ISLAMABAD: Foreign Minister Shah Mehmood Qureshi has hailed the recent statement of Genocide Watch founding president and chairman Dr. Gregory Stanton regarding Muslims’ genocide in India. Pakistan had expressed its concerns over the matter at several international forums, but the situation was further deteriorating in the Indian Illegally Occupied Jammu and Kashmir (IIOJ&K), said FM Qureshi in a statement issued on Friday. He said Muslims were being maltreated not just in the occupied territory but entire India. “What happened in Gujarat and Delhi is before everybody,” he said. Pakistan had already presented irrefutable evidence regarding Indian involvement in acts of terrorism inside Pakistan, Mr. Qureshi said in reference to the dossier released last week. Earlier on Tuesday, the founder of Genocide Watch — a global organization dedicated to the prevention of genocide — while speaking at a panel discussion organized by the Indian American Muslim Council (IAMC) on “10 Stages of Genocide & India’s Muslims” said genocide is more than killing people. “It is also causing serious physical and mental harm to members of the group that is intended to destroy the group. Driving them out. Not letting them have food or water and a lot of other basics. Taking away children of the group. Preventing births within the group. We see all these things already happening in Kashmir. These types of killings going on in Kashmir are genocidal in nature. Why are the 600,000 Indian troops in Kashmir? This is for a very small population compared to the rest of India. And yet why are they there?” See the full article here. DAWN © 2020

Posted by The Africa Report on November 2, 2020. A MONUSCO delegation in Fizi, one of the territories affected by recent violences, March 16 2019. (MONUSCO/Jacob de Lange) On 28 September, a high-level political, military and diplomatic delegation attended the installation ceremony of the burgomaster (mayor) of the commune rurale – a non-customary local governance entity – in Minembwe, in the South Kivu highlands in eastern DRC. While the burgomaster had already been in function since his nomination in February 2019, the ceremony created a backlash, sparking heated debate about the commune’s creation in all corners of Congolese society and the diaspora. Members of parliament interpolated the Minister of Decentralisation, deemed responsible for the commune’s creation in spite of procedural irregularities. Activists from South Kivu organised a sit-in in front of the prime-minister’s office in Kinshasa. Even the catholic church, in particular the Bishop of Uvira, and the country’s biggest protestant church felt compelled to take a position. This intense mobilisation forced President Félix Tshisekedi to intervene. On 8 October, he announced a temporary suspension of the commune and called for the creation of a scientific commission to look into the matter. ‘Balkanisation’ of Minembwe How did an installation ceremony surrounding a small local governance entity create nation-wide commotion? While analysing the language used to denounce the commune, the answer becomes immediately clear: Minembwe conjures up the spectre of ‘balkanisation’: a deeply engrained theory that surfaces regularly in Congolese political debate. The creation of the commune is seen to be a move by the Banyamulenge – a Kinyarwanda speaking people generally considered to be ‘Tutsi’- to dominate local governance in the area. It would therefore be the first stage in a plan to dismember the Congo by annexing parts of the east to neighbouring countries, specifically Rwanda, and in this way create a putative ‘Hima/Tutsi’ empire. In this light, the Banyamulenge appear as ‘foreigners’ or ‘invaders’ who are trying to usurp the land and local authority of groups that consider themselves ‘autochthonous’ (native) to the region. The discourse of balkanisation therefore goes hand-in-hand with casting doubt on the status of the Banyamulenge as Congolese citizens. ‘Long lineage in the Congo’ The balkanisation trope has a long lineage in the Congo. It is said to have first emerged in the 1960s, when the provinces of Katanga and Kasai seceded from the newly independent country. Given the heavy hand of Belgium, the country’s former colonial power, in Katanga’s secession, balkanisation became associated with imperialism. In the 1990s, the discourse resurfaced in the framework of intensified political competition and unrest following the announced but-never-realised-transition to multiparty democracy in Zaire. In particular the Haut Conseil de la République-Parlement de Transition (the High Council of the Republic’s Transitional Parliaiment), an elected body that had to pave the way for a new political dispensation, became a crucial platform for its spread. The current discussion around Minembwe strongly echoes the arguments and language of political debates in the mid-1990s. Hence for nearly three decades now, the same discourses continue to be recycled, and, as the debate around the Minembwe affair shows, with the same political effectiveness. The persistent narrative The balkanisation discourse has a number of inherent features that render it an attractive rallying slogan. To start with, it is simple; it provides a clear-cut and solo explanation for Congo’s political and economic malaise, obscuring how it is the product of a complex set of factors. Furthermore, it places blame for the country’s problems primarily on ‘foreigners’ and ‘outsiders’, thereby deflecting attention from the responsibility of Congo’s own politicians and decision-makers. In addition, it directs the focus towards identity-related issues, in this way blocking debates about much needed socio-economic reforms in one of the poorest countries on the continent. This is no different from the ways in which blaming immigrants has become a convenient way to avoid discussing and repairing the disastrous socio-economic impacts of neoliberal reforms in Europe. The balkanisation discourse also continues to be used because it has a strong emotional appeal and is therefore almost guaranteed