{"id":4089,"date":"2018-09-30T12:08:48","date_gmt":"2018-09-30T12:08:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.iuhrdf.org\/en\/2018\/09\/30\/were-people-destroyed-why-uighur-muslims-across-china-are-living-fear\/"},"modified":"2018-09-30T12:08:48","modified_gmt":"2018-09-30T12:08:48","slug":"were-people-destroyed-why-uighur-muslims-across-china-are-living-fear","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/were-people-destroyed-why-uighur-muslims-across-china-are-living-fear\/","title":{"rendered":"\u2018We\u2019re a people destroyed\u2019: why Uighur Muslims across China are living in fear"},"content":{"rendered":"

I<\/span><\/span>t was about a year ago that I first walked into Karim\u2019s restaurant, intending to write about it as part of the food guide I was putting together about ethnic Uighur restaurants in the <\/span><\/span>traditionally<\/span><\/span> Chinese \u201cinner China\u201d of the country\u2019s east and south. Having already spent a decade researching the Uighurs \u2013 a largely Muslim ethnic minority group based mainly in the westernmost <\/span>Xinjiang<\/a> region, outside inner China \u2013 this food-guide project was intended as a fun spin-off from my usual linguistic studies. Or even a \u201ctreasure hunt\u201d, you might say, given the rarity of Uighur restaurants in such major inner-China cities as Shanghai, Beijing and Guangzhou, where the Uighurs are migrants and where the Han Chinese, the dominant ethnic group that <\/span><\/span>account<\/span><\/span> for more than 90% of China\u2019s population, are the great majority.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

While my travels for the guide would involve visiting almost 200 restaurants in more than 50 cities, Karim\u2019s was particularly memorable. I found the usual pilau rice and hand-pulled <\/span><\/span>l<\/span><\/em>aghmen<\/em><\/span> <\/em>noodles \u2013 central-Asian dishes that are staples of Uighur cuisine, and which Karim\u2019s kitchen did very well. More important, though, <\/span><\/span>were<\/span> the sense of warmth and feeling of community, which made sitting there for an additional hour or two a real pleasure. Karim was a great host, and his diners would often chat with each other across the tables, touching upon serious issues while maintaining a certain levity and <\/span>humour<\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

During one of my visits, the conversation turned to the discrimination that Uighurs faced in this large, Han-majority city. Several diners mentioned the difficulty of finding accommodation, as local hotels frequently rejected Uighur visitors by claiming there were no rooms available. Even a Uighur policeman had been denied a room, someone pointed out with a laugh. Karim, a worldly polyglot who could have easily passed for a Middle Easterner, mentioned how he would sometimes go to a hotel and speak to the <\/span>front-desk<\/span> staff in English. Mistaking him for a foreigner, they would tell him that there were rooms <\/span>available,<\/span> and then backtrack after asking him for his documents and seeing the word Uighur on his Chinese identification card.<\/span><\/p>\n

As would soon become clear, however, such \u201cmild\u201d discrimination was to be the least of the Uighurs\u2019 problems. While the regulars at Karim\u2019s were having this discussion in the spring of 2017, their home region of Xinjiang \u2013 home to more than 10 million ethnic Uighurs \u2013 was already being subjected to what the Chinese state described as an \u201call-out offensive\u201d against religious extremism and terrorism. The hard-line policies started shortly after the appointment of Chen Quanguo as Xinjiang\u2019s party secretary, a strongman who had previously pursued similar policies in Tibet. While the government has justified its use of force as a response to a number of violent incidents, critics have claimed the measures are aimed at destroying Uighur identity.<\/span><\/p>\n

Things would worsen considerably over the coming year, as Xinjiang was turned into an Orwellian police state and hundreds of thousands of Uighurs were gradually locked away in concentration camps for what the state calls \u201ctransformation through education\u201d. Others have been thrown in prison or \u201cdisappeared\u201d. Witness reports of life inside the camps and detention <\/span>centres<\/span> have told not only of unhealthy living <\/span>conditions,<\/span> but also of regular violence, torture <\/span>and<\/span> brainwashing. Writing in the New York Times in February, James A Millward, a scholar who has researched Xinjiang for three decades, argued that<\/a> the \u201cstate repression in Xinjiang has never been as severe as it has become since early 2017\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

