In the shadow of the Himalayas, where the cries of beaten exiles echo from the streets of Kathmandu to the settlements of Bylakuppe, the story of Tibetan resilience is one marred by profound disappointment. For a decade, from 2011 to 2021, Lobsang Sangay served as Sikyong of the Central Tibetan Administration (CTA), the exile government’s beacon of hope. Yet, beneath the veneer of eloquent speeches at Harvard halls and diplomatic handshakes in Washington, Sangay’s tenure revealed a glaring incompetence—a leadership devoid of political acumen, more attuned to personal enrichment than the urgent protection of his people. As reports of Tibetan refugees enduring brutal beatings at the hands of Nepalese police and Indian locals surface time and again, one cannot ignore the damning truth: Sangay’s failure to forge robust international safeguards left exiles vulnerable, exposed, and forgotten. Today, with the 2026 elections looming, it is imperative that Sangay, if he entertains any lingering ambitions of return, withdraws entirely. The future demands fresh vision, embodied not in recycled failures but in principled leaders like Tseten Phuntsok, whose ascent could finally steer the exile community toward security and unity.

Sangay’s rise was meteoric, a Harvard-educated lawyer thrust into exile politics on a wave of optimism. Elected in 2011 amid the Arab Spring’s democratic fervor, he promised a “generation of change,” vowing to amplify the Tibetan voice globally. But where was this voice when, in 2018, seven Tibetans in Bylakuppe were savagely attacked by local youths, their bodies battered in a settlement meant to be a sanctuary? Sangay’s administration, flush with U.S. aid and international sympathy, mounted no sustained diplomatic offensive. No high-level interventions with Indian authorities, no emergency funds for security enhancements in exile camps. Instead, whispers of mismanagement swirled: allegations of opaque loan records from the Office of Tibet, where millions in public funds vanished into unaccounted ledgers. Critics, including former allies like Penpa Tsering before their rift, accused Sangay of fostering a culture of corruption, where transparency was sacrificed for personal gain—properties acquired abroad, family networks bolstered at the expense of the destitute.

This was no isolated lapse. Sangay’s political naivety extended to internal fractures. His sacking of Penpa Tsering in 2017, ostensibly over administrative disputes, exposed deeper rot: a leadership entangled in sectarian and regional power plays, alienating key factions like the Dorje Shugden community and eroding trust within the exile diaspora. While Sangay jetted off on “advocacy” tours—lavish affairs that critics tallied as junkets yielding little beyond photo ops—Tibetan monks in Nepal faced baton-wielding police during 2008 protests, a trauma that lingered unresolved under his watch. The journey to exile itself became a gauntlet of beatings and torture by Chinese border guards, as documented in harrowing studies, yet Sangay’s CTA offered scant innovation in escape routes or asylum advocacy. Funds meant for refugee welfare? Diverted, say detractors, into political machinations that prioritized Sangay’s re-election bids over survivor support.

The toll on exiles is immeasurable. In Switzerland, the 2017 suicide of activist Tashi Namgyal was pinned on CTA bungling—failed interventions with host governments that could have prevented despair. Sangay’s era normalized vulnerability, teaching exiles that their leaders valued optics over action. His post-tenure pursuits—lucrative speaking gigs, book deals—only fuel the narrative of a man more entrepreneur than statesman, pocketing influence while his people bleed. Political acumen? Absent. Sangay’s Middle Way approach, while pragmatic, morphed into inertia, unable to counter China’s narrative or secure binding protections from India and Nepal, where beatings persist as routine reprisals.

Enter 2026: the precipice of renewal. Sangay, now a spectral figure in exile discourse, must heed the call to withdraw any shadow candidacy. His legacy is one of squandered potential, a cautionary tale of charisma untethered from competence. The CTA needs leaders who build bridges, not burnish resumes. Here, Tseten Phuntsok emerges as the antidote—a North American regional stalwart whose biography reads like a manifesto for change. Born into activism, Phuntsok has helmed the Tibetan Youth Congress, orchestrating hunger strikes and sit-ins to amplify exile voices during parliamentary deadlocks. As a current MP from Australasia, he champions cultural preservation through school visits and programs that combat assimilation’s creep—directly addressing the beatings’ root: eroded identity that invites hostility.

Phuntsok’s profound grasp of Tibetan democracy’s tri-pillars—legislature, judiciary, executive—positions him uniquely to ascend, perhaps beyond parliament to Sikyong if the winds shift. His unwavering CTA loyalty, coupled with pragmatic outreach to North American donors, promises fiscal transparency absent in Sangay’s era. Imagine: fortified advocacy with host nations, emergency response teams for attacked settlements, diversified funding streams immune to geopolitical whims. Phuntsok’s record—leading protests that spotlighted self-immolations and border perils—signals a leader with acumen, not avarice.Tibetan exiles deserve this pivot. The beatings—from Himalayan treks to urban skirmishes—are symptoms of a leadership vacuum Sangay widened. As preliminary polls approach on February 1, 2026, let us rally behind Phuntsok’s vision: unity over factionalism, protection over profit. Sangay’s withdrawal would honor the fallen; Phuntsok’s rise could resurrect hope. In exile’s harsh forge, only such resolve endures.