Introduction
Someone hands me a photograph. On it, I can see a group of men, nineteen in total. They are standing around two central figures wearing a white ceremonial scarf – khata (Tib. kha btags)Footnote 1 – placed around their necks, offered to them in sign of respect. At the center, a Tibetan woman smiles, wearing a heavy silver necklace adorned with coral beads. To her left stands a man in a red satin jacket and white shirt. Both appear to be in their fifties and have clearly dressed their best for the photographer. At their feet lies a majestic and yet clunky horizontal wooden tablet (bian’e 匾额), painted in black and green, and decorated with a yellow scarf. On it, I read an honorific inscription: “Achieve bravery, accomplish benevolence. Great virtue brings about trade” (zhen yong zhi shan, hou de zai shang 臻勇至善 厚德载商).Footnote 2
This photo, taken in April 2008, is noteworthy – it captures the moment of the “gift” (huizeng 惠贈), as inscribed on the wooden tablet, that seals the relationship between the two parties: the landlady of a Machu (Tib. rma chu, Ch. Maqu 玛曲) market and her husband, and the Muslim merchants who operate the shops there. The crux of this relationship, marked by a sense of recognition and gratitude, lies in two ideograms inscribed on the tablet – “hushang 护商” – which means “protecting, guarding, watching over the shops.” The snapshot dates from the immediate aftermath of the Tibetan protests that set the Amdo, Kham, and Ü-Tsang regions ablaze in March 2008Footnote 3 – fifty years after the 1958 Tibetan uprisings against the communist regime’s forced land collectivization.Footnote 4
This picture was taken in one of the markets of Machu, in the far southeast of Amdo (Gannan Prefecture, southern Gansu), a Tibetan town located 3,700 meters above sea level in the First Bend of the Yellow River. The town experienced an episode of unrest known as the “March 16 incident” (3.16 shijian 事件). While Chinese media reports emphasized violence, in reality, many of the protests were peaceful. Machu was also one of the most affected centers in Amdo, as economic and social inequalities linked to the town’s development had made it a hotspot of contention. During the days (and nights) before and after 16 March 2008, the market’s landlady stood guard protecting all the shops, while the merchants, concerned for their safety, closed their businesses. In the aftermath of the event, the shopkeepers united to express their gratitude for this act of benevolence, which may have prevented their shops from being ransacked.
This article aims to examine the resurgence, in recent narratives, of a long-standing tradition of alliance between Muslim merchants of the Xidaotang 西道堂 and Tibetan institutions, whether clan-based or monastic. This paper does not attempt to trace the history of these trade relationships or to provide a chronology of events.Footnote 5 Instead, it seeks to consider contemporary narratives that reshape this history through storytelling in the present situation. It investigates the meanings attached to these relationships today, without claiming to reconstruct historical facts. Oral history is used here more to understand the present than the past, from the perspective of Muslims, with only a brief glimpse of Tibetan actors, as I am not a Tibetologist. This study resonates with, and offers another perspective on, a range of valuable historical studies of the conflictual relationships between Muslim rulers and Tibetan society in its plurality during the Republican era (1912–1949).Footnote 6 It highlights a different voice, showing the complexity of local situations and how trade relationships served as a channel for maintaining dialogue between religious institutions beyond political matters.
This study draws on various forms of stories collected during my fieldwork in Northwest China (mainly in Lanzhou 兰州, Xining 西宁, Linxia 临夏, and the surrounding countryside), particularly in Amdo: Machu, Ngulra (Tib. dngul ra, Ch. Oula 欧拉), Luchu (Tib. klu chu, Ch. Luqu 碌曲), Larigul (Tib. bla ri mgul, Ch. Larenguan 拉仁关), and Watsé (Tib. ba tse, Ch. Lintan 临潭). I conducted oral history research mainly among members of the Xidaotang community and visited an elderly Tibetan monk, approximately eighty years old, and his attendants, who were younger, between forty and fifty years old, in Ngulra with the help of an interpreter. Between 2005 and 2012, I interviewed thirteen merchants of the younger generation (primarily in Machu and Linxia), who had established their businesses in the 1990s, most of them at least twice. Depending on the willingness of my interlocutors, the interviews were recorded or not. These interviews were part of a broader anthropological inquiry into contemporary trade relationships in Machu’s markets. Much of the information also comes from informal discussions while I spent entire days in their shops, observing their interactions with Tibetan customers and their trade skills. I also interviewed five merchants of the older generation, mainly in Zhuoluo (a historical economic nexus for the departure of long-distance caravans), Ngulra, and Larigul. In addition, I had the opportunity to conduct three collective interviews with Xidaotang elders in Zhuoluo, Lanzhou, and Sanjiaji (near Linxia). This oral history material provides less a basis for reconstructing the general framework of these trade relationships than “a performative process of ‘re-remembering’ vis-à-vis the shifting contexts of present (and future) narrations,”Footnote 7 as the article is grounded in a single, detailed case study: the career of one merchant, M**, taken as a point of departure.Footnote 8
This paper seeks to shed light on the contemporary interpretations and uses of these past experiences at both the collective and individual levels. Thus, the purpose of this paper is to understand how the telling of a shared history became possible in the post-Maoist period – a new era marked by political openness and economic reforms – by invoking past alliances to interpret present relationships, but also to reshape them. To do so, I will first explore the case of a foundational narrative centered around the offering of a large cauldron to a Tibetan monastery, before deciphering this phenomenon as institutionalized economic bonds between religious organizations. I will then turn my attention to the contemporary reinterpretations of these narratives of economic relations at the community level. Such reappraisals allow for further conceptualization: on the one hand, the recognition by an out-group (here, Tibetans) of a community-based organization characterized by specific moral attributes, namely the Xidaotang; on the other hand, an in-group based on solidarity ties (between Xidaotang members and Tibetans) grounded in mutual trust.Footnote 9 Finally, I will show how these past experiences are mobilized for legitimizing a merchant’s individual trajectory, which is anchored into a saintly lineage while transcending communal rationales.
The merchants discussed all belong to the Xidaotang, a minority religious movement within Chinese Islam numbering several thousand members, which emerged in the late nineteenth century in Taozhou 洮州 (today Lintan) amid Islamic revivalism and reformism in northwestern China.Footnote 10 This religious community experienced a golden age during the 1920s–1940s, developing a collectivist organization that integrated religious, social, and economic institutions, and expanded its economic activities across five complementary sectors: agriculture, animal husbandry, forestry, manufacturing, and trade. This golden age could not have flourished had they not forged complex bonds with Chinese political spheres, Muslim warlords and Tibetan secular and religious circles.Footnote 11 Despite their economic dealings with Ma Bufang in the horse and hide trade during the 1940s, the Xidaotang managed to maintain trade relations with their Tibetan counterparts in Amdo, even as escalating conflicts between the Ma warlord and the Golok Tibetans provoked numerous feuds and mutual enmities in the region.Footnote 12 In an era marked by chronic shortages and widespread banditry, their near self-sufficiency in resource management laid the foundations for Xidaotang’s trading network, which extended from the east coast of China to the Tibetan marches. This network consisted of long-distance caravans as well as branches of the trading establishment Tian Xing Long 天兴隆.Footnote 13 Wang Shumin 王树民, who accompanied the historian Gu Jiegang 顾颉刚 during his 1938 fieldwork in the Gansu region, observed that Xidaotang caravans were markedly different from those operated by other Muslim groups, standing out for their considerable scale and capital.Footnote 14 Whereas trade was often a secondary activity complementing agriculture in most Muslim communities, among the Xidaotang it was embedded in an economic system that fostered its professionalization and treated it as a primary, structured pursuit.Footnote 15 Xidaotang merchants also spoke the local vernacular Tibetan languages of the regions in which they conducted their trade. After the Communists seized power in 1949, this economic model began to decline during the period of the United Front (1949–1953) and ultimately collapsed in 1957–1958. Oral histories report some cases of Xidaotang merchants who resisted the Communists by participating in the 1958 rebellions; they were subsequently targeted as historical counter-revolutionaries during the anti-rightist campaigns. After a disruption spanning broadly, some twenty years (from 1958 until 1978), trade practices resumed in the 1980s.
