An email or text whose tone seems out of place. A friend who forgets to wish us a happy birthday or ask how we are, even though he knows we’re struggling. Someone who asks for too much, doesn’t keep their promises, or who, in our opinion, makes a serious mistake in making a decision. We’ll never be short of reasons to get irritated and despair at the world and the people in it. How can we contain our anger and frustration in the face of everything that hurts us? To achieve this, it may help to understand that, in almost all cases, anger is useless and can actually complicate things even further. Let’s look at five reasons why.

1. The other party won’t understand anything. Everyone acts from their own level of consciousness, based on a particular experience and worldview. For that person, it’s completely logical to behave this way. That’s why they’ll never be able to see the problem through our eyes. In fact, our reaction will seem much more serious to the other person than the specific fact we disapprove of.

2. Every reproach creates its justification. Nine decades ago, Dale Carnegie, the author of How to Win Friends and Influence People, noted that “criticism is useless because it puts other people on the defensive and usually leads them to try to justify themselves.” Carnegie added: “Criticism is dangerous because it wounds a person’s precious pride, wounds their sense of importance, and arouses resentment.” That brings us to the next point.

3. Anger is interpreted as arrogance. The very act of pointing out what the other person has done wrong will be seen as an imbalance of power. Someone who is indignant adopts a position of moral superiority, as it implies that they know how to do better, that they have stronger values, or that they are capable of seeing what the other person doesn’t. Even when our intention is to help or avoid danger, the other person may experience it as humiliation.

4. You’ll never convince anyone. Just as we can’t be forced to change our football team or political party, in any tense situation, the ego becomes entrenched in its position. For this reason, unless we use a very subtle persuasive strategy, questioning others only strengthens them.

5. It’s an unnecessary waste of energy, time, and relationships. One of the most famous Chinese proverbs advises: “When you are overcome with great joy, promise nothing to anyone. When you are overcome with great anger, don’t answer any letters.” Regarding the latter, anger not only deteriorates or even breaks hard-to-build bonds. It also diverts our attention from the things that really matter.

Let’s look at an example of the latter. A is convinced that B, with whom he maintains a good friendship, has made the wrong decision. Because of the trust and affection he has for B, A feels empowered to write in a message the reasons why it’s wrong for him to act this way, when he should have acted differently. B is annoyed by what he sees as intrusion and misinterpretation of his actions. Therefore, he will respond to A’s long message with an equally long reply that may include some overt or veiled jabs.

Realizing that he has offended his friend, A will be forced to compose an equally long or longer message, apologizing for some of the things he said and redirecting what he really wanted to say.

After this, the relationship may freeze, or at least there may be a greater distance between the parties. No one feels comfortable with the situation that has been created. If, in a subsequent personal meeting, the matter is brought up again, that investment of time and energy will have to be added to what has already been wasted with the previous back-and-forth messages. And all of it for nothing. Wouldn’t it have been better to contain the desire to scold or lecture the other person, seeing this as a splendid opportunity to keep quiet? As the Chinese philosophy of wu wei (non-action) reminds us, we will rarely regret having held back, while we will regret countless times having let ourselves go. Perhaps that’s why Thomas Jefferson, the third president of the United States, practiced the classic measure of counting to 10 when he was angry and recommended: “If you are very angry, count to 100.” It’s well-known advice, but it can save us a lot of trouble.

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The white and reddish walls of the Potala Palace, the Dalai Lama’s former residence, rise on the hill opposite. It has something of an ancient ship about it, like a stranded ark awaiting the flood, riddled with dozens of hatches. Tibetan fabrics flutter above the galleries. The view is lost in the labyrinth of staircases that crisscross toward the sky in an optical illusion crowned by golden roofs. A blinding sun beats down at an altitude of 3,646 meters. It is midday in Lhasa, the capital of the autonomous region of Tibet, on the borders of China, at the foot of the Himalayas. The current Dalai Lama left this city in March 1959 on his way to exile. He has never returned to what he considers an “occupied” territory.

