Six monks in burgundy robes were seated in six high-backed imitation Louis XIV chairs in a room at the Watergate Hotel. The year was 1984. The center chair was occupied by the Dalai Lama, Tibet’s 14th incarnation of Avalokiteshvara, the bodhisattva of compassion and one of the most famous religious figures on the planet. The Dalai Lama was on a globe-girdling tour to show that though he lived in exile in India, he was engaged in world affairs and was actively supporting the Tibetan people, who were living under the ruthless thumb of China.
I was seated in my own Louis XIV replica, facing the Dalai Lama. I knew little about him and nothing about Buddhism, but I was expected, as a reporter for *The Washington Post’*s Lifestyle section, to ask a few relevant questions. My assignment wa…
Six monks in burgundy robes were seated in six high-backed imitation Louis XIV chairs in a room at the Watergate Hotel. The year was 1984. The center chair was occupied by the Dalai Lama, Tibet’s 14th incarnation of Avalokiteshvara, the bodhisattva of compassion and one of the most famous religious figures on the planet. The Dalai Lama was on a globe-girdling tour to show that though he lived in exile in India, he was engaged in world affairs and was actively supporting the Tibetan people, who were living under the ruthless thumb of China.
I was seated in my own Louis XIV replica, facing the Dalai Lama. I knew little about him and nothing about Buddhism, but I was expected, as a reporter for *The Washington Post’*s Lifestyle section, to ask a few relevant questions. My assignment was what’s known as a “day hit,” a quick profile of some famous person passing through town. These pieces were always done at the last minute and were usually snarkily written. But snark and the 14th incarnation of Avalokiteshvara didn’t compute.
He had a Marine recruit’s buzzcut, a resilient smile, and antic black eyebrows. His inexpensive shoes had waffle soles, the first I’d seen among Washington’s peripatetic elite. He also seemed amused by the scene in which we all found ourselves.
When I asked him if he hated the Chinese, he emitted a laugh that came from deep inside him. The Chinese, he said, are “a small irritation.”
What followed was a kindly tutorial from someone who recognized ignorance and bewilderment in another and by nature wanted to help. He patiently told the story—for what must have been the thousandth time, I later realized—of how the Tibetan Buddhist hierarchy had searched for whom it considered the preordained successor to the previous Dalai Lama. The monks settled on him while he was still a child, and his early years of instruction took place far from home. His parents had recognized the gravity of the monks’ request and accepted their belief that he possessed unique gifts and spirituality and was obligated to devote his life to the well-being of all Tibetans. “I am just a simple Buddhist monk,” the Dalai Lama added.
He fled Tibet and his palace in 1959, disguised as a soldier. “There was great risk,” he said, “and great anxiety. We passed by the Chinese military camp. If they noticed us, they could easily pursue us. Their bullets could reach us.”
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James Conaway is the author of numerous books, including the best-selling * Napa: The Story of an American Eden. * He recently completed a memoir, * When Writing Mattered, * about his many years as a freelance journalist.