Results from the fieldwork investigation show that this renewed network of commercial establishments, while retaining the former name Tian Xing Long, adopted an economic organization aligned with the reforms implemented by the central government. Indeed, within the framework of the market economy, the structure of Tian Xing Long branches revolved around two key figures – the administrator and the bookkeeper – both salaried by the daotang 道堂, that is, the religious institution of the Xidaotang. Conversely, all the benefits reaped by these economic activities were channeled towards the daotang, which in turn reinvested the capital in restoring the Xidaotang mosques, ensuring access to education for all children, and lifting the most destitute of its members from poverty. Besides, from the 1990s onwards, this commercial system, composed of seven branches, established a monopoly on the so-called “silks and satins” trade across Tibetan regions (of Amdo, Kham, and Central Tibet) for retail sales and in the city of Linxia for wholesale. Textile production factories were also run in Hangzhou. This transitional model started to decline in the mid–2000s, at a time when the shopkeepers sought to become independent, and the community had emerged from its reconstruction phase. Over time, within a broader context of both internal and national economic transformations – marked by growing urbanization – the daotang’s economic choices gradually shifted from a trade-based economy to one increasingly focused on construction and real estate speculation. This progressive reorientation led to a growing financialization of its economic model and ultimately to the abandonment of the Tian Xing Long as a communal commercial institution. From the mid–2010s onward, retail and wholesale “silk and satin” businesses came to be operated primarily for the private benefit of individual Xidaotang merchants – many of whom had acquired their commercial skills through earlier training in the communal establishments of Tian Xing Long.
The re-emergence of past trading networks in the 1990s and 2000s, along with their recent transformations, will be examined through a focus on a specific area encompassing the Ngulra Monastery – where Xidaotang merchants had established trade relations by the late 1940s, which persisted for a few years after 1949 – and the nearby town of Machu, located forty kilometers away.Footnote 16 In the 2000s, the Tibetan woman entrepreneur figuring on the picture described above opened a market specializing in the retail of silks and satins in Machu. At that time, all Xidaotang merchants operating businesses in the town set up their shops within this market, turning it into a specialized hub for the purchase of silk and satin fabrics by the predominantly Tibetan local population (90%). For the purposes of this study, the Machu–Ngulra area will be considered as an interconnected whole.
The Gift of a Large Cauldron: Foundational Event of an Alliance
On a sunny but frosty morning in the fall of November 2007, I visited M** at his shop in the Machu “silk and satin” market. He is the person who handed me the photo described above. Following in his father’s footsteps – who himself had engaged in trading activities in the area of Ngulra during the 1940s and 1950s – M** was the first Xidaotang merchant to settle down in Machu in 1994. He has an excellent command of spoken Amdo Tibetan. During our conversation, as we discussed the factors contributing to Xidaotang’s economic success before 1958, he explained:
The reason Xidaotang’s business did so well was that we had a good relationship with the Tibetans (women he Zangzu de guanxi chu de hao 我们和藏族的关系处的好). And, even now, our business is doing well because our elders set us on a path that is fair and kind-hearted (women de qianbeimen gei women ling de lu shi zhengque de, kuanda de 我们的前辈们给我们领的路是正确的，宽大的).
In his presentation of the commercial relationships between Xidaotang merchants and the Tibetan population, M** emphasizes the elders’ capacity to “do well” (chu de hao 处的好). Here, “well” should be understood not only as weaving successful relationships but also as nurturing a relationship grounded in fairness through skills and, more importantly, moral dispositions. According to M**, these qualities were passed down to subsequent generations who followed the path paved by the elders; this path is described as “fair” (zhengque 正确) and “kind-hearted” (kuanda 宽大). This emphasis on the quality of the relationship must be comprehended in light of the historical context, as described by M** himself:
Before the Liberation, the Tibetans, the elders treated us very well; they treated the people of Xidaotang well, but they did not like Muslims because Ma Bufang had committed massacres against the Tibetans. That is why they did not like Muslims nor those who bear the name Ma.Footnote 17
It is noteworthy that in M**’s narration, there is an implicit opposition to “other traders,” and to “other Muslims.” Although often unmarked, this thread runs throughout his accounts, reinforcing the perceived exceptionality of the Xidaotang.Footnote 18 By recalling this legacy, M** underscores that the elders, through their experiences of both failures and successes, tested and refined the most suitable relational modes in this interactional environment with which they gradually became familiar. Here, “fair” refers to the loyalty in relationships, such as keeping one’s word, while “kind-hearted” references the system of gifts that accompanied trade exchanges.
Without any transition, and in a manner that initially seems somewhat disjointed to me, he continues with the narration of an anecdote that brings to light an event from a more distant past:
[The trading caravan] had come down from Lhasa and it had turned west at the crossroads of the three regions bordering Gansu and Qinghai. The Tibetans then attacked our people and stole all their merchandise (dongxi dou qiangguangle 东西都抢光了). Moreover, they killed one of our elders, named Min, with a rifle shot. This happened a long time ago, a very long time ago, when my father was still a boy (zhei ge shi henzao henzao yiqian, wo fuqin hen xiao de shihou de shiqing 这个是很早很早以前，我父亲很小的时候的事情).
In the first part of the narrative, M** describes a generic situation that anyone venturing into Tibetan lands without protection was likely to face: violent plundering when undertaking expeditions. Entering Tibetan territories while keeping the risk of being plundered at bay was a major challenge for economic, political, or religious actors, including foreign missionaries, during the pre–1949 period when the central state had not yet penetrated social organizations on the local scale. “This happened a long time ago, a very long time ago, when my father was still a boy” functions as a watershed in the narrative, thus providing historicity, constructed by M** himself, as he introduces the notion of an ancient time – or at least a time preceding yet another one. In those ancient times, merchants paid with their lives for the initial contacts with Tibetan tribes that, in their own interactions, yielded to cycles of aggression and retaliation.
M** continues his story as follows:
After their goods had been stolen the elders of that time were really strong (hen lihai de 很厉害的) – they went to the Tibetan monastery to meet the lama (huofo 活佛) and the tribal chief (touren 头人). They told (shuo 说) them everything. When they were done telling [their story], everybody went there [the spot of the plundering].
