ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 Tibet through the Eyes of a Buryat: Gombojab Tsybikov and his Tibetan relations Ihor Pidhainy Abstract: Gombojab Tsybikov (1873-1930), an ethnic Buryat from Russia, was a young scholar of oriental studies when he embarked on a scholarly expedition to Tibet. Under the sponsorship of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society, Tsybikov spent over a year in Lhasa (1900-1902), gathering materials and taking photographs of the city and its environs, eventually introducing Tibet both academically and visually to the outside world. This paper examines the context of Tsybikov’s trip within the larger issues of scholarship, international politics, and modernization. In addition, it argues that Tsybikov was an example of a man caught between identities – an ethnic Buryat raised as a Buddhist, and a Russian citizen educated and patronized by that nation. He was, in a sense, the epitome of modern man. Keywords Tsybikov; Tibet; travel; Buryat; Russia; Buddhism; identity Gombojab Tsybikov’s (1873-1930) life and writings deal with the complex weavings of identity encountered in the modern period.1 His faith and nationality positioned him as an “Asian”, while his education and employment within the Russian imperial framework marked him as “European.” His historical significance lies in his scholarly account of his trip to Tibet. This paper examines Tsybikov’s relationship to Tibet, particularly in the period between 1899 and 1906, and considers how his position as an actor within the contexts of empire, nation, and religious community made him an example of the new modern man.2 The Buryats The Buryats were a Mongolian people whose interactions with Russians date back to the 17th century (Forsyth 1992, 84-86). Russians encountered Eastern Buryats in the 1650s, having reached the further extensions of the Qing (Manchu) outward expansion. Divided into Eastern and Western branches, the Buryats first encountered Russians when her imperial interests initiated their march eastward. Some thirty years of low-level warfare (1620s-1650s) preceded the incorporation of the Buryats into the Russian empire (Forsyth 1992, 89). The Treaty of Kiakhta (1727), between Russia and the Qing dynasty, fixed international borders and led to a mixing of Buryats with Mongols in both regions (Forsyth 1992, 99). Buryats began to convert to Buddhism in the 17th century. By the 18th century, Eastern Buryats were more inclined to lamaist Buddhism, while Shamanism still played a major role among Western Buryats. In the 19th century, Buryats maintained an identity between that of the Mongols and of the Russians. While culturally they hewed closer to the Mongols, politically they were citizens of the Russian empire; some Buryats were even Cossacks under Russian rule (Rupen 1964, 10-11; Forsyth 1992, 169). Under the Russians, Buryat religious affiliations ranged from shamanism and Buddhism to Orthodox Christianity. Tibetan religious leaders were also admired keenly. 1 | Tib et th rough th e Eye s of a Bu ryat Ihor Pidhainy is Assistant Professor of History at Marietta College. His research focuses on the place of the individual in the complex of social, intellectual and political forces, with areas and periods of interest including Ming dynasty China and Eurasian interactions from the 18th to 20th centuries. ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 In the 19th century, Buryats faced uneven prospects within the Russian Empire, including attempts at Russification during the reigns of the latter three tsars.3 Few Buryats attended public schools, and even fewer teachers were Buryats themselves. Instruction in the schools was in Russian, while Orthodox Christianity played an important part in the curriculum. Support for teaching the Buryat language was lacking, and largely absent altogether in non-public schools.4 The Russian government also supported an increasingly aggressive policy towards spreading Orthodox Christianity among the Buryats (in keeping with national policy). The Russian Empire, for example, attempted to limit the use of written Buryat and Mongolian to Buddhist educational facilities (datsan). The distribution of texts printed in these languages was also suppressed, particularly in the Western Buryat territory (Montgomery 2005, 108). Finally, the Russian government enacted land and administrative laws between 1897-1907 that were aimed at curtailing the power of Buryats, and in particular their elite administrators (Yaroshevski 1997, 70-73). Thus, the Russian state challenged Buryat identity throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries in a variety of ways. Tsybikov’s Life Tsybikov was born on the Aga steppe in 1873.5 His father, Tsebek Montuev, taught him Mongolian at home, and then, when an opportunity arose, enrolled him in a public school. Afterward, Tsybikov went to a modern gymnasium (high school) in Chita, where he became the first Buryat to graduate in 1893. All classes at the school were taught in Russian, and Tsybikov received his education completely in this language. He went on to study oriental languages at the University of Saint Petersburg. He was patronized by a fellow Buryat, Piotr Badmaev, who himself had become the most famous and well-connected Buryat in St. Petersburg.6 Badmaev, who had come to St. Petersburg a generation earlier and studied at the same faculty, had become wealthy through the Tibetan medicine practice undertaken by him and his brothers. Badmaev had converted to Orthodox Christianity, with the Crown Prince, later Tsar Allexander III, as his Godfather. Badmaev had famously penned a memorandum encouraging the “White Tsar” to further Russian interests and control over China and Central Asia (LaRuelle 2008). Badmaev’s support of his fellow Buryats thus had national implications. Tsybikov’s refusal to convert to Christianity cost him Badmaev’s support. Nevertheless, after finishing his degree, the Russian Geographical Society had few qualms about giving Tsybikov support for his scholarly journey to Tibet, where he would engage with the religion and customs of the Tibetans. Tsybikov travelled to Tibet in 1899 and remained there until 1902. He wrote two works about this journey: a report for the Russian Geographical Society, which was published in 1903, “On