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‘What was difficult was to remain silent’ Meduza’s interview with Telo Tulku Rinpoche, Russia’s first religious head to condemn the war in Ukraine

Source: Meduza

In September 2022 — seven months after Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine — Telo Tulku Rinpoche, then the spiritual leader of Kalmykia’s Buddhists, became the first active religious leader in Russia to condemn the war. “I think it is wrong; nobody needs this war,” he said in an interview. “We are all living in the 21st century, all of us want to live peacefully, each country wants to develop. I think the Ukrainian side, of course, is right — it is defending its country, its land, its truth, its constitution, its people.”

At the time, Rinpoche was living in Mongolia, helping Kalmyks and other Russian citizens fleeing Moscow’s mobilization campaign. He resigned as Kalmykia’s Shajin Lama in January 2023, two days after the Russian Justice Ministry added him to its list of “foreign agents.” Though he risks imprisonment if he returns to Russia, Rinpoche continues to serve as the Dalai Lama’s official representative in Mongolia, Russia, and other CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) countries — a post he’s held since 2014.

In an interview with Meduza, Telo Tulku Rinpoche spoke about his relationship with Russia, what he achieved during his three decades as Kalmykia’s spiritual head, and his decision to publicly denounce the war in Ukraine.

Telo Tulku Rinpoche, also known by his birth name Erdne Ombadykow, served as the Buddhist spiritual leader of Russia’s Republic of Kalmykia for nearly 30 years — more than a decade longer than Patriarch Kirill has headed the Russian Orthodox Church. Though he led the revival of Buddhism in Kalmykia after the Soviet Union’s collapse, his story began in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where he was born to ethnic Kalmyk parents in 1972. 

When he was seven, Ombadykow’s parents — following the Dalai Lama’s recommendation — sent him to study at Drepung Gomang Monastery in South India, where he spent the rest of his childhood and adolescence. The Dalai Lama later recognized him as the reincarnation of the 10th-century Buddhist saint Tilopa.

In 1991, during the USSR’s final months, Rinpoche joined the Dalai Lama on his first visit to Kalmykia. A year later, at the age of 19, he was elected Shajin Lama, the head of the region’s Buddhist community. Overwhelmed by the pressure of leading a religious revival practically from scratch, he disrobed from the monkhood the following year and returned to the United States. He married in 1995, and later that year, after encountering the Dalai Lama at the monastery in India where he had grown up, decided to return to his role as Kalmykia’s Shajin Lama.

Over the nearly two decades that followed, Rinpoche rebuilt Buddhist life in Kalmykia. Today, as in the pre-Soviet era, Tibetan Buddhism is the most widely practiced religion in the region. Traditional monastic institutions have been restored, and monks now observe the Vinaya, or monastic code, in what Rinpoche calls “pure Buddhism.”

The following interview has been edited and abridged for length and clarity.

‘You’re not Mongolian. You’re from Russia.’

— Before you moved to India at the age of seven, was your family involved in the Kalmyk community in Pennsylvania?

— Yes. My mother’s family was mostly in the Philadelphia area. So from the time they emigrated, they were settled in Philadelphia. That’s where I spent most of my childhood. But because it’s a big city, everybody was kind of scattered around. I remember going to the weekly services at a temporary Buddhist temple, and I remember that my father used to volunteer and work on the construction [of a new one]. It was already being built by the time I was leaving for India. 

Growing up in America in [the 1970s], I had very limited knowledge and information about Kalmykia. I heard Kalmyk [language] when we were surrounded by family members, or other Kalmyks, but we were always told, “If you’re asked what your nationality is, you say you’re Mongolian.” It was easier, less complicated.

After I first visited Kalmykia [in 1991], I asked my father, “How come you always identify yourself as Mongolian?” And he said, “When we tell people that we’re from Kalmykia, they don’t know where it is. And when they ask, you end up telling the story of so much tragedy — separation of families, not knowing whether they’re alive or not.” He said, “It’s a very painful experience, repeating that over and over again.”

As a matter of fact, we are originally Mongolians, historically. He said, “Everybody knows Mongolians, because of Genghis Khan’s legacy. So everybody says, ‘Yeah, Genghis Khan!’ and that’s very uplifting for us.” Which is understandable.

So when I first left the monastery to go explore and find my roots, the very first place I went was Mongolia.

— Did you know you were Kalmyk at that point?