to stir spirits: it speaks to the deeply rooted feelings of ethnic belonging and invokes a simple moral scheme, whereby ‘foreigners’ are associated with ‘evil’ and ‘autochthonous’ populations with ‘good’. Moreover, it evokes traumas of violence related to the Congo Wars and subsequent episodes of armed conflict, where military interference in neighbouring countries played a crucial role. In the specific case of Minembwe, the balkanisation theory also speaks to fears about the erosion of customary authority that intervenes at the level of identity, as chiefs rule over specific ethnic groups and territories. Surfacing of ‘balkanisation’ discourse Due to both its strong mobilising potential and the reassurance of offering a simple –albeit flawed–explanation, the balkanisation discourse surfaces at times of political uncertainty combined with political competition. The current political impasse related to the uneasy cohabitation and ongoing power struggle between President Tshisekedi’s faction CACH (Cap pour le Changement) and former President Kabila’s platform FCC (Front Commun pour le Congo) is clearly such a moment. Similar to the announced transition in the 1990s, there are promises of political reform and a more pluralistic political system that remains to be fulfilled. In these uncertain times, the balkanisation discourse serves as a weapon to discredit and put pressure on political opponents, as well as to demonstrate one’s power by sparking popular mobilisation. This is not to say that it is always deployed in a deliberate and calculating manner, but that the political circumstances create incentives for its use. These incentives will remain in place for the foreseeable future. The current political standoff seems to flow seamlessly into (pre)-electoral positioning, ensuring both political competition and political uncertainty. Genuine socio-economic reforms are not discernible, making it easy for political elites to retain the focus on identity issues. Finally, as  military interference by neighbouring countries continues to be a reality, the balkanisation discourse is inevitably revisited and the same political narrative is recycled. Copyright © 2020 The Africa Report. All Rights Reserved.

UN notes 'alarming pattern in recent months of grave violations' by groups in Turkish-controlled areas of Syria [File: Delil Souleiman/AFP] The United Nations has urged Turkey to investigate possible war crimes and other rights violations it says were carried out by armed groups in the area of northern Syria it controls. Michelle Bachelet, the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, said violence and criminality was rife in those areas of Syria. In a statement on Friday, Bachelet’s UN Human Rights Office (OHCHR) said it had noted an “alarming pattern in recent months of grave violations”, having documented increased killings, kidnappings, unlawful transfers of people, and seizures of land and properties and forcible evictions without any apparent military necessity. The victims include people perceived to be allied with opposing parties or as being critical of the actions of the Turkish-affiliated armed groups, Bachelet’s office said. Increased infighting among the various Turkish-affiliated armed groups over power-sharing was causing civilian casualties and damage to civilian infrastructure, OHCHR said. Bachelet urged Turkey to “immediately launch an impartial, transparent and independent investigation into the incidents we have verified, account for the fate of those detained and abducted by the affiliated armed groups and hold accountable those responsible for what may, in some instances, amount to crimes under international law, including war crimes”. Bachelet’s office said from the start of the year until last Monday it had verified the deaths of at least 116 civilians as a result of improvised explosive devices and explosive remnants of war, while a further 463 civilians were injured. She said an investigation was “all the more vital given that we have received disturbing reports that some detainees and abductees have allegedly been transferred to Turkey following their detention in Syria by affiliated armed groups”. Later on Friday, the Turkish foreign ministry took umbrage at Bachelet’s statement and “strongly condemned the failure to mention the Syrian regime and the PKK/YPG terrorist organisation, which are the main cause of the violations in the report”. Ankara considers the US-backed Kurdish Syrian People’s Protection Units (YPG) to be linked to the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in Turkey. In a statement, the ministry also accused Bachelet of “undue criticism” and said Ankara would notify the UN of its “views and challenges” related to the report. Turkey controls large stretches of northeast Syria through various armed groups, and is conducting operations aimed at driving out the YPG. In October 2019, Turkish forces and their Syrian proxies occupied a 120km (75-mile) stretch of land inside the Syrian border. Ankara has also deployed forces in several military posts it established in northwest Idlib as part of a 2018 deal with Syrian government ally Russia, while Turkey also controls a stretch of territory along its border in neighbouring Aleppo province following a series of military offensives since 2016. © 2020 Al Jazeera Media Network

Genocide Watch staff have published the fourth Timestream in a series of critical genocides in the world. Coptic Christians in Egypt have been persecuted for decades, and it is imperative that this issue is brought to the attention of international leaders. Several attempts have been made on the lives of Coptic Christians in the country, and many Copts have died because of this. This Timestream highlights the oppression and killing, dating from historical cases of discrimination and persecution to the most recent attacks and responses from the Egyptian government. Genocide Watch urges action to be taken to intervene and stop further persecution and killings. See the full Timestream here and view our other Timestreams here.

