Wine, prayer and song help Tibetan Catholics keep the peace with Xi
Bo Luo bounces down the road in his van, two crosses dangling from the rear-view mirror and a red Chinese Communist Party flag bobbing on the hood.
A picture of the Virgin Mary taped on the sun visor watches over him. White Tibetan stupas that line the mountain lanes flash past.
“I’m Tibetan, and Catholic,” he says, proudly, touching a Tibetan talisman of animal bone hanging around his neck.
Bo, 36, is part of a rare community of 3,000 Tibetan Catholics in Cizhong and surrounding villages, nestled in a remote river valley framed by snowcapped peaks, mere miles from the border to Tibet and Myanmar.
“I’ve come to this church since I was born,” he says, parking at the entrance. “My mother used to carry me as an infant on her back, and walk two hours from our village to attend services.”
This pocket of Catholicism in rural south-west China has survived more than 150 years, outlasting war and famine, despite not having a priest for decades. Beliefs introduced by French missionaries passed through generations, enduring after the Communist Party rose to power in 1949 and expelled foreign priests.
Their “painstaking efforts” laid a solid foundation, says Father Yao Fei, 56, Cizhong’s first resident priest.
In recent years, interest has grown in the local government to preserve the area’s heritage – a way to attract tourists and boost the economy.
But the Tibetan Catholics are again struggling given a sweeping state crackdown on religion. “All religions [in China] have been under pressure; we’ve felt it here, too,” says one person, who requested anonymity. “But our faith remains strong.”
A handful of people have disappeared from church gatherings. First, they are detained, then interrogated, before being banned from attending services. Officials threatened to take away pensions and terminate jobs if people failed to comply, residents say.
Chinese authorities have exercised a stronger hand in other regions, imprisoning Buddhists and Christians. In the far west region of Xinjiang, more than a million Muslim minorities have been thrown into detention camps, subjected to physical torture and political indoctrination.
Catholicism has been particularly precarious in Communist China, where the ruling party long insisted that it approve bishops, saying that it supersedes the Vatican’s authority to make appointments.
In practice, two Catholic churches existed in China: one state-sanctioned, and the other, an underground one loyal to the Pope. A deal in 2018 sought to align the two. China recognised papal authority, while the Vatican acknowledged bishops picked by Beijing and excommunicated by the church. Few details were revealed of the pact, which was renewed last year.
Implementation has been challenging, with some bishops on the run after refusing to bring their churches under government control. Cizhong’s two priests are appointed by a state organisation that is not recognised by the Vatican.
Father Yao arrived in 2008, and Father Ma Xiaoping, 36, an ethnic Tibetan, was assigned to his hometown church four years ago.
China also suppresses Tibetans, an ethnic minority, separating children as young as three from their families and forcing them into boarding schools to “Sinicise” them by cutting away their traditional roots.
By some estimates, more than 500 Tibetan political prisoners are in detention. Others haven’t been approved for passports to travel abroad, even before the pandemic hit. Travel to China’s Tibet Autonomous Region itself is heavily restricted.
Being Catholic and Tibetan makes those in Cizhong vulnerable on two fronts, though the close-knit community remains resilient.
Services are held every other day in both Tibetan and Mandarin at the four churches in the area, one in each village stacked along the steep banks of the Mekong, known as the Lancang River in Chinese.
The most boisterous celebrations are for Christmas and Easter, where Buddhists also join in.
French missionaries first arrived in the mid-1800s to the primarily Buddhist area, populated by Tibetans and Naxi, another ethnic minority. They built a church in neighbouring Cigu that burnt down in 1905 during clashes with Tibetan Buddhists, leaving at least two priests dead.
Forced upriver to Cizhong, the missionaries constructed a new church in 1914, a stately stone structure still standing today – home to a unique blend of Tibetan, Catholic, Buddhist, and Chinese elements.
Flanked by two palm trees, the church has a bell tower that spirals into the sky, decorated with red lanterns and topped by a Chinese-style roof.
Father Ma, who grew up with Bo, dashes around on Sundays, straightening the altar. The lively congregation in colourful Tibetan dress trickles in for the mid-morning service. Women in rich silk brocades split off to the left, while men in shearlings sit on the right.
Some dab holy water from a vessel in a wall niche, cross themselves, join their palms and kneel – similar to how Tibetan Buddhists pay respects at temples. Others bow their heads, whispering private prayers.
A few signs of state control can be spotted – the Chinese flag and portraits of leader Xi Jinping are required to be
‘All religions have been under pressure; we’ve felt it here, too. But our faith remains strong’
‘I’ve come to this church since I was born. My mother used to carry me and walk two hours from our village’
displayed. Propaganda is emblazoned on the church’s surrounding walls and security cameras are affixed to the entrance. Religious materials used, including the Bible and hymn books, are subject to censorship.
But China’s links between church and state don’t ruffle Father Ma, who quotes a Bible verse to explain: “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s.”
“The gospel is very clear,” he says, pouring tea. “As human beings on this planet, you must allow logic to govern your life – that’s fine. But you should also understand what relates to our lives on Earth, versus what matters are about God.”
The concern, though, is just how far the state will go. This month, Xi stressed that China must uphold a “Marxist view of religion”.
The government has said religious believers must “be subordinate to and serve the overall interests of the nation and the Chinese people”, making it explicit that they must also “support the leadership” of the Party.
Cizhong’s secluded location – it is a six-hour drive to the nearest airport – has helped preserve traditions.
Now, local authorities, keen to promote tourism given the area’s unusual heritage, have a delicate balancing act. They need to orchestrate just enough ethnic and religious activity among village farmers to attract visitors. One of the big draws is wine. The missionaries planted vine cuttings from France to make wine for communion.
A vineyard continues to grow next to the Cizhong church, among more than 300 blocks of vineyards in the string of villages that line the river.
Amu, 31, Bo’s wife, works at Xiaoling, a boutique winery that released its first vintages in 2017 and produces up to 12,000 bottles a year, priced up to £80.
This part of Yunnan province appears so promising for wine that French luxury brand LVMH has joined in, releasing its first vintages in 2016 from Ao Yun winery, at £250 a bottle.
Amu, who converted from Buddhism to Catholicism before getting married, now attends services with her husband in Cizhong or at a church next to the winery. At home, she points out a portrait of Jesus, draped in a golden khata, that took her a year to embroider, hanging in along with Tibetan ceremonial daggers.
Local officials do support some expressions of Tibetan culture. When The Sunday Telegraph visited, they had invited a teacher to give workshops on the “xianzi,” a two-string, bowed Tibetan instrument. Villagers, including Bo, gather near nightly to play, sing, and dance.
Scenes like this help draw tourists to these Himalayan foothills, ever more reason for authorities to allow Tibetan Catholics to continue their ways.
Most people know to toe the line, and many locals are thankful to the ruling Party. “It’s simply a part of who we are, and what we believe. It’s our faith,” says Bo. “I love my religion, and I love the Party.”
“The Communist Party is great!” he says, flashing a grin and a thumbs up. “Number 1!”