When Serfs Stood Up In Tibet

Chapter 1: Take-off for Tibet

Anna Louise Strong recounts the beginning of her journey to Tibet, a land she had long been intrigued by, but one that was not widely understood by most outsiders in the 1950s. Her account is not just of a physical journey across rugged terrain, but also of an intellectual and emotional venture into one of the most politically sensitive and culturally distinct regions in the world at the time. Strong’s narrative is imbued with her sense of awe and curiosity as she prepares for the journey, knowing that what lay ahead would challenge many of her preconceptions about Tibet, its people, and its political struggles.

The Uncharted Territory

Tibet, in the 1950s, was still relatively unknown to the Western world. It was a land of mystery, largely isolated from the global community due to both geographical and political barriers. Strong reflects on the mystique surrounding the region, often referred to as the “roof of the world” due to its location in the Himalayas. The Tibetan plateau, surrounded by towering mountains and vast, arid landscapes, offered little access to the outside world. The region had managed to retain its unique cultural and political identity, shaped over centuries by its Buddhist heritage and the dominance of monastic institutions. However, Tibet was about to undergo a dramatic transformation, and Strong, as a journalist and observer, was eager to witness it firsthand.

The political atmosphere in Tibet was tense, as the Chinese government had already begun its efforts to assert control over the region. Strong highlights the complexities of the situation, noting that while many Tibetans were wary of Chinese influence, others believed that integration with China could bring about positive changes for Tibet’s future. The arrival of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) in Tibet and their subsequent negotiations with the Tibetan authorities marked the beginning of a new chapter in Tibetan history. However, Tibet’s leaders were divided, and the Tibetan people were left in a state of uncertainty, unsure of what to expect from this new political reality.

Strong’s first impressions of the political landscape are conveyed with great attention to detail. She recalls the conflicting narratives about Tibet’s relationship with China, with some believing that Tibet was a sovereign state under its own ruler, the Dalai Lama, while others saw Tibet as an autonomous region within the larger framework of the People’s Republic of China. The ideological divide between these factions would become a central theme of her journey, as Strong navigated her way through both the physical and ideological barriers that separated Tibet from the rest of the world.

The Journey Begins

Anna Louise Strong’s journey to Tibet was not an easy one. In the 1950s, reaching Tibet was a formidable task, requiring an arduous journey through remote areas, often inaccessible due to the harsh terrain and extreme weather conditions. The road to Tibet was not just a physical challenge, but a metaphor for the obstacles Strong faced in understanding the complexities of Tibetan society and politics. Her descriptions of the journey reflect the ruggedness of the land, the challenges of travel, and the perseverance required to reach Tibet’s borders. Strong notes the isolation she felt as she traveled through vast, uninhabited stretches of land, observing the sparse human settlements and the hard lives of the people who lived there.

The journey was also marked by a sense of historical significance. Strong was keenly aware that she was entering a region on the brink of change, where centuries-old traditions were being confronted by the forces of modernity and political upheaval. She writes of the anticipation she felt as she neared the Tibetan border, eager to witness firsthand the changes that were sweeping across the country. Her excitement was tempered by an understanding that the political climate in Tibet was charged, and that her role as an outsider would require a careful and thoughtful approach.

Strong’s perspective on Tibet was not shaped solely by the political situation. She was also keenly interested in the cultural and religious life of the Tibetan people. Tibet’s deep-rooted Buddhist traditions had shaped every aspect of Tibetan society, from its laws and customs to its social structures. The monastic institutions, especially the monasteries, played a central role in both the spiritual and political life of Tibet. Strong’s desire to understand Tibet was not just academic or journalistic, but also personal. She was deeply interested in how the Tibetan people had maintained their unique identity in the face of outside pressures, and how Buddhism influenced their worldview and daily lives.

Challenges in Travel

As Strong moves further into Tibet, she provides an evocative description of the physical hardships she endured. The weather was often unforgiving, with freezing temperatures and heavy snowfall, making the journey even more difficult. The roads were poorly constructed, often winding through mountain passes and crossing swift rivers, making the passage treacherous. Yet, despite these difficulties, Strong remained determined to reach her destination. The sheer scale of the Tibetan landscape, with its towering mountains and vast, open spaces, left a lasting impression on her. She writes of the feeling of insignificance one experiences when surrounded by such overwhelming natural beauty.

Her journey was not without its moments of discomfort and fear. The altitude posed a significant challenge, as Tibet’s high plateau caused altitude sickness in many travelers. Strong herself was affected, suffering from headaches and dizziness as she climbed higher into the mountains. But these physical challenges only deepened her resolve to understand the place and its people. She writes with great respect for the resilience of the Tibetan people, who had lived in these harsh conditions for centuries, enduring both natural and political hardships.

The First Glimpse of Tibet

Upon her arrival in Tibet, Strong was struck by the stark contrast between the region’s beauty and its political realities. Tibet’s capital, Lhasa, was a bustling city with ancient buildings and monasteries that spoke to its long history and rich cultural heritage. But beneath the surface, there were signs of the tensions that would soon erupt. Strong was acutely aware that Tibet was at a crossroads, with the Chinese government’s presence growing stronger and more visible. The city was both a spiritual center and a political hotspot, where the lines between religion and governance were often blurred.

Strong’s first interactions with the Tibetan people were marked by curiosity and a sense of awe. The Tibetans she encountered were both welcoming and wary of outsiders, caught between their traditional way of life and the impending changes brought about by the Chinese government. Her descriptions of these interactions reveal the deep cultural divide between Tibet and the outside world, but also the underlying hope that the future might bring a better life for the Tibetan people.

