I was born in Bylakuppe, one of the largest Tibetan settlements in southern India. From childhood, I grew up in simple barracks, along muddy roads, and in fields with limited resources. Over the years, I have watched our democratic system slowly erode. Observing the recent budget session of the 17th Tibetan Parliament-in-Exile, these “democratic procedures” appear grand and orderly on the surface, yet in reality they amount to little more than empty formalities. The parliamentarians seem largely disconnected from the everyday struggles faced by ordinary exiled Tibetans like us.
Today, a large number of young Tibetans in exile are compelled to leave our settlements and migrate to other cities in India or abroad in search of better opportunities. Our settlements are marked by economic decline, limited educational resources, and healthcare systems that depend heavily on international aid. Yet the Parliament spent an entire week debating office budgets, rules for the national flag, emblem, and anthem, and passing symbolic resolutions. Can such resolutions alter China’s repressive policies in Tibet? Can they provide even a single well-equipped school for the children of Bylakuppe? Clearly, they cannot. At best, they create an appearance of activity—projecting to cameras and donor countries that “Tibetan democracy is functioning.”
Even more ironic is the repeated emphasis on “unity” during the session, while the deeper fractures within our exile community remain unaddressed. Regionalism, sectarian divisions, and even the occasional influence of religious oracles in political matters continue to persist. In such a context, one must ask: how can this system genuinely represent ordinary Tibetans living in southern settlements like Bylakuppe?
At a deeper level, the system itself suffers from structural limitations. In 1960, His Holiness the Dalai Lama initiated the establishment of the Parliament—an important democratic experiment in Tibetan history, intended to empower exiled Tibetans to govern themselves. However, more than six decades later, this “democracy” resembles a rootless tree. It has no sovereignty, no army, and no real economic independence. Its existence depends largely on the goodwill of the Indian government and international support.
The Parliament meets twice a year. On paper, it reviews budgets and questions ministers; in practice, it revisits the same themes repeatedly—condemning China, calling for dialogue, and approving funds—without producing meaningful change. The Middle Way Approach is treated as sacrosanct, yet it receives little attention from China. Elections are held every five years, but aside from the replacement of a few parliamentarians, the underlying issues remain unchanged.
True democracy must enable grassroots voices to directly influence decision-making. It should not be overshadowed by factional interests or informal influences that dilute accountability. Without this connection between people and power, the system risks losing both its legitimacy and its purpose.
As we look toward the upcoming 18th Tibetan Parliament, there is a pressing need for fundamental reform. Without it, our so-called “democratic system” risks becoming an expensive illusion—one that sustains appearances while the Tibetan cause gradually weakens under the weight of endless meetings and resolutions. The future of the Snow Land cannot be left to a mirage.
I am Tseten Lhundup, a second-generation Tibetan exile born and raised in Bylakuppe. As an ordinary member of this community, I remain deeply concerned about the future of our democracy, the challenges confronting our settlements, and the urgent need for meaningful reform to advance the Tibetan cause.
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*Based in Lugsung Samdupling Tibetan Settlement, Periyapatna Taluk, Mysore District
Karnataka
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