In the second part of the narrative, M** highlights the boldness of the merchants who went to meet with monastic and tribal authorities. This visit was by no means self-evident; it occurred under a regime of exceptionality, which is conveyed by mobilizing the deictic “of that time” (dangshi 当时), thus introducing a slight digression in the narrative: “the elders of that time were really strong.” Here, the expression “hen lihai de 很厉害的,” which derives from the colloquial register of contemporary language, allows M** to formulate an appraisal, within the context of our interaction, of the elders’ political acumen. Their “boldness” lies not only in their understanding of the situation but also in how they tackle it, demonstrating temerity and audacity, thereby initiating a process of mediation. This process, studied among others by Robert Ekvall and Fernanda Pirie, served as a means of preventing conflicts from escalating into widespread inter-tribal warfare.Footnote 19 It helped regulate violence within Tibetan society through the intervention of a third party. In the narrative, the figures capable of resolving the conflict are clearly identified: a Buddhist lama and a tribal chief. The social structure described by M** aligns with Ekvall’s observations on the Ngulra area in the 1930s-1940s, where both monastic and tribal actors embodied the figures of authority. In their presence, the merchants were offered space to recount the event. At the end of this narration, their words are credited as truthful, enacting a specific measure, i.e., the decision to visit the spot of the incident to initiate a mediation process.
The story proceeds:
Their leaders (touren 头人) discussed [the matter] (jiang 讲). After their discussion, they gave (gei 给) us all our goods. And then, they even gave (gei 给) us the price of this old man’s life (mingjia 命价): 250 horses, 250 yaks.
This section of the narrative highlights how Xidaotang merchants benefited from a mechanism for regulating social relations that took the form of verbal mediation. Their integration into such a framework enabled negotiations that reconfigured the social relationship in these terms: “they gave (gei 给) us all our goods.” This statement, which appears somewhat paradoxical, reflects a specific interactional situation. At no point in his account does M** conceptualize the idea of the restitution of the plundered goods. Instead, he uses the verb “give” (gei 给) to qualify the action, rather than “return” or “restore.” What makes the resolution of the conflict possible is the Muslim merchants’ acceptance of the position assigned to them, given that the mediation reconfigures the situation by reversing their status from being victims to that of beneficiaries. Within this framework, the members of the raiding clan are not deprived of their agency as they maintain control over the regulation process by granting compensation. The mediation is successful in that it halts the cycle of potential retaliation and establishes a new equilibrium. Pushing the analysis, we may state that this episode, as described in the narrative, “signals the inclusion of Xidaotang’s merchants within a cultural language of exchange, and their status as a recognized corporate entity within the wider socio-legal history of mediation on the Tibetan plateau, just as other tribes would be”.Footnote 20 More importantly, it opens the possibility of initiating a new form of relationship, which is confirmed by another action, narrated in the conclusion of the anecdote:
After being given [the goods], our elders, upon their return [to Lintan], used a mould to cast a large cauldron. They sent an enormous cauldron to the [Tibetan] monastery (gei tamen de siyuan song le yi kou daguo 给他们的寺院送了一口大锅). At that time, since there were no cars, it took them thirty-eight days to transport it to Machu, fastening it to a wooden structure carried on the backs of yaks. The upper part bore Tibetan inscriptions, while the lower part was in Chinese. The cauldron was massive – it could feed more than 500 people. It was worth a lot of money. From that moment on, our reputation, of us the people of Xidaotang, was high in the eyes of their lama (cong na yihou women Xidaotang de ren jiu zai tamen de huofo mianqian mingsheng hen da 从那以后我们西道堂的人就在他们的活佛面前名声很大).
The outcome of the story centers on the gift of a colossal cauldron to the monastery, functioning as an expression of gratitude toward the mediator.Footnote 21 In this passage, the merchants’ feat is underscored by gauging operations – either by highlighting the conditions of transportation or by emphasizing the technical ingenuity itself: a journey of thirty-eight days, the invention of a fastening structure, the ability to feed more than five hundred people, an assessment of its value, and bilingual inscriptions. The offering of the cauldron thus seals mutual recognition, a foundational event that settles a new form of relations. This recognition involves two key aspects that were to underpin future commercial transactions. The arduous transportation of the cauldron constitutes an ordeal, whose challenging feature exposes the high level of organization and coordination within the caravans managed by the Xidaotang. The merchants’ ability to complete such an undertaking rests on both technical skills and moral dispositions intrinsic to the daotang, particularly a steadfast esprit de corps at the service of the community. The monastic authority acknowledges the exceptional nature of these technical and moral qualities. On the merchants’ side, this gift – remarkable in its scale – reaffirms their deference toward this authority, from whom they seek protection and to whom they offer a tangible proof of economic success, even if in their future trade relations. The final sentence of the narrative – “From that moment on, we, the people of Xidaotang, enjoyed a great reputation in the eyes of their lama” – ushers in a new era: an economic golden age built upon strong alliances with Tibetan monastic and tribal authorities. This alliance becomes fully effective as it intertwines the stakes of both protection and reputation.
We must now turn our attention to the status of this narrative in the present context of the investigation. During our discussion, M** explains how his knowledge was shaped through his long and regular contact with Tibetan dignitaries; he prides himself on knowing the most intricate details of this history, sometimes unknown, he states, even to the oldest Tibetans. Yet he never mentions whether ancient Xidaotang merchants passed it on to him, or the importance of passing it on to others. It seems that he views the transmission of this history as less of a concern compared to defining his role as a contemporary actor. The narrative analyzed above, structured as a sequence of events, operates a “retournement” in the enunciative situation, to borrow Ricoeur’s wordFootnote 22 . The intelligibility that M** produces through his storytelling, by articulating the internal rationale of the alliance, resonates with today’s situation. He “salvages” the event by endowing it with relevant meaning in the present. In this respect, it can be argued that trust is a temporal relationship, grounded in a long history. When discussing with the researcher, by positioning himself as the custodian of this history – through his lineage, his youthful experiences, and the trust Tibetans have placed in him – he bolsters the legitimacy of his status within the local Tibetan society. In parallel, he compensates for the lack of recognition he has suffered within his own religious community.
This narrative, by virtue of its exceptional and foundational nature, functions as a paradigmatic example of how alliances between Tibetans and Muslim merchants used to be established and later institutionalized to consolidate trade relations. The articulation of such a narrative is intrinsically tied to the situation of interlocution, where what is at stake for M** is the assertion of a form of legitimacy as a descendant of a sacred lineage. If the cauldrons are at the core of the plot of M**’s story, we will now see that they also appear in other accounts, though framed within a narrative mode that operates outside the register of exceptionality.
Cauldrons Stirring an Inter-religious Institutions Economy
My connections with M** in Machu allowed me to establish contact with another Xidaotang merchant, D**, who runs a general goods shop in Ngulra gongma (Tib. dngul ra gong ma, Ch. Shang Oula 上欧拉), a small village near the Ngulra Monastery. I met D** twice, first in 2007 and then again in 2008. From his life story, I learned that he was born in 1929 and was originally from Taipingzhai, a township near Lintan, where the D** lineage held a prominent positionFootnote 23 . His paternal grandfather, a devoted companion of the saintly founder Ma Qixi (1857–1914), was among the twenty-five people who perished as martyrs alongside him in 1914. His grandfather was also a skilled carpenter, renowned for his craftsmanship – a know-how that has been passed down through generations. At the time of our meeting, D** had a workshop where he did picture framing jobs for Tibetans.