Chapter 2: Deluxe to Lhasa

Anna Louise Strong dives deeper into the political landscape of Tibet and her experiences upon reaching its capital, Lhasa. This chapter focuses on the stark contrasts between the world Strong knew and the one she was now encountering in Tibet, where deep political currents were already in motion. As Strong travels into the heart of Lhasa, she is faced with both the beauty of the landscape and the complex political realities that have shaped Tibetan society.

The Arrival in Lhasa

Strong’s first impressions of Lhasa, the spiritual and administrative center of Tibet, are filled with awe. The city, surrounded by the majestic Tibetan Plateau, appears to be a world unto itself. The ancient buildings, with their intricate Buddhist art and architecture, symbolize the rich religious and cultural heritage of Tibet. Yet, as Strong takes in the serene beauty of Lhasa, she is also acutely aware of the growing tensions that threaten to upend the traditions and ways of life that have persisted for centuries.

Upon entering Lhasa, Strong is keenly aware of the social structure that governs Tibet. It is a theocratic society where the Dalai Lama, revered as the spiritual leader, also holds significant political power. However, Tibet’s political structure was much more complex than it appeared on the surface. At the time, Tibet was under the rule of a small elite, composed primarily of the aristocracy, high-ranking monks, and government officials. The majority of Tibet’s population, the serfs, lived under harsh conditions, subjected to the authority of both religious leaders and aristocratic landowners. This deeply ingrained system of feudalism had left the serfs with few rights and little autonomy, an injustice that was now being challenged by external forces.

Tibet’s political structure, which had been in place for centuries, was now in direct conflict with the People’s Republic of China’s ambitions to incorporate Tibet into its fold. The arrival of Chinese military forces and the establishment of Chinese government authority in the region would alter the delicate balance of power. Strong writes about her realization that the Tibetan political system was being tested like never before, as the central government in Beijing sought to impose reforms and remove the feudalistic structures that had long been entrenched in Tibet.

Political Divide in Lhasa

Strong provides a detailed account of the political divides she witnesses in Lhasa. On one hand, there were those who viewed the arrival of Chinese forces as a necessary step for Tibet’s modernization. These individuals, often from the upper classes and the monasteries, were convinced that Tibet’s future lay in cooperation with the Chinese government. They saw the Communist government’s promises of reform—such as the elimination of serfdom and the redistribution of land—as a way to uplift the lower classes and bring about social equality.

On the other hand, there were strong factions in Tibet that opposed Chinese rule. Many of the monastic institutions, including the Dalai Lama himself, were skeptical of Chinese intentions. The Dalai Lama, in particular, was wary of China’s attempts to control Tibetan governance and culture. Despite the public promises of autonomy, many Tibetans feared that Chinese rule would eventually undermine the unique identity of Tibet and its Buddhist traditions. In Lhasa, there was an undercurrent of resistance, particularly among the aristocracy and religious leaders, who viewed their own position of power as being under threat.

Strong captures the complexity of these divisions, highlighting the nuanced and often contradictory viewpoints that shaped the political environment. The city was a place of both hope and anxiety, where Tibetans grappled with the future of their nation. The arrival of Chinese troops and the political negotiations that followed would lead to a series of events that would change Tibet forever. For Strong, the key issue was the fate of the serfs—Tibet’s most vulnerable population, who had long been subjugated by the political and religious elite. It was these people who stood to gain the most from the promises of reform, but it was unclear whether the political upheavals in Lhasa would bring about meaningful change.

The Communist Vision for Reform

The Chinese government’s presence in Tibet was not just military but ideological. The Communist Party of China sought to transform Tibet politically, economically, and socially. Central to their vision was the abolition of feudalism and the creation of a socialist society that would give power to the working class, including the peasants and serfs who made up the majority of Tibet’s population. Strong emphasizes that the Chinese approach to Tibet was motivated by both ideological commitment to socialism and pragmatic goals of integrating Tibet into the broader framework of the People’s Republic of China.

The Chinese vision for Tibet, as Strong learns, was to liberate the serfs from the oppressive structures of monastic and aristocratic rule. Tibet’s social system was built on a rigid hierarchy, with monks and aristocrats at the top, and the serfs at the bottom. The serfs were bound to the land they worked, often living in squalid conditions and subject to the will of their landlords. Chinese reforms promised to redistribute land, eliminate taxes and levies that burdened the serfs, and provide the people with greater political rights.

However, these promises were not without challenges. Strong captures the skepticism of the Tibetans she encounters, who are unsure whether the Chinese will deliver on their promises. There is a palpable fear that the imposition of Chinese rule will lead to the destruction of Tibetan culture, religion, and way of life. Some Tibetans feared that the Chinese would impose their own form of governance, one that would erase the influence of Buddhism and dismantle the political structures that had governed Tibet for centuries.

The Role of the Dalai Lama

One of the most significant political figures in Tibet at the time was the Dalai Lama, who held both spiritual and political authority. Strong writes about the Dalai Lama’s delicate position during this period of transition. He was deeply concerned about the political changes sweeping through Tibet, and while he had initially hoped for peaceful negotiations with China, the increasing military presence and political pressure from Beijing left him with limited options.

The Dalai Lama’s reluctance to align too closely with China is a recurring theme in Strong’s narrative. He feared that the Chinese would not honor Tibet’s traditional autonomy, and his concerns were compounded by reports of atrocities committed by Chinese forces in other regions. In Lhasa, the Dalai Lama’s position was one of cautious diplomacy, but the political divisions in the city were too strong for him to navigate alone. Strong’s portrayal of the Dalai Lama in this chapter is one of a leader caught between his people’s desire for independence and the undeniable reality of Chinese power in the region.

