Chinese government has 'final say' in Dalai Lama reincarnation, Tibetan official says
China considers the Nobel laureate Dalai Lama a separatist and wants to bring Tibetan Buddhismunder its control,, opens new tab but the Dalai Lama and his huge following have been obstacles to that ambition.
At his 90th birthday celebration last month, he assured followers that he would be reincarnated, and a non-profit institution he has set up will have the sole authority to identify his reincarnation.
But Gama Cedain, the deputy secretary of the Chinese Communist Party committee in Tibet, said the Dalai Lama's reincarnation would be found using a domestic search and approval by the central government.
"The central government has the indisputable final say in the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama," he told reporters at a press conference about the socioeconomic development in Tibet.
He said that was the creed devotees adhered to, and the government's process follows the strict religious rituals and historical customs of the reincarnation of living Buddhas.
"The reincarnation has never been decided by the Dalai Lama himself," he said.
The current Dalai Lama, 14th in the line of spiritual leaders for Tibetan Buddhism, has said his reincarnation will be born outside China and ruled out Beijing's role in choosing his successor.
China installed a Tibetan Buddhist monk picked by Beijing as the faith's No. 2 leader, the Panchen Lama, three decades ago after a six-year-old chosen by the Dalai Lama for the position disappeared in 1995.
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The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
China's cyber-abuse scandal: is the government unwilling to crack down on exploitation of women online?
When Ming* found a hidden camera in her bedroom, she prayed for a reasonable explanation, wondering whether her boyfriend had placed it there to record memories of their 'happy life' together. But hope quickly turned to horror. Ming's boyfriend had been secretly taking sexually exploitative photos of not just Ming and her female friends, but also of other women in other locations, then using AI technology to generate pornographic images of them. After Ming confronted him, he 'begged for mercy' but became angry when she refused to forgive him, Ming reportedly told Chinese news outlet Jimu News. Ming is just one of many women in China who have been covertly photographed or filmed – both in private and public spaces, including toilets – by voyeurs who have then circulated or sold the images online without consent. The sexually explicit pictures – often taken using pinhole cameras hidden in ordinary objects – are then shared online in massive groups. The scandal has left China reeling and raised questions about the government's ability – and willingness – to crack down on such behaviour. One such group on Telegram, an encrypted messaging app, is named 'MaskPark tree hole forum' and reportedly had more than 100,000 mostly male members. 'The MaskPark incident exposes the extreme vulnerability of Chinese women in digital spaces,' Li Maizi, a prominent Chinese feminist now based in New York, told the Guardian. 'What's even more insidious and shocking is the prevalence of perpetrators known to the victims: partners, boyfriends, even fathers committing sexual violence against underage girls.' The scandal has sparked fury on Chinese social media and triggered discussions on the challenges of combating online harassment in the country. Although Chinese regulators have the power to clamp down on sexual harassment and abuse online, the system is currently focused on restricting the flow of information deemed politically sensitive, says Eric Liu, a former content moderator at the Chinese social platform Weibo who is now a US-based editor at China Digital Times. Since the scandal broke, Liu has seen 'large-scale' censorship of the MaskPark incident on the Chinese internet, where posts seen as having a social impact – including feminist content – are often scrubbed by censors. 'If the Chinese government wanted to shut down the groups, they definitely could,' Liu says, referring to previous cases of Chinese authorities infiltrating online spaces overseas. 'The scale of [MaskPark] is massive. I can't think of a similar incident of this scale in recent years. But Liu says he is not surprised. 'There's always been this type of content on the Chinese internet.' In China, those who are found guilty of distributing pornographic content can be sentenced to up to two years in prison, while people who take photos without the subject's consent can be detained for up to 10 days and fined. The country also has regulations protecting people against sexual harassment, domestic violence and cyber-abuse. But advocates say the current legal framework is insufficient. Often the burden falls on victims to gather evidence to build their cases, which can be difficult to do for crimes that take place online, according to Xirui*, a Chinese lawyer in Beijing who specialises in cases of gender-based harm. 'The behaviour itself also needs to meet certain elements of the crime, such as a specified number of clicks and subjective motives,' Xirui says. 'There's also the problem of the statute of limitations, which is only six months for public security cases. Once that's exceeded, the police will not file the case.' The Guardian contacted China's ministry of foreign affairs for comment. Beyond the legal hurdles, victims of crimes of a sexual nature often grapple with shame, which prevents many from speaking out. 