Rebellion and heroes wrapped in symbols
Artistic freedom? There is no such thing in the People’s Republic of China – certainly not for Uyghur writers. That is why they have been resorting to coded meanings through symbols for decades. But future generations will be robbed of the knowledge of this symbolism.
By Abduweli Ayup
Uyghur literature is rich in symbols – and became even richer after the Uyghurs were subjected to the communist system’s grip after 1949 (founding of the People’s Republic of China; editor’s note). Their literature defended itself with symbolic words and thus preserved its existence. The most numerous symbols in those years were those expressing the concept of freedom: Sometimes freedom was represented by a baby and sometimes compared to the dawn; sometimes an association was made with spring, then again alluded to light.
Regrettably, the general wave of arrests that began in China in autumn 2016 has deprived Uyghurs, who ceaselessly invent new symbols, of their symbolic literature and their textbooks on Uyghur literature. These textbooks could have passed on this language of the symbolic to future generations. Compilers of textbooks on literature written in Uyghur, such as Alimjan Memtimin and Tahir Nasir, were sentenced to life imprisonment, Sattar Sawut was sentenced to death with a two-year delay, and at least more than one hundred writers, poets, editors and illustrators, including Yalqun Rozi, Wahitjan Osman and Ablet Abdurishit Berqi, were sentenced to various amounts of imprisonment.
Now, in China, literature in Uyghur language is still exist, but it is already turned into completely blatant political propaganda, dedicated solely to glorifying the Chinese Communist Party (CCP).
An Uyghur epic against the dragon
The written literature of the Uyghurs began 1500 years ago. Their first works were recorded on stone, wooden tablets or leather. The history of oral Uyghur literature is even longer. The period within which it was produced is uncertain. But there is one epic for which the time of writing can be determined:
The epic describes how Oghuz, the son of the Qaghan[1] Ay (moon) is born in an extraordinary appearance, pacifies the land and the people and leads them from darkness to light and from weakness to power. Oghuz becomes a Recken (warrior; editor’s note) in the forty days after his birth. He kills the unicorn called Qiyat, which has spread terror among the people, and then sets out. He calls those who become his friends on the way, who help him and join him, “Uyghurs”.
This epic describes the origin of the name “Uyghur”, the totemic beliefs of the Uyghurs and chooses the vast Mongolian grasslands where the Uyghurs lived, the surroundings of the Tianshan and the steppes of Central Asia as its background. A written version was discovered around 1912 by the archaeologist, orientalist and Turkologist August Albert Von Le Coq at the second deepest place in the world, Turfan. Based on the style of writing and speaking, the date of writing was estimated to be the 12th century.
In Uyghur oral literature, this type of stories were written down again and again with a similar structure but different content by Uyghur authors who lived at different times and in different places. The only difference is that the one-horned Qiyat was replaced by a dragon. In order for the hero to grow up and prove himself, he had to kill the dragon because it was causing trouble in the country and would not leave the people in peace. As coincidence would have it, the dragon is the symbol of rulership in the realms of the Chinese; it is the ancestor of the emperor. So while in Uyghur, a hero’s courage was proven by killing a dragon. in Chinese history, a Chinese ruler’s fortunate reign was proven by wearing a coat with a dragon image and sitting on a throne with a dragon’s head – in other words, by transforming himself into a dragon.
Even after the Uyghurs entered the modern era, the stories of the cruel dragon and its killer constantly renewed. The stories of heroes who resembled Oghuz were written down in various forms. Heroes like Oghuz have repeatedly appeared and been brought to life in writing.
The throttled baby, stepmother and the guest
After the Uyghur Homeland was subjected to communist occupation from 1949, some poems were written, but more in symbolic ways. In many cases, the symbols of stepmother and the guest were used. The baby refers the Uyghur state shortly enjoyed independence in 1944-1949, the stepmother signified the rule of the Communist Party. The guest stood for the army of the aggressor and the colonising migrants accompanying this army.
After the establishment of the communist regime, there were two waves of mass arrests against the Uyghurs: in 1957 and 1966, which turned the Uyghur writers into labourers and experienced farmers by forcing them to work in the prisons on agricultural land and in manufacturing plants. But then the Chinese CCP brought about reforms in the early 1980s. China released the prisoners. When China’s gates to the world opened and partial freedom was allowed, an enthusiasm for historical novels emerged in Uyghur literature. But symbolic poems also remained a fundamental part of any kind of literary journal.
As part of the economic reforms implemented in China, as well as a correction of the historical mistakes made since 1957 and 1966, the imprisoned Uyghur literary figures regained the right to write. In the first novels published after that, the heroes first prove their heroism to the people in a manner comparable to Oghuz, then they fall in love, and in the end, they plunge into battle at the head of an army to save the nation.