The Clash of Ideologies

At its core, this chapter illustrates the clash between two ideologies: the traditionalist view of Tibetan governance and the communist vision of a socialist Tibet. Strong describes how these competing visions shaped the political discourse in Lhasa, where reform and resistance were often at odds. The Chinese government promised a better future for the serfs, but many Tibetans feared that this would come at the cost of their identity and religious freedom.

Strong emphasizes that, for Tibetans, the struggle was not just political—it was existential. The very fabric of Tibetan society, with its spiritual and cultural underpinnings, was being torn apart. For the serfs, this was an opportunity for liberation, but for the aristocracy and the monastic leaders, it was a threat to their centuries-old power.

Chapter 3: First Briefing

Anna Louise Strong shifts from travelogue to political reporting. Her arrival in Lhasa is followed by an intense period of political orientation and information-gathering, as Chinese officials provide her with a detailed briefing on the political situation in Tibet. This chapter plays a crucial role in framing the ideological narrative that threads through the rest of the book: the struggle between feudal oppression and revolutionary reform.

Strong’s tone in this chapter is more analytical, as she begins to process the immense scale of the changes taking place in Tibet. Through the briefing, she is introduced to the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) official view of the Tibetan condition: a semi-feudal, theocratic regime where over 90% of the people were serfs or slaves, controlled by a tiny minority of aristocrats and high-ranking monks. The Party’s goal, she is told, is to liberate these oppressed classes through democratic reform—a task that would demand not only administrative coordination but also ideological struggle.

Framing the Struggle: Feudalism vs. Liberation

The officials’ explanation of Tibet’s political and social order is stark. Tibet is described as one of the most backward regions in China, with an archaic landholding system, hereditary slavery, and brutal punishments for disobedient peasants. The vast majority of land was held by monasteries and aristocrats, with entire families of serfs bonded to estates, unable to move freely or own property. The briefing positions the Communist Party as a liberator, confronting a deeply entrenched theocratic oligarchy that fused spiritual authority with material power.

Strong reports the Chinese narrative with visible alignment. She does not question the statistics or the characterization of the Tibetan system. Instead, she uses the information to contrast the two competing worldviews she is encountering: on one side, the old Tibetan order, described as repressive and spiritually manipulative; on the other, the revolutionary project of emancipation, aiming to educate, redistribute, and uplift the rural majority.

The Party’s narrative is clear: this is not a cultural war but a class war. Religion, in this frame, is not targeted as belief, but as institution—particularly when religious power serves as the foundation for feudal exploitation.

Preparing for Democratic Reforms

One of the most important takeaways from this chapter is the Chinese government’s strategy for preparing Tibet for reform. Rather than enforcing immediate change upon arrival, the Communist Party had initially taken a cautious approach, maintaining the existing Tibetan government and delaying land reform. This was part of the “United Front” policy: to win over moderate Tibetan elites and avoid a full-scale rebellion while gradually building a support base among the poor.

Strong is told that the turning point is near. The 1959 rebellion in Lhasa (discussed in the next chapter) has dramatically altered the situation. With the collapse of the Tibetan ruling class’s cooperation, the Party now considers it necessary to accelerate reforms. Land redistribution, the abolition of slavery, and the establishment of peasant associations are on the agenda.

The briefing also emphasizes the “Three Guarantees” that the Party claims to uphold:

1. Respect for religious belief;
2. Respect for the leadership of the Dalai Lama (as long as he cooperates);
3. A gradual pace of reform based on political readiness.

This delicate balancing act—between ideological zeal and political pragmatism—shows the Party’s attempt to manage a volatile frontier region without triggering widespread revolt. It also reveals how Tibet was not merely a passive object of liberation, but a terrain of contested narratives, where legitimacy had to be constantly negotiated.

War of Words and Worldviews

Strong reflects on how this ideological briefing stands in contrast to Western media portrayals of Tibet. In the West, Tibet was often romanticized as a peaceful Buddhist kingdom, invaded by a brutal Communist regime. Strong criticizes this view, calling it superficial and blind to the internal class divisions within Tibet. She suggests that Western sympathies for the Tibetan elite—especially the monasteries—often mask the harsh realities faced by ordinary Tibetans under their rule.

By portraying Tibet as a land of suffering serfs and cruel landlords, the Chinese narrative seeks to justify the sweeping social changes it is about to unleash. For Strong, who had reported on revolutions in the Soviet Union and China, this storyline is familiar and convincing. She sees Tibet not as a victim of occupation, but as a latecomer to the wave of 20th-century liberation movements.

This framing helps her align with the goals of reform, even while acknowledging the risks involved. She does not ignore the likelihood of resistance, but she casts it as reactionary—a last stand by a crumbling feudal order.

Building Political Consciousness

Another theme that emerges in this chapter is the emphasis on political education. The Party’s strategy is not just to redistribute land but to reshape how Tibetans understand their place in society. “Political consciousness” is the phrase often used in the briefing—it refers to the effort to transform passive subjects into active participants in governance.

This involves:

• Setting up peasant associations to organize collective action.
• Sending out work teams to explain the reforms.
• Holding public accusation meetings where former serfs confront their former masters.
• Training local cadres from among the serfs themselves.

Strong is impressed by this mobilization strategy. She sees it as a form of mass enlightenment—a way to awaken political awareness among people who had never before had a voice in public life.

Yet this also introduces the theme of tension: how do you rapidly “raise consciousness” in a deeply religious society where centuries of submission to authority have been the norm? Can you legislate liberation from the top down?

