A Review of Ama Adhe The Voice that Remembers

Amazon.com reviews for Ama Adhe’s The Voice That Remembers only include four and five star ratings, with comments ranging from “Her story is one all should read because her message helps one gain perspective and perseverance through adversity” to simply “I think (Adhe’s) book made me a better person” (1). Almost every review makes sweeping claims about the betterment of a person after reading the book, and the long lasting effect and educational value that the novel had on informing Western readers about the ongoing plight that Tibetans face at the hands of the communist Chinese. And it is true; Adhe’s story is an incredible tale of her struggle to remain faithful to the Tibetan Buddhist tradition in the face of genocide and extensive torture at the hands of the Chinese in the early 1960s. Even the harshest critic of the book can not say anything against the willpower and truly awe-inspiring perseverance and strong-willed devotion that drove Adhe to survive after being imprisoned and specifically victimized for twenty-seven years. However, it is important to note that The Voice That Remembers was no doubt heavily ghost-written, and skillfully employs literary tactics that generate a strong, instinctual pathological response from a Western audience. As Laurie McMillan says in her short essay “New Age Namtar: Tibetan Autobiographies in English”, “the making of Tibetan autobiographies in English is inevitably a mixed phenomenon, one that is intertwined with Western expectations and with some Tibetan’s desires to represent what might be seen as the authenticity of their experience” (156). McMillan goes on to say that what Westerners qualify as an “authentic Tibetan” is a Tibetan that is devoted to Tibetan Buddhism, Tibetan Nationalism, and exile. Here, the ultimatum lies. While Adhe no doubt felt a need to portray the struggles she and her companions faced in the most realistic way possible, she also needed to appeal to Western readers, which raises McMillan’s initial question, “Are (Tibetan autobiographies in English) simply a kind of capitulation of Western desires… or might they still be something else?” (155). Although Ama Adhe’s tale of oppression at the hands of communist China is both authentically moving and powerful, Adhe goes to lengths to present herself as McMillan’s “authentic Tibetan” by using subtle literary techniques that emphasize her devotion to Buddhism, Tibetan nationalism, and exile during the invasion.

Even before Adhe’s narrative begins, the book reinforces her credibility as a Tibetan Buddhist by including a letter from the Dalai Lama, highlighting the accomplishments of Adhe and the significance, in a Buddhist and humanitarian sense, of the novel. Immediately, this establishes Adhe’s ethos, or credibility. Perhaps the most key point of the note of praise is that the Dalai Lama highlights the impact that the book has in portraying the struggle of the “Tibetan people” much more heavily than he talks about Adhe herself. The effect of this is that she is not only exalted through a Buddhist lens, but a nationalist lens as well. The intro from the Dalai Lama symbolizes the ultimate Buddhist praise, as well as nationalist praise, and drives home the notion that reading this novel as a Westerner will make them a “better person”. When a Western reader eventually dives into the novel, it is virtually impossible to forget for even a page that Adhe is Buddhist. It serves as her main motivation to live and source of strength throughout the novel, combined with her love for and need to return to her children as well as protect her friends and family. Three factors contribute to her Buddhist devotion while imprisoned; personal practice, help and observing the devotion of others, and the villainization of the Chinese in a religious sense. First, Adhe derives her personal practice from her childhood and upbringing. It is important to note that she continues to practice these Buddhist traditions even after multiple years of imprisonment, when many of the prisoners have become emotionally broken under the weight of the communist work and manifesto. In one instance, Adhe fears that she can’t remember all of the verses of the 21-verse prayer she habitually recited to the protectress deity Dolma, and so asks a former lama Kathong Situ Rinpoche to help her. In return, he gives her an abbreviated 9-verse prayer to the same deity Dolma, and she is able to continue her religious practice. Instances such as this punctuate the entire novel; whenever the reader fears she may give up, they are reminded of her religious nature, such as when Adhe attempts to starve to death and fashions rosary beads out of the cloth at the bottom of her robe. These small personal nods to Buddhism suggest that it is a driving force constantly on her mind, and establish her credibility as an “authentic Tibetan”. Secondly, periodically throughout her torturous labor, she is accompanied by another devout Buddhist. For example, when she is originally imprisoned, there is a day where the women are cycled through sessions of rape and torture, and then forced to drink murk water in order to prevent pregnancy. In this time of desperation, Chomphee Gyalgo Rinpoche reassures her, “even though we are suffering very dark times, it will not be possible for them to destroy our religion and culture. Ultimately, the doctrine of Tibetan Buddhism will prevail” (105). This is one more reminder to the readers of Adhe’s cultural and doctrinal roots, even though the remarks do not come from Adhe herself. Finally, the contrast between the communist Chinese and the Tibetan Buddhist is black and white in the novel, when in reality there were many shades of grey. In one scene, a woman prison guard tells the prisoners “you must admit that there is no deity and no religion” (155) to which the prisoners respond by calling her “devil-woman” (155). The effect of this is to juxtapose the Tibetans in a religious sense and subconsciously emphasize the role of religion in the Tibetan prisoners personal lives. The combination of personal practice and consistent reminder of the polarization between the Chinese and the Buddhist upbringing of Adhe completes the first Western requirement of an “authentic Tibetan” according to McMillan.