For many, last spring would mark the start of a period of great loss \u2013 the loss of rights, livelihoods <\/span>and<\/span> identities. Some would also lose their lives. Karim was particularly vulnerable, as Uighurs like him, who have lived abroad in Muslim-majority countries, have been especially targeted in the government crackdown. When I returned to the <\/span>neighbourhood<\/span> earlier this year, I was told that Karim had been handcuffed, taken away and <\/span>jailed \u2013<\/span> and that he had \u201cdied after prolonged heavy <\/span>labour<\/span>\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

At least, that\u2019s the politically proper way of putting it. You could also say that he was murdered by the state.<\/span><\/p>\n

The state, for its part, has shut down all criticism of its actions in Xinjiang. Earlier this year, the foreign ministry spokeswoman, Hua Chunying, declared that concerns about the mistreatment of the Uighurs were \u201cunjustified\u201d and criticism amounted to \u201cinterference in China\u2019s internal affairs\u201d. In a memorable statement last summer, Xinjiang\u2019s deputy foreign publicity director, <\/span>Ailiti<\/span> Saliyev, went so far as to suggest that \u201cthe happiest Muslims in the world live in Xinjiang<\/a>\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

While it is probably best to let the Uighurs speak for themselves regarding their happiness, hearing their voices has been difficult, given the state\u2019s determined efforts to turn Xinjiang into an information vacuum. Journalists, in particular, have been under very heavy scrutiny, with anyone they have managed to interview often too scared to speak honestly. The risks and retributions have been significantly higher for Uighur journalists abroad. In February, four Uighurs working for Radio Free Asia in the US learned that some of their close relatives in Xinjiang had been detained. It was, wrote the Washington Post, \u201can apparent attempt to intimidate or punish them for their coverage\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

Many foreign tourists I have spoken to in Xinjiang this year have reported being interrogated on the train into the region, as well as at checkpoints between cities. Two academic scholars told me stories of being denied entry or transportation to towns that have traditionally been accessible, without being provided with any real reason. While residing in Xinjiang\u2019s westernmost city of Kashgar, an oasis town not far from the borders with Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan <\/span>and<\/span> Pakistan, I was effectively chased out: the hostel where I was staying was suddenly closed for \u201cfire safety\u201d reasons, and I found myself blacklisted at every other place that could have offered me accommodation. After leaving Xinjiang, I spent a month in Yiwu, an international trade hub about 5,000km to the east, not far from Shanghai, but even here, my daily contact with the city\u2019s Uighur population attracted special attention. On two occasions, the local police warned me to \u201cobey Chinese law\u201d and to \u201cnot go hanging out with any bad Xinjiang people\u201d \u2013 a euphemism for Uighurs.<\/span><\/p>\n

But nevertheless, between my linguistic research and the food guide, I spent the best part of 18 months precisely among those \u201cbad Xinjiang people\u201d, both in Xinjiang <\/span>itself,<\/span> and in inner China<\/a>. During that time, I spoke to hundreds of Uighurs, the majority of them male restaurant workers, businessmen, small-time traders <\/span>and<\/span> street-food cooks, as well as their families. In the vast majority of cases, we did not talk about politics. Even so, almost everyone I talked to was affected by the repression in Xinjiang, and sometimes the only alternative to talking about it would have been not talking at all \u2013 and so we talked.<\/span><\/p>\n

In <\/span>synthesising<\/span> what I have observed, I <\/span>realise<\/span> that I ultimately cannot speak for the Uighurs \u2013 that task should <\/span>of course<\/span> be left to the Uighurs themselves, in an environment that is free of fear. Still, I hope the image I present will allow the reader a glimpse of how the Uighurs in Xinjiang and the rest of China are reacting to the present situation<\/span>.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