Foreshadowing Conflict

While this chapter does not yet depict open conflict, it clearly foreshadows what is to come. The contradiction between the Party’s revolutionary aims and Tibet’s entrenched power structures is reaching a breaking point. Strong leaves the briefing with the sense that Tibet is on the cusp of radical transformation, but she also notes the risks: cultural rupture, resistance, even violence.

This sets the stage for the next chapter, where the March 1959 rebellion breaks out—a direct response to the growing Chinese presence and the looming threat of reform.

Chapter 4: The March Rebellion

Anna Louise Strong recounts the dramatic events of the March 1959 rebellion in Lhasa—one of the pivotal moments in Tibetan modern history. This chapter marks a shift in tone from analytical observation to political urgency, as Strong describes the rebellion not only as a violent confrontation, but as the moment when Tibet’s old order made its final stand against Chinese authority and the prospect of revolutionary reform.

The chapter combines eyewitness accounts, official reports, and Strong’s ideological framing to depict the uprising as both an armed revolt and an ideological collision between feudal preservation and social transformation. Strong’s sympathies remain firmly with the Communist Party, and her narrative leans heavily into portraying the rebellion as a calculated, reactionary attempt by the Tibetan elite to maintain their privileges.

Escalating Tensions in Lhasa

Strong opens the chapter by setting the scene in Lhasa during early March 1959. Tensions were already high. The Dalai Lama’s relationship with Chinese authorities had grown strained as mass mobilization efforts in rural Tibet began to take shape. Serfs in the countryside were being encouraged to form associations, speak publicly about abuse, and prepare for land redistribution. In Lhasa, these developments sent shockwaves through the aristocracy and monastic leadership, who feared they were next.

Rumors began to circulate that Chinese authorities planned to kidnap the Dalai Lama. Although no concrete evidence is provided, Strong explains that these rumors spread rapidly and were used by conservative factions as a rallying cry to mobilize the population. Masses of people began surrounding the Norbulingka—the Dalai Lama’s summer palace—ostensibly to protect him. But the demonstrations soon took on a broader political character. Organized groups formed barricades, monasteries began stockpiling weapons, and leaflets appeared denouncing the Communist presence in Tibet.

From the Chinese perspective, this was a premeditated insurrection aimed at preserving the power of the old ruling class under the guise of protecting religion and the Dalai Lama. Strong echoes this interpretation, describing the rebellion as a final, desperate attempt to restore the status quo ante.

The Rebellion Erupts

On March 10, the situation escalated into open conflict. Armed groups—composed of monks, former soldiers, and supporters of the aristocracy—began attacking PLA positions in the city. Chinese administrative offices were targeted, roads were blocked, and several civilians sympathetic to the reforms were executed by the rebels. Strong reports that Chinese civilians and even some Tibetan reform advocates were abducted or killed, often after public denunciations in the street.

The PLA responded with a full-scale military operation. Strong describes artillery barrages targeting rebel-held monasteries and strongholds in Lhasa, including parts of the Norbulingka area. The fighting lasted for several days and resulted in extensive destruction. Strong emphasizes the precision and discipline of the PLA response, contrasting it with what she characterizes as the disorganized and reactionary nature of the rebellion.

According to Strong’s account, the rebellion was crushed within a matter of days. Thousands of rebels were either killed in battle or arrested. Many monks and aristocrats fled the city, some disappearing into the countryside, others crossing the border into India—including the Dalai Lama himself, who left Tibet on March 17, ultimately seeking asylum in India.

The Dalai Lama’s Departure

The Dalai Lama’s flight is treated by Strong with a mixture of regret and political critique. While she acknowledges his moral authority and the respect he commanded among Tibetans, she frames his decision to flee as a political retreat that abandoned the Tibetan people to the consequences of the rebellion. She suggests that the Dalai Lama allowed himself to be manipulated by reactionary elements, and that by leaving, he forfeited the opportunity to play a constructive role in Tibet’s transformation.

This point is crucial to Strong’s political framing: with the Dalai Lama in exile and the rebellion crushed, there were no remaining internal forces capable of obstructing reform. The rebellion had clarified the stakes—this was not just a conflict between Tibet and China, but between two radically different visions of society.

Post-Rebellion Repercussions

Following the defeat of the uprising, the Chinese government moved quickly to dismantle the remnants of the feudal regime. The Preparatory Committee for the Tibet Autonomous Region issued a directive to immediately begin democratic reform in all regions of Tibet. This included:

• The confiscation of estates held by rebel monasteries and aristocrats.
• The liberation of serfs and household slaves.
• The establishment of peasant associations.
• The redistribution of land and livestock.

Strong reports that work teams fanned out across the region to explain the reforms, register land, and organize meetings where serfs accused their former masters of cruelty. These public accusation sessions were deeply symbolic: for the first time, those at the bottom of Tibetan society were being encouraged to speak openly about centuries of oppression.

In Strong’s view, the rebellion had cleared the way for true liberation. She acknowledges the trauma of the violence but presents it as a necessary rupture—comparable to the Paris Commune or the Russian October Revolution—wherein the old order was forcibly swept aside so that a new society could emerge.

Framing the Rebellion

Throughout the chapter, Strong is unapologetic in her ideological framing. She does not treat the March uprising as a nationalist or religious movement but as a counter-revolutionary insurrection staged by a desperate ruling class. The rebellion, in her view, was not about preserving Tibetan identity, but about preserving feudal privilege.