During his childhood, he lived in the daotang – the Sufi religious institution at the core of the community – in Lintan. Then, at the age of twenty, when the Communists seized power in 1949, he accompanied MJ*, M**’s father, and another merchant, MP*, into the Tibetan regions. Their mission, given by the daotang, was to develop trade relations with the Tibetans in this area, which had remained relatively closed to caravan trade. From our discussions, I learned that these three men were the first to encounter Tibetan dignitaries, which led to laying the foundations for commercial relations. The lama granted them permission to settle at the Ngulra Monastery to sell goods. In close collaboration with the Xidaotang caravan trade network, the three merchants managed the supply chains that benefited both the local population and monastic actors. By establishing economic relations with the Ngulra Monastery, the three merchants acted in service of the daotang, relinquishing any personal profit to uphold the interests of the religious institution and, by extension, those of the community.
A long-time Tibetan friend of M**, originally from Ngulra but living in Machu, helped me establish contact with the monastery of Ngulra. His daughter served as an interpreter during this visit. During my conversation with a monk born around 1920, accompanied by younger attendants present to facilitate the exchanges, D** was evoked. Indeed, when the topic of the presence of this shop-based trade within the monastery arose, four “Chinese merchants” were identified:
They had large sacks of merchandise (tshong dos), which they loaded onto animals to transport over there. Among the Chinese merchants, they were very strong. Those who were strong were the ones who came here – Dewa, Huarge, Sanggye, and Heduli. They were the ones who opened a shop here, where they sold small things, candies… That was just it…
The monk continues:
Huarge and the others, they opened something like a shop over there; they sold us a few goods. Well, I say ‘shop,’ but there wasn’t much to buy. Not like today. Just a few things. Salt… Back then, even salt was hard to come by. [They sold] a bit of everything. The young monks said it was really good – we said it was good to have a shop, so there were a few things for sale. And then, ’58 came, and even that disappeared.
In the narrative recounted by the Tibetan monk, the “Chinese merchants” have names or nicknames in Tibetan: D** was known as Sanggye (Sangs rgyas), while MJ*, M**’s father, was called Huarge. Dewa was in charge of cooking and was killed in 1958 by the People’s Liberation Army, while Heduli was another merchant. From these narratives, it emerges that Huarge and Dewa are identified as dbang can (powerful figures) and Xidaotang trade in rgya nang (“the Chinese interior”) as ngar ba (“powerful” in terms of skills). My interlocutors also mentioned the raids on caravans, the role of monks in mediating relations, and of Tibetans escorting the caravans, transporting the money used for the hide and wool trade during night-time convoys, particularly to the Golok encampments.
Although D** mentions caravan raids in his accounts, cauldrons do not play the same foundational role as in M**’s narrative. However, they still hold a significant place among the exchanged goods, beyond the Machu-Ngulra area. While describing the trade relations he experienced, D** statesFootnote 24 :
We had this kind of relationship with the Tibetans because, at that time, our caravans transported the goods they needed. Moreover, we had good relations with the touren [chief]; their touren also said: “These are our merchants, we cannot rob them, we must protect them” (zhei shi women de shengyiren, women bu neng qiang, women yao baohu tamen 这是我们的生意人，我们不能抢，我们要保护他们). […] Before, when we went to Aba 阿坝 (Tib. Ngawa, rnga ba) [northern Sichuan], we also had to rely on the touren there – we needed their protection. What we offered to the monastery was different: there were fabrics, porcelain, bronze cauldrons. We transported many bronze cauldrons; we offered a bronze cauldron to the monastery because of our relationship with them (Women tuo de tongguo ye duo, gei tamen de siyuanli songguo yi kou tongguo, yinwei women zhijian de guanxi, erqie women ye xiang zhuzai zheli 我们托的铜锅也多，给他们的寺院里送过一口铜锅，因为我们之间的关系，而且我们也想住在这里). Besides, we also wanted to settle down here, but later, it was all destroyed by the Communist Party.
In D**’s account, the bronze cauldron plays a significant role in the construction of trade relations with monastic institutions (here Ngawa is mentioned), beyond the reciprocal protection ties with clan leaders. During my fieldwork, a cauldron was also mentioned in my conversation with the monk at Ngulra as we discussed the relationship between the monastery and the “Chinese merchants”:
A person: Did they install (bzhag) a large cauldron (tshogs zangs)?
Another person: Yes, they installed a large cauldron, I heard.
Akhu: Yes, indeed, they installed a large cauldron.
Someone else: When we were little, we also heard that the Chösoma (Tib. Chos so ma) had installed a large cauldron.
Interpreter: So, the meals… It was used to cook the monks’ meals during religious assemblies, is that it?
Two people (simultaneously): That’s right, that’s right.
Interpreter: Did they make it, or did they buy it and bring it here?
Another person: They must have bought it, otherwise…
Akhu: They offered it (khong rigs gis byin ni red go)!Footnote 25
Further in the conversation, the cauldron is mentioned again:
Akhu: And then, they made this cauldron. Apart from the cauldron, the Chösoma didn’t give anything else to the monastery.
A person: I’ve heard about this cauldron being installed…
Another person (A): Yes, people say a cauldron was installed. It must have come from Watsé [Lintan].
Someone else: Yes, it was from Watsé.
Person A: How did they bring it here?
Another person: They must have loaded it onto animals…
Person A: Is that even possible…?
The cauldron, as recalled by this Tibetan monk and his attendants, is a constitutive element of this shared memory – “When we were little, we also heard that…” In this conversation, the merchants affiliated with the Xidaotang are referred to as Chösoma, meaning “new religion” in Tibetan – a designation that closely aligns with how the Xidaotang is commonly described by other Muslims as xinjiao 新教 (“New Teaching”) or by missionaries as the “New Sect.” We will return to this issue later. The question – “Is that even possible…?” – reflects logistical concerns about transportation, as the weight and size of the cauldron posed a challenge. Moreover, this conversation confirms that a cauldron was indeed offered to the monastery. The construction of this economic model, in which the offering of bronze cauldrons played a specific role, was also described to me in Lanzhou during a discussion with a group of six elderly men. One of them, who had evidently experienced these merchant caravans first-hand, clarified an important point as we were concluding our conversation:
There is another very important point: the Tibetans believed that the trade of our caravans was operated with the monastery (shi he siyuan zuo de 是和寺院作的), that it was carried out on behalf of the mosque (shi gei qingzhensi zuo 是给清真寺作). They saw it as a kind of monastic economy (siyuan jingji 寺院经济), so they acknowledged and gave much credit to it (rentong 认同).
Although cauldrons are not explicitly mentioned in this account, it nevertheless describes the forms of economic life in which they were used – namely, a system of exchange between religious institutions (siyuan jingji 寺院经济), alongside trade relations with tribe chiefs. The monk I interviewed indicated that it was the nang chen (the lama’s residence) that was in charge of economic exchanges and logistical arrangements for the escort. The offering of cauldrons played a significant role in these exchanges, turning them into an integral part of the religious sphere, for they served as a means to facilitate rituals within monastic life, particularly during large religious gatherings.Footnote 26
It appears that the offering of these cauldrons typifies the trade relations merchants maintained with monasteries. An elderly merchant, MW* (born in 1931), who took part in caravans departing from Zhuoluo, a Hui village near Lintan, recalls the activities of his father, who was also a merchant:
Our large cauldrons – my father transported them twice to Ganzi 甘孜 (Tib. dkar mdzes ), delivering them to the monasteries. It was extremely strenuous (Women de daguo, wo de fuqin gei Ganzi yunguo liangci, songdao siyuan li, tebie feijin 我们的大锅，我的父亲给甘孜运过两次，送到寺院里，特别费劲).Footnote 27
We learned from another merchant, also from ZhuoluoFootnote 28 , that these cauldrons were manufactured in Lintan by Han Chinese artisans and were forged with designs that “Tibetans valued” (Zangmin jiangjiude 藏民讲究的), such as the dragon motif. This type of cauldron, “specially made for Tibetans” (zhuanmen gei Zangmin zuo de 专门给藏民做的), was “highly valuable” (jiaqian hen gui 价钱很贵) and “not used by Muslims” (Huimin ye bu yong 回民也不用).
