As the wave of refugees arriving in Europe continues, the images of fleeing parents with their kids and whatever little they can carry in terms of belongings remain fixed in my mind.
Many of these people may never see their homeland again. For me, it is a reminder of my own parents, who fled their home country of Tibet to escape the Chinese occupation in 1959. Tibetans continue to be refugees today, more than 60 years later. Estimates put the number of Tibetans living in exile at 150,000.
According to the United Nations, 59.5 million people are forcibly displaced around the world today — the largest number since the Second World War. In this context, I feel lucky, safe and joyful to be living in Tucson, a city that has served as sanctuary for many displaced communities around the globe over the years.
I moved to Tucson with my family in 2011 from India, where tens of thousands of Tibetans live in exile. Even though I have never set foot in Tibet, my attachment to my “homeland” is strong, thanks to the deep cultural roots instilled in me by my parents and grandparents.
But like many immigrants, I struggle to teach my language, culture, and tradition to my two children, who never had the opportunity to hear a first-hand account of their heritage.
This week, my family and Arizona Friends of Tibet are hosting a fellow Tibetan exile, filmmaker Tenzin Tsetan Choklay. Tenzin is visiting from his home in New York City for a screening of his documentary, “Bringing Tibet Home.” The film follows the story of a Tibetan artist Tenzing Rigdol, whose father dies with one unfulfilled wish: to set foot on his native soil once more. The artist in the film sets about trying to smuggle 22 tons of Tibetan soil across two international borders and more than 50 checkpoints into India to create a public art display in honor of his father. He then asks the inhabitants of the town, Dharamsala — hub of Tibetans living in exile, including the Dalai Lama — to walk over it.
The treacherous and thrilling journey to bring the soil from Tibet to Nepal and then to India is captivating. There are no tunnels across these borders like the passages between here and Mexico. Remember, this journey is across the Himalayas. But more thrilling for me is seeing the mix of joy, nostalgia, hope and despair as the young and the elderly, monks and nuns, see the soil, walk and run in it, and sing and cry.
For me, the movie gives hope to the displaced that they will actually get to return to their homeland. And it might challenge everyone to rethink their life and the opportunities — simple ones, like walking on home turf — that they take for granted.
The life of a refugee often reminds me of the Buddhist concept of bardo, an intermediate state between two lives when the consciousness strives to find a new body to dwell in and identify itself. Even though many displaced people are comfortably settled, their former lives are always with them.