Strong’s alignment with the Chinese Communist Party is unmistakable. She accepts its terminology (“reactionaries,” “feudal forces”) and endorses its narrative of history. Even as she records the pain and disruption caused by the rebellion, she frames it as a necessary storm—one that tore through illusion and cleared space for justice.

This perspective sharply contrasts with later Western narratives that cast the rebellion as a patriotic uprising and the exile of the Dalai Lama as the tragedy of a displaced spiritual leader. For Strong, the tragedy lies not in the destruction of the old order, but in the suffering it caused and the violence needed to end it.

Conclusion: The Rebellion as Historical Pivot

It moves from analysis and anticipation to confrontation and aftermath. The March Rebellion is presented as the climax of the Tibetan elite’s resistance to reform—and its final failure. What follows, Strong suggests, will not be an occupation, but a revolution: one that replaces oppression with empowerment, superstition with education, and hierarchy with equality.

The chapter ends not with lament, but with determination. The road ahead, Strong acknowledges, will be difficult, but at last the barriers to progress have been broken. The serfs have seen that the old gods can fall. Now they must build something new.

Chapter 5: Visits in Lhasa

Anna Louise Strong takes the reader deeper into Lhasa after the March Rebellion, engaging not just with political events but with people—officials, monks, and ordinary Tibetans. This chapter marks a shift from the violent climax of the uprising to the uncertain calm that followed. Strong moves through a capital city in transition: its palaces and monasteries still standing, its elites in disarray, and its streets beginning to echo with new rhetoric—of equality, reform, and revolutionary awakening.

Where the previous chapter was about confrontation, this one is about observation. Strong, with notebook in hand, speaks to those who stayed behind, both Chinese and Tibetan, to understand how they experienced the rebellion—and how they perceive what comes next.

A City in Aftershock

Lhasa, still sacred in its architecture and symbolic power, is no longer the unquestioned seat of Tibetan authority. After the rebellion, a military calm has settled over the city. Strong describes the stillness in the streets, punctuated by the occasional presence of PLA patrols and work teams. The atmosphere, she writes, is one of “contained tension,” as the structures of the old society linger like the embers of a fire not yet fully extinguished.

Many aristocrats and senior monks have fled. Some took refuge in India. Others melted into the countryside. Their absence leaves behind a power vacuum—and confusion among the remaining population. Strong is particularly interested in this moment of suspension, where old hierarchies no longer function, but new institutions have yet to fully take root.

Meetings with Officials

Strong meets with several Chinese officials stationed in Lhasa, many of whom were involved in suppressing the rebellion and now lead the rollout of reform. These are not, she notes, military men alone—they are “political educators,” tasked with winning over the population through both discipline and persuasion. The cadres describe their current task as threefold:

1. Maintaining order
2. Educating the masses
3. Preparing for democratic reform

They describe resistance not just in terms of violence but of mindset. “The people are afraid to speak,” one cadre tells her. “They have lived too long under a system where speech was punished.” The challenge now is to convince people—especially former serfs—that the world has changed and they can speak, organize, even lead.

Strong is struck by the mixture of confidence and realism in these cadres. They know the road ahead will not be easy, but they believe the reforms will succeed because the conditions—poverty, injustice, and latent resentment—demand it.

Conversations with Ordinary Tibetans

Strong also visits Tibetan civilians—mostly those from humble backgrounds who remained in Lhasa. She speaks with women in the markets, craftsmen, and several young men who had been students or minor government workers under the old regime. These conversations reveal a range of attitudes.

Some are cautious and reserved. One man says he is “glad the fighting is over,” but adds nothing more. Others are more forthcoming. A woman who had worked as a servant in an aristocratic household tells Strong, “Before, I could not sit at the same level as my master’s dog. Now they say I can speak in meetings. I wait to see if it is true.”

Strong interprets these remarks as the early signs of political awakening. The people may not yet be full participants in public life, but the idea that their voices matter has begun to spread. She notes, however, that the fear of retribution—either from remaining loyalists or from untested new structures—still stifles open expression.

What to Do with the Monasteries?

Strong also visits a number of monasteries, many of which had been implicated in the rebellion either as centers of resistance or stockpiles of weapons. Some had been partially damaged during the fighting. Others had been spared but were under scrutiny.

The question of what to do with the monasteries is central to this chapter. Strong listens to both Party officials and younger monks who remained behind. The officials argue that while religious freedom will be respected, monasteries can no longer function as centers of political and economic power. Monks must now focus on religious practice, not feudal administration.

This vision sharply reduces the political role of the clergy. In the old system, high-ranking monks—especially those at institutions like Drepung, Sera, and Ganden—were landowners, tax collectors, and often the final legal authority over their serfs. Under the new system, that authority would be abolished. Many monks, especially the younger ones, appear ambivalent. Some are relieved to be free of their former hierarchy. Others fear the loss of identity and tradition.

Strong sees this not as religious suppression but as political realignment. In her view, the monasteries must adapt or perish. She writes: “A new Tibet cannot be built atop the bones of old privileges.”

The Problem of Trust

Underlying all these visits is a theme Strong returns to repeatedly: trust. The people of Lhasa—Tibetan and Han alike—are navigating a landscape where trust has been shaken and must be rebuilt.

• Can the Chinese cadres be trusted to deliver reform without retribution?
• Can ordinary Tibetans trust that speaking out will not bring punishment?
• Can monks trust that they will be allowed to practice without being labeled reactionary?

Strong senses that the Party understands this problem. Hence the emphasis on education, outreach, and slow-paced reform in the city. Unlike the countryside, where reform would move rapidly, Lhasa would proceed more carefully—understanding that symbolic capital here was as important as land or livestock.

