Here is my translation, doubtless below par, of a recent interview with Rabiyä Qadir (Rebiya Kadeer, رابىيە قادىر) published on 6 May 2009 in the Italian Communist daily Il Manifesto.  Commentary follows.

Independence is impossible, we will struggle for autonomy

Rebiya Kadeer has lived her sixty years as though on a rollercoaster. The leader-in-exile of the Uyghurs of Xinjiang (a region of northwestern China, with a Muslim majority) has experienced long years of poverty and a brief, enormous wealth as a result of her trade throughout China; the honor of a seat in the National People’s Congress and the suffering of five years in police detention. These and other chapters of Kadeer’s life – three times a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize – are recounted in her biography, The Gentle Warrior [Die Himmelsstürmerin], just published by Corbaccio. A member of the Transnational Radical Party, on Monday and Tuesday, the “Mother of the Uyghurs,” as she likes to call herself, was in Rome, where she yesterday took part in a meeting of the Committee for Human Rights of the Chamber of Deputies. Over the next few days, she will address the assembly of the World Uyghur Congress, where her reconfirmation as President appears decided. We have discussed with Kadeer the strategies of the movement and the situation in Xinjiang, where the Uyghurs (about 8 million) complain of an attempt to assimilate them on the part of Beijing.

In the most recent stage of your life, you lead the World Uyghur Congress (WUC). What mark have you left while at the top of the umbrella of this Uyghur diaspora organization?

At the end of 2006, my objective had been to unite all of the Uyghurs dispersed across the four corners of the world, creating various associations that would be recognized in the World Uyghur Congress. These groups are making the world aware of the problems of our people and are busy promoting our language, history, and culture among the new generation forced to live far from East Turkestan (the name by which the Uyghurs call Xinjiang –ed.). And in the last three years, for the first time, our petitions were brought to the attention of the Parliament of the European Union, United States, and Germany, where I had the opportunity to speak.

Have you managed to maintain contacts with Xinjiang, despite the strict security measures enacted by the authorities in Beijing?

Since we have been branded a “terrorist organization” by China, it has been particularly difficult. Nevertheless, we have our ways. This is despite the fact that anyone who tries to access an internet page that talks about me or our organization will be treated as a “terrorist.”

Do you not believe that China’s economic development – which has brought construction and infrastructure to Xinjiang – is also to the benefit of the Uyghurs?

The only advantage in the development of East Turkestan is Beijing’s. While our natural resources – natural gas, petroleum, uranium, and others – are transferred to the Interior, we Uyghurs are excluded from the labor market and, through the prohibition of instruction in the Uyghur language, our culture will be wiped out. The economic marginalization of the Uyghurs has been achieved through the bingtuan [Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps – trans.], an enormous organization for military production – distributed mainly along the border with Central Asia – is intended to provide homes and work for millions of Han immigrants.

In your book, you recount the spontaneous protests staged during the 80s and 90s by the Uyghur population against the presence of Han colonizers. What about today?

Now, the only expressions of dissent that are allowed are those abroad. Since the opening up of the 80s and 90s, we have returned to a situation similar to that of the Cultural Revolution.

How are their relations with the Han, the ethnic majority in China?

They can have excellent relations with the Han, of understanding and of mutual respect. But the situation changed with the immigration to East Turkestan. Here we have made life impossible: The very fact of discussing politics, the problems of our people, brings the Uyghurs to be labeled as “separatists,” “Islamic fundamentalists,” “terrorists.”

Before the Olympics in August 2008, Beijing had distributed news of attacks in Xinjiang. What information do you have about these events?

They were staged. What we must stress is that[?], before the Games, 15 000 Uyghurs were arrested and locked up under accusations of “terrorism.” Thanks to the platform offered by the more important sports events, the Beijing authorities had manufactured a belief around the world that there were thousands of terrorists in East Turkestan, thus legitimizing further oppressive constraints on our people.

Last February, the United States Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, while visiting Beijing, said: We will pressure for human rights, but, in these economic times, other things come first. Have you lost your chief ally?