Down here, in the square at the foot of the palace, a ceremony has just been held to commemorate the other side of that milestone. Soldiers have raised the flag of the People’s Republic and a floral frieze has been laid out with the inscription: “March 28, Day of the Liberated Serfs of Tibet.” Tourists from all over China stroll by. And two huge billboards on the sides emphasize that everything remains under Beijing’s control. One displays the faces of the five great leaders since 1949, from Mao Zedong to Xi Jinping. The other is reserved for the latter. It is a face of Xi, about 10 by 6 meters. It is reminiscent of Mao’s at Tiananmen Square; his eyes survey every corner of the space.

The Chinese Communist Party is omnipresent in Tibet. Its traces are visible throughout a five-day visit organized by the State Council (the Chinese government) for various media outlets, including EL PAÍS.

“The Party’s radiant light illuminates the borders, and the border people have their hearts turned to the Party!” reads a billboard by the roadside. There are dozens of similar messages, scattered here and there. Going hand in hand with the authorities is the only way for foreign journalists and observers to enter the region. It is sensitive territory. There have been outbreaks of rage here in the past, dozens of Tibetans have set themselves on fire, and the repression has been denounced by governments, NGOs, and international organizations. The self-immolations have long since ceased to make the news; criticism persists. “Since 2013, the human rights situation of ethnic Tibetans in Tibetan areas of China […] has been deteriorating,” the European Union delegation to China stated in December. In March, the United States sanctioned Chinese officials for failing to provide unrestricted access to journalists, diplomats, and independent observers.

Much of the concern centers on the erasure of Tibetan identity and culture. In 2023, the UN expressed concern about the separation of one million Tibetan children from their families for “forced” assimilation in boarding schools. Beijing claims that this network of schools is open to everyone, and a visit to one of them will be included in the program.

The trip aims to showcase businesses, social services, infrastructure, and tourist attractions. The focus is on development, investment, and opportunities for locals. The agenda has been organized so the media can see what Beijing wants to show. Everything is focused on highlighting the “unity” between Tibet and China: from the hotel (with a huge Chinese flag dominating the lobby) to the evening show (an embellished tale about the 7th-century Chinese princess Wencheng, who married the Tibetan king Songtsen Gampo). It fits with Beijing’s message: “It is the most powerful historical foundation of our national unity,” summarizes one of the show’s organizers.

At Jokhang Monastery, a spectacular 7th-century complex in central Lhasa, the holiest monastery in Tibetan Buddhism, the religious realignment with Beijing is also clear. The Ba, a monk draped in a maroon robe and deputy executive director of the center’s management committee, does not shy away from the latest controversy surrounding the Dalai Lama, whose image is banned in Tibet, but who remains the spiritual leader of the religion. At 89 years old, the Dalai Lama has stated that in his next reincarnation, he will be born in the “free world.” The Ba responds: the choice will follow “historical rituals” and, in any case, “must be recognized by the central government.”

In a day care center for seniors, there’s a picture of the Chinese president at the entrance. Another photograph of the leader presides over the lounge where elderly men with tanned faces and Tibetan hats play dice and sip tea. They are retired farmers. They speak Tibetan. They are over 70. One says that the region has undergone “a dramatic change,” according to the translation provided by the government. He speaks of the bridges and roads that “now lead everywhere,” of the plumbing and hygiene compared to the filth of the past. Their children no longer work in the fields; they have bought trucks and are engaged in construction. Some were born before the arrival of Mao’s troops, when the Dalai Lama was still in power.

― What was it like back then?

― I was very small, I don’t remember everything.

They say they wouldn’t change the present. “If I compare it to the past, it couldn’t be better.” One of them spins the Tibetan mani prayer wheel with a flick of his wrist, adding: “We all die and we have to prepare for the next life.”

The city is in a growth phase. The centuries-old streets of the center, where pilgrims trudge, are the exception. Lhasa is populated by nondescript blocks; new developments are springing up on the outskirts with shopping malls identical to those in the rest of the country, where children play video games with virtual reality headsets. Police booths are ubiquitous on street corners. They are scattered throughout the city. They are part of Beijing’s response to past incidents: the authorities created a network of small, local police stations to keep self-immolations at bay and respond immediately to potential disturbances. The model was so successful that it was replicated in Xinjiang, another sensitive territory.