Symbolism of the Potala

Though Strong reserves her personal visit to the Potala Palace for a later chapter, its presence looms large throughout this one. She passes it repeatedly during her time in Lhasa and reflects on how its symbolism has changed. Once the absolute seat of spiritual-political authority, it now stands as a silent relic of a system that has collapsed.

Its future is uncertain. Will it be preserved as a cultural monument? Will it be repurposed for the people? Or will it be left to fade as the revolution turns its gaze forward?

To Strong, the Potala represents both loss and possibility. The world it ruled is ending—but perhaps, she writes, “a deeper kind of sanctity may rise, one not built on fear or rank, but on freedom.”

Conclusion: The Calm Before Construction

Chapter 5 ends on a tentative note. Lhasa is quiet, but it is not yet healed. The rebellion has been crushed, but the population is still waiting—watching to see if the promises of reform will be real. For Strong, this is the revolution’s moment of moral trial. If it can bring dignity, literacy, health, and land to the people of Lhasa, it will succeed not just militarily but spiritually.

The city, she writes, is now a blank canvas. What will be painted next depends on the courage of those who remain.

Chapter 6: Nachi in Jokhang

Anna Louise Strong focuses her narrative on an evocative visit to the Jokhang Temple, Tibet’s holiest site, through the story of one figure: Nachi, a Tibetan woman and former serf who now finds herself on the threshold of both spiritual continuity and social revolution. By centering the chapter around a single human experience, Strong powerfully illustrates how individual lives were beginning to reflect the larger ideological transformation gripping Tibet.

The Jokhang Temple, in this telling, is more than a religious site—it becomes a symbolic crossroads where the Tibetan past, steeped in ritual and hierarchy, confronts the new socialist ethos of dignity and equality. Through Nachi’s eyes, the reader gains insight into how deeply intertwined religion and power were in old Tibet—and how revolutionary reform could simultaneously disrupt and liberate.

The Sacred Heart of Lhasa

The Jokhang, located at the heart of Lhasa, is described by Strong with reverence. Its golden roofs, crowded altars, flickering butter lamps, and centuries-old statues make it one of the most sacred places for Tibetan Buddhists. Pilgrims from all over the plateau come to prostrate themselves before its holy images, circling the temple in prayer, spinning prayer wheels, chanting mantras. Strong, as an outsider, acknowledges the deep emotional pull this place exerts on Tibetan life, especially for the poor.

But for Nachi, the temple also holds memories of submission and inequality. As a serf, she had once been required to offer labor to a monastic estate affiliated with Jokhang. She had cleaned floors, carried water, prepared butter offerings—not as acts of personal devotion, but because of feudal obligations. Her access to the sacred had been tightly controlled by lamas, who functioned as both spiritual guides and landlords.

Now, after the rebellion and the beginning of reform, Nachi returns to the temple not as a servant, but as a visitor. Her presence is legal, voluntary, and dignified. And yet, Strong observes, she still moves with hesitation—uncertain of what has truly changed.

Religious Devotion vs. Religious Power

One of the key themes of this chapter is Strong’s effort to separate two concepts that were previously fused in Tibetan society: faith and religious authority. She is careful not to portray Buddhism as a superstition to be abolished, but instead to critique the monastic institutions that held temporal power over the people.

Through her interviews with Nachi and other common pilgrims, Strong suggests that faith in the Buddha remains strong among the people—but the power of the monasteries is no longer unchallenged. Nachi, for example, still lights a butter lamp and whispers prayers for her ancestors. But when asked whether she fears the wrath of the gods if she supports land reform, she quietly shakes her head. “The Buddha wants good for all,” she says. “He does not need my fear.”

This distinction is crucial to the ideological campaign being waged by the Chinese Communist Party. As Strong describes it, the Party aims not to suppress religion, but to return it to the private, individual sphere—separating it from its institutional dominance over land, wealth, and political power.

The Temple as a Class Site

Strong’s depiction of Jokhang is not purely spiritual; she also presents it as a class site—a place where inequality had long been codified through ritual. In the old days, she writes, nobles entered through separate gates. Ordinary people bowed low before monks, who blessed them from elevated platforms. Temple festivals doubled as tax collection events, where serfs were expected to bring offerings in the form of barley, butter, and silver.

She recounts Nachi’s memory of being forced to stand outside the temple on certain days, waiting for a lama to emerge and bless her with a flick of a peacock-feather fan—without eye contact, and certainly without any sense of personal dignity. For Strong, this anecdote serves as a microcosm of the larger feudal structure: even in prayer, serfs had a designated place—low and silent.

Now, with democratic reforms on the horizon, that architecture of submission is being questioned. For the first time, ordinary people like Nachi can step into the main chamber of the temple and gaze directly upon the statues of the Buddhas. They still prostrate, still offer candles—but as free individuals, not coerced tenants. The act of prayer, Strong argues, is being democratized.

Conversations with Reform Cadres

Strong meets with several Chinese work team members assigned to the Jokhang area. Their task is one of the most delicate in all of Tibet: how to introduce reform without appearing to desecrate the spiritual heart of the people. These cadres are young, often Han Chinese, and they tread carefully. They do not hold political meetings inside the temple, but outside in the courtyard. They distribute leaflets assuring citizens that religious belief is protected by the constitution.

They also engage in quiet dialogue with monks—especially younger ones—about the role of religion in a new society. Some monks express genuine curiosity: Can one be both a Buddhist and a supporter of reform? Can a monk be a patriot? Can monasteries survive without land ownership?

The answers, Strong reports, are still being formed. But the fact that such questions are now openly discussed is, in itself, a major transformation.

