On practically no other issue is the gulf in understanding between China and the West greater than it is over Tibet. Where we see a people occupied, they see one liberated; where we see independence crushed, they see secessionism tamed; and where we see one of the world's foremost men of peace, they see a violent rebel.
This could only come about through our very different historical experiences of Tibet. The Chinese have lived next to the Tibetans for thousands of years, and have exercised one form of rule or another over them for most of this time. The Chinese date the incorporation of Tibet into China to 1246 and argue that their legal suzerainty has lasted since this time, despite various lapses in actual control. China's 1912 Provisional Constitution declared Tibet to be a province of China, but China promptly descended into civil war and this control was not actually re-established until 1949.
The Chinese have long memories of their nation being carved and occupied by outside powers, firstly by the West during the humiliating nineteenth century and then by the Japanese during what we call World War II, which really started when the Japanese invaded Chinese Manchuria in 1931. It was hence a matter of considerable pride for the Chinese Communists that after the formation of the People's Republic of China in 1949, they were able to apparently put paid to these historic weaknesses and re-establish control of outlying regions like Tibet. This consolidation of power, which was carried out not just in Tibet but in other border areas, hedged against the invasion of China by outside powers such as India or the Soviet Union. But it also represented the extension of the Chinese revolution.
To westerners, the story of Tibet is often seen as one of a small, peaceful people brutally subdued by their larger neighbour. It's a story we're all too familiar with in European history, with the exception of the fact that it is happening today and not yesterday. But in the Chinese view, the story is very different. Beijing sees itself as the saviour of the Tibetan people because of its extension of the Chinese revolution into Tibet. Whereas before the Tibetans lived under a religious and feudal political system, the Chinese argument goes, they now enjoy the benefits of Communist social and economic policy. Freed from superstition and the tyranny of their old masters, they can march bravely forward into the new world as part of a united, strong, rich China. And for all that, Beijing rather thinks, they ought to be jolly grateful.
And yet they do not appear grateful. The Chinese occupation of Tibet was carried out during the Mao era. These guys weren't kidding around. We've been free of their kind for a long time now, mostly, but these were the sort of Communists who would kill anyone who stood in their way because standing in their way was proof enough that you were an enemy of the revolution and deserved to be swept aside by history. And the Tibetan response to this brutality has been rebellion - first in 1959, and then on the anniversary of the initial uprising in 1989 and 2008. The Chinese have encouraged the relocation of large numbers of ethnic Han Chinese to Tibet until they eventually outnumbered the Tibetans - as well as having a higher standard of living - and this has hardly sat well with the Tibetans either.
But the Chinese cannot help but regard Tibetan discontent with suspicion, hostility, and indignation at what they consider the ungrateful nature of Tibetan protestors. All of this is encapsulated in the Chinese opinion on the Dalai Lama, who is feted throughout the West and seen as a peaceful saint. To the Chinese, he represents the old, feudal order of Tibet - he stands for the vested interests of the upper classes against the needs of the Tibetan people, which are ably served by the Chinese economic system.
This is why they insist on referring to the "Dalai clique", as the word "clique" conjures up an image of a small, self-interested band; it is also the term frequently used by Communists throughout history to describe supposed conspiracies by their class enemies. The democratization of the Tibetan "government in exile", carried out in an attempt to shed this image, has done nothing for the Dalai Lama in this regard; and the Chinese can never deal with a man who represents the old, feudal order of Tibet. To do so would be tantamount to admitting that the old socio-economic system still had relevance, hence undermining the Chinese claim to the superiority of their own system.
The international dimension to the Tibetan question only increases Chinese scepticism about the aims of the Dalai Lama. Whatever the rhetoric of "Free Tibet", the Dalai Lama does not seek the independence of Tibet, and he really has no recourse in international law to do so. No-one recognizes the Tibetan "government in exile" as the true rulers of Tibet, and it only aspires to autonomy. Yet it must appear strange to Chinese eyes that this small group of people excite so much attention in the outside world, and they cannot help but suspect dark plots are afoot to undo the gains of the Chinese revolution or to threaten China's territorial integrity. For if they grant autonomy to the Tibetans, then the other ethnic minorities will want the same. In the background lurks the ghost of China's former fragmentation.
All of this cultural and historical baggage that Beijing carries explains why a mild-mannered monk came to be one of China's most hated and feared enemies. The degree of hatred is difficult to comprehend to the outside world because we do not realize that Tibet is a symbol of success to the Chinese, who are pouring billions of dollars into what they see as modernizing and developing an impoverished region. But where they feel pride at their economic advances, Tibetans feel shame and anger at the loss of their culture, their religion, and their autonomy.
As Beijing attempts to rule over one-sixth of humanity spread over nearly 7% of the world's surface amid dramatic internal change, the eyes of the world rest on whether economic growth will truly prove to be a salve to these political problems. Perhaps the ultimate cause of our interest in the future of Tibet is that we know that faced with the rise of the irresistible behemoth of China, we may soon have much in common with this embattled people. Like them, we will be intimately affected by the rise of a polity over which we have little hope of influence. It is unlikely our encounter with Chinese power will be so brutal; yet it may well prove to be just as transformative.