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Author Topic: China vs. Islam  (Read 42317 times)
G M
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« Reply #150 on: August 04, 2011, 06:24:17 PM »

GM, we Jews have a tradition of answering questions with questions.  You are now under serious consideration for being nominated to the status of "honorary Jew"  cheesy

This is a nice way of saying you are still ducking the question. grin

Oy! I take that as a badge of honor. There is a certain Rabbi who's name I share....   wink
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Crafty_Dog
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« Reply #151 on: August 04, 2011, 06:43:44 PM »

"I take that as a badge of honor."

It is.  cheesy

Now please deal the the question presented without asking questions.  grin
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G M
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« Reply #152 on: August 04, 2011, 06:44:41 PM »

Please restate it, so I can be sure I answer it. I thought I already did.
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Crafty_Dog
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« Reply #153 on: August 04, 2011, 08:07:15 PM »



"Still remaining is that somehow you continuously give the impression to people of above average IQ, above average education, above average reading skills, and greatly overlapping POVs that you are advocating that we do things in the US the Chinese way or some analog thereof.  Why is that?"
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G M
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« Reply #154 on: August 04, 2011, 11:23:10 PM »



"Still remaining is that somehow you continuously give the impression to people of above average IQ, above average education, above average reading skills, and greatly overlapping POVs that you are advocating that we do things in the US the Chinese way or some analog thereof.  Why is that?"

The way I advocate isn't so much the "Chinese way" but how Americans would have once upon a time. Brutal ruthlessness is crosscultural. There is a time a place for it. One need not speak Mandarin to do that.
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Crafty_Dog
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« Reply #155 on: August 05, 2011, 04:30:46 AM »

So, you are advocating brutal ruthlessness within the US?
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G M
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« Reply #156 on: August 05, 2011, 02:42:32 PM »

So, you are advocating brutal ruthlessness within the US?


In certain contexts, it's the only viable option that actually reduces violence and the loss of innocent life. For example, in US correctional facilities, the standard is the "No hostage" policy. "No hostage" means that the employees of the facility work under the understanding that if they are taken hostage, they will not be useful as a hostage. No gates will be opened, no inmate will walk out, no matter what. If the perimeter officers have to shoot through the hostage to prevent the escape of the inmate(s), that's what will happen. If the control room officer has to watch a co-worker get his/her throat cut rather than buzz a gate, that's what has to happen.

Sound brutal and ruthless?

Well, there was a Canadian prison sometime back that didn't have that policy. Guess what happened. Well, they ended up adopting it after having a flood of hostage takings and escapes.

Sometimes brutal ruthlessness is the best sword and shield to protect the innocent.
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Crafty_Dog
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« Reply #157 on: August 05, 2011, 02:50:44 PM »

Sounds like American civilational confidence to me grin, not brutal ruthlessness of the sort by Chinese in the article that you posted.   

Anyway, I'm tired of going round the mulberry bush on this one.  I think my point has been made and so move on.
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ccp
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« Reply #158 on: August 05, 2011, 04:18:38 PM »

http://www.economist.com/node/21524940
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G M
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« Reply #159 on: August 05, 2011, 07:19:54 PM »


Exactly what happened in Khotan is uncertain. An exile group campaigning for Xinjiang’s independence from China said the police fired on protesters who had been peacefully airing grievances about police repression of Uighurs, a Muslim ethnic group of Turkic origin who until recently dominated Xinjiang but now form less than half the population. Officials say the police came under attack by “terrorists” armed with Molotov cocktails, bombs and knives. The assailants, says one official account, stormed a police station and unfurled a banner “promoting separatism”. Another account says they had black flags on which were written: “Allah is the only God. In the name of Allah.”

**Those are known as the "Black flags of jihad" which is really strange because I've been told jihad means an internal spiritual struggle and that islam is a religion of peace. Amazing how many muslims seem unfamiliar with these core concepts. How could so many misunderstand their own religion?
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G M
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« Reply #160 on: August 05, 2011, 07:33:17 PM »

**When we in the west tend to think of the Chinese as being the Han, who are the vast majority of the Chinese population in the mainland as well as the Chinese diaspora, there are many ethnic minorities in China. It's a common belief among the Han that the Chinese ethnic minorities are better at singing and dancing and have an innate sense of rhythm. In China, political correctness means not pissing of the CCP.




Tang Lijiu of Urumqi’s East-West Economic Research Institute says that creating the right kind of jobs for Uighurs is the key. “Because of their lifestyle, asking them to go into big industrial production, onto the production line: they’re probably not suited to that,” says Mr Tang, who is Han Chinese. Better, he suggests, to develop something like, well, basketball. That, Mr Tang says, might work in the same way that America’s National Basketball Association creates “more job opportunities for blacks”. This kind of musing perhaps helps explain why the vast region of Xinjiang remains perilously unstable.
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Crafty_Dog
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« Reply #161 on: September 23, 2011, 10:44:12 AM »



By REBIYA KADEER
As the U.S. and its allies were reflecting on the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 atrocities, China's Communist regime manipulated the occasion to present itself as a victim of Islamic extremism. Beijing also accused the U.S. of practicing double standards by not giving unqualified support to its military offensive against what it calls "Muslim separatism" in northwest China. It insisted this campaign is an integral component of the war on terror.

