Heute eine außergewöhnliche Kolumne auf gsi-news. Die Autorin Rushan G. Rozi erzählt darin über ihr Leben und ihr Schicksal als Uighurin. Ein Volk das brutal von der chinesischen Regierung unterdrückt wird.
Oliver Twist, my son and I
Have you watched Charles Dickens‘ Oliver Twist? Have you met a real-life Oliver Twist, who has been sold from one hand to another when simply running for her life for safety and comfort?
I enjoyed watching this film with my son a few times several years ago when he was six or seven. My son enjoyed mimicking the movement of different characters, especially the Fagin in the musical version. My son would wear his green rope, wave a scarf and sing the song. He loved imitating funny parts of films. Sometimes when I didn’t have time to watch or read with him together he would leave the funny parts of the movies or books to share with me. Hence watching film on weekends and holidays while nibbling snacks and spending time together and reading books before bed time had become a ritual for us since he was born. We were so used to it that my son named such a time as „family time“ and wouldn’t allow anyone to disrupt this special time with his mother before going to sleep. On some weekends and school holidays, when bad weather was coming, we would get snacks and good films ready beforehand to have a pajamas day at home.
There had never been one single day passed that we didn’t spend “family time” together until he suddenly “disappeared” on Tuesday, 10 February 2015. Even two days before his mysterious “disappearance,” he came to my bedroom on Saturday and Sunday mornings to give me a hug and we had great time chatting sitting next to each other on my bed. I still have his note written for me before the day of his disappearance sitting on my desk.
Although I enjoyed watching Oliver Twist as an entertainment, I have never thought about relating this story to my own ordeal as I do now. And I don’t think my son would have ever imagined a real life “Fagin” when he was dancing along waving a scarf. In fact, when I first watched the film in about 2002-2004, I simply thought it was a movie regarding an unfortunate orphan, without understanding why he had to go through betrayal again and again, being sold from one hand to another, and fallen into the hands of a professional thieve Fagin when he finally found a kind family to settle down with. I simply didn’t think too much about his identity and why his identity had been constantly concealed.
But now after losing my beloved son without any conceivable reason, after knocking every single door that is shut to me completely, especially after writing to so many people, including the church pastors, human rights defenders and advocates, educators, politicians, and journalists with heartfelt plea for help and yet without any helpful response, I can intimately relate my own ordeal to Oliver Twist’s misfortune.
2. Puzzling Nomadic Journey
I don’t know exactly why I have to run from one country to another, from one place to another. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to find a safe harbor to enjoy my life without having to look over my shoulders, and to secure an ordinary, reasonable “professional” job for over 20 years living abroad so that I can tell my son exactly what my profession is. However, I do know that prior to such an incomprehensible life overseas, I was working full time as an urban planner, teaching at two colleges, and doing projects for another prestigious architectural firm working directly with the company manager, one of ten top architects in China, as well as other architects and urban planners.
I have seen people who can hardly speak English with little skills employed in “great places” and promoted like skyrocket bypassing me. Yet my son and I have had to pack up again and again, moving from one State to another, from one country to another. I couldn’t tell my son or others what was going on in our lives because I didn’t have a clue, although I have had some “suspects” and “suspected scenarios.” For example, when my US exchange visa was suddenly canceled in February 2007 by a University upon my mentioning of a Human Rights organization in Washington DC, I suspected that I was sold out for a foreign government because all of a sudden, the Department received a huge grant in the middle of the year. A person I suspected as a spy sent by this foreign government was stalking me and undermining my academic activities at the University. But this woman has been protected and promoted rapidly despite her poor English, academic credentials and scandalous life, mostly involving a few male professors I was associated with. So many odd things were happening around her in the small college town that nobody could understand what kind of “strong” background she had.
After almost ten years, in early November 2016, I suddenly discovered that this person I was suspicious of was actually listed as the “Panelist Contact List member” by the “American Councils for International Education” for that “grant” that the University received during that specific time when my visa was canceled within hours without warning. As a result of this deal my son and I were left in limbo. We had to pack up within days and leave for Washington DC without other choices but hope.
Sometimes I can relate my story to some movie characters and would use that as an example to give my son a glimpse of what was going on. For example, when we were watching the movie Mao’s Last Dancer in 2012, I could relate my life to the experience of Mao’s “last dancer” and was able to explain my own situation to my then twelve years old son by using this as a reference. I hope it made a little bit sense to him. I discovered this movie just in time to explain to my son when we were watching this movie, because in June 2012, we were forced to move again in Melbourne due to mysterious situation with a squatter who wouldn’t move out after subleasing our home for 2 months when we were visiting our families in China’s Xinjiang region.