O<\/span><\/span><\/span>n<\/span> a certain alley in Xinjiang stands a diner I particularly like, popular for its pigeon shish kebab and milk tea. I would always try to stop there when I was in the <\/span>neighbourhood<\/span>. The last time I did, I came with apologies, having not visited for a long time. But, far from being angry, the owner was just surprised that I was still in the region. \u201cI was sure that you had gone back to your country,\u201d he told me.<\/span><\/p>\n

Almost a year had passed since our previous meeting, and a lot had changed. Most of his staff, about 10 of them in all, had been forced to return to their hometowns in southern Xinjiang, either for \u201cre-education\u201d or for \u201chometown arrest\u201d. Gone were the shish kebabs and the tea, together with most of the clientele. Uighur kitchen staff <\/span>were<\/span> extremely scarce now, the owner said, and it was almost impossible to find substitutes.<\/span><\/p>\n

I asked him about his nephew \u2013 another old friend \u2013 but was told that he was in jail for having previously spent a year in a Middle Eastern country. \u201cOur mood is shattered,\u201d the owner admitted to me.<\/span><\/p>\n

This sense of gloom was also evident in the frank negativity I started to notice in many Uighur business-owners. While Uighurs generally consider it bad etiquette to complain when asked how they are doing, more and more often in recent times, I heard people telling me that things were \u201cnot that great\u201d because \u201cbusiness was horrible\u201d. When I ran into a tour guide acquaintance last year, I remarked to him that he had got really thin since I had last seen him. \u201cWe\u2019ve all got really thin this past year,\u201d he told me.<\/span><\/p>\n

Equally pervasive was the constant sense of fear. On one evening in Kashgar, I watched five or six police snatch a drunken man off the streets just for waving his arms, without asking any questions, and even though he was with his wife and son. In inner China, young restaurant workers could seem relaxed one day and then visibly worried the next: it would emerge that the police had given them orders to go back to their hometowns in Xinjiang immediately \u2013 a three- or four-day train journey for most.<\/span><\/p>\n

There was also the fear of always being watched. Once I sat down with a manager of a restaurant in eastern China and, unable to avoid the topic, spoke to him about how oppressive things had become in Xinjiang, telling him about a friend who had been sentenced to a decade in jail for owning the \u201cwrong\u201d books. No sooner did I say the word \u201cjail\u201d than the manager\u2019s head began to twitch in the direction of the table behind ours. \u201cThere\u2019s a policeman here!\u201d he whispered, before standing up and walking away.<\/span><\/p>\n

Concerned for their safety, many Uighurs have deleted all foreign contacts on China\u2019s (highly monitored) WeChat app. At one point last year, I made an effort to see a friend in Xinjiang who had deleted me, by first getting in touch through a proxy, and then meeting in person. In retrospect, I almost wish I hadn\u2019t. Our lunch together was silent and awkward. There was so much to say, but everything felt taboo, and there were whole minutes when we just sat there in silence. It didn\u2019t seem like anyone was monitoring us, but my friend looked worried all the same. When I passed him samples of a book I was working on, he cast them a glance but didn\u2019t flip through the pages. When I asked him if a mutual acquaintance of ours was still around, he told me that he \u201cdidn\u2019t know\u201d that person anymore, before adding: \u201cRight now, I don\u2019t even know you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

W<\/span><\/span>hen talking about the situation in Xinjiang, it is standard to use euphemisms. The most common by far is the word <\/span>yoq<\/span><\/em>, which means \u201cgone\u201d or \u201cnot around\u201d. \u201cDo you get what I\u2019m saying?\u201d a friend asked me once, as I tried to figure out what had happened to a person he was telling me about. \u201cThat guy is <\/span>yoq<\/span><\/em>. He\u2019s got another home now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The phrase <\/span>adem<\/span> <\/span>yoq<\/span><\/em> (\u201ceverybody\u2019s gone\u201d) is the one I\u2019ve heard the most this past year. It has been used to describe the absence of staff, clients and people in general. When referring to people who have been forced to return to their hometowns (for hometown arrest, camp or worse), it is typical to say that they \u201cwent back home\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

