分类： society

At a quiet monastery tucked into Nepal’s Himalayan foothills, a 19-year-old Buddhist lama stood before thousands of pilgrims, one by one blessing bowed heads with a ceremonial vase and peacock feather, sprinkling holy water to grant protection, purification, and wisdom. He paused to grin at wide-eyed children who stared back at him with a mix of curiosity and reverence, working to keep pace with the small group of senior spiritual leaders chosen to deliver the ritual’s final blessing. Just six months before this sacred moment, this same young man — Jalue Dorje — was pulling all-nighters playing *Madden NFL* on his Xbox in his family’s home outside Minneapolis, pausing only to grab pizza rolls and Diet Coke, or text friends about upcoming meetups at TopGolf or Buffalo Wild Wings. Two seemingly incompatible worlds, and both are deeply his home.

Recognized as a reincarnated lama by senior Tibetan Buddhist leaders, including the Dalai Lama, from infancy, Dorje grew up balancing a fully ordinary American teenage life with rigorous spiritual training that stretches back over 350 years. He graduated from his Columbia Heights, Minnesota high school in 2023, and just months later left his home state to begin full-time training at India’s Mindrolling Monastery, 7,200 miles from everything he had ever known. His recent trip to Nepal brought him together with his parents, who traveled from Minneapolis to see him, and allowed him to participate in sacred teachings led by Shechen Monastery’s abbot near Kathmandu.

Where his everyday wardrobe once consisted of hoodies and sweatpants, maroon and gold monastic robes now mark his role — but traces of his American upbringing remain. He quotes both rapper Drake and 8th-century Buddhist scholar Shantideva in the same conversation, and under his traditional robes, he often wears white Crocs covered in *The Simpsons* Jibbitz charms. Each dawn, he wakes for morning prayers, then walks through Kathmandu’s bustling crowded streets, past street vendors selling fresh fruit, incense, and exotic spices, weaving around speeding mopeds as he approaches the Boudhanath Stupa, a 1,500-year-old sacred site ringed with colorful Tibetan prayer flags and marked by the iconic painted eyes of Buddha gazing out over the valley.

On a recent ritual day, Dorje entered a prayer hall reserved for high-ranking lamas and doctorate-level monks, sliding off his Crocs before stepping onto the wooden floor. Incense drifted through the hall, and the deep, steady notes of traditional cymbals, bells, and drums cut through the low drone of monastic chants. Standing before three massive gilded Buddha statues, he bowed to Shechen Rabjam Rinpoche, the monastery’s spiritual leader, and presented a golden plate symbolizing the entire universe, along with a khata — a traditional white Tibetan ceremonial scarf. This was the first formal mandala offering Dorje had made since committing to his predestined spiritual path full-time, and the moment hit him with profound clarity. “This is the real one, you know? We’re here and this is really happening,” he said. “I’m doing what the prophecy fulfilled.”

Dorje’s place in this lineage stretches back to 1655, when the first Terchen Taksham Rinpoche was born. Just four months after his birth, he was identified as the eighth reincarnation of the lineage by Kyabje Trulshik Rinpoche, one of Tibetan Buddhism’s most venerated modern masters, and later confirmed by multiple senior lamas. When he was 2 years old, his parents brought him to meet the Dalai Lama during a 2010 visit to Wisconsin, where the spiritual leader cut a lock of Dorje’s hair during an official recognition ceremony and advised his parents to let him grow up in the U.S. to master English before sending him to a monastery for full training.

“From my parents’ end, educating me was a really big one,” Dorje explained. “They followed the words of his holiness; he laid the foundation, and they took that gamble.” For years, his parents — both working-class people who cleaned hotel rooms and did hospital laundry to support their only child — balanced secular education with early spiritual training. As a child, Dorje often wondered why he could not sleep in on weekends or watch cartoons like his friends, but his father would remind him that the early work was “like planting a seed that one day would sprout.” He remembers long early mornings spent memorizing sacred texts, and the stress that online skepticism about his status as a reincarnated lama put on his parents. “It wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns every day,” Dorje said. “We overcame a lot.”

Fluent in both English and Tibetan, Dorje excelled in his public high school. Though he was officially enthroned as a lama during a 2019 ceremony in India, his parents let him remain in the U.S. to finish high school, honoring the Dalai Lama’s guidance. Growing up, his bedroom walls reflected his dual identity: a framed photo of the Dalai Lama hung above his DVD collection of *The Simpsons*, *South Park*, and *Family Guy*, right next to a copy of the graphic novel series *Buddha*. On his bedside table, he kept a journal full of diagramed football plays he hoped to run as his team’s left guard, and his living room held a senior year poster of him in sunglasses and his football uniform, striking a meditation gesture. He even made a deal with his father: memorize a section of Buddhist scripture, earn new Pokémon cards, and he often snuck the trading cards into his robes during formal ceremonies. “I remember when I first learned my Tibetan ABCs, when I was able to recite it all by memory, my dad was so happy,” he recalled.