I don’t even believe that I have done anything wrong with any government, for example, the Chinese or Western governments, or any individuals. In fact, if the Chinese government were worried about me, all I have done these years is writing about Uyghur vernacular architecture and culture, researching about ecological sustainability of cities, and giving presentations on these topics because they are within my professional discipline urban planning and architecture that I started off in China. I have also taught Chinese and given lectures about Chinese vernacular architecture occasionally. If anyone were worried about me talking about these topics, I simply cannot comprehend because I have practiced urban planning and architecture for 10 years in China prior to coming to Australia in 1996, and have attended most of the conferences on Vernacular Architecture across China doing exactly the same thing, promoting Uyghur vernacular architecture and culture all over China, and exchanging ideas with like-minded colleagues on the topic of vernacular architecture and urban planning. I have been an active member of Chinese Vernacular Architectural Association and several others concerning traditional architecture and gardens of Chinese and minorities.
In fact, it was one of my inspiring Tongji University teachers who encouraged me to take up Uyghur vernacular architecture after graduation. And when I attended the first conference in my life presenting a paper on Uyghur vernacular architecture in 1991, it was the Chinese Architectural Association president who publicly thanked me in front of about 400 conference attendants for introducing Uyghur architecture and culture to them. She asked me to publish my paper in their architectural journal immediately after my presentation. Thus, I don’t see why my life and normal activities abroad have become a problem to China at all.
Then thinking about if I have offended any Western countries or individuals, it is more puzzling to me because I am not associated with any organizations or individuals whose agenda is against any countries. In reality, I have been a member of different churches most of the time during these 20 years, spending time mainly with Westerners, church communities rather than my own community members or any ethnic community. I have volunteered for several organizations since my son was a baby while doing my PhD full time at that time.
In many places I have lived, there was no Uyghur community around either; I was the only Uyghur person who got nobody to speak her native language with for years. However, I have spent most of my life in writing, doing research, and giving speeches about my Uyghur people, about my hometown, and about our culture wherever I go. I have started this journey since 1980s in Shanghai when I was doing bachelor’s degree in Urban Planning. I was the only Uyghur student at Tongji University at that time for entire 4 years.
In order to keep up my language in Shanghai, for example, I subscribed an Uyghur magazine “Kashgar Literature,” published in Kashgar, to keep up with my native Uyghur language, because of such a cultural isolation in Shanghai at that time. Despite of not being able to speak my native language, I would speak it in my dream, according to what my Chinese roommates told me.
In Brisbane, Australia, I was the only Uyghur person in the State for over two years. The only time I could practice my Uyghur language was with a few people who learned Uyghur language.
I have lived in the USA for 6 years in 2004-2010, Australia for the rest of the time in between after leaving China in 1996, but I have never really been in politics or government bodies apart from the professional companies or universities that I have studied or worked for. Thus, my life should be straight forward and simple because I have never been a critical part of any of these countries, except professional bodies in my discipline to attract trouble to myself and my son.
3. Restless Orphan Searching for Identity, Cultural Connection Relentlessly
I become alive whenever I read, write or speak about our people. When I was doing PhD on ecological sustainability of metropolitan Melbourne, which I mainly did for contributing to Australia, I had my dissertation “Uyghur Vernacular Architecture: Cultural Form & Syntax of Built Environment” sitting right on my desk waiting for me to publish and circulate. Hence, I couldn’t wait to attend the conferences in the USA one after another, sometimes twice a year to present my papers, to get my message out and to apply for jobs there in this area.
I simply wanted to publish my dissertation about our culture and architecture. I simply wanted to educate our people and others about who we really are. And it was the main reason that attracted me to study overseas because I thought even though our culture was branded as Islamic culture, our architecture as Islamic architecture, I felt there was more into it. When I was doing this research in Australia in 1996-1999, it was extremely difficult to find literature about Uyghur people, and to find professors who would know much about the Uyghurs, especially in architecture.
I was the only Uyghur person in Brisbane for two and half years. Basically, I was that innocent orphan Oliver Twist without many people knowing who I was and without me knowing any hidden dangers ahead of my overseas journey. When I tell people who the Uyghurs are and I am from China, people would have many questions; some people would ask strange questions like “When did Uyghur people move to China?” “We didn’t move to China, China moved to us,” I would reply.
When I was going through trouble after trouble before submitting my PhD thesis, one of my American friends told me that “You are facing those problems probably because people didn’t know who your people are.” When I was leaving for the USA in 2004, another dear friend of mine who knew me well wrote on the farewell card that “God will not give you gift without giving you opportunities to use them.” So, I went there with faith and hope.