Central Tibet,” and subsequently translated into English and published in the Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institute,7 and the monograph, A Buddhist Pilgrim to the Holy Places of Tibet: from Diaries kept from 1899 to 1902.8 This latter work was not published until 1919, and due to the circumstances of the day, was overlooked almost as soon as it was available. It was not until the 1950s that interest in Tsybikov’s work resurfaced in the Soviet Union, and not until the 1970s that it drew attention in Europe and America.9 After returning from Tibet, Tsybikov was appointed at the recently opened Vladivostok Oriental Institute, teaching Tibetan and Mongolian. In 1917, he returned to Transbaikal, and began teaching Buryat in Chita and Aga until 1922. In the 1920s he became involved in local politics, serving as the Learned Secretary to the Buryat Academic Committee from 1924-1928. Tsybikov continued to write throughout his life. Besides the important work under discussion in this article, he also wrote scholarly, pedagogical, and personal works. 2 | Ti bet t hrou g h t he Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 Many of these writings have been gathered into a two-volume collection of articles and travelogues.10 Tsybikov worked at Irkutsk University from 1928-1930 until his death. Tsybikov, the Great Game, and Oriental Studies Tsybikov’s travel and scholarship fit within two grand historical narratives: the role of the individual in the pursuit of exploration and mapping of the world, and the agenda of states and empires in claiming control over distant lands.11 As a political agenda, Tsybikov’s project contributed to the Great Game, the competition between Britain and Russia over control for Central Asia in the decades before and after the turn of the 20th century.12 This mostly diplomatic struggle, which relied upon specialized knowledge of the region that came from figures like Tsybikov, saw its culmination in the years that he was in Tibet and immediately afterward. One interesting feature of the Great Game is the role of intermediaries like Tsybikov in espionage. For the Russians, the participants were often central Asian Buddhists, among whom Buryats were possible candidates; for the British, the chief agents were Indians. From the British perspective, the most famous Buryat spy was Agvan Dorzhiev (1854-1938). While he did play a role of intermediary between Russia and the Dalai Lama, it seems unlikely that Dorzhiev was actually spying as many British accounts maintain.13 Great Britain, on the other hand, did have in place a full-fledged, though somewhat public, spy force, which employed local Indian pundits and notables in surveying and mapping the frontiers of India and the routes into Central Asia, including Tibet. The use of “native” spies dates back to the 1860s, with local British government figures such as Thomas George Montgomerie (1830-1878) writing: … when I was in Ladakh, I noticed that natives of India passed freely backwards and forwards between Ladakh and Yarkand, in Chinese Turkestan, and it consequently occurred to me that it might be possible to make the exploration by that means. (Meyer & Brysac, 209) The group of Indians that the British discovered, the Rawats, were familiar with Tibet’s language and its routes, and therefore had a fairly free hand in traveling back and forth. Rawat families were thus employed by the British for a number of generations. Meyer and Brysac describe their modus operandi: Disguised as Buddhist pilgrims, they marked the distance with special prayer beads, resembling those carried by Hindus and Buddhists except that they were eight beads short of the pilgrim’s normal rosary of 108 beads. The small beads were made of imitation coral, and every tenth bead, made from the seeds of the udras plant, was larger. Every one hundredth pace, the pundit slipped a bead; every large bead represented a thousand paces, or approximately half a mile. As they marched, the pundits chanted Om mani padme hum—“Oh Jewel in the Lotus”—while they turned their prayer wheels, which held, instead of prayers, specially coded notes. (1999, 211) By employing native groups in this way, the British mapped both the southern Tibetan trade route and Lhasa, as well as surveyed the army by 1866. Another famous Indian spy working on behalf of the British was Sarat Chandra Das (1849-1917), a Bengali scholar who not only functioned as a real life participant in mapping Tibet, but also in cultivating high Tibetan contacts. He served as the model for Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, also known as “the Babu” and R17, in Rudyard Kipling’s novel, Kim. Das’ role has been well-documented and resulted in a fairly bloody retribution on the part 3 | Tib et th rough th e Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 of the Tibetan government against his Tibetan contacts, including the execution of the Sengchen lama of Shigatse.14 Thus Tsybikov, being a Buryat and a Buddhist, could be seen as a Russian equivalent to the pundits of India working on the British side of the Great Game.15 In addition to his potential political affiliations, Tsybikov also fits within a larger context of exploration and scholarship. As an ethnographer, his work mapped Tibet and its culture by focusing on its people and their social practices. At the time that Tsybikov conducted his research, Tibet was seen as the last great, unexplored kingdom. Europeans had been fascinated with Tibet since the 14th century. In the 18th century, a number of Englishmen entered Tibet, including Thomas Manning who reached Lhasa in 1811 (Woodcock 1971). Russians had been attempting to enter Tibet for some thirty years before Tsybikov travelled there; others, including both Europeans and Japanese, made attempts throughout the 19th century (Kawaguchi 1909, 397ff). Given this context, it is easy to see why Tsybikov’s success in reaching Tibet was such a boon to the Russian organization that had sponsored him. Tsybikov’s journey was complicated by his own complex identity, formed in part by historical circumstances beyond his control. He was a Buryat, but he was also working in Russian academic institutions and supported by a Russian organization in a period in which Russian attitudes and relations to Asia were quite complex, as has