WUNRN
CHINA - UIGHUR MUSLIM WOMEN MAY WEAR
VEIL FOR HERITAGE OR TO PROTEST GOVERNMENT PRESSURES THAT VEIL CAN BE SIGN
OF EXTREMISM
Gilles Sabrie for New York Times
By Dan Levin -
August 7, 2014
URUMQI,
China — Fond of denim and lace, fluent in multiple languages and proud of her
success as an international business translator, Luna appears to be a model of
the assimilated Uighur that the Chinese government is striving for. She grew up
in the far-western region of Xinjiang, where marrying and mothering was the
paramount role for women of her largely Muslim, Turkic-speaking minority ethnic
group, and eventually moved to distant Beijing, where she feels more
comfortable among the country’s Han majority than in the conservative world of
her youth.
But Luna, who like others
interviewed for this article asked to be identified by a nickname to avoid
retaliation by the police, is increasingly torn between her professional
ambition and her outrage toward official restrictions targeting the Uighur way
of life. “The more the Chinese government forces us to live a Han lifestyle,
the more we will find ways to express our Uighur identity,” she said.
As the
Chinese authorities in Xinjiang intensify an increasingly deadly campaign
framed as a battle against Islamic separatists, they have cast their net over a
wide range of Uighur practices, including the wearing of veils and long beards,
which are seen as dangerous signs of religious extremism. Some Uighurs have
responded with alarm, redoubling efforts to safeguard centuries-old traditions
they fear could disappear. Critics argue that the government’s increasingly
assertive policies have inadvertently bolstered the appeal of conservative
Islam, with its emphasis on morality and traditional roles for women.
Stuck in the middle of this
intensifying culture war are Uighur women who want to embrace modernity without
forsaking their heritage.
“Uighur women are really the
first victims of mounting tensions and repression in Xinjiang,” said Nicholas
Bequelin, a senior researcher at Human Rights Watch in Hong Kong. “They are
under pressure from the state to adopt new standards, and pressured by their
communities to cut ties with a society seen as unclean.”
At a popular night market
here in Urumqi, the capital of the Xinjiang region, women in black burqas hawk
fake designer undergarments next to stalls doing a brisk business in bluejeans
and silk head scarves decorated with the Louis Vuitton logo. One scarf vendor,
her face framed by a yellow hijab, explained the concealment of her hair as an
act of piety. “Allah tells us women to be modest, so we cover up,” she said.
But the state is making life
increasingly difficult for faithful Uighurs. Along with deploying security
forces armed with heavy weaponry, officials have instituted a wave of
prohibitions meant to forcibly assimilate Uighurs into the Chinese nation.
During
the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which ended late last month, students and
government workers were prohibited from fasting. A drive to repress
female head coverings in some areas, marked by street checkpoints, Uighurs say,
and barring such coverings at hospitals, schools and banks, gained sharper teeth on Wednesday when
Karamay, a city in northern Xinjiang, banned men with long beards and women in
veils from riding public buses. The stricter rules add to longstanding
grievances among the country’s 10 million Uighurs, who resent policies they say
favor Mandarin over the Uighur language in schools and have made them a
minority in their traditional homeland.
Eager
to win over Uighur women, the government in 2011 introduced Project Beauty, a
campaign to discourage women from wearing veils and head scarves that urges
them to “show your pretty faces and let your beautiful hair fly in the wind.”
Officials say the campaign promotes female empowerment while nurturing a local
fashion and cosmetics industry said to be worth $480 million. To drive home the
message of gender equality, the campaign uses films, fashion shows and the
state-controlled media, some of which claim that veils cause depression and
scare children.
Wang Jianling, party
secretary of the government-run Xinjiang Women’s Association, denied the
existence of checkpoints and insisted that it was “extremely rare” for Uighur
women to wear veils. Still, she praised Project Beauty as vital for encouraging
Uighur women to embrace modernity. “It would be impossible to empower women and
realize their full potential if you don’t say goodbye to outdated practices
designed to hold women down,” she said in a phone interview.
Despite the cheerful
propaganda, veils have become a point of contention for violent clashes. In
May, protesters in southern Xinjiang beat up a school principal they had
accused of helping the authorities round up female students wearing head
scarves. Police officers opened fire on the angry crowd, killing at least four
people, Uighur activists say. In June, four Uighur men were shot and killed
during a confrontation with officials who had lifted a woman’s veil during a
house inspection.
The battle
over the female dress code is part of a larger struggle over what it means to
be Uighur in Xinjiang, a place long known for its moderate brand of Sunni
Islam. Though some Uighur women cover their hair and faces for religious
reasons, a growing number appear to be embracing the practice as a gesture of
quiet defiance. “Whenever I go home to Xinjiang, I wear a head scarf to show
that I cherish my culture,” said Luna, the business translator.
As
the self-appointed protector of Uighur culture, the government is fond of using
the state-controlled mass media as a tool for guiding sartorial public opinion.
On television, Uighur women are invariably typecast as loyal, exotic props in a
state-scripted patriotic epic that stars the ruling Han majority. Their costumes
— traditional ethnic dresses, embroidered caps and long braids — reinforce the
official message that veils and head scarves have no place in Uighur daily
life.
Just as there are women in
other countries who see the veil as a symbol of female repression, some Uighur
women reject the conservative religious traditions of their ethnic group. “In
traditional Uighur culture, women are below men,” said Zoe, a proudly
assimilated Uighur magazine editor, who never covers her hair and has a Han
boyfriend, despite her parents’ objections. “Many young women like me don’t
want to follow the same rules as their mothers did.”
Beijing has spent heavily
wooing women in Xinjiang. From 2000 to 2010, according to government figures,
well over three million ethnic minority women enrolled in classes that taught
tailoring, cooking and computer skills. In Kashgar, the ancient Silk Road oasis
that is predominantly Uighur, officials have distributed about $640 million in
microloans to women since 2011, said Ms. Wang, the women’s association party
secretary.
In some ways, Beijing’s
heavy-handed governance has overshadowed its measurable success in bolstering
opportunities for Uighur women. “Before, when families wanted to find a bride
for their son, they looked for a girl who could cook,” said Rahile Dawut,
director of the Xinjiang Folklore Research Center at Xinjiang University in
Urumqi. “Now, they want an educated girl with a job.”
Ms. Dawut is particularly inspired by her female master’s students, an intrepid band of academic achievers who travel across Xinjiang to record oral histories. But these days, Ms. Dawut’s pride is tinged with alarm as more Uighur women turn to conservative Islam