— I knew [the term] Kalmyk, but I didn’t know where [Kalmykia] was geographically. So, I went to Mongolia first, and I started talking to elders and senior monks. Some of them had heard about me — that there was a Kalmyk boy who left America at a very young age, went to India, and was recognized as the reincarnation of one of the high Mongolian lamas. And they said, “You’re not Mongolian. You’re Kalmyk. You’re from Russia.” 

That was a little bit shocking to me. So I said, “Okay, lead the way. Tell me, guide me — where do I go from here?” That would have been the summer of 1991.

One of the reasons I ended up in Mongolia was that it had become a democratic state, and there was a planned visit for His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Because of the many changes happening around Eastern Europe, His Holiness summoned me from the monastery and sent me to Mongolia as part of the preparation team. I was very young, but still, I went. While I was there, I received a telefax that said that the visit to Mongolia had been postponed, but His Holiness would be visiting Buryatia and Kalmykia. My instructions were to go from Mongolia to Buryatia.

In Buryatia, I met a very small delegation that had come from Kalmykia to see how the preparations were done to host His Holiness. (His Holiness had been to Buryatia before, but he had never been to Kalmykia.) The delegation was leaving Buryatia in advance to go to Kalmykia to prepare to receive His Holiness. So that’s how I went to Kalmykia for the first time.

It was kind of shocking, because nobody showed me where it was on the map; I had no clue. When I arrived in Kalmykia, there was a journalist who came to visit, and he had brought an interpreter who spoke English very well. I said, “Where am I? I don’t know where I am on the map.” And they were kind enough to bring a map and show me everything in detail.

That sparked my interest: how did we end up all the way in European territory? It was an eye-opening experience. I didn’t know much of the history of the Kalmyk people before then. And only then did I come to know that my father’s younger brother and some of my grandfather’s relatives were still alive [in Kalmykia].

— Did you meet them?

— I did. One of the purposes of meeting the journalist was to trace down if any [of my] relatives were still alive or not. I told him the names of my grandparents and my mother’s maiden name and said, “I’m here for another two weeks.” After a week, His Holiness was visiting, so I said, “If there’s anybody still around, I would like to meet them, get to know them, and listen to their stories.”

Nobody showed up until the day before I left with His Holiness. Up until then, they were all hesitant. [They were] scared to approach me, because they were still under Communism; it was still early 1991. [When] nobody reached out I thought, okay, everybody’s gone now. Then, the day before we left, families on both sides appeared in the lobby of the hotel where we were staying. So I ended up going to [their homes] that evening. Of course, we only had a few hours, but I was able to gather enough information about who was alive and who had passed.

— That must have been a surprise for your parents, too.

— Absolutely, yes. That led to my father seeing his brother after over 50 years.

[My father had originally] left with the Nazis. And then they were in Europe for a few years, being transferred between what they called DP camps, displaced persons camps. I don’t know exactly what year he emigrated to America, but I’d guess somewhere around 1951 or 1952. 

When my uncle left Russia to fly to America, [my family didn’t realize] that because of the time difference, you save a day [rather than] lose a day. My sister thought he was arriving a day later. So when my uncle arrived at JFK [John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City], there was nobody there to pick him up. 

He didn’t speak any English, so he sat in a chair outside the terminal and didn’t leave. I think he waited for about 7–8 hours. Eventually, a police officer noticed how long he’d been there. The officer tried to communicate, and my uncle took a phone number out of his pocket and showed it to him. The officer was kind enough to go to a pay phone and call my sister and say, “There’s somebody sitting here. I don’t know what’s going on. He gave me this number.”

My sister was at work and [when] she learned he had already arrived, six or seven hours before, she said, “Don’t go anywhere. I’m leaving. I’m going to come and pick you up.” Of course, [my uncle] was tired and hungry, so he pretty much didn’t say anything the whole drive. He was just silent and upset.

My father was living in a nursing home at that time. So his brother got a full night’s rest and my sister took him to see my father the following day. They just looked at each other, held hands, and just cried. I think it was a moment of disbelief and happiness. “Let’s just simply look at each other and understand how many years have passed.” I think [they felt] a mix of emotions.

My father had had a stroke, and he didn’t fully recover, so he was not as communicative as we all wanted him to be. Nevertheless, they were able to spend a lot of time together and share a lot of stories.

Leading a Buddhist revival

— What do you feel were your biggest accomplishments as Kalmykia’s Shajin Lama?

