did. The Tibetans were more friendly with us after we had fought our way

to Lhasa than they were before, and, still more extraordinary, while they invaded our territory when we countermanded the Macaulay Mission, they came and sought our alliance after we had sent a Mission to Lhasa by force. When we had really got to close quarters with the Tibetans at Lhasa itself, when they had seen that their preconceived ideas about us were false; that, with all our power, we had moderation; that, fighters though we were, we yet treated their leading men with politeness and respect—with far greater respect, indeed, than they received from their fellow-Asiatic suzerain; that we interfered in no way with their religion; that their traders could do an excellent business with us, and their peasantry got fine prices for their produce and plenty of employment as well, they entirely reversed their attitude towards us, and, if I had held up my little finger, would have gladly come under our protection.

This being the case, I hope the idea that it was either wicked or needless to send a Mission to Lhasa will be no longer entertained, and that it will be recognized that in practice it is impossible to leave the Tibetans alone, however much we might like to. If, then, relationship of some kind has to subsist between India and Tibet, what we clearly want is that that relationship should be as harmonious as possible. We want to buy the Tibetans’ wool, and to sell them our tea and cotton goods. And, apart from questions of trade, we want to feel sure that there is no inimical influence growing up in Tibet which might cause disturbance on our frontier. That is the sum total of our wants. The trade is not of much value in itself, but, such as it is, is worth having. We have no interest in annexing Tibet, and we have definitely declared against either annexation or protectorate; but we most certainly do want quiet there and the removal of any influence which would cause disquiet. Disorder begets disorder. When Lhasa is unsteady Nepal and Bhutan are restless. What we want, then, is orderliness in Tibet and some means of preventing disorder from ever arising.

Before the Lhasa Mission, Russian influence—not necessarily exerted with deliberate intention by the Russian Government, but existent nevertheless—was the disturbing factor; now it is Chinese influence, exerted beyond its legitimate limits and with imprudent harshness. Either of these causes results in a feeling of uneasiness, restlessness, and nervousness along our north-eastern frontier, and necessitates our assembling troops and making diplomatic protests, and might require us to permanently increase our garrison on this frontier. That is the practical point we have to meet.

Inimical Russian influence we have no longer any cause to fear. Not only has Russia assured us that she has no intention or desire to interfere politically in Tibet, but the whole set of her policy is now towards Eastern Europe rather than towards India. So altered, indeed, is the situation that in future years I should say that there would be an increasing likelihood of her acting with us rather than thwarting us in Tibet, and I believe the day will come when British and Russian Consuls will be sitting together in Lhasa, as in Kashgar, Mukden, and dozens of other places in the Chinese Empire.

There remains the need of preventing Chinese influence being exercised in such a fashion as to cause disorder. Chinese influence in Tibet, as long as it is neighbourly to us and not irritating to the Tibetans, we have no cause to mind; it is, indeed, what for years we tried to believe existed. So we never questioned China’s suzerainty over Tibet, and in any dealings with the Tibetans their suzerainty always has been and would be recognized. It is of many hundred years’ standing, and as long as it is not used inimically to us, or in such a tactless way as to cause disorder on our frontiers, we may be very well satisfied that it exists. The Chinese are good neighbours, and in the sense of any invasion of India by way of Tibet, we have no need to fear a Yellow Peril. We have nothing to complain of, therefore, if the Chinese were established as effective suzerains in Tibet, able to preserve order there, and co-operating with us in a friendly manner. A reference to the account of our negotiations at Lhasa will show that throughout I worked with the Chinese Resident, and never directly with the Tibetans, to the exclusion of the Chinese, and when I suspected an inclination of the Tibetans thus to exclude them, I addressed both Chinese and Tibetans together. Further, on leaving Lhasa I presented the Resident with the eight or ten repeating-rifles I had among my articles for presentation, and I gave no rifles to the Tibetans. My estimate of the situation was that any influence we had should be exerted to sustain the authority and position of the Resident. Our presence in Chumbi would give us the means of exercising physical pressure more readily than the Chinese ever could; the presence of the Chinese at Lhasa itself would enable them to exert personal and moral pressure more readily than we could. By working together we could keep the Tibetans in order. They are exceedingly childish and foolish, besides being excessively obstinate in practical affairs. And if we and the Chinese worked together, as the Amban and I had done at Lhasa in 1904, we should, I thought, be able to preserve harmonious relations between all three of us—Tibetans, Chinese, and British alike.

