Reflection on Urumqi

Saturday 15 September 2007

by Kathryn Jonas

Kathryn studied with me this past summer in Social Justice at SLU and she is now studying in China for the next year. She recently sent this reflection from her notebook………………

As we leave the city of Urumqi for Turpan, I thought I would write about a few things that stood out to me and have been a source of frustration.

One thing is the beggars. They’re not like the ones you encounter in St. Louis asking for a few bucks for a bite to eat. They’re severely crippled and deformed. Men and women lay on mats in the middle of the squares. Their feet are mangled, ankles swollen, toes curled, foot turned in and up unnaturally. Men without hands or hands that are limp and useless.

Worse are the children. A boy in the underpass, no older than twelve, his head too large, his eyes misshaped, ears not even, his whole face disfigured, a cup in his hand holding a few jiao (a jiao is like a Chinese dime). In the middle of the side walk a mat. A small boy, maybe ten, undernourished, his body covered in angry scars. Burns. Raw pink skin along his arms, his bare chest, his face. On his hairless head a large red pussing sore. Flies hovering. I was literally sick to my stomach. I held back from the group to try and gain my composure. His face was so empty. He had a dazed stare, was he even conscious? Why does no one help him? Who let’s children just lay in the streets?

And what do I do about it. Give him a couple jiao and walk away? Take him to a doctor or a shelter in this city I don’t know? Take him with me? Should I have stopped and tried to talk to him, even though he likely speaks Uigar (Uigar is a minority group in Urumqi with their own Arabic language) and I don’t think he was even aware enough to speak. Shoulda woulda coulda and now all I feel is guilt and disgust.

One other thing really stood out to me. The Uigar people are Muslim. Walking in the streets I came across many women with only their eyes peaking out from full head veils, bodies fully covered. It was my first time in an environment where that is expected of women. Each one I passed made me feel uncomfortable. I look at them and I see my mother behind that veil, my sister, my friends, myself. It’s such a mesh of emotions each time. Anger, contempt, frustration, horror, confusion, fear, and—unexpectedly—I also had a sense of shame. That somehow in my shorts and T-shirt I was offending these people. A sense that I belong under a veil—that I’ve step out of place. Frustration, though, is the most prominent feeling. I do work to promote international women’s rights, but what can I do to help right now, the women I see at the market. She’s talking to me, try to sell me scarves, and all I can do is stare at the way her light green veil flutters over her chin as her lips move. I want to tear it off. I want to grab her hand and run away with her. Take her to a safe place and show her that she can live freely without hiding behind a veil. Is that wrong of me? Am I offending her values, her religion? But what does it matter? All I say is “bu yao” (I don’t want any) and walk away.