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Wrecking crews of
Kashgar
Xinjiang's culture being 'renovated' by Han
majority
Chinese version of progress rankles Muslim minority
May 30, 2004. 01:00 AM
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ANDREW CHUNG FOR THE TORONTO STAR
Crumbling Uighur dwellings, most without running water,
fan out from winding alleyways in the dusty frontier
city of Kashgar. Beijing is demolishing the heart of
Kashgar in a renovation program that's a new threat to
the heritage of Xinjiang province's Muslim minority.
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ANDREW CHUNG
SPECIAL TO THE STAR
KASHGAR—The Chinese word chai is made up of seven
brush strokes that obliquely slash their way through
each other, perhaps fittingly, since it means, "demolish."
Recently, the word was ominously painted upon dozens
of mud-and-brick homes and businesses in the old
Uighur neighbourhoods that make up the heart of this
dusty frontier city, warning, like gang-markings for
death, of their impending destruction.
Kashgar, once a Silk Road oasis on the fringes of
China's northwest Xinjiang province, is under
renovation.
Hundreds of traditional buildings have already been
knocked down, and along with them their distinctive
Uighur and Arabic architecture that evokes hundreds of
years of history — the very things tourists come so
far to see.
The government has also started renovating around the
15th-century Id Kah mosque — the largest Muslim
worship site in China where hundreds of new stores and
restaurants soon will convert the environs into a
commercial magnet.
It's not surprising that China's relentless economic
rise would reach its hinterland.
But the transformation, so welcome in other cities, is
only making the relationship between the Chinese and
Kashgar's independence-minded Uighurs — marred over
the years by bombings, violence and death — worse than
it already is.
"I am very worried that I will have to move far away,"
says Tursan, a silk and fabric seller.
"We have no other choice but to accept it. We're
afraid to disagree."
Most Uighurs walking along Chasa Rd. — amid the
familiar din of ruddy-faced men pounding copper, the
thick smoke of charred lamb and the whiff of spiced
tea — don't want their full names published, saying
they fear recriminations for criticizing government
policy.
All along its median, though, Uighur men — and boys —
are ripping up the dirt road in preparation for a wide,
new paved one. Buildings have been marked for
demolition.
"When my shop is destroyed, what will I do?" a
shoemaker asks. "How will I earn a living? I am so
poor as it is. Just look at my own shoes."
Indeed, his toes peek out of broken, leather flaps.
"I'm not against development," he says. "But most
Uighurs in Kashgar are very poor. Now, they are
destroying what little we have."
For some, the old heart of Kashgar is a beautiful
snapshot of history; for others, it's an eyesore.
The earthy brown adobe dwellings, some set high on
lumpy hills, stand peacefully along narrow, winding
alleyways that, during the day, alternate dim shade
and blinding sunlight.
Most of the homes have no toilets or even running
water.
Walls are slowly crumbling and nearly everyone
complains they are too small.
"Some places are not safe," says driver Akbar Ablimit,
who recently moved into a modern apartment and sends
his children to Chinese schools.
"The government is doing a good job cleaning up the
city."
Some areas will be improved rather than demolished.
And residents forced to move will, in theory, be given
compensation. In practice, however, many families fall
through the gaps.
Even those who counsel the government on tourism
issues fear it is moving too fast.
"I have advised them not to destroy too much," says
John Hun, a major tour operator. "Otherwise, they will
look back and say, `Where is the history?'"
One travel agent rubs his fingers together and says:
"A lot of people are making a lot of money off this."
For the majority of Uighurs, Kashgar's renovation is
simply another slap in the face.
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`There are Uighurs in government, but we all know they
are just dolls'
Yasin, restaurant waiter in Kashgar
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Their identity, based on their Turkic-language and
Islamic faith, is ethnically entirely distinct from
that of the Han Chinese — the country's majority
ethnic group.
And Kashgar is as far away from Beijing, China's
capital, as Vancouver is from Toronto.
Uighurs have been struggling for independence since
the 18th century, when the region they call "East
Turkestan" was swallowed by the Qing dynasty.
There is a fierce mistrust of the Han, who for years
have migrated — with Beijing's encouragement — to
Xinjiang.
In 1949, when the new Communist government was
pledging more Uighur autonomy, the Han made up just 5
per cent of the province's population. At more than 40
per cent now, they are set to eclipse the Uighurs'
dominance.
In part, this has helped Beijing develop the
northwest's vast mineral and oil riches, leading to 11
per cent economic growth last year — better than in
the rest of China.
But observers note that it's mostly the Han who
benefit with preferential access to the best jobs,
better education and domination of the region's
commerce.
It's true for all of Xinjiang's cities that, compared
with Uighurs, the Han live in newer neighbourhoods.
Signs are written in Chinese, with Uighur an
afterthought.
At the Kashgar airport, announcements are only in
Chinese, and absurdly, English.
Generally, the two groups stay away from each other.
Han student Wen Sen says the relationship is "getting
better," yet he still won't approach a Uighur on the
street.
Similarly, Uighur foodstall owner Akbar says: "We
don't like each other. They think we are all like (Osama)
bin Laden or Saddam Hussein."
The Chinese government has harshly curtailed religious
freedom in the past, and Uighurs will not forgive
Beijing for using the Taklimakan Desert as a nuclear
test site.
Now, they think it is the Han who have decided to
destroy their homes and businesses in Kashgar.
"There are Uighurs in government, but we all know they
are just dolls," says Yasin, a restaurant waiter.
Colin Mackerras, a professor of Chinese studies at
Brisbane's Griffith University, says traditional
culture is being lost as the city gets "Sinocized."
And while development raises peoples' incomes, he adds,
the Chinese "could be more sensitive about it."
"In theory, the Uighurs are in charge, but in practice
the Chinese influence is much greater," says Mackerras,
who studies China's minorities.
Uighur separatists show no reticence about using
violence. The 1990s saw widespread riots and murders
of Han in Kashgar, with the government calling in army
and air support. Officials blamed a 1997 Beijing bus
bombing on Uighur extremists and the United States has
placed one Uighur group on its list of terrorist
organizations.
In response, Chinese authorities viciously cracked
down on separatist activities among Uighurs and
continue to publicize the executions of those it calls
terrorists.
Recently, though, keen to attract investment, Beijing
has portrayed the relationship as improving and seems
to have eased its chokehold on religious activities.
The provincial chairman said at a recent press
briefing that the security situation "is very good."
But the relationship is anything but stable. In fact,
earlier this year, a vicious gang fight between Han
and Uighur middle school students brandishing knives
and machetes broke out in the small Xinjiang petroleum
city of Karamay, sources there told the Star.
And the renovation in Kashgar, Uighurs say, is only
making people more restive.
Inside the Id Kah, a large sign explains what the
government has done for the mosque over the years,
including the addition of toilets and extra rooms.
"The Chinese government pays special attention to the
religious and historical cultures of the ethnic groups,"
says the sign. "And such policies ... are very popular."
Not so, it seems, for many in Kashgar.
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Andrew Chung is a Canadian journalist studying in
China.
http://www.thestar.com
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