A very political monk

Why do we think the Dalai Lama is a living saint?

This Sunday, the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu will be awarded the Fetzer Prize for Love and Forgiveness at the 2009 Vancouver Peace Summit. I have to admit that I'd never heard of this prize until today, but I can tell you that it's worth $100,000 (£63,000) and that the Fetzer Institute is based in the town of Kalamazoo, Michigan, previously best known as the place where, according to the 1942 hit record, the Glenn Miller band's singer had a girl (or rather, a gal).

I am delighted for Archbishop Tutu, who has always seemed to combine astounding cheerfulness and compassion with a highly accurate moral barometer, calling it right, for instance, on Robert Mugabe -- he described him as "a caricature of an African dictator" -- when too many of his fellow countrymen chose to keep silent about "Comrade Bob's" destructive behaviour.

The Dalai Lama, though, I'm not so sure about. It's not just that I'm suspicious of the amount of time he appears to spend hanging around with Hollywood stars struck dumb by being in the presence of a "God-King", and a "Boodist" one to boot. Nor is it just that I've not been totally convinced of his great holiness since my old colleague at the Independent Johann Hari came back from interviewing him and declared to the startled office: "I've just been called 'fat' by the Dalai Lama." The exchange appeared in the paper as follows:

"Why do the rich need so much? We each only have one stomach. Well, not you," he says, looking at my belly. "You appear to have two."

Every action he takes carries the possibility of political repercussions, and it is misleading simply to see him as a religious leader. He and Tibet have become pet causes in the west, while the Dalai Lama is now such an icon that nobody ever questions the wisdom of what he does any more. Now, I'm not saying that Tibetans may not have very good cause to feel that they have been conquered and oppressed by the Chinese. But so do the Uighurs of Xinjiang, of whom the world became briefly aware in July when 200 died in riots in the province. They, however, have since been completely forgotten again. If only they had a great spiritual leader to capture our attention . . .

This August "His Holiness" visited Taiwan after the island had been hit by a typhoon, and in November he is due to visit the Tawang monastery in Arunachal Pradesh -- a region China calls Southern Tibet. The Chinese claim both areas as theirs, and just as his trip to Taiwan infuriated Beijing, so will his forthcoming jaunt. "The visit further reveals the Dalai clique's anti-China and separatist essence," a spokesman from the Chinese foreign ministry told a reporter from Asia Sentinel. "China's stance on the so-called Arunachal Pradesh is consistent. We firmly oppose Dalai visiting the so-called Arunachal Pradesh."

He can claim that his activities are spiritual, but the Dalai Lama's appeal to the west has political ends, and as a result of that he deserves a little more scrutiny. Rarely aired, for instance, are the views of some who think he has actually set back the cause of Tibetan independence, or those who argue that China's invasion released Tibet's population from feudal serfdom, in which the peasants were slaves of the lamas.

So three cheers for "Arch" Tutu in being awarded this prize. But I think I'll hold off the ovation for the very political monk whom we've elevated into a living saint.

 

Sholto Byrnes is a Contributing Editor to the New Statesman
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Byron burgers and bacon sandwiches: can any politician get away with eating on camera?

Memo to aspirant world leaders: eating in public is a political minefield.

Miliband’s sandwich. Cameron’s hot dog. Osborne’s burger. The other Miliband’s banana. As well as excellent names for up-and-coming indie bands, these are just a few examples of now infamous food faux pas committed by British politicians.

During his entire mayoral campaign, Sadiq Khan refused to eat anything in public. When journalist Simon Hattenstone met him in his local curry house for the Guardian, the now-mayor didn’t eat a single bite despite “dish after dish” arriving at the table. Who can blame him? Though Ed Miliband had been pictured blunderingly eating a bacon sandwich an entire year earlier, the national furore around the incident had not yet died down. “He can make me look Clooneyesque or make me look like Ed eating a bacon sandwich,” Khan said of the photographer at the time.

Miliband’s bacon sandwich is now so infamous that I need offer no explanation for the event other than those words. There is an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to the photograph of Ed, lips curled and eyes rolling, as he tucks into that fateful sarnie. Yet politicians frequently bite off more than they can chew – why did Ed’s mishap inspire multiple headlines and an entire front page of The Sun?

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“The momentum got behind the bacon sandwich story because he was awkward, it showed him in a light which was true - he was an awkward candidate in that election,” says Paul Baines, a professor of political marketing at Cranfield University. “He didn’t come across right.”

The photograph of Miliband fit neatly within a pre-existing image of the politician – that he was bumbling, incompetent, and unable to take control. Similarly, when David Cameron was pictured eating a hot dog with a knife and fork months later, the story reinforced popular notions of him as a posh, out-of-touch, champagne-swilling old Etonian. Though Oxford-educated, two-kitchen Miliband is nearly as privileged as Cameron, and Brexit-inducing Dave equally as incompetent as Ed, the pictures would not gain the same popularity in reverse. There are many, many less-than-flattering pictures of Cameron eating, but they didn’t fit into a workable narrative.

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No one, for example, focused on the price of Ed’s sandwich. Purchased at New Covenant Garden Market, it was undoubtedly more expensive than Greggs’ £1.75 bacon roll – but no one cared. When George Osborne was pictured eating an £8 Byron burger whilst cutting £11.5 million from the British budget, however, the picture spoke to many. The then-chancellor was forced to explain that “McDonalds doesn't deliver”, although, as it turned out, Byron didn’t either.

“The idea was to try and display him in a good light – here's a guy eating a burger just like everyone else. The only problem was it was a posh burger and of course he didn't look like everyone else because he was spending ten quid on a burger,” explains Baines.

But Dave, Ed, and George are just the latest in a long, long line of politicians who have been mocked for their eating habits. Across the ocean, Donald Trump has been lambasted for liking his steak well done, while in 1976, Gerald Ford was mocked after biting into the inedible corn husk of a tamale. Why then, do politicians not copy Khan, and avoid being pictured around food altogether?

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“Food connects everybody, food is essentially a connection to culture and the 'every person',” explains Baines. “[Nigel] Farage's appearance in the pub has definitely had a positive impact on how he's perceived by a big chunk of the working class electorate which is an important, sizeable group.” Though Cameron, too, has been pictured with pints, his undeniably weird grasp on the glass make the pictures seem inauthentic, compared to Farage whose pints are clearly at home in his hands. In America, Joe Biden managed to capture the same authenticity with an ice-cream cone.

“I think when it comes across badly is when it comes across as inauthentic,” says Baines. “If I were advising, I certainly wouldn't advise Theresa May to be seen in the pub having a pint, that would not shine with her particular character or style. But could Tim Farron come across better in that way? Possibly but it does have to be authentic.”

Food, then, can instantly make a politician seem in or out of touch. This is especially true when food connects to national identity. Tony Blair, for example, publicly claimed his favourite dish was fish and chips despite earlier saying it was fettuccine with olive oil, sundried tomatoes and capers. In the 1980s, Lord Mandelson allegedly mistook mushy peas for guacamole, insulting us all. In the States, you’d be hard pressed to find a politician who hasn’t been pictured with a hot dog, and there are entire articles dedicated to US politicians who eat pizza with a knife and fork. Again, the food fits a narrative – politicians out of touch with the common person.  

Then again, sometimes, just sometimes, no narrative is needed. We’d advise any candidate who seriously wants a shot in the 2017 General Election to not, under any circumstances, be pictured casually feeding a Solero to an unidentified young woman. 

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

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