been noted.16 This, in part, was the result of Russia being a large multi-ethnic empire itself. The empire both contained many non-Russians and also partially derived from the history of Muscovy and its centuries-long submission to the Golden Horde. The turn to the West is to be seen from Peter the Great to the Westernizers of the 19th century. However, between the Slavophile movement and the Crimean War (1853-1856), some ethnic Russians became estranged from Western European states, which led to their rejection of a purely Western identity (Tolz 2011, 8). It is little wonder that prominent Russians would identify themselves as Mongols (or Asians), situating themselves somewhere between Europe and Asia.17 Tsybikov’s identity was also complicated by his participation in Russian oriental scholarship.18 The field of study into which Tsybikov entered was an increasingly welcoming environment for non-Russian minorities, particularly for those Buryats involved in Buddhist studies (Tolz 2011, 119-124). Russian scholars of the orient, particularly Baron Victor Romanovich Rozen (1864-1908), Nikodim Kondakov (1844-1925), and Aleksandr Veselovskii (1838-1906), offered a view of Russia as equally Eastern as it was Western, and argued for the existence of a multi-ethnic, pan-Russian community (Tolz 2011, 34). These scholars “denied altogether essential differences” between the traditions of Europe and the ‘East’ (Tolz 2011, 57); they were anti-orientalists in an era associated with orientalism. Their successors, such as Fedor Shcherbatskoi (1866-1942) and Sergei Federovich Ol’denburg (1863-1934), further argued for “a living approach” to the study of Buddhism, which meant incorporating the study of contemporary Buddhist communities and their practitioners’ insights into that of the textual tradition, which otherwise dominated the European study of Buddhism in all fields (Tolz 2011, 103). The Buryats came to occupy a privileged position in this new area of research, as many were practicing Buddhists themselves and, much like the Hindu pundits in India, could gain access to the knowledge of Buddhism that might have been impossible for outsiders (including the Tibetan tradition). In addition to Tsybikov, Banzar Baradiin (1878-1937) and Tsyben Zhamtsarano (1880-1937) also emerged as prominent scholars among Buryats trained at Saint Petersburg University (Tolz 2011, 115). Because of their own position within the traditions of Buddhism, Russian scholars showed themselves to be far in advance of their counterparts in Western Europe, who made use of native informants similarly, but seldom allowed or assisted their entry into the scholarly world of which they were a part. Tsybikov thus was involved in a world that was idealistic and promising, and offered 4 | Ti bet t hrou g h t he Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 plenty of opportunity in his field of study.19 As a Buryat, Tsybikov had certain advantages in traveling to Tibet. The Mongols first encountered the Tibetans in the 13th century, and from the 17th century, the Manchus also had ready access to that country. Thus, the Buryats were regular visitors to Tibet. Tsybikov notes this in his essay on his trip, as does the Japanese monk Kawaguchi, who wrote: The Muscovites seems to conduct their Tibetan policy with consummate dexterity… there was a Mongolian tribe called the Buriats which… passed… under the control of Russia. The astute Muscovites have taken great pains to insinuate themselves into the grateful regard of this tribe… they never attempted to converted Mongolians into believers of the Greek Church… and actually rendered help in promoting interests of the Lamaist faith… this policy of Russia originated from the deep-laid plan of captivating the hearts of the priests… (Kawaguchi, 1909, 495) Despite the Russians’ insistence on their position as Asian, however, the Buryats were treated as Europeans when Tibet closed its doors to the outside world in the late 18th century.20 It was not until the last quarter of the 19th century that Buryats came to Tibet again, this time posing as Khalka Mongols, and gained entrance. Indeed, even before Tsybikov’s visit, there had already been a stream of Buryats visiting Tibet beginning in the early 1890s. This stream of Buryats continued beyond the period of Tsybikov’s stay.21 For other nationals interested in Tibet, entrance proved much more difficult for some time to come. It was only after many fruitless attempts22 at the turn of the century that explorers such as Kawaguchi and Sven Hedlin (Sweden), reached the city of Lhasa. Thus, Tsybikov was privileged in travelling and exploring Tibet because of his nationality. Tsybikov’s “On Central Tibet” The first document to be addressed here is Tsybikov’s “On Central Tibet.” In it Tsybikov presents on the one hand a picture of life in Tibet, while on the other he returns again and again to how the Buryats (and himself) are treated in Tibet. The author addressed a general meeting of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society on May 7 (20), 1903.23 His report offered an overview of his trip and research on Tibet, covering topics such as habits and customs, politics, religion, architecture, economics, and the military. A typical entry is as follows: On July 19, 1900, a caravan of pilgrims, among whose number I rode, after a 22 day trip through the uninhabited Northern Tibetan plateau made camp on the River Sangchu, at the north foot of the Bumtse Pass. This caravan was formed in the Amdo monastery of Kumbum and left there on the 24th of April. It consisted of approximately seventy men, mostly made up of Amdo and Mongol lamas, who were placed in seventeen hunting tents. Two hundred horses pulled the carts of people and luggage, acquired in Amdo. (Tsybikov, 1991. 