Uighur dancer performing to music. (William Vandivert / The LIFE Picture Collection / Getty)​ How do you protect a culture that is being wiped out? For Uighurs, this is more than just a hypothetical. Repressive measures against the ethnic minority have progressively worsened: The Chinese government has corralled more than 1 million of them into internment camps, where they have been subjected to political indoctrination, forced sterilization, and torture. The targeting of the Uighurs isn’t limited to the camps. Since 2016, dozens of graveyards and religious sites have been destroyed. The Uighur language has been banned in Xinjiang schools in favor of Mandarin Chinese. Practicing Islam, the predominant Uighur faith, has been discouraged as a “sign of extremism.” Beijing frames these moves as its way of rooting out terrorism, separatism, and religious extremism. But the aim of China’s actions in Xinjiang is clear: to homogenize Uighurs into the country’s Han Chinese majority, even if that means erasing their cultural and religious identity for good. What is taking place is a cultural genocide. The repercussions bear heavily even on Uighurs living outside the country. Their burden is more than just raising awareness about what is taking place in their homeland—a task many have taken up at great cost to themselves and their families. It’s also about preserving and promoting their identity in countries where few people might know who the Uighurs are, let alone what the world stands to lose should their language, food, art, and traditions be eradicated. In an effort to understand what this kind of cultural preservation looks like in practice, I spoke with seven Uighurs residing in Britain, France, Turkey, and the United States. As chefs, poets, singers, filmmakers, language teachers, and musicians, each of them is contributing to this work in different ways. All of them are passionate about ensuring that their heritage will be passed on to future generations. None of them is under any illusions about what’s at stake if they fail. “Every Uighur now is under very big psychological pressure,” Omer Kanat, the director of the Uyghur Human Rights Project, a Washington, D.C.–based nonprofit, told me. “We cannot sleep at night.” Members of the Uighur community and sympathizers demonstrate against China’s treatment of the ethnic minority in Paris in August. (Adnan Farzat / NurPhoto / Getty) By April 2017, few people outside of Central Asia might have known much about the Uighurs. Though the ethnic group totals more than 11 million people in Xinjiang, about 1 million live outside China, mostly in Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Turkey, with much smaller numbers in the United States and Europe. Reports of their persecution by the Chinese state wouldn’t reach wider international audiences until later that year. It was against this backdrop that Mukaddes Yadikar, a Uighur woman from Ili in the northwest of Xinjiang, near China’s border with Kazakhstan, decided to open Etles, one of London’s first Uighur restaurants. Nestled on a busy North London high street brimming with corner stores, betting shops, and cafés, Etles’s bright-blue exterior stands in marked contrast to much of its surroundings—a differentiation befitting its distinctive offerings. Owing to the Uighur homeland’s place along the ancient Silk Road trade route, Uighur cuisine takes its influences from across Central Asia, incorporating dishes as seemingly disparate as hand-pulled noodles and crispy naan. Even diners accustomed to the culinary diversity of the British capital might not expect to find dumplings, samosas, and shish kebabs on a single menu. At Etles, however, these dishes are only a representative sample of what makes Uighur cooking unique. “Our food is very rich, very different,” Yadikar told me one Sunday afternoon over tea. Its absence from Britain’s food scene is what she said first inspired her to open the restaurant with her husband, Ablikim Rahman. At the time of its opening, Etles catered to a predominantly Chinese clientele—a trend Yadikar chalked up to Britons’ lack of familiarity with Uighur cuisine. In the years since, that has changed. “Now most of our customers are English,” Yadikar said, adding that their menu has appealed to many within the British Muslim community, for whom halal Chinese food can often be difficult to find. Today, the couple runs two North London restaurants (the second opened in December, just months before the pandemic forced both locations to close). Etles feels like a living homage to Uighur culture. Etles silks, the traditional Uighur cloth from which the restaurant gets its name, are laid across every table. A tapestry of the artist Ghazi Ehmet’s Uyghur Muqam, one of the most recognizable paintings in Xinjiang, is prominently featured at the center of the dining room. Every wall is adorned with models of traditional instruments, embroidered caps, and decorative plates. When I asked Yadikar and