The Dalai Lama is still alive, but the struggle over his death has already exposed how fragile the boundary between faith and power has become. According to a new report by the Center for Strategic and International Studies, the eventual succession of the Tibetan spiritual leader risks triggering “a complex geopolitical challenge to governments around the world,” one in which religion is not merely suppressed, but actively co-opted by an authoritarian state seeking to redefine the limits of sovereignty, belief, and global compliance. What is at stake, the authors warn, is not simply the future of Tibetan Buddhism, but whether spiritual authority can survive in a world where states claim the right to determine the soul.
The report, produced by the CSIS Freeman Chair in China Studies, is unambiguous in its central claim: the Chinese Communist Party has been preparing for the Dalai Lama’s death for decades, and intends to control his reincarnation as a matter of state policy. The authors argue that Beijing sees the Dalai Lama not as a religious figure but as a “persistent political and symbolic challenge” whose moral authority undermines the Party’s narrative of unity and control. While the current Dalai Lama relinquished political leadership in 2011, the report stresses that “his moral authority remains paramount,” shaping Tibetan identity inside China and among diaspora communities worldwide in ways that Beijing has never been able to neutralise.
That authority is precisely what China seeks to capture. The report states that Beijing “will almost certainly orchestrate the selection of its own party-approved Dalai Lama,” using legal instruments, propaganda, and coercion to present its candidate as legitimate. The Chinese government has already asserted that “the reincarnation of Living Buddhas including the Dalai Lama must comply with Chinese laws and regulations,” a claim that the report describes as a direct distortion of religious tradition. Central to this distortion is Beijing’s insistence on the so-called Golden Urn system, which the authors describe as “a little-used practice imposed by the Manchus during the Qing Dynasty,” now resurrected as a mechanism of political control rather than spiritual discernment.
The Dalai Lama himself has publicly rejected this framework. In July 2025, he reiterated that the authority to identify his successor rests solely with the Gaden Phodrang Trust, based outside China and staffed by senior Tibetan religious figures. This declaration, the report notes, creates an unavoidable confrontation. Beijing does not recognise the Trust, and the Trust does not recognise Beijing’s authority. The authors warn that this clash makes the emergence of “competing Dalai Lamas” almost inevitable, with one figure selected by Tibetan religious authorities abroad and another installed by the Chinese state.
What makes this scenario especially dangerous is speed. The report warns that China is likely to move faster than the exile community, meaning that “for a period of time, the only purported Dalai Lama may be in China, controlled by the CCP.” During that window, Beijing could exert enormous pressure on governments, religious institutions, and international organisations to acknowledge its chosen successor, even implicitly. Silence, the authors suggest, would function as consent.
The report is particularly scathing about the international community’s lack of preparation. It argues that many governments continue to treat Tibet as a marginal human rights issue, rather than recognising the succession as a strategic inflection point. This failure, the authors warn, plays directly into Beijing’s hands. “If Beijing succeeds in cowing Washington into quiet disengagement,” the report states, “Chinese leaders will see weakness and distraction, increasing the aperture for Beijing to aggressively contest U.S. interests across the board.” The message is blunt: appeasement on Tibet will not be contained to Tibet.
Beyond diplomacy, the report exposes how China is likely to deploy transnational repression to manage the succession. Tibetan diaspora communities, it warns, are already subject to “systematic monitoring, intimidation, and co-optation” by Chinese actors. A Swiss government investigation is cited as evidence that these practices are not speculative but ongoing, and the report predicts that they will intensify sharply once the Dalai Lama dies. Tibetan activists abroad may face threats to family members inside China, cyber surveillance, visa restrictions, and pressure through host governments anxious to preserve economic ties with Beijing.
Neighbouring countries are identified as particularly vulnerable. Nepal, home to thousands of Tibetan refugees, is described as increasingly constrained by Chinese pressure, with Tibetan religious activities “carefully monitored and periodically prohibited.” Mongolia’s experience is presented as a warning: after a Tibetan religious leader was recognised there, Beijing responded with “raids, corruption investigations, and frozen bank accounts,” signalling its readiness to punish even symbolic defiance. These examples, the authors argue, demonstrate how China exports its domestic repression beyond its borders, eroding the sovereignty of smaller states.
The report also highlights how China’s control over natural resources could be weaponised during a succession crisis. The Tibetan Plateau, often called Asia’s water tower, is the source of ten major rivers and “one-fifth of the world’s freshwater supply.” Beijing’s dam-building programme, including what the report describes as “the world’s largest dam,” gives China leverage over downstream countries already anxious about water security. The authors warn that water data has been withheld during past diplomatic disputes, and could again be used as a tool of pressure.
Critical minerals add another layer of coercive power. Tibet contains vast reserves of lithium and rare earths essential to global energy transitions. The report notes that “approximately 42 percent of China’s acts of economic coercion targeting bordering countries relate to Taiwan, Hong Kong, Tibet, or Xinjiang,” underscoring how Beijing links economic dependence to political compliance. In the context of the Dalai Lama’s succession, such leverage could be decisive.
Perhaps the most unsettling aspect of the report is its portrayal of what may unfold inside Tibet itself. The authors warn that the Dalai Lama’s death could trigger widespread mourning, religious gatherings, and expressions of loyalty that Beijing would interpret as political dissent. Surveillance systems are already being refined to identify images of the Dalai Lama and monitor Tibetan-language communications. The report cautions that even private acts of remembrance could be criminalised, and that “a small disturbance could rapidly ignite a broader movement,” provoking a harsh security response.
Throughout the report, one theme recurs with disturbing clarity: China does not merely want to suppress religion, but to redefine it. By asserting the right to choose reincarnations, the Party claims authority not only over bodies and borders, but over belief itself. The authors describe this as an effort to “create a fait accompli that advances its international standing while asserting greater control over Tibetans within and beyond China’s borders.” It is a project that collapses the distinction between spiritual legitimacy and state power.