2:8) Here we can see that Tsybikov was able to travel openly as a Buryat among other pilgrims, a privilege not available to Western explorers and scholars. However, he was subject to a fee for entry into Tibet, like all Buryats, and unlike their Buddhist cousins from outside of the Russian Empire. As he noted, the Tibetan border guards “were able to force five taels of silver out of us, which momentarily freed us from the category of the suspect, and opened the door to Lhasa” (Ibid., 9). Because of their status within the Russian empire, the Buryats were viewed as suspicious persons by the Tibetans.24 The five taels of silver removed a Buryat from this list, but it must have infuriated Tsybikov, who often reserves a place in his 5 | Tib et th rough th e Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 writings for noting various forms of corruption and petty cheating. Tsybikov’s text reveals his own struggle to represent the place of the Buryats in Tibet. He accurately portrays their status within what was an ethnically diverse, complex region, comprised of people from many nations. There were monks or living gods from Mongolia, artisans from Nepal or Kashmir, and merchants from China. Indeed, the Chinese merchants had intermarried Tibetan women, and their children formed a new category in Tibet.25 The position of the Buryats was characterized in part by some 47 Buryat lamas, who themselves comprised a small contingent of the population. Before continuing to characterize the place of the Buryats, Tsybikov describes the life of the Tibetans. His discussion highlights aspects that might have been odd, viewed as strange, or downright revolting to Europeans: Tibetans love to eat meat raw apparently, and in preparing meat it is served raw or undercooked (Ibid., 13). In family life the Tibetans range between polyandry and polygamy (Ibid., 13). There is little flowering of industry, human labour is there counted very cheap. For example, for master goods the best weaver for local cloth receives 15 kopeks per day; male or female unskilled workers 4-6 kopeks per day… while a day servant almost never receives a salary, she lives for grain and some help with clothing (Ibid., 14). Each of these comments leaves the impression of a state that could use a healthy dose of civilization. This argument strikes one as a prelude to an invitation of Russian civilization. And as Tsybikov notes, “the main feature of the character of central Tibet is downtroddeness and toadyism whose cause without a doubt is the economic and administrative-legal conditions of the country” (Ibid., 13). This again leaves one with the impression that Tibet is in need of saving. When he returns to the topic of Tibet’s nefarious inner politics, despite his own Buddhist status and in light of his otherwise positive opinion of the Dalai Lama, Tsybikov does not hesitate to describe it vividly: Six to seven years ago [the Dalai Lama] got into a battle with his regent, the most prominent of the Tibetan Khutukhtu – the Demo, and came out the victor of this, thanks to which, without a doubt, he avoided the fate of his four predecessors, who each died at early ages as a result of violence. The reason for this being that the regents and representatives of other parties attempted to stay in power longer. The present Dalai Lama blamed the Demo Khutukhtu in the compilation of incantations against his life, confiscated his enormous belongings, and personally put him under strict house arrest in a separate room, where the Demo Khutukhtu was strangled to death on a fine Autumn day in 1900 (Ibid., 22). The Demo Khutukhtu, an eminent rebirth ranking just behind the Dalai Lama and Panchen Lama, was the head of the Tengeling College, and during the 18th and 19th century often served as the regent for the Dalai Lama. It is said that the 13th Dalai Lama escaped a blackmagic paper spell by the former regent. This regent, as Tsybikov noted, was subsequently murdered so as to remove him from the political scene. Tsybikov thus exposes a very dark side of political machinations in Tibet, and displays a distinctly political side to the Dalai Lama. 6 | Ti bet t hrou g h t he Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 Tsybikov links the political conflicts of the Dalai Lama’s inner circle to the aristocracy’s domination of life in Tibet: In general, the hereditary aristocracy rules over matters of Tibet, whether it is the son who follows in the rights [and privileges] of the father, or the reborn one who follows in the rights [and privileges] of his predecessor… the central government of Tibet in all its deliberative character ought to be called aristocratic oligarchy. (Ibid., 23) Thus the problems faced by Tibet are social, economic, religious, and especially political. Tsybikov’s ability to expose and evaluate the political nature of life among Tibet’s elites certainly places the society in a critical, realistic light. From here, Tsybikov returns to the question of the Buryat community and its relationship to both Tibet and Russia. He addresses both their special status, as well as his own: Buryats of Russian citizenry have from ancient times traveled secretly to Tibet, fearful of the constraints from the side of the Russian administration, and in Tibet entered under the name of Khalkha Mongols from fear of not being allowed in. About 15 years ago the Khalkhas and Buryats belonging to one community in Braibun, for some unknown reason had a falling out and the Khalkhas called the Buryats ‘oros’, that is Russians. The proceedings went to higher body of officials, where thanks to the skilful management of the matter by the Buryat lamas, it was decided that Buryats although owing allegiance to the Russian Tsar, profess to the Yellow Hat [Geluptka] Religion... (Ibid., 25) Tsybikov’s evaluation of the Buryat community’s position vis-à-vis their neighbours cannot help but bring to mind his own precarious position. For Tsybikov, Buryats inhabited a dual space: they resided within the Russian empire territorially, while also sharing a common faith with the Tibetans. Tsybikov then addresses the five lan fine imposed on Buryats. The court in Tibet had overturned those fines, and proposed in their place a five lan fine on any of the Khalkhas who called Buryats “oros” (i.e. Russians or foreigners). The ruling appears to have been most agreeable to Tsybikov, given the prominence of the item in his report. Tsybikov concludes his report with a call for continued Russian interest in Tibet, as it would be a benefit to the 500,000 Buryat and Khalkhas citizens within the Russian empire. Tsybikov rejected any Russian economic motivations for such interest and did not address military or geo-political considerations.26 Transforming the Nature of Seeing Tibet/ Making Claims to the World Tsybikov’s photographs of Tibet have also had an important influence. Within