In the serene hills of Dharamshala, away from the din of politics and power, a long-standing, deeply spiritual controversy has again surfaced, one that weighs centuries of tradition, the soul of a nation, and the cutting edges of global geopolitics. As the 14th Dalai Lama turned 90 in 2025, he issued a proclamation that not only reaffirmed his legacy but also sent a brash message over the Himalayas and the world at large: the institution of the Dalai Lama will survive, and only he, through the spiritual processes based on Tibetan Buddhist tradition, has the right to determine who his successor is going to be.
This proclamation was not made randomly. It occurred during years of political jockeying and great concern about China's growing efforts to dominate Tibetan religious institutions. By affirming explicitly that the following Dalai Lama will be selected by the Gaden Phodrang Trust, the institution he established to manage the process, the Dalai Lama reaffirmed a principle deeply cherished by many Tibetans and Buddhists globally: that reincarnation is a religious concern, not a political one.
In his own words, the Dalai Lama stressed that his next successor may not be born in Tibet due to what is happening there and that the reincarnation may be discovered in a free nation. He also left it possible for the next Dalai Lama to be of any gender or nationality, repeating something he's hinted at previously: that the essence of wisdom and compassion can take any shape. These words can be soothing and serene, but in fact, they bear the force of a thunderclap of defiance, for China has insisted for years that the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama shall adhere to protocols acceptable to the Chinese state, within Chinese borders.
For China, domination over the next Dalai Lama is not merely religious; it's about control. The Dalai Lama is still a great symbol of Tibetan identity, defiance, and aspiration. His spiritual authority has sustained the Tibetan cause among millions of hearts in spite of decades of diaspora. By inserting itself into the process of reincarnation, Beijing is hoping to eventually substitute that symbol with one that is under its control.
This strategy is not new, though. To see how far China has come in claiming its authority over Tibetan Buddhism, one needs look no further than 1995. In 1995, the Dalai Lama identified a six-year-old boy, Gedhun Choekyi Nyima, as the 11th Panchen Lama, the second most senior spiritual leader in Tibetan Buddhism and historically the one who assists in the identification of the Dalai Lama's reincarnation. Only three days after the announcement, the boy and his family vanished. Chinese authorities subsequently conceded they had removed the child into what they referred to as "protective custody," saying it was for his protection. No independent agency has seen or heard from him since.
Gedhun Choekyi Nyima has been missing for thirty years. He would today be thirty-six years old, but his location, health, or even status, whether alive or not, is still unknown. The Chinese government has continued to disregard calls, even from the UN to human rights groups, to grant access to him. China opted to appoint its own Panchen Lama, Gyaincain Norbu, who was trained and promoted by the Chinese Communist Party. Yet, this government-installed Panchen Lama is disowned by the overwhelming majority of Tibetans, both within Tibet and in exile. To them, the boy identified by the Dalai Lama is the true Panchen Lama, and his kidnapping is one of the most enduring wounds of modern Tibet.
What became of the Panchen Lama is at the core of why the Dalai Lama and his followers are so interested in who gets to choose the next reincarnation. The stakes are not spiritual, but political. If China is permitted to put its own Dalai Lama in place, as it put the Panchen Lama in place, it can use this individual to legitimise Beijing's dominance of Tibet and quash calls for autonomy or freedom. A Dalai Lama supported by China would be a mere puppet, a symbol deprived of substance, used to appease a people instead of leading them.
Within this charged environment, India's role becomes critical. Hosting the Tibetan exile community and the Dalai Lama himself since he left Tibet in 1959, India has always trod the fine line. But this time, it has taken a firmer position. On July 3, 2025, Union Minister Kiren Rijiju issued a categorical statement: only the Dalai Lama and the established spiritual traditions around his office have the authority to choose his successor. He underlined that this was a religious issue, and no foreign power, implicitly pointing to China, had the right to intervene.
The Indian government's public endorsement is important. It not only reiterates India's resolve towards religious freedom and the cause of exiled Tibetans but also makes oblique references to China's increasing aggressiveness. It is a message that India not only respects the Dalai Lama as a visitor but as a valid religious leader whose spiritual choices should be honoured. It also reminds the world that the future of Tibet, and its sacred traditions, should not be negotiated in political chambers or military boardrooms.
Looking forward, the possibility of two Dalai Lamas appears more plausible than ever: one selected by leaders of Tibetan Buddhism in exile, and the other supported by the Chinese state. Were that to occur, it would not only split followers; it may also lead to long-term cleavages in the international Buddhist community. For most Tibetans, however, there can be little doubt where legitimacy rests. Tradition, religion, and history all concur in pointing to the Dalai Lama's leadership, rather than Beijing's diktats.
The spiritual legacy of the Dalai Lama has endured invasions, political unrest, and exile under duress. It has survived empires and regimes. And now, as the 14th Dalai Lama approaches the end of his extraordinary life, he is attempting to safeguard not only his legacy, but the very essence of Tibetan Buddhism. His insistence that the next Dalai Lama will arise from truth, and not tyranny, is both a spiritual promise and a political act of defiance.
At its core, this is not a tale of governments or power plays. It is about one man's determination that a tradition guided by compassion, wisdom, and spiritual discipline is not to be yet another casualty of political ambition. It is about a kidnapped child, secreted away from the world, whose destiny is a reminder of all that Tibet has lost, and all that it still desperately wishes to regain. And it is about people who, even in exile, will not forget who they are, and what they hold most dear.
Ultimately, whether the next Dalai Lama is chosen is a seemingly small religious matter to the outside world. But to Tibetans, it is the whole picture. It is their past, their future, and their rebellion. It is their right to be led by faith, not by fear. And they hope that, regardless of how far they are dispersed, the soul of Tibet will ever find its way home.