BOOK REVIEW
Dr. Nyima Tenzing* reviews Tsering Wangmo Dhompa’s The Politics of Sorrow, praising its sensitive depiction of marginal Tibetan exile narratives while critiquing areas requiring deeper analytical rigour. Specifically, it argues for more explicit engagement with the Ockenden School conflict, the “group of 13,” and Gungthang Tsultrim’s contested legacy, alongside the political pragmatism shaping historical discourse. The review concludes that while Dhompa’s work is a vital contribution to Tibetan diasporic studies, a more thorough dialectical approach is essential for resolving contested narratives and preventing community insecurity.
Tsering Wangmo Dhompa’s latest work, The Politics of Sorrow – Story of Unity and Allegiance across Tibetan Exile, New York, 2025, derived from her 2018 doctoral dissertation (Dhompa, 2018)[1], offers a compelling and nuanced exploration of a cohort of Tibetan exiles who, for various reasons, occupied a marginal position within the broader structures of exile life. Her narrative is distinguished by a notable sensitivity and sensibility, resisting the impulse toward bitterness that can often characterise revisionist historical accounts. Instead, Dhompa constructs her narrative with an undercurrent of sorrow, maintaining a reflective and measured tone even while engaging with difficult historical subjects. In much the same spirit as the author’s mother, who saved a portion of what was most delectable so her absent daughter might also partake—“It was so delicious I could not eat it without saving some for you” (Dhompa, 2016, pp.19), one feels compelled to share with the wider world the insights contained in this work, recognising its potential to nourish collective understanding and dialogue.
Dhompa’s work stands apart from revisionist approaches that risk devolving into exceptionalist narratives (McGranahan, 2010). Her careful and candid, albeit at times uncertain, treatment of complex historical contexts ensures that her storytelling maintains a scholarly integrity. This commitment to intellectual honesty is particularly commendable in a landscape where political imperatives or personal grievances often shape historical narratives.
Dhompa herself acknowledged in a post-publication interview that “facts have a different value and stake when we’re talking about nonfiction, compared to, say, poetry or fiction” (Tibet Express Newsdesk, 2025, q.2). However, an ongoing struggle to suppress the impulses of the nonfiction writer within her is evident in the book, suggesting a tension between the rigours of historical analysis and the evocative power of literary expression. Notably, this also underscores her capacity to negotiate personal and collective memory without resorting to exclusionary or triumphalist frameworks —a significant achievement, given the intricate and fraught historical terrain it covers. The book’s thoughtful engagement with questions of identity, belonging, and historical memory is poised to serve as an important intellectual resource for subsequent generations of Tibetans in diaspora.
While the book effectively narrates the experiences of a particular group of Tibetan exiles, several issues warrant deeper and more thorough analytic exploration to fully realise its potential as a definitive scholarly contribution.
One such area concerns the primary impetus for the revolt against Ockenden School. While ostensibly attributed to the alternative history being imparted to students (Choedup, 2023), a closer analysis reveals that the deeper grievance probably stemmed less from the specific content of the curriculum and more from the clandestine manner in which this nascent historiography was introduced. Critically, at the time of the school’s establishment, there was no transparent disclosure regarding the intention to teach an alternative historical narrative. Prospective students and their families were not informed of such a curricular deviation, resulting in a breach of informed consent that later galvanised both the student body and staff delegated by the exile authority to interpret the episode as a covert appropriation of educational mandate.
Notably, neither the testimonies of school members nor the collective accounts of the broader exile community explicitly report this clandestinity. This strategic silence may be attributable to a quintessential Tibetan aversion to expressing ingratitude toward foreign organisations that had been instrumental in supporting the community during a precarious phase of its existence. Furthermore, the academic lineage of Dexter and Sangye Tenzin, both protégés of David Snellgrove—a renowned scholar of Bon—serves to heighten the perception that there was a conscious effort to promulgate a new historical narrative that had not yet been subjected to rigorous scholarly scrutiny within the Tibetan exile community. It is reasonable to suggest that the architects of this curricular shift acted out of genuine scholarly enthusiasm rather than any deliberate attempt at deception or malice. However, a more explicit analytical engagement with this aspect would have strengthened the book’s exploration of institutional trust and cultural politics.
