Políticas sociales.

As the mountains blaze red under last rays of sun, Maliyamu gallops across the Ili Valley hoping to reach her husband Muhemaiti (Muhammed) before dark, eager to share her good news: she’s just been transferred to his unit to study land reform! Long held apart, first by traditional society and then by their commitment to the communist party, they are finally to be united in domicile and daily dedication to the party.

Growing up in impoverished households tied to the same oppressive landlord, Maliyamu and Muhammed have both built themselves impressive careers within the party. Maliyamu is the local Women’s Federation Representative, while Muhammed is Public Security Team leader for the farmer’s collective and leader of the production mutual aid team. He and Maliyamu were both activists in the rent reduction campaign and held their wedding in the rent reduction victory meeting.

In youth, the two were neighbors separated only by a wall. They played together, worked together, studied at the same school for two years, and fell in love. When Muhammed turned 16 he sold his labor to the landlord, and was often gone for months at a time. Maliyamu was 14; according to Uyghur customs, she had already reached marriageable age. Her mother, Rozihan, began to spend all her time worrying about finding her a suitable husband.

Maliyamu’s heart was as agitated as hot oil jumping on the griddle. As soon as Muhammed returned to their village for Nowruz (Spring Festival) she pleaded with him to find a way for the two of them to tie the knot. The next day he asked his father, Ruomaji, to intercede. Ruomaji put

together half his life’s savings into bride-price, and sent the matchmaker to ask for Maliyamu’s hand on behalf of his son.

Maliyamu’s father Lamahong had long understood that Muhammed was an intelligent and capable young man, and gave his consent to this union. But Rozihan looked down upon

Muhammed’s family for being too poor to own even a carpet, and coldly told Ruomaji off. How could she give away her only daughter to a family that couldn’t guarantee her material

wellbeing?

After this, Maliyamu’s home was the site of constant discord. Rozihan wanted to find a son- in-law with better prospects, but her husband Lamahong hated the rich from the bottom of his heart. Several families asked for Maliyamu’s hand in marriage, but nothing came of it.

In 1950 the CCP and representatives of the PRC arrived in Ili. Once a laborer, Muhammed now became a partner. Even though he was still exploited by the landlord, he enjoyed more freedom than he had as a laborer, and he thought to himself: “After the Han people’s Party (at that time he still didn’t know it was the CCP) came, they’ve been good to the poor, this is certainly a just party.” He shared the news with Maliyamu, telling her that this change in circumstances would certainly allow them to finally wed.

When the CCP-led rent reduction team arrived in their village in November of 1951,

Muhammed and Maliyamu threw themselves into work, mobilizing young peasants and women to participate in work and study. They were so busy helping the new administration and organizing youth that, for the time being, they didn’t concern themselves with matters of the heart.

Following the anti-landlord struggle, the two youth joined the New Democratic Youth League. Maliyamu became the first activist among women in her village. Endorsing her

the women’s league. In order to undertake all her duties, she often left early and came back late, not thinking twice about her own affairs (or, apparently, her parents’ concern about their

teenager gallivanting around the countryside).

After Muhammed joined the league he worked with even more enthusiasm. There wasn’t a single soul in the village who didn’t sing his praises. On the day he was selected to be head of the village farmer’s association Rozihan put three glutinous rice seeds in his bowl, signaling her acceptance of his proposal. Her husband laughed, saying, “What’s happened? It looks like you approve!”. Rozihan said with some unease, “In the past I was just another person born into poverty; whoever thought we could turn our lives around?”

After all parents had thus endorsed the union, Muhammed and Maliyamu decided to hold a new-style wedding at the rent reduction campaign victory meeting.

Ruomaji borrowed a wagon, and filled it with his share of the grain confiscated from the landlord, hoping to sell it in the city in order to purchase wedding gifts. On his way to the cart he ran into Muhammed who stopped him at once and demanded to know what he was doing.

Muhammed berated his parents, reminding them of party platitudes to sparingly use resources and focus on production. Father and son argued for some time, the father adamant that he could not collect a bride empty-handed any more than he could entertain guests with empty cupboards.

Having clearly memorized his share of party pamphlets, Muhammed retorted, “The government

is calling for us to use the fruits of struggle [confiscated and re-distributed grain] for

production, not to waste it. Weddings now don’t have to be like those in the past. The [1950] Marriage Law stipulates that no bride price be required. If we squander all the grain, what will we plant in spring? His father stood before him speechless, finally turning around and returning the borrowed wagon.

Wedding preparations were also underway at Maliyamu’s house with Rozihan busy borrowing this from one family, that from another, preparing food for the guests to eat. When Ruomaji sent over the wedding gifts, Rozihan looked despairingly at the small parcel, ripping it open and throwing it out on the street in rage when she noticed it contained only fabric for one set of clothes and a single pair of shoes. “Impossible! Who could ever be so cheap!” she wailed. Even her anti-bourgeoise husband was troubled. “This, this is unthinkable! I’ve lived this long and never see someone take a bride like this!” he muttered.