If we look at the written novels, among those of the heroes placed in the oldest times up to the end of the seventeenth century, there are many who are victorious, save the people and found a state. In the following three hundred years, however, most of the heroes die, return from their campaigns unaccomplished, or their army ends its campaigns in defeat. In Uyghur literature, one can trace more than one hundred novels dedicated to History, and in which heroes borrowed from it are written about.
There are some subtle reasons why many historical novels are written in Uyghur literature, why poetry has been the main current since the beginning, and above all why one finds a high density of symbols in both novels and poetry. They may lie in the inability of Uyghur writers to describe reality and to confront reality as it is, as well as in their tendency to express today only with the help of symbols via recourse to the past. This is because in communist China, where freedom is stifled, human rights are restricted and democratic rights are trampled on, this was possibly a harmless way of expressing all the contradictions present in reality through historical allusions and offering the practical problems, the tragedies and cases of oppression to readers wrapped up in symbols.
By comparison, there has been no particular interest in the historical novel in literature written in Chinese in the period since the beginning of the 1980s, that is, since the beginning of the reform era. This probably indicates that the persecutions set in motion by the CCP were meaningless for the Chinese, who were very numerous in China, but very harsh for the Uyghurs, and that the leeway granted in terms of freedom of thought was handled differently for Uyghurs and Chinese.
A goodbye forever
When I had to leave the city of Kashgar head over heels in August 2015, I was not able to say goodbye to friends and relatives. I was only able to say goodbye to one Uyghur white head[2]. His name was Haji Mirzahid Kerimi. We chatted in front of the Heytgah,[3] the heart of Kashgar. Kashgar is a city whose history is 800 years older than Moscow’s and spans more than two thousand years. At that time, Kerimi was an old gentleman approaching 80.
According to what he said, his family was related to Mirsa Ababakr,[4] one of the most famous rulers of Kashgar, notorious in Uyghur history for his cruelty. Kerimi had written a novel about him, which was now finished and published. I asked him why he had written a novel about his cruel ancestor. He said, “Those who cannot face history honestly are in the same way incapable of facing reality. In our history, there were not only righteous rulers like Sultan Sä’id Khan[5] and Sultan Abdurishit Khan,[6] whom I have also made the subject of a novel, but also cruel rulers like my ancestor Mirza Ababakr. I have written the truth. Just as I do not deny my name, I do not deny my ancestor or the truth.” Apparently, the word Mir, which is contained in his name, had passed from his ancestor Mirza Ababakr to him.[7]
In July 2017, I heard Haji Mirzahid Kerimi’s voice again – in an interview with Radio Free Asia, broadcasting in Uighur from the US capital Washington. He was complaining that the police had raided his house and confiscated all of his works and manuscripts. For a Uyghur living in Kashgar, this was an act of extraordinary courage. Not to mention giving an interview to Radio Free Asia, just listening to this station can get a Uyghur at least ten years in prison.
In that interview, Haji Mirzahid Kerimi stated that manuscripts of historical novels, unpublished works and some historical books were confiscated and that the police interrogated him. He also says that he was sentenced to imprisonment in 1959 at the age of 20 for a poem of 22 stanzas entitled “The Baby in the Box“, which he had written in 1957. For 22 years he was deprived of his freedom and subjected to all kinds of torture and ill-treatment. After the start of reforms in China, he was rehabilitated and given the opportunity to enter the civil service in 1981. After that, seven of his novels and three of his poetry collections were published.
Shortly after this interview, news broke on Radio Free Asia that Kerimi had been detained in November 2017 and sentenced to 11 years in prison. The latest news was that he had died while serving his sentence on 9 January 2021.
As often as I think about the fact that Uyghur literature often writes about historical themes and uses many symbols in it, I remember the late Haji Mirsahid Kerimi. In our conversation, he had told me about the event surrounding the poem “The Baby in the Box”, which had deprived him of 22 years of his freedom.
In the campaign against Uighur nationalists that began after 1957, the work was seen as a symbol. In 1959, the view arose that the baby described in the work, which is strangled by unknown murderers, placed in a box and thrown into an irrigation canal, had been made a symbol of the occupation and “murder” of the Republic of East Turkestan with its capital Ghulja[8] by the Chinese Communist Party army on 12 October 1949. The author of the work was accused and condemned of East Turkestan separatism in this context.