Unfortunately, at this time, the economic crisis is at the top of the agenda for the great powers. But our pressure on the State Department has continued, and I trust that we can continue to receive the support that we need from Washington.

You protested because Islamabad has recently extradited to Beijing nine Uyghurs who trained in Pakistan to attack China. Doesn’t Beijing have the right to defend itself?

In recent years, Pakistan extradited 21 Uyghurs captured in Afghanistan to the United States. These people were then declared innocent by Washington: Some of them found asylum in Albania, and the others still await freedom.

Let us leave the alleged terrorists aside. Are you not afraid that, in the condition of isolation in which Xinjiang has been constrained, there may have prevailed among its people a fundamentalist interpretation of Islam?

Traditionally, the Uyghurs have had nothing to do with fundamentalism. Every day, however, in East Turkestan, some Uyghurs are arrested because they have been accused of being Islamic fundamentalists. For Beijing, a “terrorist” and an “integralist” [one who adheres to an extreme or traditionalist interpretation of Islam, rather pejorative; some prefer "active Islam" or "political Islam" – trans.] are the same thing. These are labels that are applied to hide their policies towards us: prohibition on the distribution of Uyghur literature, the forced transportation of Uyghur girls into the Chinese interior, birth control, limitations on Islamic practice, immigration of millions of Han and the lack of work for us, execution of political prisoners. Xinjiang is the only region of China where they still condone death sentence for political prisoners.

If China grants real autonomy, will you renounce the dream of an independent East Turkestan?

We demand freedom. Today, only a minority of our people hope for independence. We fight for a true autonomy, such as that demanded by the Dalai Lama for Tibet. And this autonomy can only be obtained within a more general process: that of the democratization of China, one that benefits the whole population, not only the Uyghurs. If they give us liberty, we would be prepared to live with the millions of Han settlers who have been sent to our homeland.

Some thoughts:

Rabiyä Qadir is a politician. Just as the Dalai Lama, Barack Obama, Wen Jiabao, Tarja Halonen, Abdullah Öcalan or anyone else in a position of leadership must satisfy the demands and play to the sentiments of a diverse community, so must she. Previously, it has been easier to dismiss her as a figurehead, an actor in political theater, prone to yelling and ranting and riling up her base of angry Uyghurs, pan-Turkists, sympathetic Westerners, etc. In this interview, Rabiyä Qadir comes across as a much savvier player. The talking points are broadly the same, but she makes some key concessions.

The most surprising is when she declares that the goal of her movement is not independence, but human rights and autonomy, not only for Uyghurs, but for all of China. This is not just an imitation of the policies of the Dalai Lama, who is an obvious point of comparison; that, I think, is a useful conceit for helping a European audience understand her movement and the situation in her homeland. Rather, this broader humanitarian goal has been a theme of Rabiyä Qadir’s for some time, albeit one not usually shared or emphasized by the broader Uyghur or East Turkestan movement. Early on, she framed herself not only as the “Mother of the Uyghurs,” taking a page from the early modern nationalist playbook digested fully by her cohorts abroad, but also as someone fighting for the rights of everyone in Xinjiang, even Han Chinese. The Uyghur independence movement, as I know it, is a fractious organization staffed by elites whose navel-gazing obsessions with self-definition prevent it from being taken seriously or achieving much internationally. If Rabiyä Qadir can successfully get them to become a much more broadly inclusive organization, then she may prove to be the leader the movement needs to gain real political traction. This pragmatic and less overtly hostile or racist stance gives the Uyghur rights/independence movement a much more mature face.

Rabiyä Qadir also dodges a sensitive question about the PRC’s right to defend itself. What would happen if she conceded that point? It would be of no help to Beijing, which has no interest in presenting her as an authority figure. It would certainly upset a certain section of her base, particularly actual supporters of Islamic fundamentalist and/or terrorist groups operating in or on behalf of East Turkestan. These are people who, I think, are not yet in the company of the broader, more ethno-nationalistic movement, but who could be drawn into it and away from violent action. This may account for her admonishment of the PRC for conflating terrorists and Islamic activists. I think, rather, that she did not want to say “No.” If Rabiyä Qadir claimed that the PRC has no right to defend itself, she would lose credibility as a mature leader and certainly provide fodder for PRC propagandists who, as she frequently reminds us, label her a “terrorist.”

