At lunar new year, when the boss handed out the annual bonuses, the red envelopes given to Uighur workers contained less than those given to our colleagues who belonged to China’s dominant ethnic group, the Han. But then there was the red envelope episode. While I tried to overlook the evidence of discrimination that followed us everywhere, with Kerim, it became an obsession.Īfter graduation, we were offered jobs as engineers at the oil company in Karamay. In the job ads in the newspapers, there was often a little phrase in small print: No Uighurs. We had met as students in Urumqi, the largest city in Xinjiang province, and, as new graduates, had begun looking for work. The idea had taken root even before we were hired by the oil company. Kerim had always known he would leave Xinjiang. Once he was settled there, our two girls and I would join him. ![]() Then France, where he had applied for asylum. He tried first in Kazakhstan, but came back disillusioned after a year. My husband, Kerim, had left Xinjiang in 2002 to look for work. He simply said he would call me back in two days after looking into the possibility of letting my friend act on my behalf. Why should I come back for some paperwork? Why go all that way for such a trifle? Why now?” “A friend of mine in Karamay takes care of my administrative affairs. “In that case, I’d like to grant power of attorney,” I said. ![]() Karamay was the city in the western Chinese province of Xinjiang where I’d worked for the oil company for more than 20 years. “You must come back to Karamay to sign documents concerning your forthcoming retirement, Madame Haitiwaji,” he said. There was static on the line I had a hard time hearing him. It was November 2016, and I had been on unpaid leave from the company since I left China and moved to France 10 years earlier. At first, I couldn’t make sense of what he was calling about. ![]() T he man on the phone said he worked for the oil company, “In accounting, actually”.
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