Nachi’s Internal Shift

Nachi’s journey through Jokhang in this chapter is both literal and symbolic. Strong shows her slowly shedding the posture of a serf—not in rebellion, but in realization. As she kneels before the Buddha, it is not out of fear of karmic punishment, but from a place of self-directed reverence. She no longer needs a monk’s intercession to be worthy of spiritual grace.

At the end of the visit, Strong watches Nachi walk out of the temple into the sunlit courtyard. She holds her head slightly higher. In that gesture, Strong finds the metaphor for the book’s title: When Serfs Stood Up. The revolution, in Strong’s framing, is not only political—it is psychological, moral, even spiritual.

Conclusion: Reclaiming the Sacred

This chapter ends not with denunciation but with reconciliation. Strong suggests that Buddhism in Tibet need not be erased by reform—it can be reclaimed by the people who had previously been excluded from its full expression. Jokhang, in this light, becomes a place of potential rebirth: not as a citadel of privilege, but as a spiritual commons.

The final line of the chapter reads like a benediction:
“Faith may yet survive where power fails—for what is sacred cannot belong to a class alone.”

Chapter 7: Village East of Lhasa

Anna Louise Strong leaves the capital and travels to a rural village east of Lhasa—a decisive narrative shift that brings her face to face with the lived reality of Tibet’s majority: the serfs. While Lhasa had been a symbolic and political epicenter, this village, unnamed but vividly rendered, serves as a microcosm of rural Tibetan society and the Communist Party’s ambitions to remake it. Here, Strong sets aside theoretical discussions and revolutionary slogans to listen directly to villagers, who speak—many for the first time—about life under the old order.

The result is a powerful, and often harrowing, portrait of feudal exploitation. But it is also a chapter charged with cautious hope: the idea that transformation, though incomplete, is underway.

The Journey and the Landscape

Strong begins by describing her route into the countryside. The journey eastward from Lhasa takes her along winding roads through narrow valleys, over icy streams, and across bare plains. The snow has melted enough to reveal furrows in the earth, signs of preparation for spring planting. Scattered homes cling to the hillsides—low stone structures with smoky chimneys, prayer flags fluttering weakly in the wind.

She notes the contrast between the serenity of the landscape and the social tensions buried beneath it. To a casual visitor, these villages might seem timeless and peaceful. But to Strong, they are “villages waiting for justice,” places where hundreds of years of silence are beginning to fracture.

First Impressions of the Village

Upon arrival, Strong is met by local cadres—young Tibetans recently trained by Chinese work teams to assist in the reforms. Their Tibetan language, their cultural fluency, and their respectful demeanor help bridge the gap between the village and the state. Strong is struck by how young and earnest they are. Most are former serfs themselves.

The village is modest. Families live in single-room stone homes, shared with animals. Dung serves as fuel; barley is the staple crop. The people are ragged, weathered, and cautious—but also curious. For many, this is the first time they have spoken with a foreigner. They have questions: Why has she come? Does she support the reforms? Will the lamas return?

Strong does not answer all of them directly. She listens.

Listening to the Serfs

The heart of the chapter lies in a series of testimonies from villagers. These are not speeches, but fragmented stories—told in the slow, hesitant tones of people unaccustomed to being heard.

A man in his sixties, with cracked hands and hollow cheeks, speaks of a lifetime spent working the land of a monastery. He had no surname, no legal identity, and was born into debt. His wife died after being beaten by the estate steward; his son fled into the hills years ago and has not been heard from since.

A young woman with a baby strapped to her back talks about being taken at age 12 as a servant into an aristocrat’s household. She was made to clean, cook, and sleep on the floor, often enduring verbal and physical abuse. She was never paid. She never went to temple voluntarily; her offerings were obligatory.

A boy, barely ten, recounts helping bury a friend who had been executed for stealing a sheep—“not because he wanted to eat, but because he was told to.” When Strong asks who told him, the boy looks at the ground and says only, “Someone who wore red.”

These stories, for Strong, are more than personal tragedies. They are evidence. They justify the revolution. And they give moral urgency to the reforms.

The Cadres’ Work

Strong observes a community meeting organized by the local cadres. They sit in a circle, with a small red flag propped up in the dirt. The topic of the day is land—how it will be divided, who will record it, how livestock will be shared, and how work teams will assist. Villagers are invited to speak, but most remain silent.

Then one man stands and says: “I have never owned anything. If what you say is true, I will plant like it is mine. But I wait to see if it is true.”

His words are echoed by others. There is skepticism, but also an undercurrent of possibility. The people do not yet trust the state—but they are beginning to imagine life without fear.

Strong compares this process to a thaw. A village long frozen in place—its people, its customs, even its silences—is beginning to shift. She writes that one cannot simply “deliver liberation” to a village; the people must learn to believe in it.

The Question of Religion

Religion is not absent from the village. A small prayer shrine stands in the center, and villagers still spin prayer wheels and mutter mantras. But the local lama, who once wielded great authority, is gone. He fled during the rebellion. His estate is now under investigation, and the villagers refer to him with a mix of reverence and resentment.

One old woman asks the visiting cadre, “Will Buddha be angry that we divide the land?” The cadre kneels beside her and replies gently, “Buddha wishes no one to go hungry.”

Strong finds this answer telling. The revolution in Tibet is not just an economic project—it is a moral reeducation. The cadres are not only challenging the lamas’ power but also reinterpreting spiritual values through the lens of justice and equality.

