Uighurs made to break Ramadan fast and eat pork under China crackdown

For the handful of elderly men inside one of China’s largest mosques, the first bow comes not when prayers begin but as they duck through metal detectors. Lined with facial recognition security cameras both inside and out, Id Kah mosque in Kashgar is under the constant watch of patrolling police officers armed with

batons and riot shields. Ramadan is a quiet, fearful affair in this oasis town on ancient trade routes. Despite mounting international condemnation, the curbs on the Uighur people and their shrinking culture here show no signs of abating for the Muslim holy month.

Widespread intimidation, from inside mosques to homes, means residents do not dare utter the traditional Islamic greeting, “Assalaam alaikum”; fasting is banned, with restaurants forced to stay open.

At schools and local authority offices, “the Chinese government provides water, food – lunch – to force you to drink and eat,” said Dolkun Isa, president of the World Uighur Congress, an advocacy group.

Officials are increasing checks on homes to ensure people do not secretly observe the practice, a government notice indicates.

They “bring gifts to Uighur families – pork”, Mr Isa told The Sunday Telegraph. Although Muslims do not eat the meat, “you cannot refuse it; you have to accept it, and they are monitoring them and eating together”.

Kashgar is in the heart of Xinjiang, a far-west region in China, home to the Uighurs, an ethnic minority of mostly Sunni Muslims. US officials believe up to three million have been locked up in internment camps in a nearwhitewash of religion and culture. Former detainees told The Telegraph of torture, of being forced to memorise propaganda and to renounce Islam.

This year’s Ramadan is a far cry from past ones – tens of thousands used to flock to Id Kah, spilling out into the public square to pray before celebrations erupted to break the fast.

The old city’s saffron-coloured alleys and archways were so reminiscent of old Kabul that The Kite Runner film was shot here – before officials bulldozed most of it in 2010. In the corner that remains, Chinese tourists take photos of Uighur children in narrow lanes by homes with red signs deeming them “virtuous” households – a government programme to mark “good” behaviour.

That is the Kashgar that Beijing wants the world to see, not the internment camps a few miles away. Despite mounting evidence of terrifying abuses inside, China insists they are “vocational skills training” centres to reform would-be terrorists. This paper’s efforts to visit the camps were largely scuppered by surveillance and obstruction by men watching reporters’ every move.

During four days in the city, the journalists were effectively kidnapped twice after unidentified voices over the radio instructed taxi drivers to turn around. As a result, Telegraph reporters travelled nearly 50 miles on foot, eventually reaching a vast internment camp with at least nine yellow and grey buildings plus four watchtowers. There a dozen minders quickly faked an electricity line repair and surrounded reporters for more than an hour to block them from advancing down the road. “It’s for your safety,” they said.

Four separate patrols forced photographer Giulia Marchi to delete images. The Telegraph was followed so tightly it was impossible to conduct interviews in the open.

But in private conversations, Uighurs would raise deep concerns. Near one internment camp, our driver shut off the radio and extinguished his cigarette, his lively demeanor subdued. That compound was “much trouble,” he said, making the sign of being handcuffed. Police tracked his car and he never got too close for fear he would end up inside.

Another said he was detained for a few days and his wife remained imprisoned 18 months on, leaving him to raise two young children. “I am worried,” he said. “I don’t know for how much longer [she will be held].” At checkpoints, Uighurs are held for full body and face scans and vehicle searches. They must swipe ID cards at turnstiles, prompting personal details to pop up on officers’ screens, creating a digital trail of their movements.

Beijing has long sought to wrest control of this resource-rich region where decades of governmentencouraged migration of the Han – China’s ethnic majority – have fuelled resentment among Uighurs. The biggest outburst, in the capital Urumqi, left 200 dead in 2009.

The ruling Communist Party has launched a propaganda campaign on snuffing out “criminal” and “terrorist” activity. Bright red banners remind people to fight illegal “cult” behaviour, with hotlines for suspicious activity.

At one mosque a banner declares “Love the Party, love the country” over a metal detector. A billboard reads “Secretary Xi is linked heart-toheart with Xinjiang minorities,” referring to president Xi Jinping.

The Party is working to present an image of a happy, peaceful Xinjiang, to boost tourism and attract investment. While the economy has yet to soar as officials hoped – special economic zones and new housing complexes sit empty – the messaging is starting to work. A retired Han couple said they finally felt safe enough to visit Xinjiang given the strong police presence. “We haven’t seen any scuffles,” Zuo Xiaofang, from Shanghai, said. “We heard it used to be a mess here.”

“Han and Uighur are a united family,” said a Han Chinese barista in Kashgar’s old city, now a garish cultural theme park where many mosques are shuttered, with Islamic features such as onion domes or the crescent moon removed. It’s all part of a vow Xi made in 2015 to “Sinicise” religion; Uighur advocates fear that centuries of culture will be erased.

“‘Sinofication’ of Islam means adjusting religion to be comfortable for the Chinese Communist Party,” said Mr Isa. “If Uighurs are thinking, living Chinese, then Uighur culture [will be] all destroyed.”

‘They bring gifts to Uighur families – pork. You cannot refuse it; you have to accept. They are monitoring them.’