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by Sarah Vos '99, student-teaching in India The bus jolted to a stop in front of an unassuming cement gateway. Tired and slightly carsick from the hour-long journey, I climbed down from the bus and stood uncertainly on the crumbling dirt path. Around me cows nosed through garbage, chickens scratched for grain, and the owner of a tumbledown coffee shop stared at me curiously. There was little to distinguish this place from any other small village in the Himalayan foothills. Yet when I stepped through the gate of Norbulingka Institute I entered into a world that was wholly unique. Norbulingka Institute, located on the outskirts of Dharamsala, India, is an organization dedicated to the preservation of Tibetan arts and culture. Forty years ago China invaded Tibet on the pretext of "liberating" the Tibetan people. In the Cultural Revolution that followed, Tibetan arts, religion, and way of life were systematically annihilated. Many people--nearly 30,000 as of today--fled across the Indian border to escape persecution. An estimated 1,000,000 Tibetans have been killed. As refugees, however, Tibetans face a new but similarly heartbreaking problem. Many are farmers and nomads whose training does not prepare them for life in urban India. Mr. Tenzing Sangpo, a Tibetan teacher living in Dharamsala, told me about Tibetan refugees who spend their lives toiling on road gangs. Mr. Sangpo himself spent his early childhood sitting on a roadside, unable to go to school because his parents could spare no time to bring him there. The side effects of this grueling work--accidents, disease, lack of educational opportunities, poor pay--take their toll on the spirit of the Tibetans in exile. Norbulingka Institute has dedicated itself to providing Tibetan refugees a meaningful and sustainable way to earn a living. Though only four years old, Norbulingka already employs more than 300 people, most of whom have recently arrived from Tibet. New arrivals are trained in traditional arts by Tibetan masters, learning Thangka painting, woodwork, metalwork, silkscreen, and sewing. Once they have mastered the art, many take jobs as artisans in the institute. A single painting or sculpture may take months to create, but the quality and fine detail of each piece of work is phenomenal. Meanwhile, each worker is earning a living wage and is assured a place to live. Child care is also provided on-site. Most amazing of all--the Arts Institute is fully self-sufficient. Income from the finished goods pays for wages, housing, and all of the other needs of the institution. Touring Norbulingka was a revelation for me. Though language barriers prevented me from speaking with the workers, I saw the pride in their faces as they showed us their work. It was the pride of the enfranchised--people who have both an emotional and a physical stake in what they do. It was also the pride of people who are justly recompensed for their labor. When at last I arrived at the arts shop, I saw the consequences of a living wage. The prices of goods at Norbulingka are considerably higher than prices in most of India. Yet after only a moment's reflection I opened my pocketbook. Justice demands that people should be able to support themselves on what they earn, yet so often people fall short of this goal. Well, I found justice at Norbulingka.
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