These complaints are entirely driven by the regime's domestic agenda. The West should not be fooled by China's attempt to make its nationalities policy more palatable. For decades, China has brutally crushed even the mildest aspirations for self-rule among the non-Han Chinese peoples in its midst.

Beijing's actions in Tibet are the best-known example of this policy, yet it is no different in northwest China, the ancient homeland of the Uighur people. In 2009, the state's response to mass demonstrations for democracy and human rights was to beat and shoot at protesters, and to randomly arrest male Uighurs on a mass scale.

Since then, a palpable tension has prevailed. In recent weeks, following the reported killing in July of more than 20 Uighurs by security forces in the city of Hotan, China has deployed an additional 200,000 security personnel as well as its special anti-terror force, in order to deter fresh protests in a region that is home to 10 million Uighurs.

Enlarge Image

CloseAFP/Getty Images
 
An elderly Chinese Muslim Uighur man prays at his hat shop in Kashgar, China.
.China's leaders have enthusiastically offered a justification for the repression of Uighurs that is not available to them in the case of Tibet. For while most Tibetans are Buddhists, Uighurs are overwhelmingly Muslim. So the Beijing regime presents its campaign against the Uighur people's peaceful struggle for self-rule as part of the global battle against Islamists.

The hypocrisy on display here is astonishing. China, after all, has consistently supported radical, anti-Western currents in the Middle East. It is a stalwart ally of Iran's murderous regime and has opposed international measures to curb Syria's rulers. In Libya, China supplied Gadhafi's dictatorship with weapons until the last possible minute.

Even before 9/11, Beijing was effectively encouraging al Qaeda, using its position on the United Nations Security Council to oppose sanctions against Afghanistan's Taliban after the attack on the USS Cole in 2000.

Within days of 9/11, China's official Xinhua news agency was lauding the attacks as a "humbling blow" against America, a theme that continued this anniversary year, even as Beijing's propagandists complained about Washington's "blind eye" toward the conflict in the Uighur region. Clearly, China does not object to rooting out terrorist groups as long as it is allowed to define who the terrorists are.

Meanwhile, China has skillfully taken advantage of the West's ignorance of Uighur history and culture to insert itself into the antiterror camp.

As practiced by the vast majority of Uighurs, the religion of Islam has nothing in common with the radical Wahhabi and Salafi strains that have caused such terrible strife in the Middle East and South Asia. Just as we reject communism, we reject clerical rule. We aspire to a democratic state in which religion is a matter of individual conscience.

Indeed, if China had honored its 1955 commitment to the autonomy of the Uighur people, there would probably be no conflict. Our demands—to fly our own flag, to reap a fair dividend from the oil, coal and other natural resources flowing through our region, to end the mass transfer of Chinese settlers into our territory—are hardly unique. Some leading European democracies have reached similar arrangements with their constituent nationalities, such as Spain's Catalans.

Rather than negotiate with us, China's rulers prefer to label the Uighurs as terrorists, with myself as their leader. I am often asked why such a powerful state apparently regards me—a slight, elderly woman who has spent many years in Beijing's jails—as an existential threat. I always reply that China should fear not me, but the consequences of resisting the legitimate demands I articulate. For as the Soviet Union and then Yugoslavia demonstrated, states that refuse any compromise with their minorities can easily implode.

As the U.N. General Assembly's 66th session proceeded this week, I participated in the We Have a Dream Global Human Rights Summit (www.ngosummit.org) just down the street, which brought together human rights defenders from all over the world. Our final declaration was a rallying cry based upon the U.N.'s own Universal Declaration of Human Rights. It included the demand that China and other authoritarian states be removed from the U.N.'s key human rights bodies.

In confronting China's cynical and hypocritical identification of our legitimate struggle with terrorism, we will counter that the true issue is the trampling of basic human rights under the excuse of national sovereignty.

Ms. Kadeer is president of the World Uighur Congress and the author of "Dragon Fighter: One Woman's Epic Struggle for Peace with China" (Kales Press, 2009).

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G M
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« Reply #162 on: December 24, 2011, 10:02:04 AM »

http://www.weeklystandard.com/print/articles/xinjiang-procedure_610145.html --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Xinjiang Procedure

Beijing’s ‘New Frontier’ is ground zero for the organ harvesting of political prisoners.

Ethan Gutmann

December 5, 2011, Vol. 17, No. 12




To figure out what is taking place today in a closed society such as northwest China, sometimes you have to go back a decade, sometimes more.
 
