OPINION
Charisma fades, but institutions endure, and the Dalai Lama’s pivotal decision taken 65 years ago to democratize the exile Tibetan governance stands out as a rebuttal of China’s assumption that Tibetans cannot govern themselves, and as a symbol of Tibetan refusal to let go of their national aspiration, writes Aritra Banerjee.*
Every September, Tibetan communities around the world gather to mark Mangsto Duchen — Democracy Day. To outsiders, it might appear ceremonial, a diaspora’s attempt to keep traditions alive. But scratch beneath the surface and you’ll find something else: sixty-five years of a stubborn, improbable experiment in self-rule without a state.
The beginning was almost improbable. In 1960, just a year after the Dalai Lama’s flight across the Himalayas, he called on Tibetans in exile to elect representatives. It was Bodh Gaya — a symbolic setting if ever there was one — where the first deputies swore their oaths. For Tibet, it was a first. No aristocrats, no clerics alone — but laymen and monks chosen by the people. That day, September 2, has carried the weight of a nation’s aspiration ever since.
Dharamshala today houses the Central Tibetan Administration (CTA) — executive, parliament, judiciary. Three pillars, ordinary in most nations but extraordinary here. Elections are held every five years. In 2021, over 83,000 Tibetans across 26 countries voted — a turnout that would put many sovereign states to shame. No political parties, no ideological blocs. Just a shared mission that keeps the system running: survival of the Tibetan identity, and one day, self-determination.
Of course, the Dalai Lama’s role loomed large in the beginning. Both spiritual leader and political authority, he carried the cause on his shoulders. Yet in 2011, he stepped back — voluntarily, decisively — transferring power to an elected Sikyong. “We need institutions, not personalities,” he implied. That decision may have been his most important political act. Charisma fades, but institutions endure.
And yet, Dharamshala is more than bureaucracy. It is theatre, classroom, courthouse, protest site, sanctuary. A place where Tibetan democracy breathes, while across the mountains the Chinese state tries to suffocate it. Inside Tibet, Beijing builds roads, hydro dams, and propaganda schools, but not space for voices. Dissenters are jailed, monasteries suffocated under surveillance, children funnelled into Mandarin-only boarding schools. Exile democracy exists precisely to counter this — a daily rebuttal of Beijing’s claim that Tibetans cannot govern themselves.
Does it matter? Beijing would sneer. They call the CTA a “separatist clique.” They refuse dialogue, deny legitimacy, pour resources into propaganda to erase the exile experiment. But democracy’s power is rarely in immediate results. It’s in persistence. It’s in the habit of voting, the muscle memory of institutions, the symbols that endure. Mangsto Duchen is not just about what Tibetans have, but about what they refuse to let go.
Look at the timing. In 2025, democracies worldwide are once again grappling with authoritarian pushback. Canada’s Parliament affirmed Tibetans’ right to self-determination in June. In Washington, President Biden signed legislation recognising Tibet’s historical status and condemning China’s repression. No, these do not change the ground reality in Lhasa. But they give exile democracy an echo chamber, a sense that Tibet’s voice is not entirely lost in the noise of geopolitics.
India, meanwhile, plays its delicate game. Hosting the Dalai Lama, allowing the CTA to function from Dharamshala, yet stopping short of recognition. A balance, sometimes frustrating, but perhaps the only way New Delhi can walk the line between moral support and diplomatic caution. Still, Tibet’s democracy flourishes here. On Indian soil, nurtured by Indian space. That alone tells its own story.
Critics may argue exile institutions lack teeth. That they’re symbolic, disconnected from the harsh realities of Tibet under Chinese control. Maybe so. But symbols matter. Rituals matter. For a community scattered across continents, coming together every September 2 is an act of nationhood, however tenuous. The Chinese Communist Party cannot erase that with bulldozers or propaganda.
So where does this leave Tibetans? Not free, not sovereign, but not silent either. They remain one of the very few stateless peoples with a functioning democracy, carried on the backs of ordinary voters who still line up in Zurich, New York, Kathmandu, or Bylakuppe to mark their ballot papers.
Tibetan Democracy Day is not neat, not perfect, and certainly not enough. But it is a living reminder that the spirit of a people — their belief in self-rule, their stubborn commitment to dignity — has outlasted armies and empires before. Sixty-five years on, Tibet’s democratic heartbeat continues. Sometimes faint, sometimes loud. Always there.
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* Aritra Banerjee is a Defence, Foreign Affairs & Aerospace Journalist, Co-Author of the book ‘The Indian Navy @75: Reminiscing the Voyage’ and was the Co-Founder of Mission Victory India (MVI), a new-age military reforms think-tank. He has worked in TV, Print and Digital media, and has been a columnist writing on strategic affairs for national and international publications. His reporting career has seen him covering major Security and Aviation events in Europe and travelling across Kashmir conflict zones. Twitter: @Aritrabanned