I went to the USA a few times and my tears streamed down twice uncontrollably. The first time was during my first trip to the States, at the end of the conference on Central Eurasian Studies in Bloomington, Indiana in 2003 when I saw the Silk Road Music performance on the stage with people simultaneously dancing along. It reminded me of my homeland and our vibrant life there, where people could stand up and dance for a few tunes. The second time was when I visited the Tibetan Cultural Center in Bloomington while looking at the historic photos in a surrounding that reminded me of Tibet and Tibetan people’s struggle even though I have never been to Tibet. I saw Tibetan children attending Tibetan cultural workshop when I had no chance to enjoy our Uyghur culture.
4. Obstacles in Pursuing my Tiny Dream To Be Who I am
Before moving to the USA in 2004 and 2005, I faced numerous obstacles in submitting my PhD thesis, because my supervisor was making every excuse to prevent me from submitting. On the other hand, there was a guy in my department visiting my office almost daily, telling me like “xx is single, although he is poor.” I don’t know what he meant by that, but I know for sure that I was leaving for the USA purely for doing what I wanted to do about our Uyghur people, to share my knowledge about our people, our culture, architecture, and to publish my work on Uyghur people because there was such a hunger inside of me. And that has been my expertise, my passion.
Now I look back, this is exactly like the last seven years since our forced return from the USA to Australia in 2010, particularly since my son’s mysterious “disappearance” on the 10th of February 2015. During this time, I have “encountered” several men in strange ways and been “proposed” by 12-14 men, not necessarily for establishing a stable family, but for casual “relationship” that I am not interested in or used to. Among them 11 suddenly popped up within the first 18 months alone since my son’s sudden disappearance. Some of these men wanted to use me to get their “Permanent Residency” by paying me roughly 10,000 – 20,000 Australian dollars, in return I would have to live with them under one roof for minimum two years’ time. Some of these men wanted to share my tiny two-bedroom home with, as if they knew I had a spare room that was reserved for my son. Some of them wanted to “sleep over” at my home.
So I find it very strange that in the US I was accused of chasing after men, when I went there specifically after marrying somebody to avoid harassment, when I had nothing to do with any men; but once I returned to Australia, I have got so many men set up for me, even a big man as a mysterious squatter in our home, who wanted to live with us, paying one third of rent and bills.
These men are from different cultural economic backgrounds, and some of them are alcoholic, some of them are from some countries, such as Iran, that I have no any clue of. Some of them even mentioned about Aboriginal people a few times, for example, telling me that White people can run them over, kill them, report it at the next police station, and walk away free with police telling them to keep quiet and move on without any charges. The squatter was violent, who would knock our bedroom door midnight and yell at us over the door, locking us out of our home, walking around our house with night gown pestering around me wherever I was in our home. So, my son and I had to confine ourselves in my bedroom when he was at home. Going to police, community legal centres, and Court, getting personal safety intervention Orders didn’t help us to get our quiet and safe home back. Therefore, I could hardly imagine myself living with these men under one roof under any circumstance.
Apart from these men, I have also been advised to get a cat or dog since my son has been taken hostage. Even one of the men who had previously promised that he would never hurt me suddenly turned into a different person after my son’s mysterious “disappearance.” When I talked about my son, he advised me to talk to suicide prevention hotline, and advised me if I was thinking about getting a cat. It made me suspicious that if they knew that my son would never be returned to me when I was desperately hoping for my son’s return. Thus, it makes me wonder why I am interested in so many men, even cats and dogs all of sudden after my son’s disappearance, and why the man who promised to never hurt me would even advise me to get a cat instead of helping me with my son’s case. But more than four years has passed and there is no sign of my son. After the government agencies washed their hands off once my son turned eighteen, I discovered the truth that they planned the scheme to not return my son to me. Therefore, it has proven that those who whispered various things to me, are correct.
Strangely enough, the issue of men seems to follow me wherever I go since stepping on Australian soil in 1996. It has followed me mostly in an unusual way, even when I was “married” to avoid such hassle. I am not a person necessarily obsessed with men. For example, when I just arrived in Bloomington, Indiana in 2005, after “marrying” a man specifically to start my life fresh without being bothered by any other men, somebody there introduced an old man to me, who had historic feud with a key person in the Department that I was associated with. At that time, I was still “married” without much suspicion of my “ex-husband.” Even though he couldn’t join me due to visa issue, we were writing to each other on daily basis and talking on the phone. Plus, I had my 4-5 years old son with me, quite handful, in addition to my academic work trying to publish my book on Uyghur Vernacular Architecture and Culture. I wasn’t interested in messing around with men, nor did I have time for it. And it was very strange to me that some key person’s “historic enemy” would be introduced to me as if I liked to be in the middle of conflict or gossip in a small College Town where I was a newcomer, where everyone knew each other’s‘ business. Yet I was accused of “chasing after men” in the USA the entire time when we stayed there in 2004-2010, when I didn’t have much to do with any men, apart from a few close friends and colleagues that I truly respect.