One clue might be found on a hilltop near southern Guangzhou, on a partly cloudy autumn day in 1991. A small medical team and a young doctor starting a practice in internal medicine had driven up from Sun Yat-sen Medical University in a van modified for surgery. Pulling in on bulldozed earth, they found a small fleet of similar vehicles—clean, white, with smoked glass windows and prominent red crosses on the side. The police had ordered the medical team to stay inside for their safety. Indeed, the view from the side window of lines of ditches—some filled in, others freshly dug—suggested that the hilltop had served as a killing ground for years.
 
Thirty-six scheduled executions would translate into 72 kidneys and corneas divided among the regional hospitals. Every van contained surgeons who could work fast: 15-30 minutes to extract. Drive back to the hospital. Transplant within six hours. Nothing fancy or experimental; execution would probably ruin the heart.
 
With the acceleration of Chinese medical expertise over the last decade, organs once considered scraps no longer went to waste. It wasn’t public knowledge exactly, but Chinese medical schools taught that many otherwise wicked criminals volunteered their organs as a final penance.
 
Right after the first shots the van door was thrust open and two men with white surgical coats thrown over their uniforms carried a body in, the head and feet still twitching slightly. The young doctor noted that the wound was on the right side of the chest as he had expected. When body #3 was laid down, he went to work.
 
 Male, 40-ish, Han Chinese. While the other retail organs in the van were slated for the profitable foreigner market, the doctor had seen the paperwork indicating this kidney was tissue-matched for transplant into a 50-year-old Chinese man. Without the transplant, that man would die. With it, the same man would rise miraculously from his hospital bed and go on to have a normal life for 25 years or so. By 2016, given all the anti-tissue-rejection drug advances in China, they could theoretically replace the liver, lungs, or heart—maybe buy that man another 10 to 15 years.
 
Body #3 had no special characteristics save an angry purple line on the neck. The doctor recognized the forensics. Sometimes the police would twist a wire around a prisoner’s throat to prevent him from speaking up in court. The doctor thought it through methodically. Maybe the police didn’t want this prisoner to talk because he had been a deranged killer, a thug, or mentally unstable. After all, the Chinese penal system was a daily sausage grinder, executing hardcore criminals on a massive scale. Yes, the young doctor knew the harvesting was wrong. Whatever crime had been committed, it would be nice if the prisoner’s body were allowed to rest forever. Yet was his surgical task that different from an obstetrician’s? Harvesting was rebirth, harvesting was life, as revolutionary an advance as antibiotics or steroids. Or maybe, he thought, they didn’t want this man to talk because he was a political prisoner.
 
Nineteen years later, in a secure European location, the doctor laid out the puzzle. He asked that I keep his identity a secret. Chinese medical authorities admit that the lion’s share of transplant organs originate with executions, but no mainland Chinese doctors, even in exile, will normally speak of performing such surgery. To do so would remind international medical authorities of an issue they would rather avoid—not China’s soaring execution rate or the exploitation of criminal organs, but rather the systematic elimination of China’s religious and political prisoners. Yet even if this doctor feared consequences to his family and his career, he did not fear embarrassing China, for he was born into an indigenous minority group, the Uighurs.
 
Every Uighur witness I approached over the course of two years—police, medical, and security personnel scattered across two continents—related compartmentalized fragments of information to me, often through halting translation. They acknowledged the risk to their careers, their families, and, in several cases, their lives. Their testimony reveals not just a procedure evolving to meet the lucrative medical demand for living organs, but the genesis of a wider atrocity.
 
Behind closed doors, the Uighurs call their vast region in China’s northwest corner (bordering on India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, and Mongolia) East Turkestan. The Uighurs are ethnically Turkic, not East Asian. They are Muslims with a smattering of Christians, and their language is more readily understood in Tashkent than in Beijing. By contrast, Beijing’s name for the so-called Autonomous Region, Xinjiang, literally translates as “new frontier.” When Mao invaded in 1949, Han Chinese constituted only 7 percent of the regional population. Following the flood of Communist party administrators, soldiers, shopkeepers, and construction corps, Han Chinese now constitute the majority. The party calculates that Xinjiang will be its top oil and natural gas production center by the end of this century.
 
To protect this investment, Beijing traditionally depicted all Uighur nationalists—violent rebels and non-violent activists alike—as CIA proxies. Shortly after 9/11, that conspiracy theory was tossed down the memory hole. Suddenly China was, and always has been, at war with al Qaeda-led Uighur terrorists. No matter how transparently opportunistic the switch, the American intelligence community saw an opening for Chinese cooperation in the war on terror, and signaled their acquiescence by allowing Chinese state security personnel into Guantánamo to interrogate Uighur detainees.
 