His daily routine reflected the balance he maintained: wake at dawn to recite sacred texts, attend secular high school, go to football practice, return home for tutoring in Tibetan history and Buddhist doctrine, and spend evenings practicing calligraphy or listening to hip-hop. After he got his driver’s license, he would cruise around town listening to Taylor Swift. When asked what he would have done if not called to spiritual life, he answered without hesitation: “Sports journalist would have been cool.” An avid sports fan, he roots for the Atlanta Hawks in basketball, Atlanta Falcons in football, and Real Madrid in soccer, and counts American figure skater Alysa Liu as his favorite athlete: “She brings so much swagger, but it doesn’t overshadow the sports.” He even won an award for a student newspaper story about Tibet he wrote in high school, and his teammates remembered him for his upbeat attitude that kept the team focused on having fun rather than fixating on losses. Still, he cried after his final senior season game, knowing it would likely be his last time playing organized football.

For his 18th birthday, more than 1,000 people gathered at the Tibetan American Foundation of Minnesota for a farewell party before he left for India. On the long flight to New Delhi, he found himself thinking of one thing: “I was like, ‘Dang! I’m missing the first week of NFL!’” He packed light, bringing only headphones, a laptop, a fantasy football magazine, and a book on Guru Rinpoche, the master who brought Tantric Buddhism to Tibet. His parents traveled with him to his new monastery in Dehradun, near the Himalayan foothills — a moment equivalent to dropping a child off at college — helping him set up his room, buying a new bed, painting the walls, and building a personal shrine for his daily dawn and dusk prayers. As an only child who had never spent more than three days away from home on a northern Minnesota camping trip, saying goodbye was emotional for everyone, and his parents cried as they left.

Dorje speaks of his parents with deep gratitude: “Everything leading up to this point in the history of all your lifetimes — the billions and billions of lifetimes you accumulated — leads to your family. To have such great parents is a result of a great past life’s merit. But not only past life merit, but the connection of karma — and love.” His mother, Dechen Wangmo, says she never stopped seeing him as her boy first, even as he embraced his role as a tulku, the Tibetan term for a reincarnated lama. “Would he be hungry? What if he fell asleep?” she remembered worrying about her toddler son during long prayer sessions. To her relief, Dorje has thrived in monastic life. While his American high school friends now study history, science, and literature at U.S. colleges, Dorje studies Buddhist philosophy, hones his calligraphy, and practices chanting daily. “He’s kind of found his groove at the monastery,” said Kate Thomas, one of his former tutors in Minneapolis.

He still stays connected to friends back home through texts and WhatsApp, even with a 10-hour time difference. On his days off, he builds with Legos, walks to a local arcade to play *FIFA*, and watches Marvel movies and NBA/NFL games on his laptop — he still raves about Bad Bunny’s 2023 Super Bowl halftime show. It was his first experience with ascetic life, eating a simple daily diet of rice and lentils and washing his own clothes by hand, but he adjusted quickly, bonding with fellow monks from across Asia over conversations that mix spirituality, pop culture, and sports talk. “Dudes are dudes!” he laughed.

For the first time, he is also living alongside other young tulkus, reincarnated spiritual leaders around his age. One is 13-year-old Trulshik Yangsi Rinpoche, believed to be the reincarnation of the same Kyabje Trulshik Rinpoche who first identified Dorje as a tulku when he was four months old. The pair bonded over their shared love of *Tintin* comics, and Dorje now serves as the younger lama’s English tutor. “I think of him as my spiritual teacher,” Dorje said after sharing a meal. “I’m profoundly grateful that I get to repay my debt to the one who found me and improving his English.” The younger lama simply smiled and called Dorje his best friend.

Hours after Dorje blessed thousands of pilgrims — including his own parents — on the final day of the 12-day Nepalese ritual, the family woke before dawn to make an eight-hour bone-rattling drive over rutted dirt roads to the ancient Maratika Caves, a site sacred to both Hindus and Buddhists, 100 miles southwest of Mount Everest. After exploring the ancient caves in awe, Dorje sat cross-legged on the rocky ground next to his father, and the pair prayed together, just as they had done almost every day since Dorje was a small boy.

After several more years of disciplined training and contemplation, Dorje plans to return to Minnesota to teach at the Nyingmapa Taksham Buddhist Center, with the goal of becoming “a leader of peace,” following the example of the Dalai Lama, Nelson Mandela, and Gandhi. This journey began just months after he was born, and now, at 19, he says he feels ready for what comes next. “This,” he said, “is just the beginning.”