But when Chinese action is such as to create unrest instead of preserving order, when it upsets all the border people and necessitates our assembling troops to keep the frontier steady, then we have a need to intervene. And this has been the nature of Chinese action lately. Except the Afghans, I have not known any people quite so tactless and provocative as the Chinese in dealing with a subject race. Their haughtiness and the hatred they inspired were remarked on a century ago by Manning. Long years of slackness, indifference, and supercilious disdain of the people, for whom no attempt is made to do anything, are every now and then broken by some sudden and violent effort. Chao Erh-feng’s methods have formed the subject of an impeachment by his own countrymen, and apart from the question whether he used treachery or beheaded prisoners, his regulations to the Tibetans of Batang to adopt the queue and to wear trousers, the measures he ordered for the breaking down of Lamaism, and his annexation of Derge, were all calculated to rouse the whole Lamaist world. No one is more fully aware than myself that the priestly power required to be broken, for it had become a curse and drag to the people. What I doubt is whether the Chinese have gone the right way about it. To me it seems they are more likely to have roused rumblings among the Tibetans and Mongolians for many years to come rather than have secured peace. Our own victories had reduced the Tibetans of Tibet proper to order. The recalcitrant Dalai Lama had been obliged to fly, and the Chinese were masters of the situation; and, especially after we had withdrawn from Chumbi, they had nothing to fear from us. That, even with these advantages, they should have pursued this active policy in Tibet, driven the Dalai Lama from Lhasa, turned the suzerainty into sovereignty, and practically transformed Tibet from a native State into a Chinese province, indicates to me that they are wanting in political sagacity, however much diplomatic acumen they may possess, and that their action is much more likely to cause disorder than order on our frontier.

The problem reduces itself to this, then—that we have to find some means of preventing Chinese action causing disorder. Now, though I disagree with our policy of the last few years, I recognize that it does now give us a strong position. We have been most accommodating to the Chinese, and especially in regard to the evacuation of the Chumbi Valley, when the conditions under which they might claim evacuation had not been fulfilled. If we erred, it was in the direction in which we always should err—in the direction of conciliation and broad reasonableness. We have, therefore, some ground to stand on. So standing, we have to work back to the situation there was at Lhasa in 1904, when Yutai was Resident, and before Tang and Chang and Chao ever appeared upon the scene.

It is conceivable that this present burst of the Chinese will not last long. It is expensive, and the Chinese cannot afford unnecessary expenditure. What they want, we may conjecture, is, above everything, to “save their face.” The Tibetans had been flouting them for years, and the Chinese wanted to kick them. They now have kicked them, and their faces are saved. What we have to do is to make them realize that to proceed any farther will obviously bring them to unpleasant contact with us. It might conceivably drive us into going to Lhasa again. We have been there once, and could go there again. We ought, therefore, to be able to make the Central Government see that their best chance of quiet on their frontier—which is, after all, even more essential to them than to us—is to send to Lhasa a Resident of the Yutai type rather than of the Chang and Chao description. As long as the Chinese showed themselves willing to co-operate with us, we have for a long series of years shown ourselves ready to co-operate with them, and we are just as interested in their faces being properly saved as they are. And if they would send a Resident with the general hint to “get on” with us, there would be quiet in Tibet without their dignity being interfered with. On our side, to insure smooth working, we might send one or other of the officers on the frontier to Peking or to Chengtu to talk matters over with our representatives in China, find out where the shoe is pinching, and acquire hints as to the methods of dealing with the Chinese to avoid friction. Or a Consular officer from China might visit our trade-marts and give the Indian Government suggestions. Anyhow, in these or similar ways we might do what we can to remove any unnecessary local causes of friction while we are pressing the Central Government for a more conciliatory manner to be observed in the Chinese officials sent to Tibet.