While it is difficult to know the strength of the claims of the detainees’ actual connections to al Qaeda, the basic facts are these: During the 1990s, when the Chinese drove the Uighur rebel training camps from neighboring countries such as Kazakhstan and Pakistan, some Uighurs fled to Afghanistan where a portion became Taliban soldiers. And yet, if the Chinese government claims that the Uighurs constitute their own Islamic fundamentalist problem, the fact is that I’ve never met a Uighur woman who won’t shake hands or a man who won’t have a drink with me. Nor does my Jewish-sounding name appear to make anyone flinch. In one of those vino veritas sessions, I asked a local Uighur leader if he was able to get any sort of assistance from groups such as the Islamic Human Rights Commission (where, as I found during a brief visit to their London offices, veiled women flinch from an extended male hand, drinks are forbidden, and my Jewish surname is a very big deal indeed). “Useless!” he snorted, returning to the vodka bottle.
 
So if Washington’s goal is to promote a reformed China, then taking Beijing’s word for who is a terrorist is to play into the party’s hands.
 
Xinjiang has long served as the party’s illicit laboratory: from the atmospheric nuclear testing in Lop Nur in the mid-sixties (resulting in a significant rise in cancers in Urumqi, Xinjiang’s capital) to the more recent creation in the Tarim Desert of what could well be the world’s largest labor camp, estimated to hold 50,000 Uighurs, hardcore criminals, and practitioners of Falun Gong. And when it comes to the first organ harvesting of political prisoners, Xinjiang was ground zero.
 
 In 1989, not long after Nijat Abdureyimu turned 20, he graduated from Xinjiang Police School and was assigned to a special police force, Regiment No. 1 of the Urumqi Public Security Bureau. As one of the first Uighurs in a Chinese unit that specialized in “social security”—essentially squelching threats to the party—Nijat was employed as the good cop in Uighur interrogations, particularly the high-profile cases. I first met Nijat—thin, depressed, and watchful—in a crowded refugee camp on the outskirts of Rome.

Nijat explained to me that he was well aware that his Chinese colleagues kept him under constant surveillance. But Nijat presented the image they liked: the little brother with the guileless smile. By 1994 he had penetrated all of the government’s secret bastions: the detention center, its interrogation rooms, and the killing grounds. Along the way, he had witnessed his fair share of torture, executions, even a rape. So his curiosity was in the nature of professional interest when he questioned one of the Chinese cops who came back from an execution shaking his head. According to his colleague, it had been a normal procedure—the unwanted bodies kicked into a trench, the useful corpses hoisted into the harvesting vans, but then he heard something coming from a van, like a man screaming.   
 
“Like someone was still alive?” Nijat remembers asking. “What kind of screams?”
 
“Like from hell.”
 
Nijat shrugged. The regiment had more than enough sloppiness to go around.
 
A few months later, three death row prisoners were being transported from detention to execution. Nijat had become friendly with one in particular, a very young man. As Nijat walked alongside, the young man turned to Nijat with eyes like saucers: “Why did you inject me?”
 
Nijat hadn’t injected him; the medical director had. But the director and some legal officials were watching the exchange, so Nijat lied smoothly: “It’s so you won’t feel much pain when they shoot you.”
 
The young man smiled faintly, and Nijat, sensing that he would never quite forget that look, waited until the execution was over to ask the medical director: “Why did you inject him?”
 
“Nijat, if you can transfer to some other section, then go as soon as possible.”
 
“What do you mean? Doctor, exactly what kind of medicine did you inject him with?”
 
“Nijat, do you have any beliefs?”
 
“Yes. Do you?”
 
“It was an anticoagulant, Nijat. And maybe we are all going to hell.”
 
I first met Enver Tohti—a soft-spoken, husky, Buddha of a man—through the informal Uighur network of London. I confess that my first impression was that he was just another emigré living in public housing. But Enver had a secret.
 
His story began on a Tuesday in June 1995, when he was a general surgeon in an Urumqi hospital. Enver recalled an unusual conversation with his immediate superior, the chief surgeon: “Enver, we are going to do something exciting. Have you ever done an operation in the field?”
 
“Not really. What do you want me to do?”
 
“Get a mobile team together and request an ambulance. Have everyone out front at nine tomorrow.”
 
On a cloudless Wednesday morning, Enver led two assistants and an anaesthesiologist into an ambulance and followed the chief surgeon’s car out of Urumqi going west. The ambulance had a picnic atmosphere until they realized they were entering the Western Mountain police district, which specialized in executing political dissidents. On a dirt road by a steep hill the chief surgeon pulled off, and came back to talk to Enver: “When you hear a gunshot, drive around the hill.”
 
“Can you tell us why we are here?”
 
“Enver, if you don’t want to know, don’t ask.”
 
“I want to know.”
 
“No. You don’t want to know.”
 