While the first imprisonment of Haji Mirsahid Kerimi had its reason in the fact that he described reality, the second had to do with the fact that he described history. This fact proves that since 2017, Uyghur writers have had their hands completely tied. In other words, the current of symbolic rebellion and description of heroes that existed within Uyghur literature has been completely suppressed.
A Precarious Contemporary in China, Hope for Literature Abroad
The means of transmitting Uyghur literature to succeeding generations were textbooks on Uyghur literature. Even though Uyghur education had been sinicised (subjected to Chinese conventions; editor’s note) since 2001, Uyghur was still taught in some schools. Uyghur literature was taught as a subject. But in September 2016, the subject “Uyghur literature” was abolished, since 2017, Uyghur language banned from public school system.
In October 2016, the writer Yalqun Rosi, the Minister of Education Sattar Sawut, the Deputy Minister Tahir Nasir, Alimjan Memtimin, the head of the educational publishing house that had always published the books in question, Abdurazaq Sayim and others who had compiled textbooks or taken on leadership roles in their compilation, as mentioned at the beginning of this text, were taken into custody. From April 2017, the textbooks were confiscated and burned. Uyghur experts who had been involved in compiling the aforementioned textbooks, writers, poets and researchers whose works appeared in selections in the textbooks, and illustrators who had contributed illustrations to them were imprisoned. In 2018, they were each sentenced to terms of imprisonment.
As of 2017, most of the prominent Uyghur writers were detained altogether. The homeland of the Uyghurs turned into a digital detention centre of China. More than three million Uyghurs and members of other Turkic-speaking nations were arrested. In addition, since 2018, Uyghur families have had to host so-called “Chinese guests” in their homes, who have been monitoring them. Where is there supposed to be any Uyghur literature left under these circumstances, where the Uyghur language has been removed from the education system and the Uyghur language itself can no longer be used at home?
My impression is that Uyghur writers continue their work in various countries abroad, in countries where Uyghurs have gathered, and in exile despite all this. In addition, Radio Free Asia, based in the US capital Washington broadcasts one hour in Uyghur every day. This radio station publishes works by Uyghur poets.
More than 300,000 Uyghurs live in Kazakhstan. There is a publishing house there called MIR, which publishes books in Uyghur and has a Uyghur section. There is also the newspaper “Voice of the Uyghurs” (Ujghur Awazi) published in Uyghur. Furthermore, there are more than 15,000 Uyghur students in Kazakhstan who are taught in Uyghur. For all these reasons, Uyghur literature maintains its existence in exile.
What will be the future of Uyghur literature? Will it continue the rebellion wrapped in the symbols that have emerged over time? In my opinion, yes. In my opinion, the symbols contained in Uyghur literature will once again show their power. They will gain new nuances. This is because the Uyghurs are closely holding on to their traditional culture in exile.
Central Asia has not yet become democratic. Kazakhstan, the country where most Uyghurs live, is not yet a democratic country either. For these reasons, time and place will make it necessary to express reality through symbols for quite some time to come. Even now, historical novels are written about heroes. In 2021, a historical novel was written in Germany. Historical novels could also be written again in Central Asia, especially in Kazakhstan.
[The author]
Abduweli Ayup is a Uyghur linguist and poet. He ran a Uyghur language school in Kashgar until he fled China. Today he lives and works in exile.
[Info]
Translated from the Uyghur by Dr. Michael Heß.
Edited by Johanna Fischotter.
[1] Qaghan is a title of ancient Turkish rulers, roughly equivalent in meaning to Emperor. [Translator’s note]
[2] The word “whitehead” (moysipit) stands for elderly respected persons who often play a prominent role in Uyghur society. [Translator’s note]
[3] Hejtgah (“Place of Feast”) is the name of the largest mosque in Kashgar, which is also the largest and most important in Xinjiang. [Translator’s note]
[4] This is most probably Mirza Ababakr Dughlat (died around 1514), a local ruler from the famous Dughlat family. He took power in Kashgar in 1480. [Translator’s note.]
[5] Sultan Sä’id Khan (1487-1533) ruled the Khanate (principality) around the city of Jarkend (Uyghur Jäkän, Chinese 莎车Shāchē) from 1514 to 1533. The name component Khan is actually a title (roughly “prince”). [Translator’s note.]
[6] Abdurishit Khan (or Abdirishit Khan) lived from 1508 to 1560 and ruled over Jarkend from 1533 to 1560. [Translator’s note.]
[7] The name element Mirza means “son of a prince” and is derived from the word Mir (“prince”). [Translator’s note]
[8] The city of Ghulja (Chinese 伊犁Yílí) was the capital of the independent Republic of East Turkestan, which existed from 1944 to 1949 and in which the Uyghurs played a leading role. [Translator’s note.]