Rahman about the role they see themselves playing in protecting Uighur culture, they paused for several seconds. It’s not a question many people are asked to consider. The silence was filled by their three young children who, sitting one table over, were clamoring over schoolwork. In a way, they answered the question for their parents. “We’re just [trying to] pass our culture, identity, and religion to the next generation,” Rahman said, nodding to the kids. Though the children speak Uighur fluently at home, only two of them have been to Xinjiang, and are too young to remember it. So Yadikar and Rahman keep the spirit of their homeland alive at Etles. “From the restaurant, we can introduce our people, our culture, and our traditions,” Yadikar said. “We can’t go [to Ili]; we can’t see our people. They can’t leave. So we have to introduce our people then; we have to protect.” The dining room at Etles in Walthamstow, North London (Yasmeen Serhan) Few understand the exhausting task of piecing a culture back together like Devin Naar. For nearly two decades, the historian and Sephardic-studies professor at the University of Washington has sought to understand and recuperate the lost world of Sephardic Jewry, an effort that began when he was in college. His interest in the topic stems from his own family history, “a puzzle” he says spans from the Greek port city of Salonica (now known as Thessaloniki), where one of the world’s largest Sephardic Jewish communities once lived, to the substantial Sephardic population in Seattle, where he currently resides. Toward the end of the 15th century, the Iberian Peninsula was home to one of the largest Jewish communities in the world. That is, until 1492, when Spain issued its Jewish population an ultimatum: to convert, leave, or be killed. As many as hundreds of thousands of expelled Sephardic Jews (deriving from the Hebrew word for Spain, Sepharad) sought exile in places such as Portugal (which not long after delivered a similarly stark demand), Italy, and the Netherlands. Others, like Naar’s ancestors, made their way to the Ottoman empire. “They didn’t speak either Greek or Turkish at home, but they spoke a language that they called Spanish,” Naar told me of his ancestors in Salonica. In fact, like other Sephardim, they spoke a centuries-old variant of Spanish known as Ladino, which uses Hebrew script. Growing up in the U.S., Naar said he found very little information about Sephardic history and culture, and some books offered barely more than footnotes about the Jews of the late Ottoman empire—an erasure he attributed in part to assimilation and the Holocaust, during which tens of thousands of Sephardic Jews from Salonica perished. “We were just invisible,” Naar said. “We literally did not exist in the narrative.” Naar wasn’t completely without resources, though. One of his great uncles had a stack of letters dating as far back as 1935, all written in Ladino, a language Naar would ultimately learn in order to decode them. The correspondence revealed painful parts of his family history, including details about the family members who sought, and failed, to secure visas to the U.S. at the height of World War II, and those who were put on trains to Auschwitz. “When I began to open up that story … I was like, I have to do something,” he said. “I have to enter more deeply into this world.” His quest took him as far afield as Salonica, Jerusalem, Moscow, and New York City, culminating in a book about the history of Salonica’s Sephardic Jews. But the effort to revive Sephardic culture is far from complete. Today, there are thought to be anywhere from 60,000 to 400,000 Ladino speakers worldwide. Few have spoken the language from birth, and it’s safely assumed that none of them speak it exclusively. Their dwindling numbers mean that few, if any, new works are being published in Ladino. Even the world’s last Ladino-language newspaper, El Amaneser, or “The Dawn,” is written using Latin script. Though there have been some recent efforts to preserve the language, including Spain’s 2018 decision to recognize Ladino as a Spanish language and to establish a new Ladino academy in Israel, it is still widely considered to be at risk of extinction. For Sephardic Jews, the loss of their language means more than just the disappearance of their ancestors’ native tongue. It means being unable to access a wealth of Ladino literature, hundreds of thousands of pages of which Naar has worked with the University of Washington to digitize as part of the world’s first virtual Ladino library. It also means missing out on troves of stories, perspectives, and ways of thinking. “Without the language as an organizing feature,” Naar said, “there is really a lot that is lost.” A magazine written by and for Uighur children in the diaspora. Its editor, Muyesser Abdul’ehed Hendan, said the publication is aimed at helping children learn the Uighur language. (Courtesy of Muyesser Abdul’ehed Hendan) The situation facing Sephardic