the context of the scholarly world, the photographs clarified Tibetan culture and society for viewers who had no direct experience of this distant place and people. When these photographs were printed in popular journals, they revolutionized how the world came to be depicted. They also played a part in the Great Game, perhaps having real military consequences. Tsybikov and Ovshe Norzunov, a Kalmyk Buddhist protégé of Dorzhiev, were the first to photograph Tibet (Snelling 1993, 61-71; Andreev 2006, 349), but it was not easy. Technology had changed drastically during the 19th century. The development of the camera and its accoutrements allowed the accurate capturing of images. As a result of its geography and border policy in regards to foreign travelers, Tibet was one of the few places that had yet to be photographed. Throughout the 19th century, several explorers had 7 | Tib et th rough th e Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 attempted but been unsuccessful in photographing Tibet (Andreev 2006a). Indeed, explorers such as Przhevalskii, Roborovskii, and Kozol among the Russians, and Sarat Chandra Das on behalf of the English, all had brought cameras with them on their attempted visits to Tibet before Tsybikov and Norzunov succeeded in capturing it on film.27 Tsybikov’s role in reshaping the modern popular journal was serendipitous, as the driving force appears to have been the Russian Imperial Geographical Society. It is unclear whether the society played any role in the earlier publications in France and England, but in the United States the case is certain.28 The Society sent out 50 packages of photographs from Tsybikov and Norzunov’s expeditions to various journal editors in the United States. In August 1903, the New York-based journal, The Century Illustrated, published a group of these photos. Later in the same year, the Smithsonian published Tsybikov’s article, along with several of his photographs. Finally, National Geographic published an eleven-page photo-essay of Tibet in its January 1905 issue.29 The young editor of National Geographic, Gilbert Grosvenor (1875-1966), in December of 1904, was in somewhat of a quandary with his upcoming edition. He was short some eleven pages for the January 1905 issue. Having no manuscripts at hand, he opened a large envelope from the Russian Geographical Society and beheld the fantastic photographs of Lhasa and its surroundings.30 Grosvenor decided to run the first of the photo essays that would later make the journal famous.31 Grosvenor seems to have made a wise decision; the journal became a wild success, and journalistic methods of representing the world were transformed. National Geographic was one of hundreds of journals at the time faced with questions about its future. Subscriptions and sales were limited, so many journals either flopped or were propped up by patrons. Grosvenor’s father-in-law, the renowned inventor Alexander Bell, had helped to pay the bills, but now decreasing costs in photographic reproductions also played a big role.32 Within two decades of the publication of these photographs, the National Geographic Society had sponsored two of its own trips - to Southwest China and to Yunnan, both led by Joseph Rock (1923-1924, 1927-1930). A variety of photographs, some in black and white but many in color, were reproduced in the pages of National Geographic, along with at least 10 articles, between 1922 and 1935 (Bryan 2001, 194). Tibet had by this time become famous enough that James Hilton, an English writer, wrote a send-up of it in his novel Lost Horizons (Hawkins 2010, 184-190). The Great Game might also have played a role in the publication of these photos. The grand push by the Russian Geographical Society might be explained by the society’s close relation to the Russian state and its response to Younghusband’s (1881-1960) expedition the previous summer.33 It was perhaps not fortuitous that National Geographic was chosen to be the first to publish the photos in the United States. Grovesnor was a very well-connected man about his town, Washington D.C. Grovesnor’s cousin, William Howard Taft, was the newly appointed Minister of War (1904-1908), and thus one of the main overseers of American foreign policy. Whether this had a role in the Russian Geographical Society’s choice to send the photos to National Geographic is unclear, but taking into account the international competition, the foreign expedition, the spies and religious figures – it is not too much of a stretch to imagine that they may have done so. The gain would have been a claim that Tibet was first entered by Russian citizens, and done so in a peaceful manner. This stood in contrast to the British military’s bullying of the peaceful kingdom of Tibet. Tsybikov’s A Buddhist Pilgrim in Holy Tibet – Chapter 17 Tsybikov’s most famous work is A Buddhist Pilgrim in Tibet.34 This book took almost twenty years to put into print because of various political, military, and economic events. It 8 | Ti bet t hrou g h t he Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 consists of seventeen chapters, using Tsybikov’s travel diary as a frame. Chapter 17 covers his return trip home from Lhasa, allowing the reader insight into the author. This chapter starts on September 10, 1901, and concludes on May 2, 1902, when Tsybikov, now 29 years of age, had returned to Russian territory. The concluding chapter of the book includes many of his own reflections about his trip, and displays a more mature man than had begun the trip. Preparations for Tsybikov’s homeward departure took some time as this involved hiring guides; coming to terms with others who wanted to come along; buying horses, oxen, and camels for the cross-country travel; and finally packing and ensuring that the books and materials for travel were sufficient. Tsybikov was in charge of all of this and found himself needing to assert his authority. This included dealing with rip-offs, thefts, banditry, corrupt officials, and other hazards of travel. Tsybikov comes across as someone learning how to lead, occasionally successful but other times not. The difficulties encountered were many. Thievery was quite common – a number of his guides pilfered objects and/or horses. Horses disappeared at random (four on September 27; one on October 3; one on October 