Overall, I think we are seeing Rabiyä Qadir come into her own as a leader. At the very least, she is getting better advice on statesmanship. It is somewhat sad, I think, to see the Uyghur/East Turkestani movement give up on its central hope of a free and independent state, one that has always been imagined with lofty ideals in mind. This new vision, however, demonstrates that the movement is not entirely mired in the pre-1949 past, but that certain influential segments of it are willing to engage with present-day political realities.

On the 16th, The Opposite End of China uncovered a Hindustan Times article on an alleged plot by Uyghurs to disrupt the Olympic torch relay in New Delhi. In the end, the torch bearers saw an unusually high number of Tibet protesters (logical, given India as the home of Tibet’s exile community and government), but no major disruptions a la Paris and nothing coming from any Uyghur activists. What’s interesting, however, was the unintentional “experiment” set up by Indian intelligence forces, giving all of us an opportunity to compare and contrast how India and China deal with East Turkestan “plotters,” respectively. Within limits, of course. Even within the few paragraphs of the Hindustan Times article we can detect a slightly greater willingness to be transparent with the alleged plot – 5 Uyghurs, along with their names, and also the path they took through Nepal into India, as gleaned from their passports. A sharp contrast to the way plots hit the press in China. Granted, there are a lot of details missing here, but I’m assuming that’s because its not as big a deal in India, rather than deliberate concealment.

Speaking of plots and concealment, via the Foreign Policy Association’s Central Asia Blog we find a brief article by Hudson Institue scholar Richard Weitz on the recent Olympic terrorism plot unveiled and busted by Chinese authorities a few weeks ago. Real or not real? In a weirdly structured article Weitz spends ten paragraphs giving the usual “Xinjiang background” spiel, which is understandable since presumably most of his intended readers are not familiar with Xinjiang, but then he spends a hasty two paragraphs on the terrorist plot, basically saying since Xinjiang is of high strategic value, it is in China’s best interest to fabricate the terrorist plot, ergo, the terrorist plots were probably fabricated. Patrick Frost at the CA Blog argues that while the logic of skepticism is sound, the threat of terrorism in Xinjiang is real especially given the track record of violent terrorism in Xinjiang: with 200+ recorded incidents in the past few decades, surely some were fabricate, but conversely, surely some were real, correct? Between Frost and Weitz, I think the Chinese government’s strategy in withholding proof and evidence becomes a little more clear: by doing so, we’ll never know if it was a legit terrorist crackdown, nor will we know if it was a fabrication. I’m sure some sort of ancient Chinese wisdom (Sun-Tzu probably, if I bother to look) dictates that it is better for the others to not know either way than to know for certain something is real or not real.

Time Magazine journalist Simon Elegant (What an awesome name. Sounds like a video game character, to be frank.) apparently rushed to Khotan sometime after hearing about the protests that occurred about a month ago. I don’t know he did it, but from the looks of his publications he’s there right now. So for your perusal, here’s “In China’s Wild West.” Naturally written with a more journalistic sort of tint, Elegant’s article nonetheless does capture the post-demonstration haze lingering over Khotan through interviews with both Chinese and (courageous) Uyghurs. Elegant offers some firsthand knowledge corroborating RFA’s claims that the death of a prominent jade trader and philanthropist, Mutallip Hajim, was the trigger for the demonstrations. Curiously, this very same article was published twice on Time’s website, the most recent one being the one linked above, which seems to be a hasty replacement for the still reachable old version, whose text is the same but with the title of “The Other ‘Tibet.’” GROAN. Maybe the journalist caught himself and found the title too tacky and cliche, but if you’re going to rebrand your article, don’t forget to take down the old one!

