Sharon Olinka reads from Dragon Fighter: One Woman’s Epic Struggle for Peace with China by Rebiya Kadeer at the 2009 Human Rights Book Fair.

Originally a successful business woman from Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, Kadeer was imprisoned for six years (2000-2005) for her work defending the rights of the Muslim Uyghur minority in China. She came to the U.S. in 2005, and is the president of the World Uyghur Congress based in Washington, D.C. In her book, Dragon Fighter, she tells the story of her rise from modest origins and writes about the injustices imposed on the Uyghur minority by the Chinese government.

From Dragon Fighter: One Woman's Epic Struggle for Peace with China

“Rebiya Kadeer!” On March 16, 2005 a prison officer shouted out my name as she entered my cell at three o’ clock in the morning. I jumped up. She spoke no other words. None were really necessary. I hastily dressed in anticipation of my release from prison. Just as I was about to leave my cell, I stopped, remembering my handmade blackbird. I looked at the officer as I tentatively reached for it. She said, “Oh that’s not so important. You can take it with you.” Men in dark suits were waiting for me at the end of the corridor. They escorted me to the clothing dispensary where I received a pair of pants, shoes, a blouse, and a coat.

After I had changed into these clothes, they escorted me in the direction of the main gate. On the way there I saw only Chinese soldiers in olive-green uniforms, no prison officials. I could not help but notice that at the gate no one demanded I say “Baodao!”

In front of the gate stood a vehicle with its engine running. Beside it was the empty truck that had carried the Chinese soldiers, and beyond were more cars for the An Chuan Ting who were escorting me. Farther away, sirens wailed. The prison gate was located on Beijing Street, which I knew also led to the airport. As we drove, I sensed that we were indeed to embark on a flight to ... somewhere. It was odd at the airport. The halls were completely empty, as though they had been swept out. Usually that airport teemed with people twenty-four hours a day. My next thought was that perhaps there was a war, as they hurried me across the tarmac toward a military airplane.

Once I boarded, I saw Officer Mihri and one of her female officers waiting for me, along with a group of additional Chinese prison guards. Not a single word was exchanged. Four hours later, I recognized from above the approaching Beijing landscape. After we landed, Officer Mihri and her companion prison officer were replaced by two other women. There was no opportunity for me to say anything to Mihri though I would have liked to.

Even now, to this day, I think that if I ever had the opportunity to be face to face with Officer Mihri I would hug her tightly. With tears in my eyes, I would thank her for being kind to me. Tell her how in that Communist and brutal country, there is at least one officer who is humane at heart. I would tell her that without the kindness she had shown me, the time I spent at that horrid prison would have passed with greater despair and suffering. I would tell her that her kindness is what gave me the ability to cope with the harsh environment. That during those dark times, and in those dark places, her kindness showed me some good still existed. That is what I would like to say to Officer Mihri.

Then I was taken to a suite in a nice hotel nearby. Diplomats from the Chinese foreign ministry arrived just minutes afterward. They explained to me that I would be flown abroad due to the critically necessary medical treatment I was to undergo. “When you leave here Mrs. Kadeer, you’ll still have the opportunity to work for us abroad. If you choose to do that, you’ll also be allowed to continue conducting your business here and to continue to be a multimillionaire. However, if you should choose to reveal to the worldwide community what you’ve experienced here or continue to be involved in human rights causes, then that would be quite unfortunate. If you choose the latter, you’ll experience actions against your children and your businesses to a degree that you haven’t yet imagined possible. They’ll be finished.”

Another added, “You can decide for yourself whether you want to live in prosperity or in constant difficulty. You have the choice.” Until that point, the high-level cadres had not said where they intended to send me. Instead, they emphasized that regardless of my new destination, I would always remain classified in China as a convict. And then I learned their plan. “We will turn you over to the Americans.”

My blood felt hot, then cold. Was this possible? I had always trusted in God’s voice. God had not forgotten me. The diplomat continued, “You have to remember one thing Mrs. Kadeer. Twenty years from now, there will not be any more people known as Uyghurs. You’re an intelligent woman and you should learn to work with us.

“You have permission to stay in the United States only for eighteen months to undergo your medical treatment. If you feel well after your care, we’ll bring you back. Then you can return to your businesses and be an example for your people. All of your five children here in China will also be well off. We know how much you love them. You must know too that we have made mistakes and that you have made mistakes.” I promised, “I will never do harm to the Chinese people.”

Later, the Chinese government denounced me in an article, claiming, “Mrs. Rebiya Kadeer did not keep her promise.” But that was not true of my promise, as I intended it. I am not fighting against the Chinese people, but rather—just like many Chinese people themselves—I am fighting for a democratically based government and for the unequivocal observance of human rights. Soon after this conversation, officials from the American Embassy arrived at the hotel to complete more diplomatic formalities. One asked me, “Do you want to travel to the United States?”

“Yes, I do.”

About an hour later, they anxiously looked at their watches as they led me across a runway. The minutes passed as slowly as if each were a whole day. A mobile phone rang. “Stop,” someone commanded. “There could still be changes.” This happened twice more as we were about to board the plane. Year after year, I had given myself the courage to believe that I would leave prison alive. Standing on the runway, I looked up the staircase to the airplane. It was so close. Just before the handover to the United States embassy diplomats, one of the Chinese diplomats emphasized, “You aren’t allowed to receive political support in the United States.” One of the men from the United States embassy hugged me. He told the Chinese diplomat, “Sir, as long as this woman doesn’t break the laws of our country, she can do what she wants there.” This man’s hug made me feel like I had already arrived in The United States of America. At last, we boarded the airplane. Only a few hours before I had been sleeping in my cell. I pinched myself. This was not a dream. In my pocket I could feel my little blackbird. Some day, with nourishment in my beak, I would fly back to my homeland—just like this bird did in my imagination.

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