A Glimpse of Reform

Before leaving the village, Strong is shown the fields designated for redistribution. The soil is poor, but the people are excited. For the first time, they will decide what to plant and how to harvest. Women are included in the planning sessions—another novelty. One woman, when asked if she wants land, answers simply: “Yes. So my daughter does not scrub someone else’s floor.”

Strong does not romanticize the village. Hunger, suspicion, and trauma linger everywhere. But she sees reform taking root, not as propaganda but as possibility. The revolution, she writes, will not be built in Lhasa or in Beijing—it will be built in places like this, where dignity is a new and fragile seed.

Conclusion: A Village Begins Again

Chapter 7 concludes with Strong watching the villagers gather at dusk. A small fire crackles. Children chase chickens in the dust. For the first time, the villagers do not bow to her or wait for permission to speak.

She does not claim that they are free yet. But they have begun to imagine what freedom might mean. That, to her, is the beginning of revolution—not just in laws or land deeds, but in the quiet moment when a man stands up and says: “I wait to see if it is true.”

Chapter 8: Lhalu’s Serfs Accuse

Anna Louise Strong attends a political meeting where former serfs from the estate of Lhalu Tsewang Dorje—a powerful aristocrat and military figure—testify publicly about the abuses they suffered. This is not just a reckoning with one man’s cruelty but a broader political ritual: the symbolic and material dismantling of the Tibetan feudal class.

Here, the revolution takes the form of language. After centuries of silence, the oppressed are now given a platform—and encouraged—to speak. Strong’s tone is intense, at times theatrical, reflecting the emotional weight of the testimonies, and the ideological charge of the moment.

Who Was Lhalu?

Strong begins with background: Lhalu Tsewang Dorje was a senior Tibetan aristocrat, once the governor of Kham and a close ally of the Dalai Lama’s government. He played a prominent role in organizing resistance against the Chinese in the lead-up to the March Rebellion of 1959, and was known not only for his wealth and landholdings but also for his ruthlessness.

His estate, one of the largest in Lhasa, comprised hundreds of households of bonded laborers—serfs who owed him taxes in the form of grain, butter, wool, and unpaid labor. Lhalu fled during the rebellion and was later captured by PLA forces. His estate has now been taken over by the government, and his former serfs are being encouraged to tell their stories.

The Setting: Public Accusation

The session takes place in an open courtyard, surrounded by villagers, cadres, and representatives from the reform committees. The mood is tense. Strong describes it as part village trial, part political theater. A small wooden platform has been erected, with a microphone and loudspeaker for the speakers.

One by one, the former serfs take the stage. Their clothing is simple. Many still wear the marks of past beatings—crooked fingers, limps, scars. Some are old; others are children speaking on behalf of dead parents. Strong makes a point of noting how difficult it is for these people to speak publicly. They fumble, repeat themselves, break into tears. But the act of speaking—of naming what was once unspeakable—is the revolution.

Testimonies of Abuse

Strong records several testimonies in vivid detail:

• An elderly man recounts being whipped for harvesting barley too slowly. His legs were tied together and he was hung upside down. The steward called it “discipline.”
• A woman describes how her daughter was taken into the household at age 10 “to serve tea” but was never seen again. She believes the girl was sold or made a concubine.
• A herdsman says he was forced to give up his yaks each year to meet tax quotas, even during droughts. When he once withheld two calves to feed his family, his hut was burned.

Each testimony is met with gasps, murmurs, sometimes applause. The people are not just listening—they are processing centuries of humiliation, now given structure and voice.

Strong doesn’t hide the theatrical nature of these meetings. Accusation sessions are coordinated by local Party teams. But she insists they are not staged. “These are not actors,” she writes. “Their pain is real. Their voices are raw with memory.”

The Role of the Audience

The audience is an integral part of the process. Every story is followed by discussion—questions, affirmations, sometimes additional accusations. Neighbors add details. Former servants whisper names. There is tension too. One man is hesitant to speak; his son urges him on.

Strong notes that this is not just a reckoning with Lhalu as a person. It is a communal unlearning. These meetings are meant to rewrite the social memory of the community. “Once,” she says, “they called Lhalu ‘protector.’ Now, they call him criminal.”

From Testimony to Action

After the testimonies, the discussion turns practical. The estate’s land, livestock, and tools will be divided among the former serfs. Cadres explain how the process will work: registration, group planning, and peasant associations. Some of the victims are elected to leadership roles.

Strong is especially moved by one man who, after giving his testimony, is asked if he wants revenge. He replies: “I want no revenge. I want a roof that is mine and a yoke that is gone.”

Justice or Vengeance?

Strong acknowledges the controversy around such sessions. Critics—especially outside Tibet—have described them as mob justice, or class vengeance. But Strong defends them. She writes that these sessions are not about punishment but truth. The accused are rarely physically harmed; the focus is on moral exposure and collective restoration.

She does, however, admit the emotional toll. Some speakers collapse after testifying. Others are overwhelmed by shame, not just at what was done to them but at having accepted it for so long.

A New Kind of Authority

The most striking effect of the meeting is the reversal of roles. The people who once knelt now stand. The estate that once dominated them is silent. For Strong, this is not merely symbolic—it is a restructuring of authority. Not only is land being redistributed, but speech itself is being socialized. Dignity is no longer a privilege, but a right.

Conclusion: Speaking Power into Existence

The chapter ends with a powerful image: as the meeting concludes, the people do not disperse immediately. They linger. They talk. They repeat the stories to one another. They name things. Strong says it is as if they are “rehearsing freedom.”

She reflects that revolutions begin with speech. That to accuse is not simply to condemn, but to assert that history has turned. For centuries, Tibet’s social order was written in silence. Now, it is being rewritten aloud.