. . . Miles And Miles Away From Home . . . By Nuzhat Shahzadi

We met by chance.

And just like that we started talking . . . He was a young man––miles and miles away from home. We talked about our lives. I told him about my humanitarian work with the UN. This prompted him to unburden––as if he was waiting for someone to listen to his story. While we spoke, at one point he gave me his real name. I will use a pseudonym for his safety. I will call him “TZ.”

TZ was a Uyghur, born in Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, China. He landed in the US three years ago. His life story was fascinating and heartbreaking.

“I left home when I was fifteen,” he said with a smile. I saw his vulnerability, the pain hidden behind his smile. “I am twenty-five now. I haven’t seen my family in ten years.”

Uyghurs are a Muslim minority population in China. They belong to the Turkic ethnic group and speak the Turkic language. Culturally and ethnically, they are more aligned to Central Asian countries. They don’t look typical Chinese––are a blending of East Asian and European features.

About/over eleven to twelve million Uyghurs live in the Xinjiang Region which though considered by the populations to be East Turkestan, was annexed by China in 1949. Since 2017, the Uyghurs have been facing intense human rights violations unleashed by the Chinese government. They are subjected to forced assimilation, detention in "re-education" camps (over one million children), imposed labor, sterilization, and extreme surveillance.

“I have read about the abuses faced by the Uyghurs,” I said, sadly.

“You know about our situation!” he was charmed. “The Chinese government wants to erase our culture, our religion. They even force the Uyghurs to eat pig-meat. We can’t take a step without their permission.”

“How did you manage to leave China?” I was curious.

“My father agreed to their conditions . . . in return we were not taken to boarding schools. He is allowed to run a business. So, they gave me permission to study in Turkey. But I knew I would never go back.” TZ was aware of the sacrifices his father made to protect the family. I didn’t ask about the conditions his father was forced to accept . . .

TZ did odd jobs to survive in Turkey. Life was hard alone in a new country. He missed his mother, his siblings, friends and the country he was born in. We didn’t discuss about his education. He seemed quite articulate. Possibly “self-educated.”

He told me about the cruelty that children face at the schools run by the government under the re-education scheme. “Girls and boys are regularly abused, beaten . . . from a young age they are taken away from their families and placed in these schools . . .”

It’s a horror show, still continuing. The native American children had witnessed a similar fate in Northern America (mid 17th–early 20th Centuries)

“For years I couldn’t contact my family but now they are allowed to speak with me on WhatsApp.” He showed me his iphone. “But my father has to inform them every time we talk.”

TZ came under the asylum status in America. It was easier during the Biden-administration. TZ had a regular job and was trying to save money. But he was worried about his visa status to stay in the US. He asked me if I could help (he wasn’t aware how much the Trump administration hates the UN).

“One day, I hope to reunite with my family. I would like to see my mother, . . . very much,” TZ sighed.

I remembered my son at fifteen. He would often stand at our front door and ask, “Mom, can you see my beard from there?” He was trying hard to grow a beard––needed assurances as he was stepping into the threshold of manhood–– “Yes, I can!” I lied each time he asked.

“Does your mom know that you shave now?” I said hopelessly, like an imbecile. Tears were threatening to choke my voice.

He smiled and nodded.

We met last year––before the Minnesota madness began––before national guards were deployed in the Washington D.C. area, ICE hunted down people. I hope TZ is safe.

*The Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act (UFLPA) was enacted into law In December 2021 (what a farcical façade!).