China imposes a wall of silence in Tibet after the Himalayan disaster

Four days after the catastrophic flood in Gyirong, known in Tibetan as Kyirong, China has for the first time released a breakdown of the nationalities of those still missing in Tibet. Of the 546 people who remain unaccounted for, 261 are foreign nationals from 23 countries. Chinese authorities have also raised the death toll in Tibet from seven to 16.

In neighboring Nepal, where the ice collapse that triggered the disaster originated, the death toll has climbed to 781, while 2,502 people are missing. The disaster has struck one of the most difficult areas of China not only for rescue operations, but also for reporting. The extreme geography of the Himalayas is compounded by Tibet’s exceptional political sensitivity, a region subject to intense surveillance and largely closed to independent scrutiny.

A police advance team reached the hardest-hit area around the Kyirong border crossing on Thursday afternoon, but the first professional firefighting and rescue crews did not arrive at the epicenter of the destruction until Friday, after traversing more than 12 miles of mountainous terrain and rappelling down ravines with ropes, according to China Central Television (CCTV).

The terrain is rugged, weather conditions shift rapidly, and surrounding glaciers continue to pose a threat of further collapses. At least one of the two natural dams formed by rock, mud and sediment could still give way, unleashing another flood.

But even if roads had remained intact, independently verifying what happened would be nearly impossible. Foreign journalists require special authorization to enter Tibet, permission that is rarely granted outside government-organized visits. Tourists, meanwhile, must obtain a separate permit and travel on itineraries arranged through authorized operators.

No comparable regional permit is required elsewhere in China, not even in Xinjiang, another of the country’s most heavily monitored regions. In practice, traveling under the supervision of the authorities is the only way for foreign journalists, diplomats and observers to enter Tibet. Schedules are set in advance, and conversations with residents take place under official oversight.

Lhadon Tethong, executive director of the Tibet Action Institute, explains in a phone interview that many Tibetans living in exile originally come from Kyirong. Because of its location in a valley opening onto Nepal, they found “it easier to escape after 1959,” she says. That is why, she adds, “it’s really astonishing that, across our entire network of contacts, we’re hearing absolutely nothing.”

The year 1959 marked a watershed in modern Tibetan history, although the conflict had begun earlier. Troops from the People’s Liberation Army crossed Tibet’s eastern border in 1950, a year after Mao Zedong proclaimed the founding of the People’s Republic of China. In 1951, under intense pressure, a Tibetan delegation signed the Seventeen Point Agreement, which recognized Beijing’s sovereignty in exchange for preserving Tibet’s political and religious system. In practice, however, the pact paved the way for a permanent Chinese military presence on the plateau and the gradual establishment of administrative structures controlled by the Communist Party. The Chinese government describes the process as a “peaceful liberation,” while the Tibetan movement views it as an annexation.

The 1959 uprising ended with the Dalai Lama’s flight to India, followed by tens of thousands of Tibetans, and gave rise to a diaspora that maintains close ties to the plateau and continues, in its mainstream current, to advocate for genuine autonomy.

In 1965, Tibet was formally established as an autonomous region, an administrative division in which ethnic minorities are granted a degree of self-government. China currently has five such regions: Tibet (Tibetan), Xinjiang (Uyghur), Ningxia (Hui), Inner Mongolia (Mongol) and Guangxi (Zhuang). But the Chinese government regards any political, religious or cultural demands as a potential separatist threat.

The protests that spread across Lhasa and other Tibetan areas in 2008 marked a turning point. Since 2009, more than 100 Tibetans, including numerous Buddhist monks and nuns, have set themselves on fire in protest against Beijing’s policies and, in many cases, to demand the return of the Dalai Lama, whom China describes as “a separatist who uses religion as a cloak.” Since then, surveillance and controls over monasteries and the region as a whole have been tightened.

“I understand that communications and networks have been affected and that there are outages [because of the flood]. But is it possible that everything is so silent? No,” Lhandon says.

Another Tibetan exile, whom we will identify as Dawa for security reasons, says in a phone interview that she has received reports that “people cannot share information.” “On social media and in WeChat groups, traces of what is happening are being erased. What is published abroad and shared inside China is being censored, and there is no independent local coverage,” she explains.

The terrifying video captured by a security camera showing the mass of mud racing down the valley, swallowing buildings, roads and bridges in seconds and overtaking those trying to flee, spread around the world in minutes. But within China, the full video can no longer be found. Searches return only still frames or heavily edited clips. The scale of the destruction is known only through images and data selected by Chinese authorities. “It is censorship in real time,” Lhandon stresses.

Information is flowing only one way: from the authorities to state media, which are providing extensive coverage of the progress of rescue teams and the official response. “Not only Tibetans, but Chinese journalists also take precautions not to contradict the official line: that search operations are ongoing and that they are a priority for Xi Jinping and Li Qiang,” Dawa notes.

For Beijing, Tibet is a region of paramount political and strategic importance. Its location along China’s borders with India, Nepal, Bhutan and Myanmar makes it a critical component of the country’s territorial security. Control of the Tibetan Plateau, the source of many of Asia’s great rivers, including the Yangtze, Mekong and Brahmaputra, is also vital for water supplies and energy production, giving China enormous influence in its geopolitical relationship with neighboring countries to the south.

The value the Chinese government places on the region was underscored a year ago when Xi Jinping traveled to Lhasa to lead events marking the 60th anniversary of the establishment of the Tibet Autonomous Region. It was the first time a Chinese head of state had taken part in such a commemoration, a gesture widely seen as reaffirming the Communist Party’s control over the territory.

In July, the so-called Ethnic Unity and Progress Promotion Law took effect. According to the official narrative, the legislation will “strengthen the legal foundations for advancing high-quality development and shared prosperity among the country’s 56 ethnic groups.” Its critics, including Dawa and Lhadon, see it differently. They argue that the law is the “political formalization” of a process that has been underway for more than a decade: the “cultural assimilation” of ethnic minorities into a national identity shaped and promoted by the Communist Party.

“Every disaster in Tibet exposes the same fault line: China’s control is ironclad, but its legitimacy is not,” says Kai Mueller, executive director of the International Campaign for Tibet, in a written message. “That deep insecurity explains why information is so scarce. Authorities fear that news will provoke shows of solidarity and unauthorized Tibetan mobilizations, as initially happened after the Dingri earthquake.”

Dawa says she had never seen such a large mobilization among Tibetans as the one that occurred after the January 2025 quake. Lhandon adds that, after that disaster, videos of affected Tibetans spread rapidly on social networks. That is the opposite of what is happening now. “I think now they have decided it would be dangerous for the same thing to happen again. I think the fear is that, if we are given a lot of freedom, they know Tibetans organize and support one another,” Dawa says.

Lhandon agrees. “They were very quick to learn the lessons of the [2025] earthquake and have done an incredible job, both technically and in frightening the population about what to publish,” she says. In her view, the tragedy in the Himalayas “should serve as a wake-up call for the international community.”

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