Similarly, the chapter addressing the “group of 13” creates a subtle, even if unintended, impression that this cohort stood as representatives of the entire Kham and Amdo (Do ToeMey) regions. In reality, the group of 13 comprised only a minority within an already minoritised segment of the broader Tibetan polity. This misapprehension is demonstrably contradicted by the substantial correspondence generated by members of Do Toemey communities at large amidst the ensuing controversy. Numerous individuals from Kham and Amdo wrote directly to the Government of India, with some even addressing the group of 13 directly, to denounce the actions perceived as rebellious against the exile administration. Such extensive dissent underscores the limited representativeness of the group, suggesting that their leadership was not bestowed by communal mandate but rather self-appointed in nature—a dynamic mirrored in historical analyses of community leadership structures in Amdo and Kham, where authority was often concentrated among a select few and lacked broad democratic legitimacy (Goldstein, 1989; Kapstein, 2006). Furthermore, it is reasonable to surmise that the principal motivation for key leaders within the group was the preservation of personal privileges and status; the articulation of a distinct historical narrative likely served more as a rhetorical strategy than a genuinely collective cause. Interestingly, Dhompa admits this pointedly in the book. Regrettably, it was the more ordinary members of the group who had to bear the dire consequences, experiencing a heightened sense of dislocation—a form of “double exile”. A more explicit acknowledgement and deeper analysis of the internal dissent and the limited representativeness of this group would have provided a more balanced historical picture, avoiding any unintended reinforcement of a minority’s claim to broad regional representation.
The portrayal of Gungthang Tsultrim (GT) is another instance where deeper analytical scrutiny would have been beneficial. GT is a figure whose legacy, as reflected in the collective memory of the Tibetan exile community, is shaped more by popular anecdotes and social perception than by formal historical records. Notably, GT’s reputation as a martyr is unsupported by substantive evidence. Oral accounts, such as those relayed by family elders, refer to an urban legend in Clement Town, wherein GT was tangentially involved in the murder of a dissenting community member. Subsequent to the incident, several individuals aligned with GT—often referred to as Aptoo (henchmen)—were detained under suspicion of involvement. Despite their arrest, their subsequent acquittal by the court led to a formal reception held in their honour. During this occasion, GT purportedly remarked, “Mi Pha Sey, Khamchu Tsu Khey Serngey Go Nyungwey?”[2] (Have you encountered a precedent whereby an act of murder has resulted in the perpetrator’s legal exoneration?). This anecdote, while perhaps apocryphal, is significant in its revelation of community attitudes toward GT. Rather than solely recounting a criminal event, it functions as a lens into the perspectives of ordinary community members. It further suggests that GT’s dynamic agency and ambition may have incited jealousy and suspicion among peers, both within his cohort and among adversaries, fueling a prolific culture of gossip and thereby contributing to his contentious reputation. It is, however, historically indisputable that GT was well-versed in the processes and objectives of the exile administration, having served as a member of parliament (Chithue) before assuming a more oppositional stance. One can only speculate what informed that transition—personal ambition or public emancipation—given his contested reputation. While Dhompa adeptly presents the complexities of GT’s image, a more explicit analytical framework for understanding the construction of such reputations in a diasporic context would have enriched the narrative.