The establishment of trade relations between religious institutions was founded on a system of offerings, in which cauldrons, alongside other goods such as porcelain and textiles, played a distinct role. Three key aspects emerge. First, Tibetans regarded the transportation of cauldrons as a technical feat, reinforcing their esteem for the Muslim merchants of Xidaotang. The lamas viewed this achievement with respect, recognizing it as a means of fostering good relations, which in turn facilitated the establishment of trading spaces within their monastic institutions. Second, cauldrons, as objects associated with religious rituals, are integral to the religious life of monasteries. In this context, cauldrons served as mediums of cultural contact, and beyond that, of cultural borrowing. Finally, the production of these cauldrons constituted a distinct economic niche, bringing Chinese artisans, who fulfilled commissions for Muslim merchants, into the scope of this economic network. Notably, these cauldrons differed from those commissioned by Xidaotang members for their own communal kitchens; they featured motifs specifically designed to meet the aesthetic preferences of their Tibetan hosts. Cauldrons, thus, stand as the material embodiment of trust-based relationships that developed over the years – a trust rooted in the recognition by the Tibetans of the moral virtues and economic strength of Xidaotang followers.
The investigation has shown that these past relationships are the objects of contemporary re-interpretations, particularly when they serve as an explanatory framework for depicting the harmonious relations between Xidaotang merchants and Tibetans. The next section turns to a collective narrative – one that, in a way, carries the institutional voice and seeks to elucidate the underlying mechanisms of this reciprocal trust.
“Chösoma”: Identification Process Tied to Moral Attributes and Technical Skills
In September 2007, I went to the Wujiayuan district in Lanzhou, where a residence inhabited by members of the Xidaotang is located, to engage in a conversation with a group of six elderly men. The meeting, organized by the eldest son of the religious leader at the time, aimed to gain a better understanding of the economic ties between Xidaotang merchants and the Tibetan population. Gradually, our discussion shifted toward the underlying dynamics of this relationship between Xidaotang merchants and Tibetans:
The relationship between the Xidaotang and the Tibetans consists mainly in keeping one’s word (shou xinyong 守信用). That’s the only way they can trust you (xin de guo 信得过). For us merchants, when we do business, if I can trust you (wo xin de guo ni 我信得过你), I can bring you a lot of goods. Back in the third year of the Republic of China (1914), after Ma Anliang wronged our Master Ma Qixi, we went to Beijing to file a complaint. But at the time, we were broke – we had nothing. So, after we returned, how did we rebuild our economy? Well, during Master Ma Qixi’s time, a relationship with the Tibetans had already been built, based on the principle of keeping our word (yi shou xinyong wei zhu 以守信用为主). That way, they knew that the Xidaotang was an honest and trustworthy brotherhood (chengshi kexin 诚实可信).
Beyond the descriptive aspect of these reciprocal relationships of protection and hospitality, these accounts allow us to grasp a central concept that underpins them: xin 信. In the excerpt above, this term appears in several expressions – shou xinyong 守信用, xin de guo 信得过, and chengshi kexin 诚实可信. The first expression, shou xinyong, refers to the trustworthiness and the credit one enjoys; the second, xin de guo, conveys the idea of being credible in someone’s eyes, of deserving their trust. Unlike chengshi kekao 诚实可靠 (honest and trustworthy; reliable and dependable; loyal; entirely worthy of confidence), chengshi kexin 诚实可信 is not a common four-character idiom in the Chinese language. Although it borrows from similar linguistic forms, this expression was specifically coined to describe a particular kind of relationship where xin 信 takes the place of kao 靠. While the character kao carries a more neutral meaning – “to rely on, to depend on” – without any particular philosophical or religious connotation, xin holds a deeper, more philosophical dimension. In Chinese philosophy, xin refers to faithfulness to one’s duty or sovereign, embodying an attitude of trust and loyalty. In Taoism, it signifies the mutual foundation of a relationship, encompassing notions of trust and sincerity. In a religious context, it denotes belief, faith, and devotion to a religion. This four-character expression combines the notions of sincerity and loyalty (chengshi 诚实) with those of faithfulness, trust, and reliability (kexin 可信). While it is difficult to trace the precise historical usage of this term, in contemporary times, it serves to describe the moral foundations of a relationship forged between two groups.
The discussion proceeded, providing a piece of evidence:
That’s why we, the Xidaotang, can now borrow money (daikuan 贷款) from the Tibetans without interest (wu lixi 无利息), and they can also lend us money. The economic growth of the Xidaotang largely came from borrowing funds from tribe chiefs (touren 头人) and monastic dignitaries (huofo 活佛), using that capital (benqian 本钱) to expand our business.
This information about the credit system corroborates statements reported by M** during my investigation into the Muslim merchant community in Machu. Having personally benefited from this lending system when he first settled in Machu in 1994, he told me that he himself now acts as an intermediary to facilitate the establishment of new businesses, with financial support from a powerful former tribe chief. As I was visiting his shop one day, this chief, frail in appearance, was there too – dressed in dark clothing, wearing a black hat and large, round glasses. The tone of the conversation between the two men immediately made me realize that their conversation (in Amdo Tibetan) must have addressed a serious matter, which prompted me to take a step back. When the Tibetan man left the shop, M** showed him utmost deference, and once he had gone, he turned to me and said, “That man is very powerful.” It was only later, when recalling this episode, that M** told me he had been seeking the man’s financial assistance for a Xidaotang family who was setting up a grocery store in Machu.
Let us now return to the discussion that took place in Lanzhou. The same man, a former Xidaotang merchant, continued:
Of course, when Tibetans came over to Lintan, the Xidaotang served as their place of lodging (zhaodaisuo 招待所), and they could stay there for a long time.
This information is crucial to understanding the reciprocity of the assistance provided. When Tibetans came to Lintan to procure supplies, those engaged in trade with the Xidaotang benefited from an entire system of hospitality anchored in the socio-economic structure of the Xidaotang. During our interview, the monk from Ngulra also mentioned his sojourns in Watsé/Lintan and how he received a warm welcome on both occasions. Robert Ekvall provided a striking account of this reciprocal relationship in his unpublished work, Tibetan Break-through:
It was the wrong time for a visit. The place was overrun with Tibetans, and the members of the headquarters staff were rushing around in a sort of frenzy attending to the needs of their Tibetan guests whose tents, cookfires, tetherlines, and stacked loads of animal-husbandry products filled all the courtyards and every possible bit of open space – even spilling over onto an adjacent threshing [threshing] floor. The manager when receiving me, was courteous, but obviously preoccupied and pressed for time. As briefly as possible I outlined the reasons for my visit and he responded with promises of help – “but not just now” – and went on to explain that these Tibetans were host/sponsors who offered hospitality, protective care, and help in trade whenever his own agents, in the role of guest/client, visited their encampments. With the Tibetans’ arrival at his door, it became, in turn, his responsibility as host/sponsor to do everything possible in caring for, protecting, and helping his guest/clients, and making them feel that, even as strangers in a Chinese city, they were safe.”Footnote 29
This description by Ekvall, probably from the 1930s-1940s, in which he conceptualizes the reciprocal relationship as “host/sponsor”–“guest/client,” aligns with elements of oral narratives I have collected. When Tibetans arrived in Lintan with their loads, members of the Xidaotang made it a duty to welcome them, provide for their needs, and facilitate their stay in Lintan – a Chinese town unfamiliar to them, where they felt like outsiders and unsafe. During my discussion with the elderly men in Lanzhou, I was told an anecdote that further reinforced Ekvall’s description with a compelling example. While the narrative up to that point had outlined general principles, a singular anecdote stood out:
There was a incarnate lama (huofo 活佛) who had smallpox – a contagious disease. He was too embarrassed to tell us, so he set up a tent. When we found out, we took down the tent and brought him back to the daotang. The lama was so deeply moved that he didn’t shy away from weeping before us. The lama said, “Aren’t you afraid that I might infect you?” We, the Xidaotang, told him, “Since you are sick, you must come and stay with us.” We were afraid he would catch a cold sleeping outside. But he quickly left the next day. When he returned home, he told his people about what had happened. They all said that the people of the Xidaotang were truly honest and trustworthy – chengshi kexin 诚实可信, these very same four characters. And so, over time, the relationship between us grew stronger.