5; three on October 7; two on October 9), and there were all sorts of bandits. Tsybikov dealt with these issues in different ways. Once he chased down one of the guides who stole a horse, but because the guide’s mother pleaded for him, Tsybikov settled on taking back a rather plain workhorse, who in the end proved to be useless, dying along the way. On a second occasion of horse thievery, Tsybikov went to a Tibetan aristocrat to deal with the problem (on November 16): I exposed to him all the matters concerning his subjects, and demanded protection for my interests. I also showed him the passport that the Russian Consul of Urga has issued to me, but the Prince did not know how to read Mongolian and looked at the document with an air of importance, holding it upside down. He then returned it to me and told me that his subjects had acted badly and that he would force them to give me back the money which I had turned over to them, adding immediately that one of my debtors had gone off to the mountains with his herds and it would be difficult to find him… [nor did he have any official funds of his own at present…] The prince was unable to gather any restitution for Tsybikov. A number of things stand out in this passage. First, Tsybikov attempted to make use of the authorities to bring in local “bandits” and did so by offering up the backing of the foreign government. This tactic is clumsy coming from the young man. The prince deftly deals with it by first showing respect to the authority of the foreign document, but at the same time not allowing it to influence him in any real way. Further, the prince also agrees to everything that Tsybikov demands, but then lays out a number of reasons why nothing will be achieved, including repayment. Another method Tsybikov attempted to use to deal with this problem was asking a fellow Buryat, whom he met along the route, to present his complaint to the High Commissioner of Sining. The High Commissioner was more intrigued with the Buryat friend, and had the friend thrown in jail (Feb. 4). Tsybikov filed a complaint with the High Commissioner, but was rejected: none of his influential contacts were able to assist in this matter. Tsybikov then decided to take it up with the consul in Urga. The matter is not mentioned again in the text, so we can assume that nothing further came of it. Tsybikov often played up his status of being a Russian subject for his own purposes. On the next day, Tsybikov writes, another prince recalled the various Russian expeditions he had encountered, among which Przhevalskii (1839-1888) was praised. Przhevalskii, the most famous of all 19th-century Russian explorers, a Russian military man renowned as 9 | Tib et th rough th e Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 much for his zoological and botanical finds as his desire to see Central Asia brought into the Russian empire, was perhaps the opposite of Tsybikov: deeply distrustful of urbanites, disdainful of pagan beliefs (among which he counted Buddhism) and with a deep-seated belief in his own and Russia’s superiority.35 And yet he was also the consummate explorer who had dreamed of reaching Lhasa, and had been in Tibet. Tsybikov, thus, felt very comfortable being associated with the larger-than-life figure of Przhevalskii. Not much later, Tsybikov went hunting and bragged about his berdanka rifle, a famed Russian gun that hunters swore by until deep into the century in Russia. Both points, association with Russian explorers and Russian material goods were important to Tsybikov’s identity as an outsider in Tibet.36 At the end of his book, Tsybikov provides us with insight into his feelings about his travels. On establishing a date for departure, he confesses that he is overjoyed, as it has been two years since he has seen his parents or friends. For the first time, the reader has a glimpse at the personal costs associated with exploration and the work of the scholar in this distant land. At the same time, he acknowledges that he still has much to learn about Tibet, and is eager to continue with his studies. Tsybikov concludes the book with his arrival on April 5 at the Russian consul, where he is cheerfully greeted and assisted with sending his baggage on to Saint Petersburg (April 14), where he completes his work. The journey and the diary which recorded it follow a young man in his late twenties, while the author was in his mid-to late 30s. The incidents discussed above indicate that its author was aware of a certain prejudice in regard to his citizenship (Russian), and also himself felt a distinction between Buryats and Russians. However, despite his feeling of fellowship with the Buryats, he was not above bringing to bear the weight of the Russian government where he could. Dalai Lama in Urga (Ulan Bator) The Great Game was one of shadows and feints, and for the most part did not get played out beyond the halls and palaces of government. However, occasionally there were flare-ups (Snelling 1993, 102-114). The most famous in Tibet was the 1904 invasion by a small British force, led by a young hothead, Francis Younghusband, egged on by the Viceroy of India, Lord Curzon (1859-1920), and yet restrained by the politicians at Whitehall. The invasion resulted from the British misreading of Russian and Chinese activities and interests in Tibet. Younghusband and his modern forces decimated Tibetan opposition, but the feeling was that the victories were rather ignominious. Younghusband, having attacked a nation without just cause, and massacred its ill-equipped army, then proceeded to enter the capital to negotiate with second-tier functionaries: The Dalai Lama and his entourage had already fled from the British to maintain exile in Mongolia. The treaty that the English obtained from this was viewed almost immediately as worthless, with the home-based politicians downplaying these results.37 For the Tibetans, too, there was deep dissatisfaction with the invasion. The government was unable to maintain borders and found its head of state in an odd exile in Urga that lasted some two years. While there, the Dalai Lama performed rituals for masses of people and met Buddhist scholars; he also maintained correspondence with the Tsar (Snelling 1993, 122-126; Markov 1976). Yet, the upshot was that he did not gain the support of the Tsar