The concentration camps are not referred to as \u201cconcentration camps\u201d, naturally. Instead, the people there are said to be occupied with \u201cstudying\u201d (<\/span>oqushta<\/span><\/em>\/\u00f6ginishte<\/em>) or \u201ceducation\u201d (<\/span>terbiyileshte<\/span><\/em>), or sometimes may be said to be \u201cat school\u201d (<\/span>mektepte<\/span><\/em>).<\/span><\/p>\n

Likewise, people do not use words like \u201coppression\u201d when talking about the overall situation in Xinjiang. Rather, they tend to say \u201c<\/span>weziyet<\/span> <\/span>yaxshi<\/span><\/em> emes<\/em>\u201d (\u201cthe situation isn\u2019t good\u201d<\/span>),<\/span> or describe Xinjiang as being very \u201cching\u201d<\/em>(\u201cstrict\u201d, \u201ctight\u201d).<\/span><\/p>\n

Despite the euphemisms, there is no getting away from what is actually happening. It hit me just how unavoidable the topic was when, while chatting with an old friend in inner China, I made a genuine effort to avoid politics and talk about more normal or even mundane things. It proved impossible. When I asked him what he had done earlier that day, he brought up a political meeting that all the Uighurs in that city had to attend. When I asked him if he still tried to read books in his spare time, he told me that the police had cracked down on that, too, and that reading any book would invite unwanted attention. When I asked him about his aspirations for the future, he told me that, ideally, he would love to become a chef of Turkish food and open up his own restaurant, but, unfortunately, that act alone would get him jailed in Xinjiang, as the state continues to discourage and destroy all contact between the Uighurs and other Turkic and Muslim peoples abroad.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"A<\/span><\/p>\n

On a few occasions, I encountered people who seemed to have reached a degree of desperation, and just wanted to let everything out. The first such time was in Kashgar, in autumn last year, when a uniformed public-security worker \u2013 the mostly Uighur, lowest-rank uniformed authority in southern Xinjiang \u2013 invited me to sit across from him at a table in a teahouse. He was off duty that afternoon, having just returned from a medical checkup.<\/span><\/p>\n

The conversation that followed was tense. He asked me what I knew of Uighur history, and then asked me what I thought of the Uighurs as a people. The latter question is one I have been asked several times during my years in <\/span>Xinjiang,<\/span> and has often struck me as a way of searching for some sort of outside verification of Uighurs\u2019 identity. Unsure of how to reply, I tried to be noncommittal: \u201cThe Uighurs are a people like any other, with their good and bad.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re hiding what you really think,\u201d he confronted me. \u201cJust look all around you. You\u2019ve seen it yourself [here in Kashgar]. We\u2019re a people destroyed.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Given my general distrust of <\/span>uniformed<\/span> people in China, I wasn\u2019t ready to share any political views at the time, but have since come to see our conversation as a true moment of desperation. His words, I believe, were genuine. His post was close to Kashgar\u2019s night market, but as of a few days after our meeting, I never saw him there, or anywhere else, ever again.<\/span><\/p>\n