Here, my interlocutor constructs a narrative in which the hospitality of the Xidaotang – and the principles underpinning it – is put to the test through the mention of a contagious disease (smallpox). This story conveys a key principle for understanding the nature of the relationship between the two groups: the provision of unconditional aid, even in an extreme case of illness. The members of the Xidaotang welcome Tibetans like they welcome members of their own community. In the narrative, the merchants adopt a logic that runs counter to that of the lama: “Since you are sick, you must come and stay with us.” This anecdote also resonates with the testimony of the Muslim host, who asserts strong principles to Ekvall, the Protestant missionary: “With the Tibetans’ arrival at his door, it became, in turn, his responsibility as host/sponsor to do everything possible in caring for, protecting, and helping his guest/clients.” Later, after his swift departure, the huofo (incarnate lama, Tib. Trülku, sprul sku) reported his experience to others. At this point, a contemporary reframing of the narrative in terms that are more general allows this relationship to be redefined through the pivotal concept of chengshi kexin 诚实可信, examined earlier. Once this principle is reaffirmed, another sequence opens, where certain attributes of the group become apparent in relation to this foundation of trust.
The Tibetans call us Chösoma – it actually means ‘new religion.’ As long as you say you are Chösoma, you can often go to Tibetan homes for meals and accommodation. It is the seed planted by our ancestors (women de zuxian liuxia de zhongzi 我们的祖先留下的种子). That is why, after the Liberation, the financial resources (caiyuan 财源) of the Xidaotang – even to this day – have mainly come from places like Chamdo and Lhasa, where there are strong bonds of affection (shenhou de ganqing 深厚的感情) with the Tibetan people. So, in the end, how did this relationship develop? It all boils down to honesty and trustworthiness (chengshi shouxin 诚实守信).
In the continuation of the narrative, Xidaotang merchants are constituted as a distinct group by Tibetans, according to my Xidaotang interviewees, through the Tibetan term “Chösoma” (“New Religion”). However, what defines the group here is not so much its “new religion” feature as the attribute encapsulated in the expression “chengshi kexin 诚实可信.” This attribute is what distinguishes them from other Muslim merchants, identifying them with a collective bearing unique property. In other words, any merchant belonging to the Chösoma is recognized as possessing an essential quality: being trustworthy. Sharrock puts the problem in other words while considering the relationship between “a corpus of knowledge” and the activities of the members of a given collectivity: “The problem for sociologists has not, then, been that of finding a relationship between any member’s knowledge and his activities but, instead, that of interpreting the relationship between a collectivity’s corpus of knowledge and the activities of its members.Footnote 30 ” In our case, the corpus of knowledge of the Xidaotang merchants’ collectivity can be observed empirically in a range of technical skills and moral values that shape their way of engaging in trade activities. The term Chösoma, used by Tibetans to distinguish Xidaotang merchants from the others, indicates a culture of their own in doing business. To follow Sharrock, we are dealing here with a “practice of naming as a phenomenon”: “[T]he name is never intended to describe the persons amongst whom the corpus has currency but, instead, to specify the relationship which that corpus has to the constituency, a relationship which seems analogous to that of ownership.” The coining (and use) of the name “Chösoma” by Tibetans makes it possible to comprehend the relationship existing between Muslim merchants of the Xidaotang and Tibetans.
Conversely, Xidaotang merchants actively meet the normative expectations placed on their community by belonging to a collectivist institution and renouncing personal profit. This mutual recognition, based on shared expectations, stabilizes and then strengthens relations to the point that: “As long as you say you are Chösoma, you can often go to Tibetan homes for meals and accommodation.” “Chösoma” functions as an attribute imbued with moral value, enabling trade activities within the framework of an alliance forged by their ancestors. The narrative then shifts into an explanatory mode (“this is why”), where elements of the past help to enlighten the present situation. This present is that of the post-Maoist era, in which commercial activities resumed by reactivating past legacies: “places […] where there are strong bonds of affection with the Tibetan population.” Alliances have left traces where they were established, and the distinctive expression “Chösoma” allowed them to be revived in the early 1980s, demonstrating both the strength and deep-rooted significance of this designation.
In the final part of this study, I will examine how the use of the term “Chösoma,” which once defined the properties of a community, enabled certain Xidaotang merchants to resume their activities on an individual scale in Tibetan regions from the 1980s onward. I will begin with the personal account given by M** of his settlement in Machu, a small town near Ngulra Monastery, where his father ran a little shop inside the monastery before 1958.
Tian Xing Long as a Marker of Prestige in a Changing Economic Landscape
Although he is a sixth-generation direct descendant of the founder of Xidaotang, Ma Qixi, M** has been suffering both socially and psychologically from a lack of recognition within his community. The tragic fate of his father, which profoundly affected the lives of all his relatives, barred M** from acquiring the religious erudition he was entitled to as a descendant of Ma Qixi.
This is how M** told me of his father’s life:
When my father was 19, he belonged to the Kuomintang. He was the first brigade commander at the Huangpu Military Academy and with Chiang Ching-kuo, Bai Chongxi, Ma Bufang, and others, they were comrades-in-arms (tongshi 同事). As the Liberation was near, they were supposed to leave for Taiwan, but my father came back instead. He then started doing business here in Machu and became a chief (dang touren 当头人). In 1957, he was arrested in Machu. At that time, Chen Yi’s army was here. After his arrest, he was released in ’62 or ’63. It was clearly stated on his release certificate. But after he came back, they placed the fansilei (反四类)Footnote 31 hat on him, paraded him through the streets (youjie 游街), dragged him into struggle sessions (pidou 批逗), and beat him up so badly that he was completely broken (bei dahuai le 被打坏了).
He then proceeded:
Back then, we were assigned three different class labels (bei hua le sanci chengfen 被划了三次成份). First, we were labelled as tyrannical landlords (eba dizhu 恶霸地主). Second, as counter-revolutionary landlords (fangeming dizhu 反革命地主). Third, as feudal lords (fengjianzhu 封建主). At that time, in Gannan Prefecture, three families only were classified as feudal lords – our family and that of my uncle M* jiaozhang’s, that of Commander (siling 司令) Huang’s in Xiahe, and that of Commander Yang’s in Zhuoni.