Jews is undoubtedly different from that facing the Uighurs today. Whereas the Sephardim confronted expulsion more than 500 years ago, the suppression of the Uighurs is happening in real time. Although the former had to maintain their traditions within their families, in many cases secretly, the latter have been able to utilize modern tools such as the internet to keep their culture alive. Still, some lessons can be gleaned from their shared challenges. The first has to do with the issue of homeland, and how a community can go about preserving a culture outside of one. For Sephardim, this issue is ever-present. Since their expulsion from the Iberian Peninsula, they have carried with them a distinctive diasporic identity. And despite Spain’s and Portugal’s offers to extend citizenship to Sephardic Jews who were forced out of both countries hundreds of years earlier, this hasn’t really changed. “There is no country in the world that speaks on behalf of Sephardic Jews as Sephardic Jews,” Naar said. “Spain speaks on behalf of them as part of the Spanish empire … Israel speaks on behalf of Jews because of their Jewishness. But there is no Sephardistan. That does not exist.” Uighurs, by contrast, do have a homeland, albeit a rarely autonomous one. (Though there was a short-lived Republic of East Turkestan, as some Uighurs prefer to call Xinjiang, the region has been under Chinese control since 1949.) But their suppression by the Chinese state has put the future of Uighur culture in their native land in doubt, prompting many Uighurs with means to leave. Such was the case for Rahima Mahmut, a London-based Uighur singer and activist from the northern town of Ghulja. Born to a family of musicians, Mahmut began singing from a very young age. “According to my mother, I could sing when I started speaking,” she told me over the phone, laughing. Her four brothers provided the music, playing the drums, the violin, and traditional Uighur instruments such as the dutar and the tämbur. “Naturally, it became a part of me.” Mahmut’s decision to leave Ghulja came decades before Beijing’s internment of Uighurs. During a visit home to see her family in 1997, Mahmut witnessed a violent crackdown on peaceful protesters calling for an end to religious and ethnic discrimination. Dozens were killed and thousands were arrested. Among those detained, Mahmut said, was her brother-in-law, who received a 12-year prison sentence. “I could see that the situation was getting really, really bad,” she said. Three years later, she traveled to Britain for a master’s degree and eventually moved to London, where she met other Uighurs and musicians with whom she would form the London Uyghur Ensemble, which has toured Britain, Europe, the U.S., and Canada. Mahmut performing with the London Uyghur Ensemble. (Courtesy of Rahima Mahmut) When I asked Mahmut whether she felt she could more freely enjoy her culture outside the Uighur homeland, she said she could never be truly free while speaking out against abuses by the Chinese government: Of her immediate family, she is the only one who managed to leave Xinjiang, along with her then-husband and son. The last time she spoke with her remaining family was in 2017. She has avoided contacting them for fears of compromising their safety. Hundreds of prominent Uighur cultural figures including singers, musicians, novelists, scholars, and academics have been detained, imprisoned, or have disappeared since 2017, according to the Uyghur Human Rights Project. Tahir Hamut Izgil, a Uighur poet and film director based in Washington, D.C., told me via an interpreter that this suppression of the Uighur cultural sphere dates back to at least 2012, when the Chinese government began a “reexamination” of Uighur-language publications, films, and music, many of which were blacklisted. “Uighur music and dance troupes were obligated to perform entirely in Chinese … on topics like opposing separatism, loving the motherland, loving the party, unity of the peoples,” Izgil said. His work often touches on themes such as homeland, religion, and exile—topics that would be almost impossible to write about in Xinjiang today. Not until 2017, just before Izgil planned to leave for the U.S., did he decide to formally publish a collection of his poems. “I knew that if I left for America, I might never return to my homeland,” he said. “I wanted to ensure that at least one volume of my work was distributed among my people so that they would have it.” In the end, he said, he was able to distribute 1,000 copies; 2,000 more were confiscated. Izgil nevertheless continues to publish his poems in Uighur online. As a father of three, he said he sees it as his responsibility to ensure that his children are able to speak Uighur. Others have taken a more formal approach to preserving it. The Turkic language, like other minority languages, is banned from being taught in schools in China, though this hasn’t stopped Uighurs in the diaspora from setting up their