Apart from these persistent issues about men harassing me constantly, including those supervisors at two Australian universities, I have also been asked to go back to China a number of times, particularly after suffering these mysterious hassles persistently. For example, just before finishing my master’s program, my senior boss called my brother to his office and asked him to call me back to Xinjiang with a “promise” that they would give me anything I requested if I returned. And then when I was submitting my PhD thesis, one of my Chinese colleagues gave me a Shanghai Fudan University professor’s name and contact details to suggest as one of the thesis examiners. He said “probably you can go back to work at Fudan University after finishing PhD.” Another Chinese guy in my office also told me that it was a waste for me to be in Australia, because if I were in my home region Xinjiang, I would have been promoted to be some kind of boss at least.
After going everywhere, including the USA, experiencing so much twist and turns, silent yet violent harassment without being able to find a peaceful sanctuary for my son and myself, without being able to understand the cause, I did go back to China twice in 2011 and 2012 shortly after returning from the USA. I couldn’t find peace and settle anywhere any more after being constantly harassed and uprooted from one place to another with all kinds of deception and being sold from one hand to another. During my trips to China, I met up with most of my colleagues and friends that I could find in different cities and places and told them that I would go back if they wanted me there, if they had a job for me, but nothing actualized even after I seriously made a research proposal for one of the Universities in Beijing as they suggested after inviting me to their campus for a week.
5. My Son, Precious Gift From God
As a mother, I really haven’t had much time to engage in too many activities apart from studying and working whenever I can. Due to constant move and strange things happening in my life perpetually, I needed to spend a lot of energy and time to make sure my son felt safe, calm, loved and cared for without being affected by the situations that I had to go through. Sometimes when things were hyped up, I would put my son in a warm bath with soothing powder and colorful marbles in it; I would light a candle in the bath room, which my son liked, to create a colorful calming environment to help him relax.
I know what I have gone through is too much for a little child, and the hardest part is that we have never understood why things have happened to us this way. When I told others about our experience, people thought it was like a James Bond movie. I often prayed and wished that things would be different for us, and that my son would have a happy life and future. After all he has been a gifted kid with natural sense of humor, who could easily make friends wherever we lived. For example, some mothers suddenly came to me in Bloomington or at his schools and tell me “Your son is my son’s friend.”
With this much heartache that I could not explain to my little boy, or to myself, I could only do my best to keep things under control without telling my son anything about what was going on. Even so my son would understand me so well that he never complained. Once when I was telling my “ex-husband” what we had to go through by moving from Indiana to Washington DC, having to sleep on the floor before we could buy furniture, my son said “We didn’t go through anything, mom.”
In 2013, after feeling quite unsettled here in Australia, when the weather was making both of us asthmatic within two to three months after returning from the United States in 2010, I took my son to the USA, mainly to catch up with friends and to allow my son to spend time with his friends there. When we were transiting in Canada since we couldn’t resolve our visa issue in the USA, my son asked me “Do you want to settle here?”
Sometimes when I don’t feel good, before my son comes home, I would take a shower and dress up nicely to pick him up from school with a cheerful attitude. My son does cheer me up whenever I see him, think about him, or even dream about him. He was such a positive boy that since he was born, he would wake up every morning with a smile on his face and that would make my day. He would never wake up grumpy, not even once. I remember one day immediately after my parents left Australia after staying with us for one year, my son thought I was sad and he said “Mum, happy happy” and would do all sorts of things to cheer me up. At that time, he was only two and half years old, just started speaking English at RMIT Child Care Center. Sometimes in recent years, he would get up in the morning on weekends or school holidays and tell me “Mum, don’t get up yet.” And then he would make his favorite cinnamon honey toast and bring it to my bed with a cup of coffee.
I have learned so much from being a mother to such a wonderful boy. The most important thing is that he has become a cultural bond when I have been constantly isolated, cornered, spied on and betrayed. Some people, including those whom I don’t even know, have harassed me online or off-line asking me to “convert,” “conform.” I still don’t understand why, even though I practice whatever I believe privately without trying to push my belief on others‘ throat, would get such a harassment, and I don’t know what I suppose to convert or conform from and to, or how. I have never supported extremist view of any sort either. Some people even wanted to talk to me about my belief as if I was doing something damaging when in fact I did everything possible to help others whenever I could. Many times, when I was going through turbulent times, people commented that “You can still smile when going through so much.” The sad thing is during those times I didn’t really know the cause of the dramatic twist and turns.
