A Nation without a Country

Sooo, I understand that the interview might seem a little rudimentary (especially for a journalism major), but this is my first interpreted interview...go easy on me!

Walking in from a bustling alley still in recovery from the Spring Festival mayhem, I find myself in an atmosphere totally different from the Chinese restaurants that usually occupy Beijing’s Haidian District. To the right of the door, fresh-baked naan awaits in neat shelves, while a small kitchen meant for kabob-roasting tempts me from the left. Further in, the walls are decorated with wallpaper of rich green complemented by golden Islamic motifs that dazzle the eye. I then notice that someone has thought to hang paintings reminiscent of the Tajh Mahal, lonely castles in the desert, and young women playing instruments like the tutar in lush oases.

When the waitress comes to take our order, I am surprised to see, not a delicate Chinese woman with a light complexion and small features, but a full-figured woman with olive skin, beautiful large eyes, and a proud, distinctive nose. 

It’s hard to believe I am still in Beijing, but this place is just off of Weigongcun Rd., right in the middle of the city’s university district, and it is ubiquitously known as “the Uighur restaurant.” 

The Uighurs (pronounced “Wee-Gers” for English speakers) are one of the many groups of ethnic Chinese, because of their non-Han background as well as their Muslim beliefs. Composed of various Turkic and Mongol tribes, the Uighurs  first settled in China’s Xinjiang Province during the height of the Silk Road trade through that area. When trade declined, these people remained and formed what is now the Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region (“Who Are the Uyghurs?” by Justin Rudelson). 

The owner or “jingli” of the restaurant is a proud Uighur migrant to Beijing. After attempting to converse with some of the restaurant workers, we were introduced to the man and explained to him our interest in the Uighur culture. He was then happy to oblige us with the following interview: 

What are some differences between the Uighur culture and the Beijing culture?

The two are not the same at all. It seems to me that Uighurs are more friendly with each other. In the mornings, we would say, “Hello” or “How are you?” or “Have you eaten today?” We would eat and talk with our friends a lot, and the food is a lot better too.

What was it like the first time you came to Beijing?

When I first came here, I couldn’t eat the food because the meat was not cooked for Muslims. I didn’t speak Chinese, and I couldn’t read the characters. After about a year, I could speak Chinese, and I got a handle on things. Even today, I still can only read simple characters. 

Did you have any friends here?

I had an uncle (mother’s brother) that I stayed with.

What was your reason for coming here?

There were a lot more economic opportunities here. I came here to make money and start a life for myself. 

Did you start your restaurant because there was no real place for Muslims to get food?

Yes, that was one of the reasons. Back home, I grow grapes; here, I run a restaurant. (Chuckle) The other reason was just to make money. 

If money weren’t an issue for you, would you have stayed in Xinjiang?

Yes, of course. The air is better there. The food is better. The people are better. The music…everything. Even my kids say they do not like Beijing. We go back home twice a year, two weeks.

Did you go back home for Spring Festival?

No, we go back home to celebrate the Muslim holidays like Ramadan. 

    

At this point in the conversation, I think about how many people, even Han Chinese, are in Beijing just for the economic opportunities. The promises of the big city are so tempting that it even lures Uighurs who share no racial, cultural, or even linguistic ties with the Han majority. Of course, the relationship between the two groups must be complex. 

Zachery Mexico, in his article “The Uighur Jimi Hendrix,” glimpses into the life of Hassan, the talented lead guitarist of an indie Uighur rock band in Shanghai. The most telling image of Hassan’s interactions with the Han Chinese can be grasped from Mexico’s description of one of his concerts: a young, exotic-looking Uighur man looking disgustedly out at the crowd of Chinese fans, who are screaming praises for his music. Here, I see Hassan’s  yearning for his own home being suppressed by a need to succeed in a society that he neither likes nor identifies with.