— The destruction of monasteries and buildings during the Communist era is one particular matter. But one of the biggest destructions was of what we call monastic discipline, or the monastic code of conduct. I think that was polluted and completely destroyed. 

During the Soviet era, many of the monks were forced to marry and live as ordinary people — but at the same time to wear the clothes of a monk. The policy was to turn the public against them, to say, “You drink, they drink, you’re married, they’re married. What is the difference? What are you praising, worshiping, or following? There’s no difference between a monk and a layperson.” So this system [of monastic discipline] got polluted.

To this day, this system [persists] in Mongolia, Buryatia, and Tuva. People are married, and they may have a spiritual education, but they continue to live a non-celibate life. So in Kalmykia, I was kind of strict about that, even though I, as a Buddhist leader, did not remain a monk. But with the privilege and the title of a reincarnation, I was able to continue in my role as the head of the Buddhists [in Kalmykia].

The monastic community we have [in Kalmykia] is not very large but it is very pure. They’re fully ordained. None of them are married, none of them smoke or drink, and they follow the very strict rules of conduct as a monastic lifestyle. That is my biggest achievement, and it’s not easily achievable.

A lot of people say, ‘What is the difference between a layperson and a monk?’ It’s not just simply the clothes that they wear. It’s the set of vows that they uphold. A novice monk upholds 36 vows. A fully ordained monk upholds 252.

— Do you believe this is important not only for the monks themselves, but for Kalmyk society?

Right — and for Buddhism on the global stage, as well. In many Buddhist countries and monastic communities that uphold this pure lineage and teachings, it’s been passed on from teacher to disciple, with disciples later becoming teachers, and then passing it to their disciples. This system has been passed on for over 2,500 years.

If you look at the Tibetans in general, they were occupied by China. The Dalai Lama and many of the Tibetan [monks] had to go into exile in India, where they reestablished many of the famous Buddhist monastic institutions.

The monks from those particular monasteries were able to reestablish and continue that very important tradition under very harsh and poor conditions. And each monastery has its special, unique [traditions] in terms of chanting and philosophical theory. It was very important for me, as somebody who was brought up in a traditional, very strict Buddhist monastery, to revive and restore that.

I’m very glad to say that compared to the other Buddhist republics [in Russia] and Mongolia, where our people are originally from, Kalmykia’s is the only monastic institution that has full celibacy and where the tradition of what we call the Vinaya, or the monastic code of conduct, was restored. That’s my biggest achievement. Anyone can build monasteries or the biggest monastery — I don’t see those as major achievements.

‘My nature is very mischievous’

— Was it difficult for you to denounce Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine?

— What was difficult was to remain silent for a long time. Because I only denounced the invasion when the mobilization started [in late September 2022]. By that time, I knew that this war wasn’t going to end any time soon. At the very beginning, everybody said, “It’s going to be 3–4 days.” That’s even what Putin believed: It’s going to be quick. Special forces, in and out. And it didn’t turn out that way.

It got to a point where they had to implement a mobilization, and that was a clear sign that this was going to go on for a very long time. At that point, I knew there was not any chance of going back [to Russia from Mongolia] in the near future. And that’s when I decided that as a Buddhist, I cannot remain silent or pretend that we don’t hear, see, or know what’s going on. I was in Mongolia and there were so many Kalmyks, Buryats, and Buddhists from other regions who were fleeing the mobilization. And many people who knew that I was in Mongolia reached out to me seeking help in finding housing, temporary jobs, and even simple things such as clothing and food. Some of them had run out of money. 

I felt frustrated with what the war had caused. There were a number of [people] who had worked so hard to build a life, a family, jobs. And it’s not only the Buddhists, I’m sure it’s the same for everybody [else]. To leave with uncertainty, to leave suddenly, to leave their kids behind, to leave their wives behind, to not know where they’re going or what’s going to happen next — I don’t think that’s fair to anyone.

So I had a choice: to remain silent and pretend that I don’t see [what’s going on] or speak up. I’ve always had a very rebellious way of thinking. And so I said [to myself], “I’ve done what I could in Kalmykia. And maybe the time has come to shift directions.” And whether I’m able to go back or not, I look back at what has been achieved in the last 30 years and I [feel] nothing but joy and a sense of fulfillment. What we needed to do to restore, rebuild, and revive Buddhism was already done by the time I left. So I don’t have any attachments to the institution that I had built. 