However, on the day of the wedding people crowded into the town center a full two hours before the ceremony began, squeezing into the doorframe, sitting on the courtyard wall, even climbing onto the roof. Muhammed and Maliyamu entered the first new-style wedding in their village bedecked in brilliant red flowers. Lamahong and his wife stepped onto the podium carrying a garland of flowers, saw the lively crowd before them, and broke out in smiles.

Rozihan stood up and said, with great emotion in her voice: “In my whole life, I’ve never been so happy as I am today. Our children’s affairs should be up to them to manage, and certainly shouldn’t be fettered by old regulations.”⁠71

While the direct-narrative style of this story as printed in People’s Daily in 1952 certainly raises issues of translation, memory, and the imposition of “state speech”, it has been selected for this thesis for its treatment of two issues: Uyghur women and the law and Uyghur women in the company of Uyghur men. While these two relationships are discussed extensively in an abstract

71 _{Story from Ge Li} 歌黎_{. “Yi dui Weiwuerzu qingnian nannü de ziyou jiehun”} 一对维吾尔族青年男女的自由结

manner in state-sanctioned literature, this article presents one of the only treatments of the subjects on an individual level.

Officially, Uyghur women are now subjects of state law in the PRC and rejoice in their newfound freedoms and protection under that law. What then does this law protect them from, and which laws in particular do they evoke? The 1963 Brief Introduction claims that the new laws protect Uyghur women from near-imprisonment within the house and, specifically, within forced marriages.⁠72 _{In short, the law protects them from familial authority and abuse of power by} local notables who might strong-arm less fortunate families into selling off their daughters, as recounted in a 1950 article on women’s liberation in Altishahr.⁠73 _{Which law specifically is} invoked is left unspoken, but these are clearly arenas affected by the 1950 Marriage Law, also mentioned by Muhammed, the protagonist of our story. An unwritten assumption is that, prior to 1950, Uyghur society suffered from a lack of basic legal protections, and that Islam itself, far from provisioning for individual protections, actually oppressed or ignored the natural rights of certain segments of society.

Maliyamu and Muhammed’s right to form a union was, from a legal standpoint, backed by the 1950 Marriage Law. Muhammed’s manner of invoking this law casts it as universally applicable to every union formed in the PRC, regardless of residence or ethnicity of the individuals. Interestingly, however, the law is invoked for a relatively minor matter and not to sanctify their union or force Rozihan to accept her daughter’s right to choose a marriage partner. While Maliyamu and Muhammed clearly know their party lingo and are familiar with the

72 _{Brief History, 226.}

73 _{“Nanjiang funü kaishi jiexia miansha” 南疆妇女开始揭下面纱 [Southern Xinjiang women start to take off their}

contents of the Marriage Law, it is only Muhammed who invokes it - and then only to convince his father not to prepare lavish wedding gifts. Though Maliyamu technically could have used the law to force through her union with Muhammed, this would have created rupture between two generations within the family and likely encouraged her mother take an antagonistic stance against the party. That Maliyamu does not invoke the law, and that no party cadre appears on scene reminding her of her rights is actually in line with top-down instructions from the state to local cadres to not antagonize local populations in Xinjiang through overzealous reform. Studies of the Marriage Law in other regions similarly show that the state didn’t always uphold minority women’s claims concerning the law, especially when they feared resistance or violent

repercussions.⁠74 _{The law is there, and known by local populations, but the state neither forces its} application nor intercedes. Uyghur women are thus drawn into an indirect relationship with the law, and not exactly cast as full legal subjects.

If Uyghur women are not exactly subjects in that they don’t directly invoke the law, they are certainly active recipients and beneficiaries of the new standards - and the greatest beneficiaries are ones who actively propagate party rule. The extent to which an individual can derive benefits from their relationship with the state is dependent on the extent of that individual’s party

devotion. Muhammed and Maliyamu both immediately realize what the CCP has to offer them, and in turn offer absolute allegiance to the party, even before they really understand what the party stands for. In becoming early leaders and advocates in their own communities they are able to capitalize upon the offerings of the new system, both professionally and personally. Having

74 _{Neil J. Diamant, “Pursuing Rights and Getting Justice on China's Ethnic Frontier, 1949-1966.” Law & Society}

witnessed the rise and fall of successive political parties over the preceding decades, Rozihan is comparatively more pragmatic in her initial distrust of yet another outsider-directed imposed political system. The younger generation, however, instinctively knows to place their future in the hands of this new party. To them it is obvious that the relatively unknown political body is more trustworthy and better serves the people than “old customs” (recent political possibilities, including an independent East Turkestan Republic, are left unmentioned).

Based on this instinct, Muhammed and Maliyamu throw themselves into work for the CCP, convincing scores of other youth and women of its self-evident truth. Though they initially recognized the party as a venue to pursue their own interests, their devotion to party work soon supersedes any prior commitments. But the compensation for such selfless devotion is not long in coming: within a year of helping the party pave a path into their community, the young couple is rewarded with exactly what they demonstrated themselves willing to sacrifice, or at least set on the back burner: their marriage.