'I've seen similar cases where landlords install cameras to spy on female tenants. This type of situation is generally treated as a privacy violation, subject to administrative detention, with victims seeking civil compensations,' Xirui says. To tackle the problem, the government could implement more specialised legislation, improve gender-based training of law enforcement officials and encourage courts to issue guidance that includes examples of relevant cases, the lawyer says. For Li, the recent incident reveals a widespread tolerance and lack of meaningful law enforcement on the issue in China. Rather than tackling the proliferation of sexist and abusive content online, authorities appear more focused on detaining female writers of homoerotic fiction and censoring victims of digital abuse, she says. 'With the rise of deepfake technologies and rapid online circulation of surreptitiously filmed content, women's bodies are being digitally exploited at an unprecedented scale,' Li says. 'But I believe if authorities are truly willing, and invest the necessary resources, it's entirely possible to trace and prosecute these crimes. We need to hold the Chinese government accountable.' * Names have been changed Additional research by Lillian Yang and Jason Tzu Kuan Lu
Sky News
an hour ago
- Sky News
This man survived Hiroshima - and he has a stark warning for us all
Why you can trust Sky News Toshiyuki Mimaki is exhausted when we meet him. The 83-year-old sinks into his chair, closes his eyes, and asks us to keep it brief. But then he starts talking, and his age seems to melt away with the power of his stories. He is a survivor of Hiroshima's atomic bomb, a lifelong advocate for nuclear disarmament and, as of last year, a Nobel Peace Prize winner. But now, on the 80th anniversary of the bombing, he comes with more than just memories - he has a message, and it is stark. "Right now is the most dangerous era," he says. "Russia might use it [a nuclear weapon], North Korea might use it, China might use it. "And President Trump - he's just a huge mess. "We've been appealing and appealing, for a world without war or nuclear weapons - but they're not listening." 2:23 'I didn't hear a sound' Mr Mimaki was three years old when the US dropped an atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima. It was the first time a nuclear weapon had been used in war, and it's remembered as one of the most horrific events in the history of conflict. It's estimated to have killed over 70,000 people on the spot, one in every five residents, unleashing a ground heat of around 4,000C, melting everything in its path and flattening two thirds of the city. Horrifying stories trickled out slowly, of blackened corpses and skin hanging off the victims like rags. "What I remember is that day I was playing outside and there was a flash," Mr Mimaki recalls. "We were 17km away from the hypocentre. I didn't hear a bang, I didn't hear a sound, but I thought it was lightening. "Then it was afternoon and people started coming out in droves. Some with their hair all in mess, clothes ragged, some wearing shoes, some not wearing shoes, and asking for water." 'The city was no longer there' For four days, his father did not return home from work in the city centre. He describes with emotion the journey taken by his mother, with him and his younger bother in tow, to try to find him. There was only so far in they could travel, the destruction was simply too great. "My father came home on the fourth day," he says. "He was in the basement [at his place of work]. He was changing into his work clothes. That's how he survived. "When he came up to ground level, the city of Hiroshima was no longer there." 'People are still suffering' Three days later, the US would drop another atomic bomb on the city of Nagasaki, bringing about an unconditional Japanese surrender and the end of the Second World War. By the end of 1945, the death toll from both cities would have risen to an estimated 210,000 and to this day it is not known exactly how many lost their lives in the following years to cancers and other side effects. "It's still happening, even now. People are still suffering from radiation, they are in the hospital," Mr Mimaki says. "It's very easy to get cancer, I might even get cancer, that's what I'm worried about now." Tragically, many caught up in the bomb lived with the stigma for most of their lives. Misunderstandings about the impact of radiation meant they were often shunned and rejected for jobs or as a partner in marriage. Many therefore tried to hide their status as Hibakusha (a person affected by the atomic bombs) and now, in older age, are finding it hard to claim the financial support they are entitled to. And then there is the enormous psychological scars, the PTSD and the lifelong mental health problems. Many Hibakusha chose to never talk about what they saw that day and live with the guilt that they survived. For Mr Mimaki, it's there when he recounts a story of how he and another young girl about his age became sick with what he now believes was radiation poisoning. "She died, and I survived," he says with a heavy sigh and strain in his eyes. He has subsequently dedicated his life to advocacy, and is co-chair of a group of atomic bomb survivors called Nihon Hidankyo. Its members were awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2024. 'Why do humans like war so much?' But he doesn't dwell much on any pride he might feel. He knows it's not long until the bomb fades from living memory, and he deeply fears what that might mean in a world that looks more turbulent now than it has in decades. Indeed, despite advocacy like his, there are still around 12,000 nuclear warheads in the world in the hands of nine countries. "In the future, you never know when they might use it. Russia-Ukraine, Israel-Gaza, Israel-Iran - there is always a war going on somewhere," he says. "Why do these animals called humans like war so much? "We keep saying it, we keep telling them, but it's not getting through, for 80 years no-one has listened.
