There surely would be nothing wicked in that. Yet that is precisely similar to what we in India did in Tibet, and for which we were accused of lowering British prestige.
Allowing, however, that the proceedings were strictly in order as far as their morality went, it might still be contended that by using force we should defeat our ends—we should make enemies when we wanted to make friends. This argument was, indeed, used in Parliament. “You cannot make friends by force,” it was said. And nothing would seem more obvious to the ordinary Briton, who had never left his island. But, contrary to expectations, we not only can make friends by force, but we actually did. The Tibetans were more friendly with us after we had fought our way to Lhasa than they were before, and, still more extraordinary, while they invaded our territory when we countermanded the Macaulay Mission, they came and sought our alliance after we had sent a Mission to Lhasa by force. When we had really got to close quarters with the Tibetans at Lhasa itself, when they had seen that their preconceived ideas about us were false; that, with all our power, we had moderation; that, fighters though we were, we yet treated their leading men with politeness and respect—with far greater respect, indeed, than they received from their fellow-Asiatic suzerain; that we interfered in no way with their religion; that their traders could do an excellent business with us, and their peasantry got fine prices for their produce and plenty of employment as well, they entirely reversed their attitude towards us, and, if I had held up my little finger, would have gladly come under our protection.
This being the case, I hope the idea that it was either wicked or needless to send a Mission to Lhasa will be no longer entertained, and that it will be recognized that in practice it is impossible to leave the Tibetans alone, however much we might like to. If, then, relationship of some kind has to subsist between India and Tibet, what we clearly want is that that relationship should be as harmonious as possible. We want to buy the Tibetans’ wool, and to sell them our tea and cotton goods. And, apart from questions of trade, we want to feel sure that there is no inimical influence growing up in Tibet which might cause disturbance on our frontier. That is the sum total of our wants. The trade is not of much value in itself, but, such as it is, is worth having. We have no interest in annexing Tibet, and we have definitely declared against either annexation or protectorate; but we most certainly do want quiet there and the removal of any influence which would cause disquiet. Disorder begets disorder. When Lhasa is unsteady Nepal and Bhutan are restless. What we want, then, is orderliness in Tibet and some means of preventing disorder from ever arising.
Before the Lhasa Mission, Russian influence—not necessarily exerted with deliberate intention by the Russian Government, but existent nevertheless—was the disturbing factor; now it is Chinese influence, exerted beyond its legitimate limits and with imprudent harshness. Either of these causes results in a feeling of uneasiness, restlessness, and nervousness along our north-eastern frontier, and necessitates our assembling troops and making diplomatic protests, and might require us to permanently increase our garrison on this frontier. That is the practical point we have to meet.
Inimical Russian influence we have no longer any cause to fear. Not only has Russia assured us that she has no intention or desire to interfere politically in Tibet, but the whole set of her policy is now towards Eastern Europe rather than towards India. So altered, indeed, is the situation that in future years I should say that there would be an increasing likelihood of her acting with us rather than thwarting us in Tibet, and I believe the day will come when British and Russian Consuls will be sitting together in Lhasa, as in Kashgar, Mukden, and dozens of other places in the Chinese Empire.
There remains the need of preventing Chinese influence being exercised in such a fashion as to cause disorder. Chinese influence in Tibet, as long as it is neighbourly to us and not irritating to the Tibetans, we have no cause to mind; it is, indeed, what for years we tried to believe existed. So we never questioned China’s suzerainty over Tibet, and in any dealings with the Tibetans their suzerainty always has been and would be recognized. It is of many hundred years’ standing, and as long as it is not used inimically to us, or in such a tactless way as to cause disorder on our frontiers, we may be very well satisfied that it exists. The Chinese are good neighbours, and in the sense of any invasion of India by way of Tibet, we have no need to fear a Yellow Peril. We have nothing to complain of, therefore, if the Chinese were established as effective suzerains in Tibet, able to preserve order there, and co-operating with us in a friendly manner. A reference to the account of our negotiations at Lhasa will show that throughout I worked with the Chinese Resident, and never directly with the Tibetans, to the exclusion of the Chinese, and when I suspected an inclination of the Tibetans thus to exclude them, I addressed both Chinese and Tibetans together. Further, on leaving Lhasa I presented the Resident with the eight or ten repeating-rifles I had among my articles for presentation, and I gave no rifles to the Tibetans. My estimate of the situation was that any influence we had should be exerted to sustain the authority and position of the Resident. Our presence in Chumbi would give us the means of exercising physical pressure more readily than the Chinese ever could; the presence of the Chinese at Lhasa itself would enable them to exert personal and moral pressure more readily than we could. By working together we could keep the Tibetans in order. They are exceedingly childish and foolish, besides being excessively obstinate in practical affairs. And if we and the Chinese worked together, as the Amban and I had done at Lhasa in 1904, we should, I thought, be able to preserve harmonious relations between all three of us—Tibetans, Chinese, and British alike.