The truth is, my son and I have become real life Oliver Twist in the 21st century. Like Oliver Twist, I have constantly lived in puzzlement without knowing exactly why all those strange things kept happening to us like accidents, yet with clear patterns that I can see now after being in this situation for over 20 years. The only time when there was peace in my life overseas was when I was pregnant with my son and until he was two and half years old, when I was about to wrap up my PhD program and attend a conference in the USA to present my paper on Uyghur vernacular architecture. Suddenly when I got my paper and everything ready for the conference, I faced quiet yet fierce opposition from my supervisor without any explanation until the last minute when the University higher authority intervened. It was very strange to me because my supervisor, who was the head of the Department at that time actually agreed in the beginning, and even agreed to fund half of the conference expenses with another half funded by the University higher authority that I had requested travel grant from.
Even during this two and half years’ time, I wasn’t aware of the fact that my supervisor set me up for failure for getting my PhD degree when I dedicated so much time and energy, by taking only eight weeks’ maternity leave. I was advised to change my previous PhD topic on low cost housing after one year, after setting up the structure for the research. Some staff in the department commented that it was an amazing topic and said whom they would pay the scholarship to if I finished too fast. So, I couldn’t comprehend why my supervisor wanted to set me up for failure, when I had taken no any leave except eight weeks’ maternity leave during my entire life overseas, with an intention to work in academia with a relatively flexible timetable to provide for my son and myself, and spend enough time with my little boy. I couldn’t understand why he would waste my time and energy that I could spend with my son otherwise. I worked whenever my son was asleep, getting up 3 o’clock in the morning.
6. Being Sold From one Hand to Another
Like Oliver Twist, we have been made commodity, sold from one hand to another. For the benefit of those powerful governments who have traded us, we have had to pack up and move within short notice. During one instance, for example, our visa was canceled so swiftly within two hours, we had to empty our house where we lived for more than two years, sublease it, pack up and move without knowing that another place where we were called to would betray us again straight away. During such a time, in the new place where we moved to, we slept on the floor for a few weeks with the basic belongings we brought in our small car. I even worked for those who have betrayed us for quite some time without any payment.
Ironically shortly after this deal when we were sold for such a large amount of money by two of the world’s most powerful nations, and after spending so much money on breaking the rent lease and moving interstate, for example, paying for lawyer for another visa, buying furniture and everything else to restart our life again, we became penniless that I couldn’t afford to buy doctor prescribed medicine in Washington DC area. During this transition, a few weeks after our move, both my son and I got very ill, suffering fever and persistent cough for weeks. When buying doctor prescribed medicine, I suddenly discovered that I didn’t have enough money left to pay around 90 dollars for our medicine; I only had enough to pay for my son’s prescription. Even for that my six-year-old son gave me his collected coins with his tiny little hands when I was searching my wallet. I had to put my own prescription back to my wallet quietly without telling him. How can I not be proud of such a little boy!
Yet without knowing what was going on behind the scene, I worked hard for a number of years with sincere heart and loyalty for those who have traded us for money. I continued working for them because I thought I was working for a great cause, for bringing the truth, and for a better peaceful outcome for my people even though I have been told otherwise by several parties. Moreover, there was no way out for us, at least for a simple reason of protection and stability even though I tried hard. Hence, I continued working until I was forced to relocate back to Australia due to visa issue that I couldn’t resolve after trying various options. I needed to insure a little bit stability for my son, especially when we had to move from one place to another. I needed to be able to provide for our life, and I needed to help my son go through this transition smoothly with minimum disruption to his life and schooling. Also, I couldn’t visualize that Australia would be a safer place for us because we had lived there before with enough headache. I cannot remember how many times these verses have come to my mind „Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.“ (Bible Mathew 8:20, NIV.)
I don’t know how many times we have been sold and for what price. I don’t know who else are benefiting from trading us other than those big powers that I already know. But I do know that we haven’t done anything wrong, and we do not deserve this. I often have had to ask myself “how far can people go with their cruelty towards a woman and a child” especially when I simply cannot understand the reason behind it. We have opened our heart and house to many people, even to those who have betrayed us and manipulated us.
Recently I came across this song “My Flesh is Like a Leaf,” written by a deceased Uyghur historian Turghun Almas (30 October 1924 – 11 September 2001). Mr Turghun Almas was publicly criticized nation-wide in China as a political movement when I was still there in early 1990s, because of his three published books on Uyghur history. Every Wednesday afternoon we would have “criticizing ‚the Three Books‘ political study” in each work unit in Xinjiang, studying the government published booklets about the “Criticism Movement” when in fact we had never seen the books at that time. Before we could read these books, they were already confiscated. I am not sure if they have ever been put in the libraries or book stores.
I can’t stop listening and singing this song because it expresses exactly how I feel. This song says:
My Flesh is Like a Leaf
Like a leaf, my flesh finally stopped trembling.
My heart stopped beating freely filled with sadness.
For I am concerned about your situation my beloved,
I have seen your mourning when you are at the age of blossoming.