Adhe additionally builds her credibility as an “authentic Buddhist” by increasing her sense of nationalism through the novel structure, purposeful avoidance of mention of Chinese prisoners during the Communist power, and devotion to protecting her friends who joined her rebel group. Chapters 1 through 4 spend a good length of time describing Adhe’s life in Tibet before the communist invasion, which serves two purposes. The first is that it sets a setting for the character and contributes to the autobiographical nature of the novel, but the second is that it subconsciously establishes her strong roots to Tibet since she was a child to the reader. All of her pre-communist invasion memories are very bright and idealistic. The first sentence of the novel is even “I can recall my first memory- laughing, spinning, and falling in fields of flowers beneath an endless sky” (5). This creates a romanticized vision of Tibet that will serve to make her fight to save Tibet more impactful. Second, throughout the entire novel, there are very little Chinese mentioned that are not authority figures. In reality, there were a large number of Chinese prisoners in the camps that the Tibetans were brought to. While Tibetans greatly outnumbered the Chinese, the exclusion of Chinese characters draws the readers to focus on the plight of the Tibetan prisoners, as well as establishing the Chinese as one united oppressive force. Again, the effect of this is turning a grey reality into a black-and-white world. The refusal to betray her resistance group and her friends involved shows a true nationalist drive that is not fabricated by the novel, but it’s inclusion has a very powerful effect on the reader. Throughout years of torture, Adhe continues to deny any part in organizing, leading, or taking part in the resistance group she and her brother had organized in Tibet. Because of this, she is subjected to endless suffering, while her brother was killed after admitting guilt. This punishment is much worse than death, which Adhe wishes for multiple times throughout the novel. Adhe’s nationalist side is exposed through a combination of literary technique and genuine devotion, and this in turn cements her as the Western ideal of the “authentic Tibetan”.

Finally, McMillan’s “authentic Tibetan” must complete a state in exile, which Adhe does without much further explanation for a number of years. However, her exile is forced rather than voluntary, but still, this makes her return to Tibet incredibly shocking after almost thirty years of spending time in various prisons and work camps outside of Tibet and in China. However, probably the most poignant thing about her forced exile is that she never forgets her home country, and is constantly wondering about the state of it even when she is thousands of miles away. Coming back, Adhe notes “my region had been a land of pristine beauty, a place of great religious sanctity… but now, the mountains around Lhobasha were barren, the forests all gone” (196). Adhe’s pain in exile and the realization that her home is destroyed devastates the readers, who already know the inevitable fate of Tibet post-communist invasion and reach out to Adhe emotionally. This completes Adhe’s credibility and establishes her as an “authentic Tibetan” in the eyes of Western readers.

Ama Adhe’s personal account of twenty-seven years of imprisonment in the years of the Communist takeover are genuinely moving and startlingly intimate, especially to the Western reader who may not be adequately informed of the atrocities inflicted on the Tibetan people. However, with this in mind, it is equally important to recognize and analyze the literary techniques that allow the Western reader to feel for Adhe and establish her as the perfect vision of the “authentic Tibetan”; devoutly Buddhist, unquestionably nationalist, and subjected to exile. There are upsides and downsides to Westernized versions of Tibetan autobiographies, but one downside that is both recurring and perhaps the most problematic is the Western notion that reading stories such as Ama Adhe’s will somehow turn the reader into a better person. As Laurie McMillan puts it, “Reading the life of a Tibetan- seeming contact with the Tibetan- becomes something that can transform readers, making them into the new ‘you’” (206). Ama Adhe’s The Voice That Remembers is no exception to this statement, as seen by the Amazon reviews referenced in the introductory paragraph of this essay. And even as the writer of this essay, criticizing the novel seems harsh because as McMillan puts it, “To criticize the book would seem like criticizing the person (here, Ama Adhe) ‘in the world’” (206). To acknowledge the literary techniques that manipulate the reader into sympathizing more with the character is, without a doubt, controversial, however it is something that must be done. Ama Adhe’s perseverance and bravery is monumentally moving and inspiring, but there is something about making her story appeal to a Western audience that seems a little bit wrong. The call for both action and education on the subject of the plight of the Tibetans is imperative, but having to establish her credibility as “authentic” in order to have Westerners care about her cause as well as her struggle is problematic. So, as Western readers, perhaps we need to step back and think about how it is not this novel’s fault that is had to focus on some events and negate others, perhaps it is a Western societal problem that our genuine interest can only be peaked by investing our time in things that Westerners believe will directly benefit us. Ama Adhe’s The Voice That Remembers undoubtedly cleverly employs a number of literary choices in order to establish Adhe’s credibility as what Laurie McMillan defines as an “authentic Tibetan” by Western standards, however, her story is nevertheless awe inspiring and one of strength, bravery, and a love for Tibet.