At the same time, youth who buck convention seem to encounter no real danger to selves. While Rozihan offers initial resistance, her opposition results only in verbal strife, and no actual threat to Maliyamu. On the contrary, Maliyamu is portrayed as enjoying unhindered freedom of mobility within both home and community as she carries out her duties for the CCP. The bulk of official texts tend to portray Uyghur families as feudally-minded and rather savage when

speaking about the population in general (thus justifying the CCP’s intervention), and historical accounts across China reporting instances of violent backlash against women who exercise their new rights in marriage matters. However, this portrait of individual actors casts their freedom of choice as coming without significant negative consequences. The greatest challenge faced by

vanguard youth is not a murderous crowd or vengeful parents, but a recalcitrant mother stubbornly standing by old standards until convinced of the new.

During this ordeal, Muhammed is more vocally and politically active while Maliyamu is relegated to the role of “background activist”. Muhammed cultivates respect and leadership in the community at large; Maliyamu is admired for her tireless work among women. Likewise, most of the lines in this story are credited to Muhammed. Maliyamu either provides vocal confirmation of his ideas or silently acts out her role in the background, a mere shadow of her future spouse. Muhammed vocally reproaches his parents, but Maliyamu is irreproachable in speech. In quietly and steadfastly refusing to bow before old customs she demonstrates that the new woman need not upset established notions of femininity.

Emphasis on differentiated male and female roles is not unique to the young couple. An early PRC article summarizing interviews with youth and Women’s Federation leaders from Xinjiang at a meeting in Beijing channels the admirable revolutionary spirit of the two male

representatives from the youth league, spending nearly 900 characters recounting tales of their political exploits with the East Turkestan Republic (rebranded the proto-communist “Three Districts Rebellion”) and early CCP. Not even half that length is given to “women’s issues”. The majority of text on this subject is given over to rehashing familiar tropes: under the KMT and feudal society Xinjiang women were subject to a life of hardship; women were sold into marriage, often at the young age of 12 or 13, and enjoyed little liberty in or out of the home.⁠75 The representative herself is painted as a pitiful subject greatly reliant on the state’s protection.

While she is lauded for her strength in participating in revolution, the author dwells on her struggle to raise two children after being abandoned by her husband.76 _{Men inspire audiences to} revolution; women serve to remind readers of the poor conditions of the past and the strength that can be ignited within an individual via contact with the party. Men are leaders of the

community; women are leaders of women’s groups. Men are productive; women, auxiliary. Men are logical; women, emotional. While, as has been noted by a number of feminist historians,⁠this gendered understanding of individuals’ basic roles in society in the early PRC is not unique to Uyghurs. 77 _{What is unique is that the justification for CCP intervention is framed partially in} terms of protecting women from supposedly feudal and patriarchal Uyghur society via establishing gender equality and ensuring women have a full range of liberties and opportunities.⁠78

Women, however, are seen as not quite full adults. Women’s liberation is categorized as parallel to the youth liberation in the article cited above. The portrayal of women, youth and ethnic minorities as equivalent (sub) categories appears throughout early People’s Daily and party archives. On official lists of representatives, only women or minority representatives are

76 _{From Bo Sheng 柏生, “Xinjiang de shaoshu minzu qingnian he funü – fang xibeige zu qingniang, funü}

canguantuan de xinjiang shaoshuminzu daibiao” 新疆的少数民族青年和妇女 ——访西北各族青年、妇女参 观团的新疆少数民族代表 [Minority youth and women in Xinjiang – Interview Xinjiang representatives from the Northwest Youth and Women delegations] with Renmin Ri Bao人民日报3 (4/4/1950).

77 _{See, for example, Gail Hershatter, The Gender of Memory: Rural Women and China’s Collective Past and “State}

of the Field: Women in China's Long Twentieth Century”, Wang Zheng, Finding Women in the State: A Socialist Feminist Revolution in the People’s Republic of China, and Tani Barlow, The Question of Women in Chinese Feminism and Gender Politics in Modern China: Writing and Feminism.

78 _{See, for example, “Southern Xinjiang women start to drop their veils”: “For countless years Uyghur women have}

passed their lives behind a veil, as if imprisoned. They didn’t exercise freedom over marriage, their own body, or their education” (“维吾尔族的妇女，多少年来一直在这一层面纱后过着牢狱一般的生活。她们没有婚姻、人

noted; that the rest are Han and male is assumed.79 _{Other articles go to great lengths to}

emphasize minority and women’s participation in local governance, including every example of women being selected as street leaders, neighborhood heads, and even, in one community in Bayingolin Mongol Autonomous Prefecture, county head.⁠80 _{However, what these examples} underscore is not a revolution in gender equality, but the paucity of women in positions of general (not gendered) power, and the surprise at finding them there. As Gail Hershatter

proclaims, “state policies on women's labor were on contradictory assumptions: Mao's statement that "anything a man can do women can also do" and the widely shared belief that women were suited for lighter and less-skilled tasks⁠.”⁠81

While the communist party saw itself as liberating women, it also asked them to step into a limited sphere, to accept working alongside and slightly in the shadow of men. On Youth of China periodical covers featuring the trio of worker-soldier-peasant women, if present, were always portrayed as the peasant, and never as the soldier or worker. Across the board women