In this portrait, M** places his father alongside nationally prominent figures and important regional powerholders: Chiang Ching-kuo, Bai Chongxi, Ma Bufang, Huang Zhengqing, and Yang Fuxing.Footnote 32 His reading of the past is eminently political, drawing a clear line between the two antagonistic sides involved. Belonging to a saintly lineage, that of the holy founder of the Xidaotang, his father gains a status leading him to approach the circles of these political figures with whom he allegedly interacted or at least shared views. At the same time, he relates his “family” – the saintly lineage originating in Ma Qixi – to the religious master of the 1950s, MZ*, his maternal uncle. The class-struggle system implemented by the Maoist regime sealed a common fate for the aforementioned three religious and economic actors (Xidaotang, Huang, and Yang families) ruling parts of Amdo prior to the arrival of the Communists, thus bolstering their belonging to the same world.Footnote 33
M**’s perception of this past, but also his account of it, corresponds to the territorial fragmentation of local power in Gannan, where his father had acquired the status of “chief” (dang touren 当头人), a term borrowed from the social hierarchies of the Tibetan politico-religious sphere. The use of this term to conjure up his father’s social and economic role indicates a field of experience different from that of other Muslim merchants of his generation, as well as a borrowing from a register, alien to his own religious community, for describing social relations. What he refers to by touren in Chinese is, by analogy, an equivalent of the gowa (’go ba), literally the “head one.”Footnote 34
In the course of my investigation, a monk from Ngulra Monastery, mentioned earlier, evoked M**’s father several times using expressions such as: “someone who was very capable (ngar ba),” “Huarge was a leader (dpon po) too,” and “And then there was Huarge; he was powerful.” Another person pinpointed: “Yes, Huarge must have been a guanjia [manager]…” These evaluations of M**’s father are linked to issues of status – he is a direct descendant of the founding lineage of the community – as well as to moral and physical qualities.Footnote 35 As mentioned above, M**’s father, along with two or three companions – including D**, whom I mentioned earlier – contributed to consolidating the long-distance trade networks in the Tibetan areas at the end of the 1940s.
During the uprising in Amdo in 1958, in which he participated alongside Tibetans, M**’s father was arrested.Footnote 36 Released during the years 1963-1964, he was again subjected to ill treatments inflicted during the Cultural Revolution (1966), to which he succumbed. This fate, common to many male members of Xidaotang, plunged Lintan families into poverty and drove children, who were not in age of joining the work-teams in the People’s communes, to beg for food in nearby Tibetan areas.Footnote 37 M** dwells on this episode of his life for it has a special resonance since, unlike the other children, he remained in the Tibetan encampments for many years, never returning to his hometown. In fact, his narrative about his childhood meanders and is told in a circular fashion:
We never went to school when we were kids. I came to Machu when I was about eight or nine years old. I lived with the herders, tending cattle and sheep, collecting cow dung – that’s how things went. […] In 1958, a lot of people were sent to labour camps (bei laogai 被老改), and their homes were confiscated. At the time, I was all alone and roamed about the mountain passes. The wind blew strong, my shoes were worn out – I was wearing a pair of canvas shoes, and I was freezing. If I ended up here that’s because I was a bit mischievous (tiaopi 调皮) as a kid, while my older brother stayed home [in Lintan] and joined the production team. I was born in 1954. I lived inside the dajiating 大家庭 [Xidaotang collectivist compound] for two or three years, then they kicked us out. […] When my father passed away, I was here, herding sheep for the Tibetans and I learned about it only a month later. […] I came here when I was really young, just seven or eight years old. If I bumped into people, I’d ask them for some food. If not, I’d go sleep in a cave. I walked all the way here. For seven years, I didn’t see a single Han Chinese – only Tibetans. My family thought I had been ripped up and eaten by wolvesFootnote 38 . I had to get used to eating tsampa [Tib. rtsam pa, a traditional Tibetan staple food made of roasted barley flour, often mixed with butter tea] with Tibetans. So, when I went back home, I didn’t even know how to use chopsticks. […] I owe my survival to the Tibetans – without them, I would be dead by now. They treated me well, and I worked for them in return. I’ve been in Machu for over 40 years now. I know a lot of chiefs, and I am acquainted with all of them. When I first arrived here, people would use [the word] “Chösoma.”
In his narrative, M** highlights the relationship he forged at an early age with Tibetan nomadic herders, thus endowing him with protective ties that enabled him to survive. He also underscores his own personal qualities to negotiate the formidable passes. Such an emphasis on his qualities is also meant to reflect his innate predisposition to adapt to the pastoral way of life as well as to live and grow up among Tibetans in a hostile environment.
Besides, his account unveils the dire predicament faced, as early as 1957–1958, by the families living within the collectivist compound of the Xidaotang, when this socio-economic organization was dismantled, and its property confiscated by the Communist work-teams. The children under the age of fourteen would join a gang of peers and beg or barter food in Tibetan regions: this was how they took part in sustaining their families. Their identification with the Chösoma – the term Tibetans employed to refer to the Xidaotang – may have facilitated the assistance they received. Other merchants of M**’s generation told me that children, either because they looked like their fathers, or were aware of their own fathers’ Tibetan names, or claimed their belonging to the Chösoma, were highly likely to be offered help by Tibetans. At the time, despite the repressive political context and the deprivation faced in daily life, past loyalties remained effective.
As he seeks to assert his position both within the Tibetan society in Amdo and his own religious community, one of the key driving forces for M**’s legitimization is to be found in his manner of producing narratives. In his accounts, the heroic figure of his father stands alongside prominent figures, and his ties to the Tibetan chiefs – to whom he owes his survival – are pointed out.
M** continues describing how he settled in Machu:
When I first started doing business, I travelled to a lot of places. Back then, the money I used to open my own shop – it was over 10,000 yuan that I had borrowed. When I opened the shop, I used the term Chösoma. On the signboard, I wrote ‘Tian Xing Long Silk and Satin Department.’ These earnings were my own, but if the mosque had a major event, we [my wife and I] would contribute financially. I opened this shop on my own. At the time, I told Hajj Min about it, and then I put up the sign.
Elsewhere in the conversation, he says:
After I went back [to Lintan, in the 1980s], I worked as a shop assistant (yingyeyuan营业员) in the Tian Xing Long Silk and Satin stores owned by the Xidaotang. Back then, the salary was 100 yuan per month. Linxia, Lanzhou, Xining, Lhasa, Chamdo – I lived in all of these cities. It was in 1994 that I came to Machu to open my shop.
Before settling down in Machu, M** worked for eight years as an employee in various branches of the Tian Xing Long commercial establishment in Linxia, Lanzhou, Xining, Lhasa, and Chamdo. Throughout these years working within Xidaotang’s collectivist commercial structure, where employees were provided with housing and food, he was able to save money from his salary and bonuses. As my investigation progressed, I would later learn that when he established himself in Machu in 1994, he contracted a loan from an influential Tibetan figure, a descendant of a powerful regional tribe leader.
One can notice a specific feature in his opening of his business, given that he chose “Tian Xing Long” for the name of his shop, even though he operated outside the community-based economic system that had been revived in the 1990s. At the time, Tian Xing Long, as a collectivist-oriented commercial establishment, was one of the institutions structuring the community and enabling its economic prosperity. After extensive experience within the community-based economic system, M** decided to set up his own business and declared that a portion of his profits would be donated to the mosque in the event of a specific fundraising initiative.