The chief surgeon gave him a quick, hard look as he returned to the car. Enver saw that beyond the hill there appeared to be some sort of armed police facility. People were milling about—civilians. Enver half-satirically suggested to the team that perhaps they were family members waiting to collect the body and pay for the bullet, and the team responded with increasingly sick jokes to break the tension. Then they heard a gunshot, possibly a volley, and drove around to the execution field.
 
Focusing on not making any sudden moves as he followed the chief surgeon’s car, Enver never really did get a good look. He briefly registered that there were 10, maybe 20 bodies lying at the base of the hill, but the armed police saw the ambulance and waved him over.
 
“This one. It’s this one.”
 
Sprawled on the blood-soaked ground was a man, around 30, dressed in navy blue overalls. All convicts were shaved, but this one had long hair.
 
“That’s him. We’ll operate on him.”
 
“Why are we operating?” Enver protested, feeling for the artery in the man’s neck. “Come on. This man is dead.”
 
Enver stiffened and corrected himself. “No. He’s not dead.”
 
“Operate then. Remove the liver and the kidneys. Now! Quick! Be quick!”
 
Following the chief surgeon’s directive, the team loaded the body into the ambulance. Enver felt himself going numb: Just cut the clothes off. Just strap the limbs to the table. Just open the body. He kept making attempts to follow normal procedure—sterilize, minimal exposure, sketch the cut. Enver glanced questioningly at the chief surgeon. “No anaesthesia,” said the chief surgeon. “No life support.”
 
The anaesthesiologist just stood there, arms folded—like some sort of ignorant peasant, Enver thought. Enver barked at him. “Why don’t you do something?”
 
“What exactly should I do, Enver? He’s already unconscious. If you cut, he’s not going to respond.”
 
But there was a response. As Enver’s scalpel went in, the man’s chest heaved spasmodically and then curled back again. Enver, a little frantic now, turned to the chief surgeon. “How far in should I cut?”
 
“You cut as wide and deep as possible. We are working against time.”
 
Enver worked fast, not bothering with clamps, cutting with his right hand, moving muscle and soft tissue aside with his left, slowing down only to make sure he excised the kidneys and liver cleanly. Even as Enver stitched the man back up—not internally, there was no point to that anymore, just so the body might look presentable—he sensed the man was still alive. I am a killer, Enver screamed inwardly. He did not dare to look at the face again, just as he imagined a killer would avoid looking at his victim.
 
The team drove back to Urumqi in silence.
 
On Thursday, the chief surgeon confronted Enver: “So. Yesterday. Did anything happen? Yesterday was a usual, normal day. Yes?”
 
Enver said yes, and it took years for him to understand that live organs had lower rejection rates in the new host, or that the bullet to the chest had—other than that first sickening lurch—acted like some sort of magical anaesthesia. He had done what he could; he had stitched the body back neatly for the family. And 15 years would elapse before Enver revealed what had happened that Wednesday.
 
As for Nijat, it wasn’t until 1996 that he put it together.
 
It happened just about midnight, well after the cell block lights were turned off. Nijat found himself hanging out in the detention compound’s administrative office with the medical director. Following a pause in the conversation, the director, in an odd voice, asked Nijat if he thought the place was haunted.
 
“Maybe it feels a little weird at night,” Nijat answered. “Why do you think that?”
 
“Because too many people have been killed here. And for all the wrong reasons.”
 
Nijat finally understood. The anticoagulant. The expensive “execution meals” for the regiment following a trip to the killing ground. The plainclothes agents in the cells who persuaded the prisoners to sign statements donating their organs to the state. And now the medical director was confirming it all: Those statements were real. They just didn’t take account of the fact that the prisoners would still be alive when they were cut up.
 
“Nijat, we really are going to hell.”
 
Nijat nodded, pulled on his beer, and didn’t bother to smile.
 
On February 2, 1997, Bahtiyar Shemshidin began wondering whether he was a policeman in name only. Two years before, the Chinese Public Security Bureau of the Western city of Ghulja recruited Bahtiyar for the drug enforcement division. It was a natural fit because Bahtiyar was tall, good-looking, and exuded effortless Uighur authority. Bahtiyar would ultimately make his way to Canada and freedom, but he had no trouble recalling his initial idealism; back then, Bahtiyar did not see himself as a Chinese collaborator but as an emergency responder.
 
For several years, heroin addiction had been creeping through the neighborhoods of Ghulja, striking down young Uighurs like a medieval plague. Yet inside the force, Bahtiyar quickly grasped that the Chinese heroin cartel was quietly protected, if not encouraged, by the authorities. Even his recruitment was a bait-and-switch. Instead of sending him after drug dealers, his Chinese superiors ordered him to investigate the Meshrep—a traditional Muslim get-together promoting clean living, sports, and Uighur music and dance. If the Meshrep had flowered like a traditional herbal remedy against the opiate invader, the Chinese authorities read it as a disguised attack on the Chinese state.
 
