Finally, forty-five minutes late, we were told to go down the hall to meet him. As we walked along the dimly lit corridor, the Dalai Lama himself suddenly popped out of a doorway, looked down the hall, and giggled, “I know you! I watch you on the Discovery Channel!” His is a world-recognized face, and he was acting as if I were the famous one.
We sat with him, and he talked warmly with almost a childlike openness and innocence. I had read a book about his early life and knew the ordeal of exile from his people. Yet here he was, so full of humor and mischief. We told him about our environmental interests and concerns, and he agreed with the thrust of our comments. We talked about how it seemed that money had become more important to people than other things. He reached over, took Tara's hand, and said, “Dogs and cats can do this,” as he pretended to lick and nuzzle her hand. “But money can't do that.” He was such a playful man, and his words were so direct and moving that at one point Severn began to weep. His Holiness didn't bat an eye or turn away embarrassed. He took Sev's hands into his, looked her straight in the eye, and kept on talking to her.
When he turned to environmental issues, we asked what he thought could be done. “Education,” he said, “has to be the answer.” I was a bit mischievous myself as I parried, “But we have an American president who graduated from Yale, one of the best universities in the U.S.” “That's not the kind of education I'm talking about,” he replied, and I felt silly for having been a smart-ass.
I knew he was getting all kinds of signals from his handlers that he was running late, but he never gave any indication he was under pressure or in a hurry, and he spent three-quarters of an hour with us. Finally, he stood to indicate our time was up. We had been instructed to give him white scarves, which we did, and he in turn placed them around each of our necks. He called over one of his people and urged him to take pictures with our cameras as he seized our arms and grinned away. “Take another one,” he kept saying so that we would be sure to get one good picture. He was incredibly generous with his time and left us with an indelible souvenir of our meeting.
The Dalai Lama apparently has long had an interest in science and believes his monks should not focus just on matters spiritual. For a number of years, he has invited scientists to speak to a group of monks selected from across India. Thus, in January 2003, I was one of four scientists volunteering our time to teach those monks. One lecturer was a nuclear physicist from Georgia Tech in Atlanta, another a chemist from Long Island, and a third an evolutionary biologist from Harvard, while I was there to speak about genetics as well as the environment.
In January in the foothills of the Himalayas, it is quite crisp at night. We were put up in a hotel with stone walls and tile floors, which were unbelievably cold. There was no hot water in our room. At best we might get enough lukewarm water to just cover the bottom of the tub, so bathing was a pretty quick activity. In the morning, we would walk for a mile or so across fields to a village for orphaned Tibetan children, where the monks were staying. Actually, many were not truly orphans but had been sent out of Tibet by parents who remained in the Chinese-held nation.
Each day I wore long johns, a thick sweater, a fleece jacket, and a down coat to teach in the unheated classroom. With all my layers of clothing, I looked like the Michelin Man, while the monks sat cross-legged with bare arms and shoulders. I gave two lectures a day, each lecture two hours long with a half-hour break between them. Any university professor in Canada would be delighted with students like those monks — they were attentive, asked insightful questions, and had a wonderful sense of humor. The translators were fabulous. We had two young men who took turns translating and would transform a simple statement into a drama, full of gestures, body movements, and exclamations. I might make a two-sentence statement, after which the translator would go on for what seemed minutes, amplifying the statement and perhaps even adding his own two cents' worth. If I made a joke, about half of the students would immediately laugh, as they clearly understood English; then there would be a delayed laugh from the ones who understood only the translation.
I began my part of the course with material from my book The Sacred Balance, showing that we are not separate from the air, water, soil, and sun. I talked about how air was once referred to as spirit, which is the basis for the words inspire and expire; how we are all embedded in this matrix of air that links all life together and throughout time. It was so clear this resonated powerfully with the monks' spiritual teachings.
Severn and Sarika were invited to give a talk to the children who lived in the village. Like the monks, the children were tremendously attentive and responsive to the discussion about the environment and what youngsters can do. So despite being a reluctant participant, I ended up feeling grateful for having met His Holiness and for the opportunity to teach those monks and the children.
I SUPPOSE IF PUBLIC attention is a criterion, I am a celebrity in Canada. I never sought or desired celebrity, but television provides a kind of intimacy that movies do not. Someone can watch a show while going to the bathroom, lounging in front of a fireplace, or stretching out in bed. So when people run into me, they often greet me as a familiar friend. I can't help being startled each time someone addresses me, though almost always it is to say something very kind. I must admit, I am not able to respond generously because greetings are still a surprise and intrusion, and my teenage reticence to engage in conversation returns.
Back in the '70s, there was a lot of resentment of my viewpoint, especially from businessmen, and they openly expressed their disagreement. Even today, there are those who dislike my stands. I opposed the current U.S. administration's invasion of Iraq and applauded Prime Minister Jean Chrétien's decision that Canada would await the un search for weapons of mass destruction. A few weeks after President Bush ordered troops into Iraq, I flew to Edmonton, Alberta. After we landed and I stood up to deplane, a man behind me recognized me, leaned over with a smile, and said, “I guess you are rooting for your friend Saddam” (Hussein, toppled president of Iraq and at the time being hunted by the Americans). I was speechless, but before I could even stutter a clever retort like “f-k you,” the woman standing next to him berated him loudly and he slunk away. Good to have friends nearby.
Another time, I was working out at the YMCA in Winnipeg. I was exercising on a cross-trainer, one of the few machines I can tolerate with my knees gimpy from years of jogging, when the young man next to me said, “You're Suzuki, aren't you?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “but here I'm just an old man trying to stay healthy.” I thought he might chuckle, but instead he retorted, “You know, you've got a lot of nerve spouting the crap you do. You should be pulled off the air. CBC is a waste of taxpayers' money.” Well, this time I didn't lose my wit and told him where he could shove his ideas, expecting him to lash out at me. Instead, he meekly dismounted his machine and left. It's funny, but even though 95 percent of all people who call out to me are friendly and generous, it's the ones who disagree so obnoxiously who stick in my memory.