I have reached the age fifteen years slowly,
The vine has been burdened with more cruelty.
Mistaking enemies as my friends,
My heart is broken by bloodthirsty tyranny.
Wake up my beloved, to the stiff rivalry,
If you can’t wake up still, it will make the world cry.
As my face has turned pale like straws,
I am leaving now; may peace remain with you.
Like this song says, before returning from the USA, I warned again and again, talking to everybody and asking everyone for a chance to stay, wishing that my lamentation could touch at least somebody’s heart, if not a human soul, at least the heart of God.
Like this song says I do love my people, have always been concerned about their well-being, their future and destiny. I love their simplicity when it comes to hospitality, opening their heart to complete strangers without any doubt and sharing whatever they have with those who knock at their doors. I grew up in Kashgar where you would be invited to people’s homes whenever you knock at any Uyghurs’ door. Uyghur people would personally bring water in a jar to wash your hands, give you towel to dry your hands, and bring out a cup of tea and “naan” bread any time of the day. If you happen to knock at their door when they are having a meal, you would be offered food whatever the hosts were eating. Once I went to visit a rural family with a relative who only heard about them. After talking to them in their home with tea, “naan” and other snacks, like dried fruit on the table, when we were leaving, the host lady asked us to take a few “samosa,” just came out of their “tandoori” oven in the front yard. She was picking them when we were leaving. Another time when I was vacationing in Kashgar during my summer holiday, an elderly man was vacating his seat for me on the bus. I didn’t know why because I thought I should be the one vacating seat for him. But when I got home, I felt sick, and then I realized that maybe that man noticed the pale look on my face.
In the meantime, I love our sophisticated culture embedded with beautiful poems, songs, music, drama, and comedies. I can often find Uyghur music, poems or drama that resonate my various sentiments during different times. After being betrayed so many times by so many individuals and parties, these Uyghur songs or poems speak to my heart. For example, I came across Turghun Almas‘ song “Leaf-Like Flesh” and it spoke to my heart just in time. During my time in Brisbane in the first 3 years of my journey abroad, I would often go to library indulge myself in watching Shakespeare’s videos after discovering the first one “Hamlet.” I could find connection with them that I couldn’t find anywhere else. Now I watch some Uyghur play on YouTube, which was not available then in the 1990s, I see some similarity in some shows, like Uyghur duet drama “My Fair Lady.”
I love our delicious decorative food. I have never seen this much variety of bread like our Uyghur “naan” made from three simple natural ingredients, wheat flour, salt and water, in so many beautiful shapes and patterns anywhere else in the world that I have traveled. I remember in 1980s when I was at a Chinese banquet in Guangdong, the Chinese colleague sitting next to me asked me to eat some shrimps with tails, I refused. He asked why, I just said “we don’t eat things that do not look good” because those shrimps looked scary to me. Even my son who was born in Australia doesn’t eat shrimps with tails, he is fussy about how the food looks like.
7. Blackmailing & Stolen Identity
Like Oliver Twist, I have been constantly blackmailed with false identity that is not who I am at all. By using the technic of blackmailing, I have been sold and recycled while my real identity has been stolen. I have been kept in darkness for long period of time without understanding what is going on, without being able to express my frustration to others, without being able to make my voice heard, or to take any legal action to protect my son and myself due to massive network of deception and secret operation behind our back. It has taken long time for me to connect the dots in between twist and turns.
For example, it took me more than 6 years to discover the evidence that the man whom I “married to” had been used by foreign powers. He had been set up with a Chinese woman before joining us in the United States. They used him to spy on me, to track my work and to bring me back to Australia so that they could control me better, and perhaps destroy me mentally. It did happen a few times that he would make me upset deliberately and then when I got upset, he laughed. He wouldn’t want to do any work in Washington DC to settle there, didn’t want to go out even when I asked him to go somewhere to enjoy himself while I was working at home. Instead he would just sit around me, disrupting my work when I was busy with my work. Fortunately, before he could do further damage, a lot of things related to him didn’t make sense to me and aroused my suspicion as well as of others.
In fact, a Uyghur scholar, historian Toxti Muzat who served Chinese jail for 11 years died mysteriously in Beijing 29th May 2015 at the age of 52. He was released from jail 10 February, 2009, one year earlier than his 12 years‘ term due to international pressure. He was known for doing research on Uyghur history and culture and arrested at Beijing Airport when he was on his way to collect data in Xinjiang for his research while studying in Japan. According to the sources, after his release from jail, his wife and son were not allowed to unite with him, he was not allowed to re-marry an Uyghur woman whom he met through close friends in Beijing where he was assigned to; instead he was pressured to “marry” a woman of the government’s choice, who was brought from Kashgar Military Regiment to Beijing by the government to be his “full time” wife, without any job. Therefore after finding a few photographs, I was quite alarmed.