But when Chinese action is such as to create unrest instead of preserving order, when it upsets all the border people and necessitates our assembling troops to keep the frontier steady, then we have a need to intervene. And this has been the nature of Chinese action lately. Except the Afghans, I have not known any people quite so tactless and provocative as the Chinese in dealing with a subject race. Their haughtiness and the hatred they inspired were remarked on a century ago by Manning. Long years of slackness, indifference, and supercilious disdain of the people, for whom no attempt is made to do anything, are every now and then broken by some sudden and violent effort. Chao Erh-feng’s methods have formed the subject of an impeachment by his own countrymen, and apart from the question whether he used treachery or beheaded prisoners, his regulations to the Tibetans of Batang to adopt the queue and to wear trousers, the measures he ordered for the breaking down of Lamaism, and his annexation of Derge, were all calculated to rouse the whole Lamaist world. No one is more fully aware than myself that the priestly power required to be broken, for it had become a curse and drag to the people. What I doubt is whether the Chinese have gone the right way about it. To me it seems they are more likely to have roused rumblings among the Tibetans and Mongolians for many years to come rather than have secured peace. Our own victories had reduced the Tibetans of Tibet proper to order. The recalcitrant Dalai Lama had been obliged to fly, and the Chinese were masters of the situation; and, especially after we had withdrawn from Chumbi, they had nothing to fear from us. That, even with these advantages, they should have pursued this active policy in Tibet, driven the Dalai Lama from Lhasa, turned the suzerainty into sovereignty, and practically transformed Tibet from a native State into a Chinese province, indicates to me that they are wanting in political sagacity, however much diplomatic acumen they may possess, and that their action is much more likely to cause disorder than order on our frontier.
The problem reduces itself to this, then—that we have to find some means of preventing Chinese action causing disorder. Now, though I disagree with our policy of the last few years, I recognize that it does now give us a strong position. We have been most accommodating to the Chinese, and especially in regard to the evacuation of the Chumbi Valley, when the conditions under which they might claim evacuation had not been fulfilled. If we erred, it was in the direction in which we always should err—in the direction of conciliation and broad reasonableness. We have, therefore, some ground to stand on. So standing, we have to work back to the situation there was at Lhasa in 1904, when Yutai was Resident, and before Tang and Chang and Chao ever appeared upon the scene.
It is conceivable that this present burst of the Chinese will not last long. It is expensive, and the Chinese cannot afford unnecessary expenditure. What they want, we may conjecture, is, above everything, to “save their face.” The Tibetans had been flouting them for years, and the Chinese wanted to kick them. They now have kicked them, and their faces are saved. What we have to do is to make them realize that to proceed any farther will obviously bring them to unpleasant contact with us. It might conceivably drive us into going to Lhasa again. We have been there once, and could go there again. We ought, therefore, to be able to make the Central Government see that their best chance of quiet on their frontier—which is, after all, even more essential to them than to us—is to send to Lhasa a Resident of the Yutai type rather than of the Chang and Chao description. As long as the Chinese showed themselves willing to co-operate with us, we have for a long series of years shown ourselves ready to co-operate with them, and we are just as interested in their faces being properly saved as they are. And if they would send a Resident with the general hint to “get on” with us, there would be quiet in Tibet without their dignity being interfered with. On our side, to insure smooth working, we might send one or other of the officers on the frontier to Peking or to Chengtu to talk matters over with our representatives in China, find out where the shoe is pinching, and acquire hints as to the methods of dealing with the Chinese to avoid friction. Or a Consular officer from China might visit our trade-marts and give the Indian Government suggestions. Anyhow, in these or similar ways we might do what we can to remove any unnecessary local causes of friction while we are pressing the Central Government for a more conciliatory manner to be observed in the Chinese officials sent to Tibet.