A remand prisoner linked to the activist group Palestine Action has laid bare damning allegations of systemic medical neglect and degrading treatment at a high-security London prison, detailing how failures to provide adequate mobility support and care have left him crawling across cell floors to access basic needs.

Muhammad Umer Khalid, 23, is currently held at HMP Wormwood Scrubs awaiting trial over charges connected to a June 2023 break-in at a Royal Air Force base. Living with incurable progressive muscular dystrophy – a rare genetic condition that causes gradual muscle wasting, requiring consistent physical activity and specialized high-protein nutrition to slow deterioration – Khalid claims the UK prison service has systematically failed to meet his documented medical needs for months.

Since being placed in 23-hour-a-day cell lockdown last October, Khalid says his mobility has declined sharply. What began as gradual weakness has progressed to a total loss of the ability to walk, forcing him to crawl through the prison to access medication, legal appointments, and family visits. In an interview with Middle East Eye (MEE) conducted through an intermediary, he described the humiliation of crawling past dozens of fellow inmates, saying staff treat him like a wounded animal rather than a human being entitled to dignity.

Multiple failures in providing even basic adaptive equipment have compounded his condition. Khalid submitted repeated requests for a custom wheelchair, and even after a prison physiotherapist formally approved his need for the device on March 14, the prison only issued an ill-fitting chair two weeks later. The first wheelchair provided was too large to fit through his cell door or narrow prison corridors, leaving Khalid to crawl between his bed and toilet – a journey that can take up to an hour to complete. For more than 20 weeks, the prison also ignored requests for a shower chair, leaving him unable to bathe for nearly five months.

Worse still, prison staff have cited internal health and safety rules to refuse any physical assistance to Khalid, and have barred fellow inmates from helping him. Staff cannot push his wheelchair, lift him, or support him with basic daily tasks, he says. During a facility-wide fire evacuation on April 23, Khalid was left locked in his cell alone while all other prisoners were moved to safety. Even after multiple requests, staff have refused to bring his daily medication to his cell, forcing him to crawl to the medication collection point regardless of his pain or mobility limits.

Khalid added that prison staff, including a member of the facility’s medical team, have repeatedly accused him of faking his condition’s rapid deterioration, despite existing medical documentation confirming his diagnosis and progression. Over three months, he has only been seen by a doctor three times, and has missed two critical neurology appointments – one scheduled for April 7, which he was unable to attend because the prison failed to provide a wheelchair that could transport him to the clinic. Existing medical evidence submitted to courts confirms his condition has worsened dramatically since entering custody, directly linking the decline to his poor detention conditions.

In April, Justice Cheema-Gubb denied Khalid’s most recent bail application, ruling that while there were legitimate concerns about the timeliness and quality of his care, his condition could still be managed in a custodial setting. The judge ordered that a copy of her ruling be sent to prison leadership, with instructions to urgently address the gaps in care identified in the medical evidence and conduct regular reviews. However, Khalid’s solicitor Laura O’Brien says little has changed in the weeks since the ruling.

O’Brien told MEE that the full set of Khalid’s medical records were shared with the prison immediately after his remand, to help staff understand the needs of his progressive condition. “Despite incontrovertible medical evidence that he has a progressive genetic condition, and that it is getting worse, there has been a continued suggestion that he’s putting it on,” she said. O’Brien explained that prison officials have claimed they do not need to provide a full-time wheelchair because they have seen Khalid walking short distances, but they fail to understand that even small amounts of walking causes permanent micro-tear damage to his muscles that his condition prevents him from recovering from.

“Those in a custodial setting have a right to be treated fairly and with dignity as much as anyone else,” O’Brien said. “With inadequate care from the prison, the damage could be significant if his medical needs, including being provided with a wheelchair, accessible spaces to shower, use of the toilet and access to physiotherapy, are not met.”

In a minor update this week, the prison replaced the oversize wheelchair with a smaller model that can navigate prison corridors, though it still does not fit inside his cell. Prison officials have also finally issued a shower chair and ordered a new custom-sized wheelchair. O’Brien said the legal team welcomed the small steps but hopes further delays will not force Khalid to continue fighting for basic care.

Khalid says that while he remains mentally resilient, he lives in constant pain and has begun experiencing breathing difficulties as the muscle wasting progresses to his arms. “My arms are beginning to waste away, which will stop me from even being able to operate my own wheelchair,” he said. The situation has also placed enormous strain on his family, who managed his condition carefully for nearly a decade after his 2014 diagnosis. His mother Shabana told MEE that during a recent visit, he showed her his legs, which had withered to the point of looking like “a skeleton with skin hanging off” – a sight she described as heartbreaking.

Khalid was one of eight Palestine Action-linked prisoners who held a hunger strike last winter to protest poor detention conditions, ending the action in January. MEE reached out to the UK Ministry of Justice for comment on the allegations but did not receive a response ahead of publication.