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As regards the Tibetans, our difficulty will always be to keep up direct relations with them without interfering with the legitimate and desirable authority which the Chinese should always possess. The Chinese forfeited their right to be the _sole_ medium of communication with the Tibetans by their total inability to get them to withdraw from Sikkim in 1886, and to induce them to observe the Treaty which they asked us to make with them on behalf of the Tibetans in 1890; and we acquired the right to deal directly with the Tibetans by the expenditure we were put to in 1888 and in 1904.

These direct relations, within the assigned limits, we should studiously maintain. The touch and contact may be light, but it should never be allowed to drop, for we have many instances of bad blood and estrangement arising through dropping a people and letting them lapse back into isolation once we have been forced into relationship with them. The Tibetans want to preserve what they themselves call the right of direct relations with us, and it is to our interest to preserve it.

How far the Tibetans are entitled to our support is a more delicate question. We who fought against them would probably like to go farther in this direction than those who have had no personal contact with them. We had a square stand-up fight, and we made friends afterwards. We should always, therefore, like to see a guiding and protecting hand extended to them. And what especially rankles with us is that, when _we_ had knocked them over, and while they were still down, the Chinese should have proceeded to kick them. While the Tibetans were strong the Chinese did nothing. Even after they were down the Chinese did not touch them while we were about; only after we had left Chumbi did the kicking commence. And I do not myself see why we should have regarded the process so placidly.

One thing, however, we can stand up for is that an effective Tibetan Government should Still be maintained—a Government with whom we could, when necessary, treat in the manner provided for in the Treaties with the Tibetans and Chinese. This, on Lord Morley’s suggestion, was what Sir Edward Grey pressed on the Chinese Government in February, 1910, reminding them, at the same time, that the Lhasa Treaty made with the Tibetans was confirmed by them, and that, in consequence, we had a right to expect that the Tibetan Government should be maintained. The Chinese Central Government have themselves assured us that they have no desire to interfere with local autonomy in Tibet, and for the preservation of order upon our frontier it is highly desirable that we should see that these intentions are carried out. As I have admitted, the Tibetans do require being kept in control up to a certain limit. They have been very recalcitrant, and must expect to be brought to book. But when the Chinese go beyond merely keeping order, when they drive the Dalai Lama from his capital, depose him, seize his Government, garrison the whole country, and direct the administration themselves, then they simply cause a general discontent and uneasiness upon our frontier, and, from the point of view of expediency alone, we are then justified in intervening, as we intervened in Egypt when the Turks tried to increase their degree of suzerainty beyond its normal limits.

As to the method of intervention, my own view is decidedly in favour of sending a British officer to Lhasa itself. The Tibetans have actually asked for this to be done, so there is no difficulty on that score, and it is within the Chinese Empire, so the Chinese, if they wish to be considered in any way a civilized Power, should have no objection on their side. It is at Lhasa that a British officer could most effectively explain to the Chinese the limits beyond which it is impossible for us to countenance their proceeding, and it is there also that he could best impress the Tibetans of the bounds within which alone we can have relationship with them, or render them support. If such an officer could find it feasible to visit Peking and London before proceeding to Lhasa, he ought to be able to put Tibetan affairs upon a footing adapted to all the interests concerned. And as to risk, if we keep an officer at Gyantse we might as well send one to Lhasa.