own language schools abroad, including in France, the U.S., and Turkey. “Language is the key to preserve the nation,” Muyesser Abdul’ehed Hendan, a Uighur-language teacher based in Istanbul, told me in an email. She runs an informal language school for children ages 5 to 12, and though the pandemic forced her to pivot to online-only instruction, she said it also enabled her to reach more pupils. To date, Hendan said that she, alongside Uighur teachers as far afield as Norway, Sweden, Australia, and France, is teaching nearly 150 students worldwide. “If a language and culture are inherited by an enough number of children,” Hendan said, “it won’t be in danger.” Language alone may not guarantee the culture’s continued survival, though. “If [future generations] are unable to visit their homeland, if they are unable to see their native soil, if they are unable to experience the culture in that place, it will be much more difficult for them,” Izgil said. “If in the next several generations Uighur culture is destroyed in its homeland, it will be very difficult for Uighurs in the diaspora to preserve it. Even in the diaspora, it may cease to exist.” Izgil in September 2012 with his film crew and local Mongolian folk artists in Xinjiang. (Courtesy of Tahir Izgil) Safeguarding a culture requires more than simply maintaining a historical record of its existence. Cultures, after all, can’t be placed behind glass like museum artifacts; much like the people who inhabit them, cultures are meant to grow, adapt, and evolve. The Ladino language offers a prime example of this: The medieval variant of Spanish is not identical to the modern Ladino used today. As the language traveled, it “absorbed like a sponge the linguistic and cultural elements of its surrounding environment in the Ottoman empire,” Naar said, noting that the language has since incorporated elements of Arabic, Greek, Italian, French, and English. For Mukaddas Mijit, a filmmaker, ethnomusicologist, and expert on Uighur dance and music from Ürümqi, the capital of Xinjiang, the tension between preserving elements of culture as they are and allowing them to grow and evolve is at the heart of the challenge facing Uighurs in the diaspora. When she first left Xinjiang in 2003 to study at Paris Nanterre University, “no one really knew where I was from or who I was, who were the Uighurs,” she told me. Culture, she thought, could play a role in raising awareness, so she began organizing Uighur cultural events known as meshrep. This social, and traditionally male, gathering brings people together to enjoy a meal, poetry, music, and dance. A traditional meshrep has a structured hierarchy, including a master of ceremony, and serves as a forum for the community to mediate conflicts and impart important customs and traditions. (Though meshrep is included on UNESCO’s list of “intangible cultural heritage,” Chinese authorities have banned “illicit” or “unhealthy” versions of the practice.) Yet not everyone in the Uighur diaspora has been supportive of Mijit’s efforts, she told me. Some criticized the events for not being entirely authentic, while others questioned why the community should be focused on culture at all, as though to say, How can we focus on frivolous matters while our people are being repressed? This concern has been raised beyond France. “Many [Uighurs] have been very reluctant to hold public events or celebratory events—the kind of spaces in which this culture continues to live and breathe—because it feels so wrong to them when their relatives and friends are suffering back home,” Elise Anderson, an expert on the Uighur language and Uighur music and a senior program officer at the Uyghur Human Rights Project, told me. “A lot of people feel this sort of strange, sometimes contradictory set of feelings about wanting to celebrate, but wondering, Is it appropriate?” An argument could be made that these things shouldn’t be mutually exclusive. Although raising awareness about what is happening to Uighurs in China is important, their persecution doesn’t alone tell the full story of who the Uighurs are, nor why people should care. By representing their culture beyond the prism of its repression, Uighurs in the diaspora are giving the world a better understanding of not only who they are, but what it stands to lose should the culture be allowed to disappear. Mijit performing a traditional Uighur dance in Fez, Morocco. (Courtesy of Mukaddas Mijit) For them to be successful, though, Mijit argues that the diaspora must be willing to move beyond simply aiming to be authentic. “The whole point of having a different culture is to communicate it with others and share it,” she said. “People are so stressed about preserving that they forget that this thing that they want to preserve is something alive. If we really want to keep it in a box, that means we will kill it ourselves.” This admission points to a broader truth about cultural preservation: Even when cultures aren’t facing