Musical Chairs (November, 1984)
Although the pay is nothing to write home about, the employees the Tibetan Government-in-exile lead an exciting, adventurous and suspenseful life. You may at the moment be a nine-to-five clerical staff, but after the next juggling of positions, you are quite likely to find yourself at the head of an agricultural settlement, or managing a hotel, or selling carpets, or holding the position of a peon, or anything. No use complaining that you feel qualified for and find satisfaction in a certain type of work. Either you bow to the decision made by the Personnel Department in Dharamsala and face the new challenge, or else would you please shut the door as you leave.
The Personnel Department, besides the regular staff, consists of a representative from each of the main offices of the Central Tibetan Secretariat. They meet at regular intervals behind closed doors, spread out a list of people who are due for promotion, demotion or transfer, and—apparently—throw a dice. The regulation book says that all employee of the Tibetan administration are subject to be transferred or promoted once very three years. But even this basic rule, in practice does not seem to be strickly adhered to be transferred or promoted once every Tuesday and Friday. A few cases exist of such practices resulting in commendable changes, but surely these are accidental. Two recent cases affecting people personally known to me are more typical. Both are in Delhi and both noted for efficiency in their present positions. One has been acting as a sort of general public relations officers, constantly dashing around the city meeting mediamen and VIPs. The other has been managing a carpet exporting firm with considerable expertise. A recent decision has transferred both of them—the former to the Department of Health in Dharamsala, and the latter to a vague desk job in another office in Delhi. Both are understandably dejected since they have been enjoying their current positions, something you can’t say about all employees of a bureaucracy.
And the new positions they have been assigned to in no way constitute recognition of their current performances. The former is famous for not having the slightest interest in his own health, let alone those of other members of the human race. The later, after years of running around, had come to believe that at last he has found his vacation, or destiny, or whatever you want to call it. Once can’t blame him for being slightly bewildered when, all of a sudden, he has been asked to do pretty much what he first did when he left school about a dozen years ago. The ladies and gentlemen in the Personnel Department should not be too surprised if these two employees, instead of rushing off to report to duty at their new posts, send them politely worded letters requesting ‘an extended leave of absence.’ Such things have happened in the past and will continue to happen in future unless the Tibetan administration rolls out a new set of policies concerning its employees.
Although the pay is nothing to write home about, the employees the Tibetan Government-in-exile lead an exciting, adventurous and suspenseful life. You may at the moment be a nine-to-five clerical staff, but after the next juggling of positions, you are quite likely to find yourself at the head of an agricultural settlement, or managing a hotel, or selling carpets, or holding the position of a peon, or anything. No use complaining that you feel qualified for and find satisfaction in a certain type of work. Either you bow to the decision made by the Personnel Department in Dharamsala and face the new challenge, or else would you please shut the door as you leave.
The Personnel Department, besides the regular staff, consists of a representative from each of the main offices of the Central Tibetan Secretariat. They meet at regular intervals behind closed doors, spread out a list of people who are due for promotion, demotion or transfer, and—apparently—throw a dice. The regulation book says that all employee of the Tibetan administration are subject to be transferred or promoted once very three years. But even this basic rule, in practice does not seem to be strickly adhered to be transferred or promoted once every Tuesday and Friday. A few cases exist of such practices resulting in commendable changes, but surely these are accidental. Two recent cases affecting people personally known to me are more typical. Both are in Delhi and both noted for efficiency in their present positions. One has been acting as a sort of general public relations officers, constantly dashing around the city meeting mediamen and VIPs. The other has been managing a carpet exporting firm with considerable expertise. A recent decision has transferred both of them—the former to the Department of Health in Dharamsala, and the latter to a vague desk job in another office in Delhi. Both are understandably dejected since they have been enjoying their current positions, something you can’t say about all employees of a bureaucracy.
And the new positions they have been assigned to in no way constitute recognition of their current performances. The former is famous for not having the slightest interest in his own health, let alone those of other members of the human race. The later, after years of running around, had come to believe that at last he has found his vacation, or destiny, or whatever you want to call it. Once can’t blame him for being slightly bewildered when, all of a sudden, he has been asked to do pretty much what he first did when he left school about a dozen years ago. The ladies and gentlemen in the Personnel Department should not be too surprised if these two employees, instead of rushing off to report to duty at their new posts, send them politely worded letters requesting ‘an extended leave of absence.’ Such things have happened in the past and will continue to happen in future unless the Tibetan administration rolls out a new set of policies concerning its employees.
posted by editorla at
9:17 PM
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