This year, the Ganden Ngamchoe festival in Lhasa, a sacred observance marking the passing of Je Tsongkhapa, the revered founder of the Gelug school was meant to be a day of peace, prayer, and community. Instead, Tibetans witnessed a city under siege. Armored vehicles lined the streets, checkpoints blocked access, and uniformed forces surrounded the Jokhang Temple, turning devotion into a tense, fearful experience.
Videos shared by Tibetan netizens captured the surreal scene: monks and pilgrims walking cautiously beneath a sky shadowed by soldiers, soldiers stationed atop buildings, police interrogating those who approached the temple. What should have been a sacred, joyful day became one of “extreme tension and paranoia,” as one observer described it.
Faith as Resistance
For the CCP, Tibetan religious practice is never just spiritual. It is an expression of identity, a living memory of culture, and a form of subtle resistance. Every butter lamp lit, every circumambulation performed, becomes a quiet act of defiance. And for Beijing, that defiance must be crushed.
This is not a one-off incident. Year after year, Chinese authorities have surrounded monasteries with armed forces, restricted movement during festivals, and imposed severe limits on the number of devotees allowed inside sacred sites. Roads are closed, alleyways monitored, and IDs checked—all in the name of “public safety,” but in reality, to fragment communities and intimidate worshippers.
During Ganden Ngamchoe, authorities discouraged mass prayers, limited butter lamp lighting, and warned Tibetans against gathering. For a people whose faith and culture are inseparable, this is an attack on both their spiritual and social life.
The Machinery of Control
Beijing’s approach is systematic. Monks are forced to attend propaganda sessions, recite political slogans, and denounce the Dalai Lama. Religious curricula are rewritten. Monastic leaders are appointed or replaced by officials loyal to the state. Children are separated from monasteries in boarding schools designed to sever generational continuity. Even simple acts like possessing an image of the Dalai Lama can bring punishment.
This militarization is part of a larger assault on Tibetan culture: surveillance cameras, facial recognition, checkpoints, restrictions on language and cultural teaching, and criminalization of peaceful protest. Environmental activism, festivals, and traditional rites all have become potential threats in the eyes of the state.
A Symbol of Struggle
Ganden Ngamchoe, once a night of candlelight and prayer, now symbolizes the daily struggle Tibetans face under Chinese rule. Armed checkpoints at sacred sites show a regime that sees faith, identity, and cultural continuity as dangers to be eliminated.
Until Tibetans can worship freely, gather without fear, and honor their traditions openly, religious freedom in Tibet will remain a promise denied, a quiet human rights crisis hidden behind the rhetoric of “stability” and “development.”
In every candle flickering against the shadow of armed troops, every whispered prayer under watchful eyes, the resilience of Tibet’s people is clear: faith cannot be fully silenced, even when it is forced into the margins.