Throughout his narrative, almost interchangeably, he uses the terms “Chösoma” – a term used by Tibetans to refer to the Xidaotang community loaded with normative expectations and moral significance – and “Tian Xing Long”, the collectivist commercial entity that serves as one of the community’s institutions, and where his father worked. For M**, these two terms (Chösoma and Tian Xing Long) encapsulate the same reality: the Xidaotang merchants who have earned the recognition of Tibetan tribes and monastic authorities, who granted them the right to trade on their territory given their moral integrity.
In his narrative, M** entertains a certain ambiguity regarding the religious leader Min Shengguang’s approval of the use of the Tian Xing Long community trade name for private purposes: “I spoke to Hajj Min, and then I put up the sign.” This statement is skilfully crafted: while it suggests the necessity of consulting religious authority, it does not shed light on whether an actual interaction took place between the two men that resulted in explicit validation by the religious leader. For M**, using the name Tian Xing Long is a crucial issue when establishing his own business, as it is intrinsically associated in Tibetan imaginaries with the “Chösoma” community. This appropriation serves as a means of personally reclaiming an aura of respectability attributed to the merchants of this community, to which his father belonged. Furthermore, the fact that he borrowed money locally rather than from his own community highlights his willingness to assert his autonomy by relying on local support networks rather than intercommunity ties. We can also consider that there is a use of shared histories of suffering under the Maoist period.
By hanging the Tian Xing Long sign, M** privatizes the use of the name of this commercial establishment, an institution that economically structured the community through collectivist-oriented trading entities. His primary source of legitimacy for doing so stems from his membership in the community’s founding lineage, as a direct descendant of Ma Qixi, but above all from inheriting the commercial experiences of his father, who was a pioneer in establishing trade relations with the Tibetans of the Ngulra Monastery area. For M**, who spent his childhood and adolescence remote from his religious community and in close vicinity to Tibetans, belonging to a lineage rooted in both holiness and trade is a legitimate criterion for setting up his own business, thus allowing him to appropriate the moral qualities attributed to this community-based commercial establishment. This can be read as the assertion of a strong individual identity that consolidates his authority in a place where it is recognized – notably through his benefiting from the local credit system, as well as his role as a mediator in resolving disputes between Tibetan customers and Muslim merchants.Footnote 39 Through the bold gesture in naming his shop, he also liberated himself from community conventions. He was the first to de-communalize the use of the Tian Xing Long trade name. Other merchants, particularly the managers of former Tian Xing Long firms, followed in his steps when this commercial business model faced a crisis in the mid–2000s, leading to a shift toward a real estate speculation-based economic model.
Conclusion
All the narratives collected during my fieldwork emerged within specific enunciative situations involving a third party – myself as the researcher – who was conducting an inquiry into the rationales underpinning the past alliances between Muslim merchants and Tibetans, as well as the economic prosperity of religious institutions. The aim of this paper is not to assess the current social use of these narratives in intra- or inter-community interactions, nor to evaluate their actual impact on social relations. These aspects will be the focus of future research, which will examine interactions between Muslim merchants and Tibetans in the ordinary context of everyday trade. What is at stake here is to understand how my interlocutors evoke past relations between Muslim merchants and Tibetans, and how these relations are reinterpreted and typified today to make sense of the present – within a specific enunciative interaction aimed at eliciting situated knowledge.
The interactional context in which these narratives were collected offered a window into how my interlocutors have experienced the past – whether directly or indirectly – how they have been exposed to its legacy, and how they envision their future by reinterpreting these experiences in the light of present concerns. The narratives under scrutiny typify, in various ways, a social reality shaped by interactions between Muslim merchants and Tibetan communities during the pre-Maoist period. Their narrative registers correspond to different regimes of historicity: a foundational account tinged with heroism evokes ancient times; portrayals of everyday trade recall a golden age of economic prosperity; reflections on moral values blur the boundary between past and present; and a personal, experience-based narrative foregrounds contemporary concerns. The narratives give voice to a diversity of perspectives, each expressing distinct aims and mobilizing different scales and processes. One personal account reflects a process of heroization of forefather figures by depicting an exceptional situation; a patchwork of personal stories offers scattered pieces of a puzzle that help trace the dynamics of the religious inter-institutional economy; a collective narrative conveying the institutional voice shapes an idealized conception of the driving forces of trade; and another personal account contributes to a process of legitimization serving individual economic interests.
The content of the narratives reveals a range of interactional dynamics grounded in practices (mediating, offering of cauldrons, mutual hosting and protection, privatizing a commercial label), in attributions (identifying as Chösoma, acknowledging moral qualities and technical skills, and decollectivizing a reputation originally tied to a religious group), and in potentialities (stabilizing commercial relations, bolstering mutual economic growth, exchanging information, and negotiating loan deals). These narratives thus suggest the emergence of a transition – from a fragile relationship structured by conflict-resolution dynamics displayed in early encounters, to a more stable relationship based on reciprocal hospitality and protection.
The process of familiarization at play, which underpins the observed social relations, is grounded in what can be described as a specific trading culture. This culture is recognized as both a moral and technical attribute of a group of merchants operating on behalf of an economic institution affiliated with the Xidaotang religious community. The persistence of this model lies in the fact that both parties perceived it as a form of religious inter-institutional economic activity. Today, it continues to shape the imaginaries of community members as they construct their present; in light of contemporary concerns, it is reinterpreted as a “golden age” of Xidaotang-Tibetan relations at a local scale – time when the state had not yet penetrated the deeper layers of these societies.
The photograph described in the introduction is, in itself, a narrative. It exposes what is enduring, despite the contemporary context marked by major protests and profound economic, political, and cultural transformations. While the Tibetan population faces the pressures of accelerated urban expansion and economic reforms that undermine their traditional economic model,Footnote 40 certain bonds of trust and solidarity appear to persist. In the everyday life of fabric shops – a setting that will be examined in further research – these ties are constantly put to the test, with a fundamental stake at play: the preservation of the trading culture described in this article, and the affirmation of a legitimate presence in a land where Muslim merchants are increasingly perceived as strangers.
Acknowledgements
This project grew out of the international symposium “Redrawing and Straddling Borders”, organized by Tatsuya Nakanishi at the Institute for Research in Humanities, Kyoto, in December 2018. I am grateful to him for the stimulating intellectual exchanges that his initiative fostered. Generous financial support from the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation, as part of the interdisciplinary program “Professional Cultures and the Transmission of Specialized Knowledge: Artisans and Merchants in Local Society” (RG009-U-05, 2006–2009), also contributed to this research.
I would like to thank Thupten Gyatso for his assistance in transcribing Tibetan interviews, and Lama Jabb for his translations from Tibetan. My thanks go as well to Xénia de Heering for her careful reading and also for her patience in correcting both Tibetan transcriptions and English translations. All remaining errors are my own. I am grateful to Sébastien Le Pipec, who patiently supported the writing of this text.
I also wish to thank Philippe Gonzalez for his helpful comments and thoughtful suggestions throughout the development of this paper. I further thank Nicolas Sihlé for his useful advice regarding literature on Buddhist rituals.
Finally, I would like to acknowledge the two anonymous reviewers, whose comments were most helpful in revising this paper. I am particularly grateful to Reviewer 2 for their intellectual generosity and stimulating feedback, which greatly contributed to deepening the analysis.
Competing interests
The author declares no competing interests.
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