What was once historic Tibet exists no more. The Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR), as China calls it, is actually a part of what constituted historic Tibet. Historic Tibet comprised three regions: U-Tsang, Kham and Amdo, but after the occupation by the Chinese in 1950, the regions were dismembered and integrated into surrounding provinces of China such as Gansu, Sichuan, Qinghai and Yunnan. The U-Tsang region is now known as TAR, referred to as Tibet in popular imagination and writing; and TAR does not literally mean Tibet (as the Tibetans see it).
That aside, the “roof of the world” remained largely inaccessible to the world for years both due to its geographic location and contested occupation. After TAR was artificially constituted, movement to and from (TAR) was controlled and monitored. But today, the bamboo curtain has partly fallen. TAR is no longer isolated, or inaccessible because China’s great train, the Qinghai-Tibet railway opened doors in 2006 taking you into the heart of TAR, to Lhasa. The 1,118-km long railway was built at an estimated $3.16 billion and is the longest railway project at the highest elevation, exceeding 5,000 metres in places. The railway links Qinghai province’s Golmud city with Lhasa.
The railway is popularly understood as ex-President Jiang Zemin’s “political project” aimed at “reinforcing economic development and consolidating national security”. It was given the go-ahead during the Tenth Five Year Plan (2001-2005).
The book, authored by Abrahm Lustgarten, a reporter with Propublica, offers an insightful account of what went into the making of the rail link. Most of us are aware of the arguments against it — such as the adverse ecological impact (the tracks run through the fragile natural reserves of Ke Ke Xi Li and Qiang Tang, home to the endangered Tibetan antelopes); displacement of hundreds of hamlets; and the fear that opening up of the “golden tourist road” would lead to a deluge of tourists. According to official Chinese figures, an estimated four million tourists visited TAR in 2007 — the number is likely to reach six million by 2010. Yet we are relatively unaware of many of the details that went into its making, which Lustgarten digs out.
Though efforts to connect TAR with the rest of China had commenced in 1954, it was in 1979 that a rail link between Qinghai’s capital Xining and Golmud was completed, but Golmud remained the end-of-the-line frontier with TAR as it was considered impossible to build further tracks through the permafrost.
The Golmud-Qinghai project was launched in 2001 and took five years to be completed, but was not a hasty proposition. It was preceded by a secret $44 million, seven-year survey which tapped an estimated 1,000 geographers to map the plateau.
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The book is successful in capturing the extent of the unprecedented mobilisation of human labour, and practical difficulties that the huge army of Chinese workers faced in building the rail line over a tricky, unpredictable terrain. Contingents of workers came down with altitude sickness, trapped on a flat plateau, where descending into a lower terrain took days due to bad road conditions. In fact, hundreds died during the project. Apparently, in due course, China built medical stations and workers were encouraged to take breaks to take gasps “off an oxygen tube”.
The book also helps us understand the geography of TAR, which, incidentally, is almost 540,000 square miles of permafrost, the largest frozen soil outside of the Arctic. The plateau is a treacherous virtual quicksand — not only is it constantly moving ground, but is as much soil as water, frozen in places and soft in others. The underground cavities are filled with water, which freezes in winter but thaws in summer.
But the impossible task was backed by tremendous political will and cross-collaboration across many of China’s research institutes. China’s Qinghai-Tibet Railway Company executed the plan, but the First Railway Institute (of the Ministry of Railways) had spent 40 years researching the best possible route; permafrost scientists and geologists from China’s CAREERI (Cold and Arid Regions Environmental and Engineering Research Institute) also enabled railway engineers to understand the permafrost terrain.
When permafrost was identified as the main roadblock, engineers devised building bridges to elevate the track, and this expensive proposition received the political go-ahead. Today, the track is 105 bridged miles, almost one-seventh of the route. Chinese engineers also used cooling sticks along the route, which had earlier been used on the Trans-Alaska pipeline in the 1960’s. The 35-feet cooling sticks are buried along the track. The ammonia in the cooling sticks draws heat from the earth and flushes it out at the top.
For those who continue to dream of Lhasa, the narrative provides glimpses of Lhasa today.
Recent media reports indicate that the permafrost foundation is sinking and cracks have developed. But China continues to steam ahead with plans of extending the rail line to Shigatse, TAR’s second-biggest city this year. The line along the Yarlung Tsangpo river is to be further extended to Khasa which will bring the train close to India’s door — a wake-up call for India?
Yes, the book salutes the unsung heroes of the rail and is informative, but is at best a light read. Try to overlook the faulty transliteration, and find value instead, when you choose to read between the lines.
The reviewer is a sinologist based in Singapore
CHINA’S GREAT TRAIN
Beijing’s Drive West and the Campaign to Remake Tibet
Abrahm Lustgarten
Times Books: New York, 2008
305 pages; Singapore $27.95