It took me about 10 years to find evidence of the woman who was sent by the foreign power to basically highjack me and undermine my academic activities in the USA as soon as I landed on the American soil in 2005. Again, they used the technic of blackmailing me as a woman who would “chase after men” to distance everybody from me. In fact, upon my arrival in the USA, it was those secret agents who introduced a controversial old man to me without my prior knowledge when I was not interested in or looking for men at all. On the contrary, it was that person who was sent to undermine my activities in the United States was having scandalous life with several men, especially targeting the professors I was associated with for my academic work. But I was blamed for everything. As the Uyghur proverb says, I “paid the price for the dumplings that I didn’t eat.”
8. From Applying for “Asylum” to Shattered Life
After applying for political asylum confidentially in 1997 following the advice of an Australian Christian couple who have lived in Xinjiang region and Central Asia, I have been warned by my “Chinese colleague” from my university office that I wouldn’t be allowed to visit China, just like Dalai Lama, even if my parents became very ill. Because of this threat made against me, I was too scared to visit my family in China’s Xinjiang Region, and sought visiting them through Belarus via Central Asia in 2004, with the “husband” I “married” there. But he didn’t allow me go to either Central Asia or Xinjiang, instead he took me to the Chinese Ambassador’s photography exhibition in Minsk without telling me beforehand. I still didn’t suspect anything about that “husband” of mine until too many strange things had happened one after another. I didn’t know if it was an accident or planned “Chinese Ambassador’s photography exhibition.” At that time, I was too naïve to suspect the Chinese government or anybody else of any mischievous behavior against us, a mother and little child. My son was only four years old, we were too busy with our lives to think about shadowy politics.
My ex-husband couldn’t join us in Australia due to numerous unforeseen reasons that I couldn’t understand, but one of my close friends told me that “Maybe God is protecting you from him.” Just as well, everything with him went terribly wrong in every stage and I have never encountered such a situation in my life. For this reason, I asked to call off the wedding before we got married, but he and his family insisted, telling me that his church prayed for long time and some women cried when they saw me. Since the wedding night I got so ill for almost entire three months when I was with him that even doctors couldn’t find out why until when we had to depart.
After three years‘ separation, when he was finally able to join us in Washington DC area, he landed in a totally different airport instead of the nearby George Washington Airport I was asked to pick him up from. Without finding him at the George Washington Airport, I missed a highway exit on the way back home, and that resulted in me getting lost for about 3 hours until I could finally find my way home midnight 2:00 am from a completely different suburb of Washington DC area that I had never been before. He arrived shortly after us around 2.30 am.
However, after his persistent “expression” of “love,” ordering flowers for me and sending wedding album through such a long distance internationally to Indiana, and expressing his desire to join us in the USA even if it had to be via Mexico due to visa problem, when he finally joined us in 2007, his only desire was to bring us back to Australia. If we had returned to Australia, we would have nothing to cling onto after living in the US for over three years, because my son and I had made many friends there, despite undesirable episodes, and I had many likeminded people in the United States, especially those who know Uyghur people’s situation. Plus, I had already experienced all kinds of problems in Australia before moving to the USA and therefore sold my house when moving to the States.
He came all the way from Belarus to fetch us back to Australia when we were already settling in the US. Despite of all the difficulties, my son was doing very well there: his art work was exhibited at the Indiana University building where he studied art. He was nominated as “National Young Scholar” “for his leadership skills and academic performance.” He won second prize in an adult photography competition organized by a big Methodist Church in Washington DC where we only visited once; he was learning violin well with a great teacher and played at the church sometimes. On the other hand, I did everything possible for my “ex-husband” to settle down there. My friends were introducing him jobs, I drove him four hours per day to take him to his work and bring him back with my son sitting in the car. I even set up a Photography business for him by renting an up-market place. Still I was patient with him despite of those mysterious things happening one after another. Other people wouldn’t believe in my stories about his possible link with foreign intelligence because they thought I didn’t have any proof. Some people even accused me of not “loving my husband” for quite a few years when in reality I constantly felt something was not right with him.
Prior to marrying him, my Chinese colleague in my office at RMIT already told me “You are such a nice person in every aspect, with the only exception, marrying a Russian man.” Finally, I found a few photographs of my “ex-husband” in my basement in 2010 when I was emptying our house in Washington DC area for returning to Australia. In these photos, he was dining in a Chinese restaurant with a Chinese woman, and this woman, looking like an official, was holding his arms on another photo on the beach. The Chinese restaurant seems to be close to the church that I used to go before moving to the US and I had told him about it when he arrived Melbourne. These photos were taken when he just arrived Melbourne, while he had no job and without knowing any Chinese words. And these photos were taken with the camera that I gave him and he was wearing the jacket that my friend’s husband gave him.