BBC News
2 hours ago
- BBC News
Stay or go? Under Trump, dreams fade for Chinese who trekked to US
When Pan decided to leave his homeland in early 2023, he did so with a conviction that his future no longer belonged he headed to America, he dreamed of a freer society, a fairer economy, and a life lived with dignity – things he said he could never claim in China, where his home had been forcibly demolished by the local government to make way for real estate chase that dream, he embarked on a journey of thousands of miles from China to Ecuador in 2023, from which point he trekked jungles as part of his long route. About two months later, he finally made it to the a soft-spoken man in his late 50s from a small village in Jiangxi province in eastern China, is one of tens of thousands of Chinese nationals who have made the same journey in recent years. Known colloquially as zou xian ke, or "those who walked the line", they represent a new wave of migration driven by authoritarian tightening at home and the belief – sometimes naive, often desperate – that the US still offers a fair shot at a better reasons for exodus varied, but their experiences once on American soil follow certain trends: many have ended up isolated by language, burdened by debt and surviving on gig work as they wait for their asylum claims to crawl through an overwhelming immigration remain hopeful. Others are all of them, now, are living in the long shadow of President Donald Trump's political return - during which the poor US-China relations of recent years have soured even further. 'Hard work here brings hope' Pan is one of several Chinese migrants who I first met two years ago. Like many of the group who he travelled with, he now works in a Chinese restaurant, even though back home, he prided himself on his farming know-how. In America, those skills don't translate, since the soil conditions are different and he doesn't speak English. Past lives hold little a while after arriving, Pan wandered from city to city, sleeping on borrowed couches or bunking with fellow migrants. Eventually, he landed in Barstow, California, a dusty industrial life today is penned within a tight radius. He cooks and sometimes waits tables at a restaurant during the day, video-calls his wife and children in China at night, and repeats the routine the next day. He lives in a room attached to the outsiders, and even to his family back home, Pan's life might seem unbearably monotonous. But to him, it's defined not by what's lacking, but by what's no longer present. No land seizures. No meddling officials. No fear of arbitrary punishment."My family doesn't understand," he said with a half-smile. "They ask why I left a comfortable life behind. But here, even if it's simple, it's mine. It's free."Pan's sense of freedom is quiet but stubborn. Two years ago, in a cramped hotel room in Quito, Ecuador, he told me on the eve of his journey that even if he died en route, it would be worth still says the same. "All of this," he repeated, "is worth it." Like many newcomers, Pan doesn't have any meaningful social circle – the mounting language and cultural difference challenges confine his life to interactions with fellow migrants. Occasionally, he travels to Los Angeles to join protests outside the Chinese consulate. He admits that is partly to strengthen his asylum claim by establishing a public record of political dissent. But it is also because, after decades of silence, he 4 June, the anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre – a date scrubbed from China's public memory by the authorities – he stood again outside the consulate chanting anti-Chinese Communist Party slogans. That day, among the familiar crowd, he spotted James.A young man in his early 30s who hailed from western China, James had travelled with Pan from Ecuador through the Darién Gap and up to the US border. But if Pan's story is one of quiet stoicism, James's is more kinetic, more his release from a US immigration detention centre, James bounced between cash gigs in Monterey Park, a Chinese-majority suburb east of Los Angeles. He ultimately bought a cargo van, drove out to Palm Springs, and made the car both his livelihood and his van is cluttered with sleeping bags, gas canisters, and a portable charger - that's all he needs to be content with his life. During the day, he delivers food around the city; at night, he parks outside a 24-hour gym and sleeps with the windows was always a hustler in China. But after Covid tanked the economy and political crackdowns left little room to breathe, he decided to leave."At least your hard work here brings hope, but back in China, you could work over ten hours a day and see no future," James told me. 