in any meaningful way, and his stay in Mongolia was concluded when the local religious potentate began to display discomfort with the religious leader’s continued presence and popularity. While the Dalai Lama was in Mongolia, many influential persons came to visit, including the most important explorers and Buddhist scholars of the day: Fyodor Stcherbatsky (1866-1942), Bazar Baradin (1878-1937), and Pyotr Kozlov (1863-1935). Tsybikov, too, 1 0 | Ti bet t hrou g h t he Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 came to see the Dalai Lama. He had traveled a great distance by relay horse with his wife, Lkhama Norboevna (1881-1960). On seeing Tsybikov, the Dalai Lama asked “Who are you? Where have I seen you before?” To which Tsybikov replied, “I am a Russian professor. I myself am a Buddhist and I saw you when you deigned to touch me with your rosary in your palace on the hill in Lhasa.”38 The conversation affected Tsybikov to a great degree and also began his dialogue with Stcherbatsky. When the journalist Markov visited Tsybikov’s widow thirty years later, she too recollected its effect upon him. Conclusion Shortly after his return, Tsybikov was appointed to an academic position at the Vladivostok Oriental Institute, where he taught Tibetan and Mongolian until 1922. He spent his last few years in Aga, and died in the Aga Hospital in 1930. He was an important figure both in academic and, to a lesser degree, political circles. His death coincided with the end of the Buryat renaissance. Soon, Stalin and the Communist Party would destroy the lives and works of most of Tsybikov’s colleagues, and drastically alter the life of the Buryats with policies aimed at Russification and collectivization. Tibet was the most important chapter in Tsybikov’s scholarly career. His journey, which was one that only a young man could take, allowed him to catalogue and show Tibet to the world. His work, both written and photographed, still informs our understanding of Tibet and its culture, even if the intellectual paradigms today are different from Tsybikov’s. Finally, the question of identity and place in the world arises. Tsybikov, at heart, was a man of the steppes – and yet his education, experiences, and status suggest that this inner self was not exclusively Buryat. Despite his earlier rejection of the Orthodox church, he wrote as an objective observer of Tibet, its Buddhism and customs. Instead of introspection and an autobiographical exploration of his own self, what emerges is a picture of a scholar who kept a diary of how the world perceived him, and how he perceived it. Instead of interest in Tsybikov’s relationship to them, we have some 200 photographs of Tibetans. Tsybikov, thus, was a man who identified as a Buryat, but who lived in a world complicated by emerging nationalist identities that did not necessarily replace other forms of subjectivity. He explored the past through the tools of modernity and by means of modern world institutions. In turn, he contributed greatly to our understanding of a world of the past, which was soon to be forgotten. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. I would like to thank the various persons involved in helping me put together this paper. Janice Glowski provided insightful comments on the panel and in discussions that followed. Aaron Fine enlivened our panel and led us into the adventure of this issue. Chaya Chandrasekhar saw our panel through and was relentless in her improving this issue and my paper. Lisa Trivedi and Erin McCarthy encouraged us with this issue, provided us support and helped guide us through to the final publication. I would also like to thank an anonymous reviewer for your insightful and extremely apt comments and suggestions. On Tsybikov’s scholarship, see Okladnikov and Zoriktuev. This paragraph draws on Montgomery, 74-140. Also see Dittmar Schorkowitz’s study on Russian and Soviet integration of the Buryat and Kalmuk nationalities into the state. Montgomery gives as an example the refusal of a petition from a delegation of Buryat teachers by the Minister of Education, Dmitrii Tolstoy (1823-1889), to open private schools with Buryat instruction along with written Mongolian, Buryat, and Russian. Tolstoy refused it out of hand, 107. I draw on Snelling, Tsybikov, Okladnikov, 6-44. Badmaev’s patronage was connected with his service to the state government, to whom he had proposed using Buryats as spies for activities in Tibet. Andreyev (2003) cites the memorandum that Badmaev sent to the Tsar on Feb 13, 1893, 19-20. See McDonald for a brief English language biography of Badmaev. See Tsybikov, v. 2, 8-26. Original title: “O Tsentral’nom Tibete.” All translations are my own. For the translation made for the Smithsonian Institution, “Lhasa and Central Tibet,” see http://collections.lib.uwm.edu/ cdm/ref/collection/tibet/id/66 11 | Tib et th rough th e Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. The Russian text, Buddist palomnik u sviatyn’ Tibeta: po dnevnikam, vedennym v 1899-1902 godakh, is available in a recent reissue (2011) and also in Tsybikov’s selected works (1991). All translations from this work are my own, based on the 1991 edition. An English translation was done by Roger Shaw for “Human Relations Area File” and is available on microfiche. Sergei Markov, a Soviet journalist, interviewed Tsybikov’s widow in 1955. The interview was published in 1976. The articles include “The Buryat Cossack Host of Transbaikalya,” “Shamanism among the Buryats,” and “About the National Buryat Festivals.” The travelogues are diary accounts of trips he made to Mongolia (1888, 1927) and China (1909). He further wrote pedagogical works on Tibetan and Mongolian languages (Andreyev, 2003, 115). In particular, Aid to the Practical Study of the Mongolian Language came out in several editions following the 1905 Revolution and marked Tsybikov’s own nationalist (Buryat) upsurge (Montgomery, 122). In addition, there are unpublished works such as his lectures on Mongolia (Tolmacheva). On Edward Said and orientalism’s importance in Russian studies, see Schimmelpenninck and articles by Halid, Knight, and Todorova in Kritika (Fall 2000). On Said’s being influenced by Russian scholars of the early 20th century (via Arab Marxists) see Tolz, 100-101. Kuleshov argued that both the Tsar and the