In early January 1997, on the eve of Ramadan, the entire Ghulja police force—Uighurs and Chinese alike—were suddenly ordered to surrender their guns “for inspection.” Now, almost a month later, the weapons were being released. But Bahtiyar’s gun was held back. Bahtiyar went to the Chinese bureaucrat who controlled supplies and asked after it. “Your gun has a problem,” Bahtiyar was told.
 
“When will you fix the problem?”
 
The bureaucrat shrugged, glanced at his list, and looked up at Bahtiyar with an unblinking stare that said: It is time for you to go. By the end of the day, Bahtiyar got it: Every Chinese officer had a gun. Every Uighur officer’s gun had a problem.
 
Three days later, Bahtiyar understood why. On February 5, approximately 1,000 Uighurs gathered in the center of Ghulja. The day before, the Chinese authorities arrested (and, it was claimed, severely abused) six women, all Muslim teachers, all participants in the Meshrep. The young men came without their winter coats to show they were unarmed, but, planned or unplanned, the Chinese police fired on the demonstrators.
 
Casualty counts of what is known as the Ghulja incident remain shaky. Bahtiyar recalls internal police estimates of 400 dead, but he didn’t see it; all Uighur policemen had been sent to the local jail “to interrogate prisoners” and were locked in the compound throughout the crisis. However, Bahtiyar did see Uighurs herded into the compound and thrown naked onto the snow—some bleeding, others with internal injuries. Ghulja’s main Uighur clinic was effectively shut down when a squad of Chinese special police arrested 10 of the doctors and destroyed the clinic’s ambulance. As the arrests mounted by late April, the jail became hopelessly overcrowded, and Uighur political prisoners were selected for daily executions. On April 24, Bahtiyar’s colleagues witnessed the killing of eight political prisoners; what struck them was the presence of doctors in “special vans for harvesting organs.”
 
In Europe I spoke with a nurse who worked in a major Ghulja hospital following the incident. Nervously requesting that I provide no personal details, she told me that the hospitals were forbidden to treat Uighur protesters. A doctor who bandaged an arm received a 15-year sentence, while another got 20 years, and hospital staff were told, “If you treat someone, you will get the same result.” The separation between the Uighur and Chinese medical personnel deepened: Chinese doctors would stockpile prescriptions rather than allow Uighur medical staff a key to the pharmacy, while Uighur patients were receiving 50 percent of their usual doses. If a Uighur couple had a second child, even if the birth was legally sanctioned, Chinese maternity doctors, she observed, administered an injection (described as an antibiotic) to the infant. The nurse could not recall a single instance of the same injection given to a Chinese baby. Within three days the infant would turn blue and die. Chinese staffers offered a rote explanation to Uighur mothers: Your baby was too weak, your baby could not handle the drug.
 
Shortly after the Ghulja incident, a young Uighur protester’s body returned home from a military hospital. Perhaps the fact that the abdomen was stitched up was just evidence of an autopsy, but it sparked another round of riots. After that, the corpses were wrapped, buried at gunpoint, and Chinese soldiers patrolled the cemeteries (one is not far from the current Urumqi airport). By June, the nurse was pulled into a new case: A young Uighur protester had been arrested and beaten severely. His family paid for his release, only to discover that their son had kidney damage. The family was told to visit a Chinese military hospital in Urumqi where the hospital staff laid it out: One kidney, 30,000 RMB (roughly $4,700). The kidney will be healthy, they were assured, because the transplant was to come from a 21-year-old Uighur male—the same profile as their son. The nurse learned that the “donor” was, in fact, a protester.
 
In the early autumn of 1997, fresh out of a blood-work tour in rural Xinjiang, a young Uighur doctor—let’s call him Murat—was pursuing a promising medical career in a large Urumqi hospital. Two years later he was planning his escape to Europe, where I met him some years after.
 
One day Murat’s instructor quietly informed him that five Chinese government officials—big guys, party members—had checked into the hospital with organ problems. Now he had a job for Murat: “Go to the Urumqi prison. The political wing, not the criminal side. Take blood samples. Small ones. Just to map out the different blood types. That’s all you have to do.”   
 
“What about tissue matching?”
 
“Don’t worry about any of that, Murat. We’ll handle that later. Just map out the blood types.”
 
Clutching the authorization, and accompanied by an assistant from the hospital, Murat, slight and bookish, found himself facing approximately 15 prisoners, mostly tough-guy Uighurs in their late twenties. As the first prisoner sat down and saw the needle, the pleading began.
 
“You are a Uighur like me. Why are you going to hurt me?”
 
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just taking blood.”
 
At the word “blood,” everything collapsed. The men howled and stampeded, the guards screaming and shoving them back into line. The prisoner shrieked that he was innocent. The Chinese guards grabbed his neck and squeezed it hard.
 