The other conversation that will always stay with me took place in inner <\/span>China,<\/span> while visiting a restaurant I had been to a few times before. With the exception of a single waiter, all of the old staff were gone. As soon as that waiter saw me, he dropped everything to sit down and chat. My telling him that I had been kicked out of Kashgar seemed to trigger him, and he would go on to say many things about the situation there, virtually all of <\/span>them<\/span> taboo.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMillions of Uighurs\u201d were being held in camps, he told me, where they were being fed 15-year-old leftover rice and subjected to beatings. (Precise numbers are hard to verify, but witness testimonies<\/a> have confirmed both poor nutrition and violence in the camps<\/a>.) He said that the Uighurs in this inner-China city now had to attend political <\/span>meetings,<\/span> and that they might soon have to take a test on political subjects such as the 19th party congress. Those who didn\u2019t pass would be sent back to Xinjiang.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen the police talk to us,\u201d he said, \u201cthey are suspicious about everything: \u2018Do you smoke? Do you drink?\u2019 If you don\u2019t, they\u2019ll ask you why not. They\u2019ll ask you if you pray. They\u2019ll ask you if you want to go abroad, or if you\u2019ve previously applied for or had a passport. If you look at the policeman, he\u2019ll ask you what you\u2019re looking at him for; if you look down at the floor, he\u2019ll ask you why you\u2019re looking down at the floor. Whenever we take a train, there\u2019s always a separate room that we have to go through before we\u2019re allowed to leave the station, where they check our documents and question us.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I worried about him talking to me so openly, but it seemed he understood the <\/span>risks,<\/span> or perhaps had already concluded that he was going to be taken soon anyway. When another crackdown came a week later, sweeping a good chunk of the city\u2019s Uighur youth with it, he would be among those forced to leave. \u201cBack to his hometown.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

O<\/span><\/span>ccasionally, I did encounter people who had more positive things to say about the situation. At the risk of passing off my subjectivity as fact, the vast majority of these comments struck me as marked by a mix of cognitive dissonance, Stockholm syndrome <\/span>and<\/span> self-delusion \u2013 often evidenced by self-contradiction and an apparent lack of conviction behind the words.<\/span><\/p>\n

At a time when I was still absorbing Xinjiang\u2019s new reality, one of the hardest \u201crude awakening\u201d moments came while catching up with a Uighur friend who worked in Xinjiang\u2019s tourism industry. After chatting for a bit, I remarked on the city\u2019s increasingly intense security procedures, in a manner that suggested that I found it all over the top. He, too, had his complaints about the new system, saying how he would be forced to stop and have his ID checked seven times while <\/span>travelling<\/span> just 2-3km on his electric scooter. Still, he was quick to add: \u201cBut the people all feel really safe now. Before, I used to worry about letting my daughter go to school alone, but now I don\u2019t have to worry.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Those words \u2013 which almost sounded prepared \u2013 stunned me, given that we were just speaking one-on-one. He then went on to say that this was all to protect the people from <\/span>terrorism,<\/span> and that as soon as Russia and the US hurried up and defeated Isis, all of this would be over. However, when I said that I didn\u2019t think that terrorism could be defeated with force like this, he was quick to agree with that as well.<\/span><\/p>\n

Another friend in another city complained to me about the arbitrary inspections that the local police carried out with regard to the Uighurs. I still remember how angry he got as he talked \u2013 saying that the individual policemen acted like they were <\/em>the law \u2013 but nevertheless added that the upper layers of the government were good.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Uighur<\/span><\/p>\n

A curious phenomenon took place online at the time of the 19th party congress last <\/span>October,<\/span> when Uighur friends who hardly spoke any Mandarin suddenly started posting long messages in fluent Mandarin praising Xi Jinping<\/a> and the <\/span>congress<\/span>. A few months later, I heard about a WeChat app that allowed users to \u201c<\/span>fasheng<\/span> <\/span>liangjian<\/span><\/em>\u201d (\u201cto clearly demonstrate one\u2019s stance\u201d or, literally, \u201cto speak forth and flash one\u2019s sword\u201d), by plugging their name into a prepared Mandarin- or Uighur-language statement. The statement pledged their loyalty to the Communist party and its leaders, and expressed, among other things, their determination in upholding \u201cethnic harmony\u201d and standing opposed to terrorism. The generated image file could then be readily posted on their social network of choice as a show of loyalty.<\/span><\/p>\n