foreign ministry had virtually no interest, 6-8. The army itself kept very little on Tibet in its files: in its 87 volume survey of Asia, Tibet did not warrant a single article before 1905, Schimmelpenninck (2000), 47. Snelling provides a thorough biography of this figure. For a brief account see Meyer and Brisac, 202-221. For fuller exposition see Waller. Hopkirk (1992) doubts that Tsybikov was involved in espionage, 506. Also see Rossiya i Tibet: Sbornik Russkikh Arkhivn’ikh Dokumentov, 1900-1914, a collection of documents that deal with Russia and Tibet. Tsybikov is mentioned once in the introduction, but otherwise goes ignored. Meyer and Brysac do identify Tsybikov as a “Russian agent,” 273. Tolz also sees Tsybikov as “gather[ing] important information for the Tsarist government during his trip to Tibet…” 124, fn. 66. Tsybikov, on a visit to Beijing in 1909, recorded in his diary of the journey, on August 28, that he was “a true man of the steppe.” This was in response to Russian chauvinism displayed by the consul there, Tsybikov, 119. Tsybikov’s library collection also included translations into Buryat, such as Tolstoy’s stories and Krylov’s fables (S. Markov, 96). Schimmelpenninck (2010): Andrei Bely: “Russia is a Mongol country. We all have Mongolian blood in our veins…” 199; Nikolai Berdiaev, “The Russian soul undeniably has an ‘Asian Stratification.’” 224; Herzen: “[I am] a barbarian…[both] by birth and by conviction.” 29. This paragraph draws on Vera Tolz’s recent work on Russian oriental scholarship and the “orientalogists,” in her coinage, to remove some of stigma resulting from Said’s work, 3. The favourable position of Buddhism in Russia and the Soviet Union, and the flourishing of Buryat scholars within them, came to an abrupt end in the 1930s, when purges under Stalin wiped out the field (Tolz, 18). Andreyev suggests that the Gurka invasion of 1791-1792 was the formal cut-off point, 350. Dawa Norbu suggests an earlier date. Cited in Andreyev (2001), 350. For brief biographies of prominent Buryats and Kalmyks see Ibid., 352-354. Kawaguchi estimates some 40-50 unsuccessful attempts in the 19th century, 403. All dates given by Tsybikov are according to the Julian Calendar, which was 13 days behind the Gregorian at this time. Proscriptions were also in place against South Asians. Britain’s use of the Bengali scholar, Sarat Chandra Das (1849-1917), as a spy during his years in Tibet (1881-1883) resulted in a similar ban. See Snelling, 36, for summary of the fallout. Tsybikov had earlier noted that Chinese merchants mostly dealt with women in their selling of goods, so that there was opportunity to mingle with the locals; however, most Chinese lived in garrison camps for their own safety, which underlined the issue of tension between the locals and the Chinese. Tsybikov, 1991, 2:11. This passage is not included in the Smithsonian translation. Sergeev, however, understood the claim of the 500,000 Buryats and Khalkhas in Tsybikov’s speech as verification for British apprehension to Russian intentions in Tibet, 254. Das had been provided with a camera for his trip to Sikkim in 1879, but it appears that the British Government was worried about him drawing any attention to his activities in Tibet proper and so did not provide him with one later. See Das, 28, on correspondence with Sir Alfred Croft, Director of Public Instruction, Bengal, on the camera. Norzunov first published Tibet photographs in France in October 1901. Snelling, 58-60. Tsybikov’s first photographs appeared in 1903. The photo-essay is introduced by a short paragraph, directing readers to the previously discussed Smithsonian article (Views of Lhasa). For the notes sent along with the photographs to National Geographic, see http://collections.lib.uwm.edu/ cdm/ref/collection/tibet/id/94 . Grosvenor recounted this story in National Geographic, (1957), 42-43. Also see Bryan, 93. Summary at http://primalbranding.blogs.com/primal_branding/2006/02/national_geogra.html. The halftone method of reproducing photographs had reduced costs by 80%, and the decision to print more photographs was not as burdensome as it had been a generation earlier. Full-page steel engraving cost $100 whereas halftones cost $20. Bryan, 83. 1 2 | Ti bet t hrou g h t he Eye s of a Bu ryat ASIANetwork Exchange | Spring 2013 | volume 20 | 2 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. Andreyev has written on the Russian Geographical Society’s close cooperation with the General Staff to send a Buryat agent to Tibet in 1869 and then again in 1873, 350. For a succinct account of Younghusband’s expedition, see Van Schaik, Tibet: A History, 169-179. Also see Hopkirk (1982). This was first published in 1919. The text was reprinted in 1970 in England, and in 1981 and 1991 in the Soviet Union. It has been translated into English (Shaw) Polish (Melech) French (Kreise) and Chinese (Wang). Nikolai Przhevalskii was the most famous Russian explorer of the 19th century, known throughout Europe for his exploits and discoveries. He was the first European to describe the last of the wild horses, which were named after him. He also served as tutor to Nicholas II, when he was still Crown Prince. For Przhevalskii’s biography see Meyer and Brysac, 223-240, Hopkirk 1982, 58-63, and Rayfield. Several of his travel accounts have been translated into English. See Prejevalsky. The berdanka was standard army issue rifles in Russia from 1868-1891. See Tarsaidze. Sergeev concurs that the mission was a “fiasco.” It received at best public curiosity in England, at worst criticism of the government of the day. Its purported reason of stemming Russian weapons into Tibet turned out to be wildly overblown and it managed to discomfort allies (in the United States) while raising the hackles of the Russian public: 266-269. On the British politicians washing their hands of the affair, Sergeev, 273-274. Markov, 102. Cited and translated in Snelling, 124. Bibliography Andreev, A.I. [Andreyev, Alexander] 2006. Tibet i politike tsarskoi, sovetskoi i postsovetskoi rossii. St. Petersburg: Nartang. _____. 2006a “Istoriya pervyх fotografii Tibeta i Lхasy” . http://www.fotodi.ru/articles.php?id=12 Andreyev, Alexander. 2003. Soviet Russia and Tibet: The Debacle of Secret Diplomacy, 1918-1930s. 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