Whether this is done or no we ought, in my view, to alter our whole attitude to the Tibetan question. Instead of expecting to secure peace by shrinking from having anything to do with the people, we should rather put ourselves forward to acquire increased intimacy. We should seek to secure quiet by the more effective and certain method of deliberately making use of every means we have of keeping up and increasing contact with the Tibetans. We have given the one line three great trials, and it has failed. We have given the other line three trials, and on each occasion it has succeeded. All the forbearance and patience which we showed in countermanding the despatch of Macaulay’s Mission, and in trusting to the consideration of the Chinese and Tibetans, only led to the Sikkim campaign. Similar forbearance after 1888 merely led to the armed Mission of 1904. And the desire to have as little as possible to do with Tibet since 1904 has, after all, resulted in the reassembling of troops upon our frontier and protests to Peking. I am not contending that no forbearance, moderation, and patience should be shown. My own proceedings are good enough testimony of my belief in the efficacy of these qualities. My contention is that there must be moderation even in moderation, and forbearance even in forbearing, and that the obstinate determination to have nothing, or as little as possible, to do with Tibet has brought on exactly what we wanted to avoid. On the other hand, when we have gone forward and made efforts to get in touch with the Tibetans, to understand them and explain ourselves to them, a more settled state has always resulted. After Bogle’s and Turner’s Missions in the eighteenth century, and after the Mission of 1904, there was a perceptibly better feeling between us and the Tibetans, all tending to that orderliness on our frontier which is what we most desire. The closer contact and more intimate touch, besides being the more humane method, diminishes rather than increases the risk of trouble. As a case in point, I consider that if we had had a representative at Lhasa this year, or even if our agent at Gyantse had been able to proceed to Lhasa, the present trouble need not have arisen. Knowing what British officers are by their personal influence able to accomplish, I believe that if Major O’Connor, or Major Gurdon, or Major Dew, or one or other of a dozen similar officers who are to be found in India, had been at Lhasa last winter, he would have been able to nip this trouble in the bud. And this not by giving the Tibetans out-and-out support against their legitimate suzerain, but by telling them frankly what the limits were beyond which it was quite impossible for them to expect support from us, the Russians, or anyone else; and by similarly impressing upon the Chinese that there is a point at which we should be bound to protest if they attempted to go beyond it. He would have been the friend of the Tibetans, and he would have been the friend of the Chinese; and as friends of both he would have made them friends with one another.

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I am, then, for a forward policy in Tibet as elsewhere, though by forward I do not mean an aggressive and meddlesome policy. I mean rather one which looks forward into the future, and shows both foresight and forethought—a policy which is active, mobile, adaptive, and initiative. I imply a policy which recognizes that great civilized Powers cannot by any possibility permanently ignore and disregard semi-civilized peoples on their borders, but must inevitably establish, and in time regularize, intercourse with them, and should therefore seize opportunities of humanizing that intercourse, and, by promoting neighbourly association, minimize that risk of war which isolation, aloofness, and estrangement, invariably bring about. It is because we are islanders that we are such inveterate upholders of isolation. But by so doing we are working against the grain of the world, and must indubitably suffer in the long-run.

If I might personify the spirit of such a forward policy, I would choose the personality of the late King Edward. As he drew England out of her “splendid isolation,” so, would I urge, should we be brought out of our Indian isolation. And the means he employed in Europe are equally applicable to Asia. At the bottom of all would be the same broad, generous humanity, great-heartedness, and wealth of sympathy; there would be the same tactful vigilance and the unceasing efforts to know our neighbours and to give them opportunities of knowing us. There would be the same staunch loyalty to friends, and, above all, there would be that same courage and initiative which prompted King Edward, in his first State visit to Paris, to go in among the French people, to dispel the hostility which existed, and to win his way to their hearts by the sheer grace of his personality.

This is the forward policy I would urge for Tibet, as for the frontier generally—far-seeing initiative to control events, instead of the passivity which lets events control us; the use of personality in place of pen and paper; and the substitution of intimacy for isolation.

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