One day, the group of reporters is led to a press conference with regional authorities where, unexpectedly, the presentation of the document Human Rights in Xizang [the Chinese name for Tibet] in the New Era is announced. The text, drafted by the government, emphasizes that Tibet has gone from being a theocracy where more than 95% of people were “serfs and slaves” to a place that “enjoys political stability, ethnic unity, economic development, social harmony, and friendship among different religions.” It is an immersion in the vision of human rights promoted by Beijing (the “Marxist perspective”), which has put Western democracies on alert: it emphasizes a vision tailored to each country over universality; it prioritizes development and subsistence over other freedoms, such as freedom of expression.

After the press conference, “experts” brought in by the government speak. “For a long time, certain sectors within the international community — including Tibetan separatist forces and anti-China groups — have spread numerous false statements about the human rights situation in Tibet,” says Zhaluo of the Tibetology Research Center. “Western prejudices toward China are evident,” adds Zhang Yonghe of the Human Rights Research Institute at Southwest University in Chongqing. According to him, there’s nothing like going to Tibet and observing to see the change. When asked why journalists and others are prohibited from freely visiting, he replies that it’s due to the poor condition of some infrastructure, dangerous winds blowing at certain airports, and poor accommodations, “since the Chinese generally want to receive foreign guests with the best quality.”

“Most of the things the government wanted to do in Tibet have already been done,” a Beijing-based European source who deals with human rights issues says. The violations of the past have been buried by official history and a policy of fait accompli, he adds. “Cultural homogenization with inland China has been achieved in every important way, while maintaining the theme park characteristics so that the Han [the country’s majority ethnic group] can go on tourist visits and enjoy the yaks and the prayer flags.” They have only been offered one development option — the Chinese one — and the majority have embraced it: “People don’t want to die of typhus.”

A bullet train now crisscrosses the province, flying from Lhasa to Linzhi, surrounded by snow-capped peaks. The valley, crossed by the Nyang River, is fertile, and the newly blossoming peach trees form a cottony landscape. It’s one of its main attractions. At this time of year, thousands of people flock to Gala, a small village with 149 inhabitants and 1,253 peach trees in bloom. Hundreds of people mill around, cell phones in hand. Income has multiplied since they discovered the tourist industry.

Gala is an ode of loyalty to Beijing. In the small square, a sculpture of a hammer and sickle is inscribed with the “oath of joining the Communist Party.” The local mayor, Nima Duoji, 39, receives visitors in the living room of his home. It smells of firewood, light filters through the curtains; he is the first Party member in his family. He subscribes to the developmentalist discourse: he remembers these streets, from his childhood, littered with yak droppings. “It was very dirty and very poor.” The worst times, according to what his ancestors have told him, were the 1940s and 1950s. There was barely anything to eat. He dropped out of school at 16. The eldest of his three children is now studying law in Sichuan. Numerous photographs of Xi and Mao hang on the walls. He concludes: “Without the Communist Party, we would not have a happy life now.”

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China has reportedly ordered its airlines to suspend all deliveries of Boeing jets.

Bloomberg News, cited by Reuters, reported that Chinese authorities instructed major carriers – including Air China, China Eastern, and China Southern – to halt future deliveries of Boeing jets due to the steep tariffs imposed by Trump of up to 145 per cent.

Shares in Boeing dropped slightly as a result of the report, falling by 1 per cent, according to CNN. Boeing, China’s second-largest aircraft supplier after Airbus, has not publicly commented on the matter, and neither have Chinese officials, or the White House.

Boeing considers China one of its most crucial growth markets, with its own analysis predicting that Chinese airlines will need 8,830 new planes over the next 20 years.

However, Boeing’s sales in China have drastically declined. Between 2017 and 2018, it received orders for 122 aircraft from Chinese customers. In the six years since, that number has dropped to just 28.

The downturn isn’t solely due to political tensions. Boeing’s own troubles, including the grounding of the 737 MAX after two fatal crashes in late 2018 and early 2019, also played a role. These crashes killed 346 people, leading to a global grounding of the aircraft.

Implications for Boeing due to trade war

The halt could have major implications for Boeing, which builds all its aircraft in the United States and exports nearly two-thirds of them overseas. The company contributes approximately $79 billion to the US economy and supports about 1.6 million jobs, according to CNN. It employs close to 150,000 people in the US alone.

By the end of 2024, Boeing had 55 undelivered aircraft in inventory – the majority of which were earmarked for China and India. Deliveries are critical to Boeing’s business model, as the company is only paid in full once the aircraft is handed over.

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