.
Despite that, this may be
one of the more backward parts of China. "I'm a
bit disappointed by Lhasa. It's so poor," said
Xiao Yan, an interpreter with the Chinese Ministry
of Foreign Affairs who accompanied journalists on
the train trip.
According to official
figures,Tibet's gross domestic product in 2005
reached just over 25 billion yuan. Moreover, the
last decade has seen annual growth rates of more
than 10%.
However, there continues to be a
huge difference between the relatively prosperous
city folk of Lhasa and the farmers and herdsmen of
the vast countryside. Even on the outskirts of
Lhasa, branded stores give way to crumbling shacks
with tin roofs. North of Lhasa by Nam-tso Lake,
dirty young children beg for food. But even as
they devoured the oranges and bread offered them,
they wrinkled their noses at salted eggs and
tossed them away.
Later in a visit with a
family of yak herders who live 14 to a tent and
make ends meet by selling yak milk, a middle-age
woman said she is the mother of seven (China's
one-child policy does not apply to Tibet) and the
family ekes out a subsistence living. But parked
next to the shabby tent was a battered old car
along with a motorcycle, both of which belonged to
the family.
The average disposable income
in rural Lhasa is officially calculated at about
2,000 yuan. For the cities the figure is about
8,000 yuan.
Back in Lhasa, large banners
boasting of the golden opportunities the railway
will bring festooned the entrance to the city. New
hotels encased in scaffolding are going up.
Lhasa's first-five star hotel, The Brahamaputra
Grand, opened its doors in June. The Grand Hyatt,
Intercontinental Group and Banyan Tree resorts are
all reportedly scouting around for properties.
Restaurants were still busy at 11:00pm during this
visit.
According to government estimates,
Tibet's tourism revenues will double by 2010 as a
result of the railway, with half a million more
tourists a year expected to stream into the
region.
Champa Phuntsok, chairman of the
Tibetan Autonomous Region, described the railway
as a "magical road of heaven". The new train will
reduce the high price of commodities in Tibet and
allow Tibetans to participate in the "national
market", he said.
The railway is expected
to reduce the cost of transporting goods into the
region by more than half. Two trains with 60
carriages in total have begun to arrive in Lhasa
every day at the new freight station, carrying 7.5
million tonnes of cargo every year, officials
said.
Champa stressed that Lhasa may not
be the end of the line. Plans for expanding the
tracks to other cities, including border areas,
are being discussed with the eventual hope that
Tibet will "change from a sealed off inland region
to becoming the frontier of economic exchanges in
South Asia".
With the Nathu La Pass - part
of the ancient Silk Road between India and China -
opening for trade just days after the opening of
the Qinghai-Tibet Railway, the potential of the
railway for promoting border trade is heightened.
Kashmir and the Northeast states of India continue
to suffer from lack of infrastructure, and
long-talked of plans to build a railway to
Srinagar and Gangtok remaining unrealized.
Meanwhile, Indian military officials have
expressed some unease at the opening of the Tibet
railway. The fear is the new trains will help
China's military bring tactical mobile nuclear
missiles 1,000 kilometers closer to the Indian
border and deploy troops much quicker.
The
ultimate impact of the railroad will be a matter
for history to judge and is likely to be complex.
Tibetans will probably be economic beneficiaries
of the train, though opening up to the outside
world will also bring to an end Tibet as the world
knows it. That the railway will bind the
region both economically and politically more
closely to the rest of China is a fact that
supporters and critics of the project agree on.
It's the implications of this new bond in which
differences of opinion emerge.
Pallavi Aiyar is the China
correspondent for The Hindu.
(Copyright 2006 Asia Times Online Ltd.
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