Professor James Millward has written an excellent article for Open Democracy containing advice on how China should approach public relations crises like the string of Olympic torch fiascoes that have occurred over the past few weeks. While the article isn’t a Xinjiang article per se, Millward himself is a Xinjiang scholar and I must proudly say that his reasonable and on-the-mark advice probably sprung forth from his unique perspective on the Chinese situation. The Xinjiang perspective, of course! No need to discuss what Millward said here because Dave’s done a good job of doing that already over at Mutant Palm.

Not to be outdone by Time Magazine, Reuters has also sent a correspondent to scan the aftermath of the Khotan demonstrations. Lindsay Beck’s article, “Restive Xinjiang: China’s next trouble spot after Tibet?” (GROAN) can be found at this link. Like Elegant, Beck uses some firsthand anecdotes and interviews to sort of ferret out the situation in Khotan. Unlike Elegant, Beck states quite clearly in her article that Xinjiang is unlikely to become the next Tibet (Yay?), wisely referring to the words of Xinjiang scholars like Nicholas Bequelin and anonymous (heh heh).

Poppycock.

Xinjiang stands in an unfortunate position. The land known as Xinjiang, as we know it now, is a political unit with somewhat arbitrary borders, the product – at first – of a treaty between the Qing and Russian Empires following a war with the Junghar Mongol state that was started by Central Asian Sufi sheikhs and involved the Tibetans. Yaqub Beg, the Khokandi warlord, never kept a hold on the whole territory. What the Qing reconquered and reconstituted as a province under the leadership of General Zuo “Tso” Zongtang (of chicken fame) encompassed the old Junghar territories, small independent kingdoms, and two regions that had been held, at one time, by the Buddhist Idiqut and Muslim Karakhanid Empires. The borders were drawn with the involvement of the British, who had been interested in making it a buffer state. Xinjiang has been referred to as the “pivot of Asia” by Owen Lattimore and as the end of or a stop on the “Silk Road” by countless others.

So, the trend in Xinjiang studies has long been to emphasize the diversity of identities found among individual members of its ethnonational groups – though this is certainly changing – while the trend in popular media, which usually can’t handle diversity and still make them interesting, has been to try and simplify the region, to make it readable to the outside world. Even the idea of being “in between” is based on the assumption that something is positioned between identifiably homogeneous points. Uyghurs and Han become monolithic animals, one color each, who wrestle over an undifferentiated, homogeneous, and ultimately timeless national desert. Journalists, whose situation I must admit I understand, have to make something as alien as a peaceful Islamic women’s protest in a place like… Khotan? How do you pronounce that?… and make it accessible.

So, we have the convenient example of Tibet. It’s nearby, it’s big, it’s also in China, people there are violently suppressed, and no one really has a good understanding of it, so it’s an ideal parallel to make. Indeed, when asked at a loud and crowded party, “So, what’s Xinjiang?”, I have been known to answer, “It’s like Tibet, but it’s full of Turks.” It’s an easy analogy to make.

Let’s look at the facts, though. One of the reasons Uyghurs and Tibetans don’t network well is that they don’t like each other very much. The Muslim/Buddhist divide is very strong, especially in Xinjiang, where the above-mentioned Buddhist Idiqut and Muslim Karakhanid Empires fought each other, on and off, for several centuries. For a long time, the word “Uyghur” became synonymous with “idol-worshipping Buddhist”. Indeed, the Uyghur word but means “idol”, as in the kind you’re not meant to worship, the kind that Muslims used to whack the heads off of before the Eighth Route Army and the Red Guards took over for them. Pan-Islamism has been a major political force in Xinjiang for centuries. So has Pan-Turkism, disciples of which, returning or journeying from points west, were largely responsible for the Xinjiang that we see today. Tibet simply hasn’t had a similar intellectual history, a similar epistemological chain giving rise to a similar kind of separatism or nationalism.

