“Here, in Kazakhstan, we can live our culture freely, because we are not subject to repression like in China,” says Islam, a Uighur dancer and musician. A few minutes earlier, the young man brightened up a wedding celebrated with great pomp according to traditional Uighur rites in the village of Besagash, on the outskirts of Almaty. “But I don’t want to comment on what’s happening in China,” he adds, worried, refusing to give us his last name.
Around 200,000 Uighurs live — safely — in southeastern Kazakhstan, near the Xinjiang region of China, where their colleagues are facing violent repression at the hands of Beijing. In the 1950s and 1960s, waves of immigration from Xinjiang, where around 11 million Uighurs live, swelled the ranks of this people who had been living in Kazakhstan for centuries. Last year, in a long-awaited report, the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights denounced “grave human rights violations” — including arbitrary detentions, torture and medical treatment forced — perpetrated in Xinjiang against this Muslim minority.
A repression – described by some as genocide – which now makes the Uighurs of Kazakhstan the guardians of the millennial heritage of this Turkic people. “China is trying to erase us from history. This is why we try to make our language and our culture vibrate as much as possible here,” underlines Shakhazad, the singer of the troupe, while helping his compatriots put away costumes and instruments in the trunk of a van.
Earlier in the evening, the bride, followed by her immense train, made her entrance to the celebration under an arch formed of karnaythese huge traditional trumpets from Central Asia, playing Uighur tunes, accompanied by flutes surnay. In the ballroom, which looked like a Greco-Roman temple, a sumptuous ceremony followed, combining Uighur traditions with the modernity of strobe lights and multimedia projections.
Closed border
In the village of Baiterek, located a few kilometers further, Said Salikhov, overwhelmed by emotion, has just married his daughter Malika in front of more than 670 guests. “How am I supposed to feel when my flesh falls from my bones?” he whispers, under his dopa, a black hat embroidered with white threads. But the most important thing is that they are happy. »
For this marriage, celebrated in accordance with Islamic rites and Uighur and Tajik traditions, the women were gathered in one room, while the men were gathered in another. The spouses notably participated in a ceremony consisting of separating a loaf of bread and sharing a bowl of water, sugar and salt. “It is important to pass on traditions, to pass them on as a relay to the next generations,” underlines the 62-year-old father, saying he hopes that his children will, in turn, want to perpetuate their cultural heritage, which is so severely threatened.
Amidst the festivities and raised platters garnished with chicken thighs, plov and pastries, the worrying situation in Xinjiang arises again. “We have a lot of family members in China,” says Sitora, the bride’s sister. We don’t know what they’re going through there, we don’t have any news from them. Before, they came to visit us every year. But for five or seven years, they no longer come [la Chine ne permet plus aux Ouïgours de traverser la frontière] and they asked us not to call them so as not to put them in danger. »
Like several other guests, Sitora attended a Uighur school as a child and wants her children to learn, in turn, the language of her ancestors. But Yasmina Arziyeva, 22, a friend of the bride, doesn’t feel the same urgency. “We speak Russian at home [le russe est la langue la plus répandue au Kazakhstan] and I sometimes speak Uighur with my grandmother, she says. But I won’t teach it to my children. I’ll teach them English instead, it’s better! »
Uighur schools
Keeping the Uighur language alive, largely a minority in Kazakhstan even though the Uighurs represent only 1% of the population, is a daily challenge. “But if we lose our language, we lose our people,” says Dilnara Kassymova, who teaches Russian and Uighur philology at Suleyman Demirel University, on the outskirts of Almaty, the country’s metropolis. “And it is only here, in Kazakhstan, that it can flower. »
Currently, 11 schools in southeastern Kazakhstan offer education entirely in Uighur, while 58 schools offer mixed education, in Uighur paired with Kazakh or Russian. These schools are financed by the state. “We also work with international organizations to offer scholarships so that students can continue their studies abroad, which motivates them to enroll in our schools,” indicates the professor, who was born in Xinjiang before moving to Kazakhstan with his family in 1963 to escape violence.
In the Almaty region, each school year is preceded by a campaign to encourage parents to enroll their children in community schools. But according to Alimzhan Khamrayev, Uighur author and researcher at the Auezov Institute of Literature and Art, more than half of the children abandon these establishments. “In the villages, children often choose school in Kazakh, while in the cities, they choose to study in Russian,” he laments. A concern widely relayed in the newspaper published by the community.
Censorship
But the severe repression suffered by the Uighurs in Xinjiang does not stand up to the test of censorship. “We cannot write to Kazakhstan [un pays autoritaire] on this violence nor on the desire for self-determination of the Uighur people,” mentions the professor. “Kazakhstan is a member of the Shanghai Organization for Cooperation [une organisation économique et de sécurité régionale dont la Chine est également membre], how could we talk about it openly in the media? » quips Dilnara Kassymova.
Information is mostly passed on by word of mouth. “People want to know and ask us to talk about it, but others are not interested because they are concerned about their safety,” she continues. And although Kazakhstan, a predominantly Muslim country, protects the rights of the country’s Uighur minority, it does not pressure Beijing to end the repression in Xinjiang.
A taboo that has not stopped horror stories from making their way to the ears of Toursounjan, 60, who sells fruits and vegetables in the Uighur village of Baïsseit, located some 200 kilometers from Xinjiang.
“Yes, I heard that thousands of Uighurs have been placed in re-education camps in China, that mosques have been destroyed, that they can no longer pray and grow their beards,” laments the man who did not want to give us his last name as a precaution. “But here, we don’t experience racism,” says Rizvangoul, a 45-year-old lady, who runs a stall alongside her.
In the village of 2000 inhabitants, restaurants serving laghman — the most popular dish of Uighur cuisine, consisting of hand-stretched noodles, vegetables and meat — come alive at nightfall, as the sky continues to darken on the other side of the the border. “After having had exchanges for centuries, the link is now lost between the Uighurs of Xinjiang and those of southeastern Kazakhstan,” saddens Professor Alimzhan Khamrayev. It’s the worst you can do to a people. »
With Naubet Bisenov
This report was financed thanks to the support of the Transat-International Journalism Fund.The duty.