Finally, the discussion surrounding the semi-autonomous status of certain regions within Kham and Amdo provinces vis-à-vis the Lhasa Government merits further analytical precision. Although this semi-autonomous status was not formally acknowledged in the official pronouncements and historical records produced during the 1960s and 1970s in exile, these sources rarely issued categorical denials of such autonomy either. This strategic ambiguity was a contingent outcome of the prevailing political circumstances of the era. Explicit recognition might have been strategically avoided, given that such documentation could be appropriated by Chinese state propaganda to undermine the Tibetan national cause. Nevertheless, subtle indications of the recognition of regional distinction are discernible in various aspects of exile institutional practice. For instance, the narrative of consolidating Chikdril (unity) among the three major regions—Cholkha Sum (U-Tsang, Kham, Amdo)—implicitly concedes the necessity for cohesion, suggesting an underlying acknowledgement of historical fragmentation. Efforts to fortify this unity presuppose the existence of prior divisions. Further, the organisation of the exile legislative body into three provincial sections, with members elected according to regional origin, reflects the enduring influence of provincial realities. These arrangements suggest that constitutive histories within the greater Tibetan narrative persist and are materially recognised, even if not always foregrounded in official discourse.
Consequently, interpreting the lack of formal documentation of regional histories as an erasure or transformation into a Spivakian subalternity may not be fully supported by either institutional practice or collective memory. Analogously, intra-regional histories—such as Kongpo and Pemakoe histories within the broader U-Tsang history—demonstrate that national histories routinely encompass alternate and layered narratives; these do not necessarily signify subalternity but rather a complex structure of constitutive historical relationships. A more explicit engagement with the political pragmatism of official discourse versus the lived realities and institutional structures within the diaspora would have enhanced the analytical rigour of this section.
In conclusion, Dhompa’s book is a significant contribution to the understanding of Tibetan exile history, marked by its emotional resonance and commitment to centering marginalised voices. Her sensitive storytelling and refusal to descend into bitterness offer a valuable model for navigating difficult historical subjects. However, for a work derived from a doctoral dissertation, a deeper and more thorough analytic exploration of certain contentious points would have elevated it from a compelling narrative to an indispensable scholarly text. Revisionism, when not applied in the Marxian sense, proves constructive insofar as it is grounded in rigorous analytical dialectic. In contrast, if revisionism relies primarily on literary techniques absent substantive critical analysis, it risks perpetuating latent insecurities within affected communities. Such revisionist efforts may fail to provide a satisfactory resolution to contested narratives, thereby leaving stakeholders in a state of ongoing uncertainty and ambiguity.
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* Dr. Nyima Tenzing holds a PhD in Economics. His research interests lie at the intersection of history, politics, and economics, where he explores the complex and often overlapping dynamics that shape social and economic realities. He can be reached at nyima.tenzing@gmail.com
Footnotes
[1] The book’s publication, occurring a notable seven years after its initial academic dissertation form, suggests a deliberate deferral regarding the dissemination of intimately resonant scholarship. Perhaps, she wanted “To protect those listening from feeling less themselves, we do not praise the ones we love” (Dhompa, 2016, p. 150)
[2] More likely, he said it in the Amdowa dialect if he did indeed say it
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References
- Choedup, U. (2023). Competing visions: Schooling the nation and the “revolt” at the Ockenden Tibetan school. International Journal of Asian Studies, 20(3), 497–512. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479591422000420
- Dhompa, T. W. (2016). Coming Home to Tibet: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Belonging. Penguin Random House India (Apple Book version.)
- Dhompa, T. W. (2018). From the Margins of Exile: Democracy and Dissent within the Tibetan Diaspora (Doctoral dissertation). University of California, Santa Cruz, Literature Department.
- Goldstein, M. C. (1989). A History of Modern Tibet, 1913-1951: The Demise of the Lamaist State. University of California Press.
- Kapstein, M. T. (2006). The Tibetans. Blackwell Publishing.
- McGranahan, C. (2010). Arrested Histories: Tibet, the CIA, and Memories of a Forgotten War. Duke University Press.
- Tibet Express Newsdesk. (2025, June 13). Through her mother’s ears: Tsering Wangmo Dhompa on exile, memory and Tibetan stories. Tibet Express. https://tibetexpress.net/through-her-mothers-ears-tsering-wangmo-dhompa-on-exile-memory-and-tibetan-stories/