“It’s just for your health,” Murat said evenly, suddenly aware the hospital functionary was probably watching to make sure that Murat wasn’t too sympathetic. “It’s just for your health,” Murat said again and again as he drew blood.
 
When Murat returned to the hospital, he asked the instructor, “Were all those prisoners sentenced to death?”
 
“That’s right, Murat, that’s right. Yes. Just don’t ask any more questions. They are bad people—enemies of the country.”
 
But Murat kept asking questions, and over time, he learned the drill. Once they found a matching blood type, they would move to tissue matching. Then the political prisoner would get a bullet to the right side of the chest. Murat’s instructor would visit the execution site to match up blood samples. The officials would get their organs, rise from their beds, and check out.
 
Six months later, around the first anniversary of Ghulja, five new officials checked in. The instructor told Murat to go back to the political wing for fresh blood. This time, Murat was told that harvesting political prisoners was normal. A growing export. High volume. The military hospitals are leading the way.
 
By early 1999, Murat stopped hearing about harvesting political prisoners. Perhaps it was over, he thought.
 
Yet the Xinjiang procedure spread. By the end of 1999, the Uighur crackdown would be eclipsed by Chinese security’s largest-scale action since Mao: the elimination of Falun Gong. By my estimate up to three million Falun Gong practitioners would pass through the Chinese corrections system. Approximately 65,000 would be harvested, hearts still beating, before the 2008 Olympics. An unspecified, significantly smaller, number of House Christians and Tibetans likely met the same fate.
 
By Holocaust standards these are piddling numbers, so let’s be clear: China is not the land of the final solution. But it is the land of the expedient solution. Some will point to recent statements from the Chinese medical establishment admitting the obvious—China’s medical environment is not fully ethical—and see progress. Foreign investors suspect that eventually the Chinese might someday—or perhaps have already—abandon organ harvesting in favor of the much more lucrative pharmaceutical and clinical testing industries. The problem with these soothing narratives is that reports, some as recent as one year ago, suggest that the Chinese have not abandoned the Xinjiang procedure.
 
In July 2009, Urumqi exploded in bloody street riots between Uighurs and Han Chinese. The authorities massed troops in the regional capital, kicked out the Western journalists, shut down the Internet, and, over the next six months, quietly, mostly at night, rounded up Uighur males by the thousands. According to information leaked by Uighurs held in captivity, some prisoners were given physical examinations aimed solely at assessing the health of their retail organs. The signals may be faint, but they are consistent, and the conclusion is inescapable: China, a state rapidly approaching superpower status, has not just committed human rights abuses—that’s old news—but has, for over a decade, perverted the most trusted area of human expertise into performing what is, in the legal parlance of human rights, targeted elimination of a specific group.
 
Yet Nijat sits in refugee limbo in Neuchâtel, Switzerland, waiting for a country to offer him asylum. He confessed to me. He confessed to others. But in a world eager not to offend China, no state wants his confession. Enver made his way to an obscure seminar hosted by the House of Commons on Chinese human rights. When the MPs opened the floor to questions, Enver found himself standing up and speaking, for the first time, of killing a man. I took notes, but no British MP or their staffers could be bothered to take Enver’s number.
 
The implications are clear enough. Nothing but self-determination for the Uighurs can suffice. The Uighurs, numbering 13 million, are few, but they are also desperate. They may fight. War may come. On that day, as diplomats across the globe call for dialogue with Beijing, may every nation look to its origins and its conscience. For my part, if my Jewish-sounding name tells me anything, it is this: The dead may never be fully avenged, but no people can accept being fatally exploited forever.

Ethan Gutmann, an adjunct fellow at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, wishes to thank Jaya Gibson for research assistance and the Peder Wallenberg family for research support.
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Crafty_Dog
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« Reply #163 on: June 29, 2012, 12:52:05 PM »

------------
China: Passengers Help Thwart Hijacking Attempt
Jun 29, 2012 | 0834 GMT
Chinese airline passengers on June 29 helped thwart a hijacking attempt on a plane in Xinjiang, Reuters reported, citing Xinhua. Six people tried to hijack the Tianjin Airlines plane 10 minutes after departure from an airport in Hotan, but passengers and air crew subdued them.
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« Reply #164 on: June 28, 2013, 08:27:07 PM »



http://syndicatednewsservices.com/2013/06/26/report-36-killed-after-knife-gang-attacks-china-police-station/
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« Reply #165 on: October 30, 2013, 08:23:34 PM »

http://www.scmp.com/news/china/article/1343155/chinese-police-launch-manhunt-eight-after-tiananmen-jeep-crash

Chinese police launch manhunt for eight after Tiananmen jeep crash




PUBLISHED : Wednesday, 30 October, 2013, 4:46am

UPDATED : Wednesday, 30 October, 2013, 3:28pm
 






Keith Zhai keith.zhai@scmp.com

Tourists in front of the gate in Tiananmen Square yesterday, the scene of Monday’s deadly jeep crash. Photo: Reuters
 






Beijing police are searching for at least eight people believed to be linked to the apparent suicide car crash in front of the Tiananmen Square gate on Monday afternoon that left five dead and 38 injured.
 