Now it’s a different time, a different chapter. I’m working on new things, and just like they say in Buddhism, everything is temporary. Time changes. Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, it’s just going forward. We don’t stop. And we can’t go back to change or do anything. We just move forward. And with that mindset, I move forward.

The sad part is that along the way, I developed a very strong sense of friendship with all kinds of people from different backgrounds. And not knowing if we will ever see each other again is very heartbreaking .There are some people who continue to communicate [with me] knowing what the consequences could be, and there are others who have ceased all communication. I totally understand. I’m not encouraging them to call or text me — I say, “I’m here if you ever need me or want to talk, if you need my support. I’ll always be there for you, but other than that, I’m not going to encourage you to risk anything. The most important thing is your safety: you do what’s right for you.”

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— Do you think of your role as an anti-imperialist one? Do you see yourself as helping to restore a Kalmyk identity after centuries of Russian imperialism going back to the tsarist era?

— I don’t have anything against past history. It’s part of what created our modern-day civilization. The wars that are being fought today and the wars that were fought in those days are completely different in their intentions and motivations. The mindset was different. The patriotism was completely different. The meaning was completely different. So I don’t think we can ever compare wars that took place in those times to wars in the 21st century and beyond. 

But my task was not to be “anti” anyone. The task that we had was to restore, rebuild, and revive a system that once flourished freely, without any obstacles, interference, or objections. How many centuries have the Kalmyk people been part of the Russian civilization? Over 400 years. If we were allowed and able to flourish freely without any obstacles for that long, then why shouldn’t we be able to continue it onwards?

My argument is this: Russia’s a very big country with a very rich history, and that’s what makes it unique — the diversity, the multiple nationalities, languages, traditions, cultures, folklore, and so on. We’re a part of the uniqueness that makes Russia special.

I compare Russia to a very big banquet table. If you go to a banquet and serve only white rice, it’s not interesting. If you go to a banquet that has a lot of different options, it’s tastier and more fulfilling. It’s an abundance of food, flavors, different styles, and cuisines. And that’s how Russia is — it’s a big multi-cultural, multi-ethnic, multi-religious buffet.

— Sometimes when I hear Russia described that way, it reminds me of propaganda. The Russian authorities talk about how peaceful and multicultural Russia is while simultaneously sending ethnic minorities to fight in Ukraine in disproportionate numbers. Do you ever think about it in those terms?

— I don’t follow what’s going on much lately. Because all I hear is propaganda. It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s just that I got tired of listening to so much negativity on a daily basis. And knowing that whatever’s coming out of Russia is not true, it’s just a waste of my time and energy.

— Do you currently have any kind of relationship with the person who replaced you as Shajin Lama of Kalmykia after your resigned, Geshe Tenzin Choidak?

— No. He grew up under my leadership. We sent him to India and supported him all the way through his training and his education. Even before I left he was [considered] one of the future candidates. He was democratically elected within the monastic community of Kalmykia, and that’s something I support.

Everybody has different views and styles, so I don’t expect him to do everything the same way I did. And some of the things I may not agree with. Regardless, he was democratically elected by the monastic community, and therefore we should give him a chance and a platform to succeed. 

But I don’t have any contact or communication with him at all. I don’t think he expects me to reach out to give him guidance, and there’s really no need. My last words when we were doing the handover of the responsibilities — which we did online — was, “If you’re not able to develop what we have built, at least don’t un-develop it. Sustain it. Maintain what we’ve worked so hard [for]. And keep the level where it is right now. Don’t lower it.”

— The Dalai Lama recognized you as a reincarnation of the Buddhist saint Tilopa. How does that affect your daily life and your sense of self?

— It is a burden for any person [to be] identified as a reincarnation, because you have to carry on a legacy. The whole purpose of the reincarnation system is to continue the deeds of your predecessor, and it’s a huge responsibility.

Sometimes, in my 20s, I had those questions: “Why me?” “Why was I chosen?” “Why do I have to do it? Maybe it should be someone else.” Or, “Maybe they made the wrong choice.” I think everyone goes through that. But the difference is that I’m a public figure. I’m not only Rinpoche but also a representative of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. That’s an extra burden. 

Carrying the name of His Holiness as a representative comes with many more restrictions — and my nature is very mischievous. Sometimes I don’t have those very diplomatic and poetic skills that many people do, and I speak what’s on the top of my head. And sometimes, as a representative of His Holiness, you can’t do that in public.