In many of the inner-China restaurants I visited, this loyalty was much more visual than verbal. As a rule, Uighur restaurants would be the only ones on their street covered with Chinese flags and, occasionally, red banners proclaiming a determined struggle against terrorism. Sometimes, the interiors too would have little flags, as well as photos of Xi or plates bearing his image, or \u201cethnic harmony\u201d slogans such as those calling for all of China\u2019s ethnic groups to be \u201cas tight as seeds in a pomegranate\u201d. Some restaurants even had Uighur-language books about Xi and the party at the front counter. I never asked if such demonstrations were voluntary or mandated by the law, but suspect that, like China\u2019s censorship in general, they were a mix of the <\/span>two \u2013 some<\/span> being anticipatory, some being forced<\/span>.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

O<\/span><\/span><\/span>bedience<\/span> and appeasement appear to have saved some people from the camps and prisons. Other factors \u2013 money, connections, Han-Chinese spouses and a formal Chinese education \u2013 although never an ironclad guarantee, appear to help also. Beyond that, bribing police or officials to avoid having one\u2019s passport confiscated or being sent back to one\u2019s hometown is an option that several people I spoke to had taken \u2013 a crack in a system that often feels hopelessly inescapable.<\/span><\/p>\n

For the majority, however, the detentions and the fear of detention have become an unavoidable fact of daily life. Most, I would say, cope by simply enduring and \u201cplodding along\u201d. Despite the missing relatives, the financial losses and the fear that one day soon it could be their turn to go, many of my friends and acquaintances have done their best to focus on how they earn their <\/span>livelihood,<\/span> and to continue doing just that. For many, what seems most important now is their children\u2019s future. Those without children are focusing on simpler and more concrete goals, such as graduating from university, finding a job or buying an apartment.<\/span><\/p>\n

One friend manages a small shop in inner China where local police have recently confiscated entire shelves of import products for \u201cnot having Chinese labels\u201d. He was able to stop them from confiscating more, he says, by telling them that he wasn\u2019t feeling well and had to close the shop. With half the shelves empty and business <\/span>having<\/span> seen a sharp decline, he believes that it won\u2019t be long now before the store is closed.<\/span><\/p>\n

But, even as he describes how the state has started to target young Uighur men indiscriminately, he says he is not afraid. \u201cI\u2019ve already experienced a lot in life. So if they come and arrest me \u2013 fine. Whatever happens, happens.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

When talking <\/span>of<\/span> the situation in general, he takes a broader, grander view. \u201cThis is a trial for the Muslim world right now,\u201d he says. \u201cIf you look at what\u2019s happening in Syria, or in other places, the Muslim world as a whole is undergoing a test. But Allah knows everything that\u2019s happening. We just have to get through this.\u201d With praying all but forbidden for the Uighurs, he has found ways that the authorities won\u2019t notice, such as praying covertly while sitting in a chair, or praying under one of the trees that line the sidewalk.<\/span><\/p>\n

For others, hope exists simply by necessity, and many Uighurs have told me that \u201cthings will get better soon\u201d without offering any reason for believing this. Some seem to think that a friend or relative will be released in the near future \u201cbecause they\u2019ve been held for so many months already\u201d. Others seem to think that the situation will revert to normal \u201conce terrorism is defeated\u201d. In some of the conversations I have had in inner China\u2019s Uighur restaurants \u2013 which, again, have lost huge portions of their staff \u2013 I have been told that the staff would \u201ccome back soon after finishing their education\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

But time has been cruel to these optimistic voices. As the months have turned into a year, and more, the people interned are still interned, the restaurants are losing ever more staff and clients, and the situation only continues to worsen.<\/span><\/p>\n

Source: The Guardian<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It was about a year ago that I first walked into Karim\u2019s restaurant, intending to write about it as part of the food guide I was putting together about ethnic…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":4088,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"topic":[],"class_list":["post-4089","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4089","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4089"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4089\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4088"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4089"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4089"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4089"},{"taxonomy":"topic","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/iuhrdf.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/topic?post=4089"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}