As Mexico goes on to say, “It would be hard to find a group more alienated from their own culture than China’s Uighurs. [They] are a people without a country.” In this, the Uighurs are in a similar situation to that of the Tibetans. Their autonomous region must also deal with economic disparities, an influx of Han Chinese residents, and the preservation of their culture against the flowing tides of Chinese modernism. Like the Tibetans, the Uighurs have also had violent clashes with the Chinese government. In fact, the Uighur American Association recalls, “Fourteen years ago on 5 February 1997 hundreds of Uyghurs were killed or imprisoned after participating in a peaceful demonstration in the city of Ghulja in Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region (XUAR), China.” 

In the face of all these factors, the Uighurs have also nourished their own sense of nationalism, and organizations such as the East Turkmenistan Liberation Front advocate an independent Uighur state. So, why is no one holding protests against the treatment of the Uighurs in the same breath as their cries for Tibetan autonomy? Because the Tibetans are “peace-loving” Buddhists, while the Uighurs are “radical” Muslims.

During Bush’s reign on terror, 17 Uighurs were detained as enemy combatants under pressure from Beijing, according to “The Uighur Problem” by Eric Etheridge of the New York Times. When the U.S. government decided that these detainees pose no threat, and probably never did, the 17 Uighurs were stuck between protests from the right if they were to stay in the U.S. and threats of torture from Beijing if they were to return home. Eventually, they found themselves on an island called Palau with a largely Mormon population. 

It seems that no one is willing to sympathize with the Uighur cause either because of their Muslim roots or their threat to Chinese nationalism. 

Considering all this, I decided to ask the restaurant manager how he felt toward the Han Chinese: 

Who usually eats in your restaurant?

Most of my customers are actually Han Chinese; the rest are Uighur students from nearby universities. 

Do you get along with the Han Chinese then?

I don’t have any negative feelings toward them. I’m a little liberal in my views. After all, I’ve been here for ten years now, and I run a restaurant. I have to be more understanding. 

What is the relationship between the minorities and the Han Chinese usually like?

There are as many relationships as there are fingers on a hand. Some people get along, some people are resentful, and some people choose to fight. You can’t lump us all together. 

In the U.S., I am a minority, and the older generation tells me that, when there was discrimination, the Black community helped each other: there were Black doctors, shop owners, lawyers, etc. that tried to help out the people in the community as much as possible. Does that exist in the Uighur community today?

Yes. And that is how it should be. It helped me when I first moved to Beijing all the way from Xinjiang. 

Could you give me an example?

(Sidelong glance to the surrounding customers) No. I’m sorry.

 

When you started the restaurant, were you able to meet a lot of people from Xinjiang? 

Yes. They would all come here to eat and talk and be with their friends. It turned out to be a great way to meet people and make friends.

What impact do you think your restaurant had on the Uighur community?

Well, it gave Muslims a place to eat and socialize. That’s important, of course, but I wouldn’t say there was a major impact.

Do you hire more than just Uighurs here?

Yes. Some are Muslim but are still Han Chinese. The Muslim Hans are not considered minorities though. Ethnicity is something you’re born with. Still, very few Han are Muslims, and religion is usually tied to some sort of ethnicity here.

Indeed, the manager and his friends are part of a very small percentage of Beijingers who go to worship at the temple near the Renmin University in Haidian.

This man and Hassan approach the culture clash in two different ways. While the one pursues understanding and a reverse multiculturalism, the other is often defendant and even arrogant about the cultural differences between the Uighur and the Han Chinese. In both cases, however, both men have brought a little of the Xinjian culture to the heart of China. Though both of their motives were to advance their socio-economic status, something else is happening here. It seems that, as more Uighurs and other Xinjianese migrate to the coast, more of their culture makes its way into China’s mainstream society. 

China often claims diversity, but the government seems to promote a certain Confucian-based society that does not fully represent the many cultures that lie within China’s vast expanse. However, if these cultures are actually forced to mingle with one another, could China one day be the melting pot that the United States is today? So many languages are spoken, so many religions are practiced, and so many beliefs are held dear that this may not be such a ludicrous proposition. 

For now, I leave the Uighur to make the comfort foods of his homeland as I formulate plans to come back for the layers of fresh-baked naan lying in the window, across the street from a humble baozi stand. 

(FYI: Baozi = Chinese steamed dumplings)