A Chinese postgraduate student suddenly moved into my RMIT office in 2003 as soon as I returned from the USA after attending my second conference presenting a paper about “Uyghurs‘ Belief System & Architectural Style: Historic Narrative.” I didn’t mind him moving in because as usual I had always treated Chinese people kindly without suspecting anything until he suddenly brought a lot of anti-Falungong materials to my office and wanting to discuss anti-Falungong issue with my close friend at the Chaplaincy. Even then I wasn’t too suspicious about him until a defected top Chinese diplomat from Sydney Chinese Embassy exposed that many Chinese students were spying on dissidents in Australia a few years later when I was in Washington DC area. I never thought I was a dissident who would attract so much attention because I was quite handful with my little boy and my PhD programs, didn’t have time to get involved in politics, and my research was quite apolitical. There was no much political issues about Uyghur people in Australia, especially Melbourne, at that time, in 2003-2005 before my departure for the USA.
I have done different odd jobs in Australia, ranging from baby-sitting, caring for elderly people, to being a hotel attendant, linguist and dental assistant. And I have never regretted about doing these jobs, because they have all served deeper purpose than I would have expected. Through being a hotel attendant as my first job in Australia, for example, I learned how to sleep on my bed correctly in the Australian host family during my first three months in Australia. Through my second job as a baby sitter I learned Australian way of organizing things, from domestic spaces to a drawer. By doing elderly care, I have come across so many issues in the elderly people’s life in Australia, which are totally different from where I came from. And because of this I was able to treat my elderly clients in a way that I would treat my own parents, easing the pain of homesickness during the first three years of my overseas journey in 1996-1999. During that time making a phone call to my parents in Xinjiang was expensive, internet was not popular, communication was not as easy as it is now.
9. How Many Oliver Twists are out There?
Although my story is a dramatically twisted journey just as the Oliver Twist’s, I am not the only one on this journey. My entire Uyghur people are on this journey without knowing their history, without knowing exactly who they are, who to trust and who to get help from, especially in exile. Some of the Uyghurs committed suicide overseas. For example, one young Uyghur student committed suicide in detention center in Europe on one Christmas eve several years ago when everyone else was celebrating the festive season with their family. He took his life after crossing from one country to another in Europe searching for asylum. My own asylum application was rejected first time because the Immigration Department never encountered any case similar to mine. One Uyghur kid told me that she was yelled at school “You Chinese go back to your country,” and some Uyghur youth have been deemed to have “mental illness” which I think is due to identity crisis, cultural issues, lack of community understanding and support. Some Uyghurs went to some mosques searching for other Uyghurs and belonging and were told they were not “Muslim enough.” I found the first Uyghur person when I first came to Melbourne through searching for Uyghur names on the White Page book and the “Uyghur name” I found turned out to be a Turkish person’s name. Just like that unfortunate orphan Oliver Twist, some Uyghurs have even been lured by professional „thieves“ or „extremists“ when searching for refuge in foreign territories.
After living overseas for over twenty years, I still have to explain to almost everyone who I am and who the Uyghurs are. Once my 8 years old son came back from school in Washington DC area asking me angrily, “Mom, never give school permission to take my photos or videos.” I asked him why, he said he was introduced as “Chinese” in the video that the school took. After giving a presentation at his school about his cultural heritage and birthplace Australia, this identity issue disappeared and he was happier. During the presentation, he played the PowerPoint for me on the laptop with happiness and pride on his face when I was talking on the stage. When he was two to three years old, he was dressed up with long traditional Chinese tunic and black cap with piggy tail in the back at the RMIT Childcare Center for some activities. He was too young to understand and protest at that time and I was not aware of it either until I saw my son’s work at the Child Care Center in the end of the semester. Only then I saw these photos as part of his work.
I feel like we are a group of people whose voice is silenced upon birth before we could cry out for the first time in our lives. We are like flower buds being smothered before we could stretch our petals. We are like baby chickens being strangled upon cracking the egg shells before we could spread our wings.
I wonder who else are walking the similar journey as mine. I wonder who else are yearning for their birthright, for their suppressed and stolen identity.
Holden Carter said “There are two lasting bequest we can bestow upon our children, one is roots, and the other is wings.”
For this reason, I keep coming back to our roots, to our cultural heritage, and to our identity, in order to allow people like us and our children to feel rooted wherever they go, even though sometimes they cannot have their own countries. The plants with strong roots can withstand winds and storms, while those without strong roots fall easily whenever thunderstorms come. To be rooted we need to understand our roots, our cultural heritage, about who we really are. And then we can have strong wings to fly, to soar, and to thrive.