Xinjiang’s only periods of “independence”, those looked to by nationalist groups, never covered the entire area of Xinjiang as we now know it. Otherwise, there were periods, which they do not invoke, when that land area was controlled as the personal fiefdom of some outsider, for example Yang Zengxin. Tibetans in Greater Tibet have a clear and internationally-respected (there’s the key!) claim to a historically verified Tibetan Empire focused around today’s Tibet, a religion particularly peculiar to that area, and all of the bureaucracy that comes with both of those things. Uyghurs have no Dalai Lama. They have a close-knit, but ultimately inefficacious intellectual elite that, even when it is hopping mad, prefers to write a mildly subversive allegory rather than raise an armed rebellion. Their modus operandi is to work for a better life for their families and for other Uyghurs now, not to organize actively for a future independent state. This does not necessarily go for the Uyghur diaspora, which is, in any case, too small to gain much notice.

In broader terms, Xinjiang is not as centralized as Tibet is. Ürümchi, which has only really mattered for about a century, is not the symbolic capital of the Uyghur spirit, nor is it even a particularly loved or revered city among Xinjiang people overall. Rather, the Uyghur population, which largely retains its home-town orientation, is found in clusters, linked by long highways across large, open spaces, with every city having some claim to authenticity and its own local problems. Protests and other expressions of discontent, I think, will remain local, not general, and led by unsung heroes of local problems, not by charismatic figures from abroad. One might actually suggest that the riots in Lhasa started the same way, but that’s a topic for another blog.

It was the above-linked post on Nicholas Kristof’s New York Times blog that really got me to notice the simplistic way in which Xinjiang is viewed, the way it parallels Tibet, a similarly nebulous image in the popular discourse. Everything is in a global context readable by post-9/11 Americans, full of familiar images, less information than an example of an already-hegemonic theory of the world. Terrorism is Islamic — a position accepted by many Chinese, as well — and dissent against China is Buddhist. The editors’ blog of Tricycle, a Buddhist magazine that should know better, even refers to the protests in Xotän as “the second front”, albeit only in passing. What, now Buddhism owns dissent in China? Does Falun Gong get this treatment?

It’s time to start studying and understanding Xinjiang on its own terms. I have only seen one newspaper – The Guardian – consult an actual expert on Xinjiang who is not a member of an Uyghur nationalist organization, Nicolas Becquelin. His reasoned and expert opinions show that there are factors internal to Xinjiang and in relation to the central government of the PRC that are responsible for recent displays of discontent.

We are also lucky that we live in a time when a field of “Xinjiang Studies” is forming around the world (outside of China), creating a broader and richer dialogue on this not-so-mysterious region – Indiana University’s Department of Central Eurasian Studies has a program for studying Xinjiang, India’s Jawaharlal Nehru University has a position for a professor of Xinjiang Studies, and the field is booming in Japan. There are more examples, and I encourage you to find them.

In the meantime, there is already a long history of quality research on Xinjiang done by scholars from the PRC itself. This includes work in Chinese, Uyghur, Mongolian, Kazakh, Kyrgyz, and, yes, even Sibe, as well as possibly other languages. Xinjiang is home to several universities, which are home to scholars who do serious research, often of very high quality, on their own Autonomous Region. It would take a sea change in the way the world thinks of language and power to get this work the broad recognition it deserves, especially in the popular eye. However, an effort made by outside researchers to seek out these scholars and their work, in tandem with a greater effort on the part of news organizations to seek less biased sources, will make this region better-known. Perhaps someday we will hear some reporter ask, “Is Yunnan the next Xinjiang?” Maybe projects like our own serial translation of The Awakened Land will inspire someone to look a little further.

So, is Xinjiang the next Tibet? Michael Manning over at The Opposite End of China has, once again, beat us to the punch:

Q: Is Xinjiang the next Tibet?

A: Is Afghanistan the next Bhutan?

Finally, I should note that the PRC-funded Lyndon LaRouche Political Action Committee, a paramilitary group involved in the construction of a New World Order under the leadership of the Sino-Jewish Cabal (that’s irony, folks), suggests that the protests in Xotän were, in fact, incited by Amnesty International under the control of British intelligence agency MI-6. Their pigtailed puppet, Rabiyä Qadir, justified and encouraged the splittists’ acts of inharmonious violence with her snake-tongued lies. See? Now even crazy people care about Xinjiang.