Echoes of exile: Armenians, Tibetans and the Dalai Lama

Dharamshala sunrise The first light crested gently over the forest ridge, washing the hill town in a soft bloom of gold. Greens and reds, rooftops stacked like a painter’s palette, glowed beneath a blue Indian sky. The air was crisp, almost motionless, as though the entire town held its breath beneath the distant Himalayan peaks. After 10 sleepless hours on a winding night bus from Delhi, my legs longed for movement. So I walked, slowly at first, down a narrow road flanked by shuttered shopfronts, their metal gates still drawn in the early hour. A hush blanketed the town, rare and fragile for India. As the road curved upward toward the forest and an overlook ahead, a quiet serenity unfurled inside me. From the viewpoint, Dharamshala revealed itself: a cascade of multi-story homes clinging to the cliffside, blushed orange by the rising sun. Strands of prayer flags fluttered in the morning breeze, releasing their colors into the air with rhythmic, effortless grace. A family of monkeys appeared — two babies scrambling after their elders — darting across the path with the boldness of creatures who know this land is theirs. Farther along the tree-lined ascent, a Tibetan monk emerged almost spectrally from the forest, his maroon and saffron robes stirring faintly with each step. From the phone in his hand, a morning prayer played softly; he hummed along in a low, hypnotic vibration that seemed to settle into the pine roots around us. I stood quietly, absorbing the moment with a gratitude that felt physical. This place — peaceful, suspended, almost impossibly calm — was home to a people who had been forced to flee theirs. Tibetans who escaped their homeland, and the generations that followed, carried the knowledge that they might never return. Their story echoed my own. I am Armenian; the inheritance of exile, displacement and the search for pieces lost in history is stitched into my identity. I tried not to dwell on the shadows of the past, nor on the uncertain images of the future. Yet, one thought pulsed steadily beneath the surface. Soon, I would meet the spiritual leader of these exiled people: the Dalai Lama. And under that rising Himalayan sun, the weight and wonder of that realization settled over me like a second dawn. Parallels across a continent For centuries, the histories of Tibetans and Armenians have unfolded on opposite ends of Asia, yet the echoes between them are unmistakable. Both peoples once commanded vast empires before retreating into the highlands of identity — geographic, spiritual and political. Tibet’s embrace of Buddhism, much like Armenia’s early adoption of Christianity, set each nation culturally apart from its neighbors and often at odds with the powers that surrounded them. Their monasteries — Buddhist and Armenian alike — were built deliberately on the shoulders of mountains, anchored to cliffs as if height itself offered both refuge and revelation. Perhaps it was the view, or perhaps it was the instinct of small civilizations to look outward from their last unshakable vantage points. Buddhist teachings hold the core belief that "time" is an illusion and merely a construct. Anyone who has ever invited Armenians over for a dinner party can attest to the similarities in philosophy. And then, there is the dancing — those circular steps — whether at a Tibetan celebration or an Armenian wedding, tracing ancient rhythms of nature, joy and the flight of birds across limitless skies. But the deepest bond between Tibetans and Armenians is not whimsical; it is tragic. Both peoples carry the scars of genocide, exile and systematic attempts to erase their cultures from the map. Their histories are chapters stained with loss, yet also illuminated by endurance. It was this continuity of survival that drew me to the Tibetan story: a story not frozen in the amber of history books but still lived daily, defiantly and often painfully. Here in Dharamshala, the people of Tibet have built new lives — opening stores and restaurants, serving the tourist trade and maintaining several monasteries. The Tibetan diaspora today is spread all over the world and does its best to represent its culture and safeguard its traditions. I came to witness the continuing chapter: a life lived in the afterglow of a homeland lost. A pilgrim’s path The Tsuglagkhang temple complex has served as the Dalai Lama’s residence since 1960, after he sought asylum in India following his forced flight from Tibet. Set against a foothill at the edge of town, the walled enclosure begins at a gated entrance that opens onto a cobbled street lined with small shops. The path leads to a large memorial wall commemorating Tibetan martyrs and their struggle for freedom, etched with the names of those who lost their lives. Deeper within the complex lie a monastery, a temple, an educational museum and the Dalai Lama’s home. The architecture is humble: custard-colored walls and a spacious courtyard where large gatherings are held for visitors from around the world. Pilgrims moved through the early morning light, spinning prayer wheels in quiet reflection as the smell of incense drifted through the air. Monks walked calmly across the grounds after their morning meditations. Entering the residence area, I heard birds chirping through the neatly kept garden. I adjusted my khata — a long white silk scarf used as a symbol of respect during ceremonies — which I had bought in the market earlier. A large team of staff had gathered to ensure everything ran smoothly. Some were Tibetan monks with broad, gleaming smiles; others wore suits and seemed more nervous, caught in a sense of apprehension. They looked like a family caring for their beloved grandfather as they huddled together near the house steps. I was escorted gently toward the Dalai Lama, and as I approached, our eyes met while I greeted him and bowed. His gaze held a clarity that felt both deeply human and strangely expansive, as though he could see both you and the world behind you at the same time. The connection was startling in its intensity. There was kindness in his expression, certainly, but also an unguarded curiosity — an invitation to be fully present. It held a concentration of wisdom free of judgment or