'America is becoming another China' Yet hope alone isn't enough. For nearly all the newcomers, including James and Pan who are by and large content with their life in the US, Trump's political return has brought back a gnawing sense of wave of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids across southern California, Trump's continuous push to deport undocumented immigrants, and rising US-China tensions including a battle over trade tariffs, have all deepened a climate of I was re-connecting with the migrants who I first met in 2023, clashes between protesters and the government police forces were unfolding in downtown Los Angeles over recent ICE raids were part of the president's aim to enact the "biggest deportation operation" in US history - a pledge that helped him to win the White House again last year. A CBS News/YouGov poll conducted in early June found 54% of Americans saying they approved of his deportation administration says its raids have primarily targeted people with criminal records, although critics say innocent people have been caught up in the drive - sparking anxiety among all of the migrants I reconnected with now hold what's called an Employment Authorisation Document (EAD) that allows them to legally work in the US, but they have not been granted official asylum status. In Trump's expansive ICE raid campaign, people who hold exactly the same status as these migrants have been what's the driving the fear is a sense of unknowing - of if and when these raids will reach the Chinese community, or when the next downturn of China-US relations could the two Trump presidencies, US-China relations hardly improved when Joe Biden served in the White House. The Democrat kept earlier Trump tariffs in place, and tensions rose as Beijing escalated its rhetoric over the status of US ally some, all the unease has prompted a question that many Chinese migrants have quietly begun to ask themselves: is America worth it?Kevin, a man in his thirties from China's Fujian province, didn't think so. Like Pan and James, Kevin journeyed through Latin America to reach the US. But the American dream he once believed in now feels like a I asked him how settled he was in California's San Gabriel Valley, where he lives with his wife and their newborn son, he referred to the ICE raids in LA and answered: "Everything feels uncertain. So no, I don't feel settled."Kevin's disillusionment runs deep. "America, to me, feels like it's becoming another China," he said. "A Darwinian society.""If I had known what it would really be like, I might not have come," he continued. Caught in a pincer For a long time, what bound all these migrants was the journey they shared on that treacherous now, that binding has an extra layer: the emotional undercurrent they now swim against two years after they arrived in the US. It is the creeping realisation that their place in America is precarious, that the country they bet everything on might not have space for them after zouxian wave was driven by desperation – but also by an almost childlike faith in the American idea: that this country, for all its flaws, still offered a shot at dignity. A delivery job. A sliver of land. A bed behind a restaurant where no one came knocking at with Trump portraying China as national security threat, warning of "infiltration," and promising sweeping crackdowns on many things China-related, even those modest hopes feel more under siege than effect is clear. This new wave of Chinese migrants – many of them still awaiting asylum – now feel themselves caught in a pincer: mistrusted by Americans, unwanted by Beijing, and sometimes suspended in legal for one, is bracing for the worst. "The future here doesn't feel as certain anymore," he said, standing outside the restaurant in Barstow, watching the freeway traffic blur past. "I'm worried I might not be allowed to stay. And if I go back to China…"He trailed off. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he looked at me, steady, calm, resigned."That thought," he said, "is unbearable."It was the same look I remembered from that hotel room in Quito, two years and a world ago: worry flickering behind tired eyes, but beneath it, a core of absolute matter what happens, Pan told me, he's staying.