Police set up a special team to investigate the case yesterday.
 
Hotels in the capital have been asked to be on the lookout for the suspects, according to a notice seen by the South China Morning Post and staff at several hotels.
 
The suspects include a 21-year-old Sichuan-born male named Liu Ke. The name suggests the suspect is Han Chinese. His registered address is a residential complex belonging to police in Changji , Xinjiang , an autonomous region known for ethnic tension between Turkic-speaking Muslim Uygurs and Han Chinese.
 
The seven others have ethnic Uygur names and come from Xinjiang, the same police notice said. The notice listed five Xinjiang vehicle number plates, including one of a motorcycle, that are of interest to police.
 
 
Video: Scenes from Tiananmen Square car crash
 


Police said an SUV careened 500 metres along the pedestrian walkway at the northern end of Tiananmen Square, ploughing into dozens of tourists before bursting into flames just after noon.
 
The three people in the vehicle, a male tourist from Guangdong and a Filipino woman were killed. Three other Filipino tourists and a Japanese man were among the injured. While the central government has said little about the incident, the manhunt suggests it was not an accident.
 
The crash - at the symbolic heart of the nation - came just days ahead of a key political congress. And on Monday morning, all seven members of the supreme Politburo Standing Committee attended an event at the Great Hall of the People, across the road from where the incident occurred.
 
In Xinjiang, police began searching for the suspects. A hotel employee in Hotan said officers had told staff to turn away Uygurs matching the description "big beard, Uygur and male," said the employee, who refused to be named. "We are not allowed to accept guests who fit this description, even if they have valid documents to prove their identity."
 
Police in Hotan and Beijing declined to comment. Xinjiang government spokesman Luo Fuyong said he could not confirm if the three people in the vehicle were Uygurs from the region.
 
Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Hua Chunying said the incident was being investigated and that while Xinjiang "enjoys sound economic and social development", it sometimes experiences violence and "terrorism".
 
"We sternly oppose and crack down on such incidents to ensure the safety and security of society as well as people's lives and properties," she added.
 
Watch: China's Foreign Ministry response to Tiananmen crash
 


 
 






Security near the crash site has been tightened, with more plain-clothes officers patrolling the area and a fire engine stationed nearby.
 
 Newspapers mostly carried news of Monday's crash low down on their front pages and in contrast to the Global Times used brief reports from state media -- highlighting official efforts to control discussion of the event.
 
Chinese media outlets are known to receive instructions from the government directing their reporting.
 
The state media reports, carried by all major newspaper and news websites, stressed official rescue efforts and did not contain information about whether the incident was deliberate.
 
Chinese social media sites, which are closely controlled albeit less strictly than print media, were an early source of pictures of the crash and speculation that it was an act of protest, but eyewitness accounts were rapidly removed.
 
On Tuesday Weibo searches for "Tiananmen" and "bomb" returned a statement that "According to relevant laws and policies... search results will not be displayed."
 Searches for "Tiananmen" and "Xinjiang" did not produce any results posted after Monday.
 
Xinjiang, in China's far west, is home to ethnic minority Uighurs, many of them Muslim.
 
State media have reported several violent incidents there and a rising militant threat, but Uighur rights groups complain of ethnic and religious repression, while information is tightly controlled.
 
Police have arrested 140 people in Xinjiang in recent months for allegedly spreading jihad, and killed 22 Uighurs in August in an "anti-terrorism" operation, the official news agency Xinhua reported earlier.
 
One of the suspects named was from Lukqun, where state media said 35 people were killed in June in what Beijing called a "terrorist attack".
 
China politics expert Willy Lam said the Tiananmen incident "looks like a terrorist attack" but cautioned that more information was needed.
 
"If it is indeed a terrorist attack it shows that Beijing's efforts in trying to stamp out terrorism have not been very successful," he added.
 
But Ilham Tohti, a prominent Uighur intellectual, said the police notice was not definitively linked to the Tiananmen crash, and even if a Xinjiang car was involved, it would not establish that members of the minority were responsible.
 
"Some media has suggested it was a terrorist attack carried out by Uighurs, without evidence being produced," he told AFP.
 
"I worry that this event, even though it may have nothing to do with Uighurs, could lead local governments to increase repression and discrimination."
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« Reply #166 on: June 25, 2014, 09:35:32 AM »

http://online.wsj.com/articles/web-preaches-jihad-to-chinas-muslim-uighurs-1403663568?mod=WSJ_hpp_MIDDLENexttoWhatsNewsForth
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