expectation, only a quiet acknowledgment that lingered long after, like a photograph imprinted in memory. I was surprised by how deeply it affected me, and, in the days afterward, I found myself replaying that moment. As an Armenian, you cannot visit someone empty-handed. I had brought an artwork by the Bulgarian-Armenian artist Lusia Medzikyan depicting pomegranates. At age 90, the Dalai Lama has retired from many aspects of public life. Our time together was brief, but it became a beautiful and lasting memory: an opportunity to share the threads of two intertwined cultural heritages. His books and teachings have inspired me, as they have millions of others who seek to live with greater focus and meaning. I felt deeply honored to have shared these moments in his presence. Buddhism Buddhism, at its very core, need not be approached as a religion, though millions around the world embrace it as one. The Buddha was not a god, and if you strip away the gongs, bells and other ritual elements built over 2,500 years of tradition, his story is a very human one. Siddhartha Gautama, born the son of a king in what is now Nepal, grew up insulated from every hardship. His palace walls were designed to shield him from life’s imperfections. But when he learned — first through whispered accounts of his attendants, and later with his own eyes — what suffering truly looked like, he walked away from the gilded world prepared for him. Trading silk for simplicity, Siddhartha became a wanderer in search of a different kind of truth. His legacy is a body of teachings on how to navigate the human condition. In a way, every person embarks on their own version of this journey, though few begin in a palace. Siddhartha traveled across India, living austerely and studying relentlessly, until he attained enlightenment. One of the enduring strengths of Buddhism is its universality. Its principles can sit comfortably alongside any faith, even atheism. Built on common-sense ethics and a lyrical philosophy of reducing suffering and cultivating happiness, Buddhism offers a framework that transcends culture and creed. Today, the Dalai Lama stands as the most visible torchbearer of this tradition. Over decades he has dedicated his life to public teaching, bestselling books and a gentle insistence that compassion is not a luxury but a necessity. That mission was forged under extraordinary circumstances. Teachings in exile: The Dalai Lama’s lessons for a displaced world In 1950, the Dalai Lama at just 15 years old, witnessed Mao’s Chinese army enter Tibet under the banner of "liberation." What followed were decades of devastation: over a million reported Tibetan deaths through starvation, repression and violence; the dismantling of cultural and religious institutions; and the degradation of Tibet’s environment, including deforestation and the dumping of industrial and nuclear waste that continues to this day. As with so many humanitarian crises — including the Armenian tragedy before it — the world largely looked away, never intervening and so, the suffering unfolded in the shadows. In an era marked by unprecedented displacement, the global movement of refugees has turned issues of exile and identity into defining questions of our time. Whether fleeing conflict or seeking opportunity, millions now find themselves uprooted from their homelands. Against this backdrop, the teachings of the Dalai Lama, himself a lifelong refugee, carry renewed relevance. For the Tibetan spiritual leader, compassion is not an abstract virtue but a practical tool for survival. He argues that emotional resilience, cultivated through self-reflection, mindfulness and the conscious release of anger, is essential for navigating life in exile. Interdependence — one of his central philosophical principles — takes on added meaning in displaced communities. It becomes both a reminder of shared humanity and a guide toward building supportive relationships across cultures and borders. The notion of exile is woven directly into his personal story. His autobiography, Freedom in Exile, acknowledges not only the hardship of losing a homeland but also the unexpected possibilities that emerged from it: the ability to build international connections, to spread his teachings and to advocate for Tibet on a global stage. He often expresses gratitude to India for offering the freedom that made this work possible. "I believe the most important thing for humankind is its own creativity," he has said. Education remains central to the Dalai Lama’s vision for preserving Tibetan identity. Ensuring that children grow up with a strong cultural foundation has been, in his view, vital to the survival of the community. The Dalai Lama has jokingly said that it’s not proper for a Buddhist Monk like himself to advise, but he has at times recommended Tibetan women to marry Tibetan men whenever possible, and make Tibetan children. A very familiar mantra to any Armenian. Yet, the Dalai Lama does not dwell on past injustices. His stance is that history cannot be rewritten, and the only constructive response is to look forward: to build, with intention, the best possible future. He advocates a path of personal development: cultivating inner peace, practicing gratitude and shaping oneself into a source of benefit for others. Because no person exists in isolation, individual well-being is inseparable from the well-being of the broader human community. For many Armenians, the past can feel distant; an inherited story not easily confronted without deep reflection. The Dalai Lama suggests that meaningful engagement with history begins by fostering clarity and compassion within oneself, then extending those qualities outward. "Let us reflect on what is truly of value in life, what gives meaning to our lives, and set our priorities on the basis of that. The purpose of our life needs to be positive," as he writes in The Art of Happiness. "For our life to be of value, I think we must develop basic good human qualities — warmth, kindness, compassion. Then, our life becomes meaningful and more peaceful — happier." All photos are courtesy of Raffi Youredjian unless otherwise noted.

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Raffi Youredjian

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