active persecution, as is the case for the Uighurs, they are still prone to transform as a result of more natural causes, such as migration, assimilation, or integration. Joshua Freeman, a historian of China and Inner Asia at Princeton and a translator of Uighur poetry into English who spent seven years living in Ürümqi, told me that he observed this kind of cultural hybridity occur in real time. “There were many Uighurs, especially in the younger generation, who spoke perfect Chinese and were in many ways able to navigate those societies in both languages,” he said, noting that “if the Chinese state’s project was to integrate Uighurs as a community into China, there were many Uighurs in the younger generation who could have played a part in that and were beginning to.” By giving up on that possibility and opting instead for assimilation by force, China has threatened Uighur culture and identity. But it has also, paradoxically, spurred its greatest growth outside the Uighur homeland. Today, Uighurs in the diaspora are slowly rebuilding some of what has been lost in Xinjiang: Uighur restaurants, bookstores, and language schools are being opened. Uighur poems, books, and magazines are being published. Traditional Uighur music and dance are being introduced to the wider world. “This relatively small number of writers and poets and artists and filmmakers and musicians in the diaspora … are creating an incredible amount of new and important work,” said Freeman. Thanks to them, Uighur culture isn’t just surviving abroad—it’s flourishing. None of this is to say that Uighur culture is no longer under threat. If Uighurs are unable to study their native language, practice their faith, or freely celebrate their identity in their homeland, their culture will continue to be hollowed out—perhaps beyond repair. Still, many of the people I spoke with expressed optimism that, so long as the diaspora continues to promote and develop its culture, not all will be lost. “The Chinese state’s project of erasing Uighur identity and culture will not be successful,” Freeman said. “Even in the diaspora, Uighur culture is vibrant. It has a lot to give to the world.” © 2020 The Atlantic

Anti-balaka militias in Gamba, south-east CAR in 2017. (AFP/Alexis Huguet) Genocide Watch is issuing a Genocide Emergency for the Central African Republic (CAR), where 80% of the country is controlled by armed groups. Conflict between largely Muslim ex-Séléka rebels and Christian anti-Balaka militia endangers all civilians. Muslims have been disproportionately targeted, as have the Fulani within the Muslim population, and are hence facing persecution (Stage 8). Other vulnerable groups in the CAR include the Ba’Aka and Bofi forest people, the Mboum, and the Biaka, who all face discrimination (Stage 3) and cultural genocide. The current CAR conflict began when Muslim Séléka rebels took control of the north and captured the capital Bangui in 2013. They ousted President Francois Bozizé. Séléka leader Michel Djotodia became the CAR’s first Muslim president after decades of domination by ethnic groups from the CAR’s south, west and centre. Christian anti-Balaka militia emerged in opposition to the Bangui government, claiming to defend their communities. Djotodia’s successor in 2014, Catherine Samba-Panza, called for reconciliation, held elections and a referendum, but could not end the violence. Muslims have been persecuted, with 80% of the Muslim population driven from the country. A 2015 United Nations (U.N.) inquiry found there was ‘ethnic cleansing.’ Genocide Watch rejects this term because it has no legal meaning. Forced displacement, the proper legal term, is a crime against humanity. The U.N. said there had been no genocide due to a lack of intent. However, forced displacement can be genocidal. CAR politics is characterized by the hate speech that is evidence of genocidal intent. The U.N. humanitarian chief flagged early signs of genocide in August 2017 when 2,000 Muslims were trapped in a church in Bangassou after fleeing their homes burned by anti-Balaka militia, who left Christian homes unburnt. Leaders in Bangassou and across the CAR then incited hatred and violence against Muslims, which the U.N. peacekeeping mission (MINUSCA) reported after each major security incident. Ex-Séléka groups have also attacked Christian civilians to collectively punish anti-Balaka, such as in an attack on Alindao in November 2018. Fulani herders, who are often seen as outsiders, have been targeted by other Muslims as divisions have formed between Muslim groups on ethnic lines and over resources, says the International Crisis Group (ICG). In Ouaka and Hautte-Kotto, the mainly Fulani Union for Peace in the CAR (UPC) has clashed with the Gula and Runga Popular Front for the Renaissance in the CAR (FPRC), which even allied itself with the anti-Balaka. When the FPRC and UPC clashed in November 2016, the U.N.’s Special Advisor on genocide prevention said the FPRC singled out Fulani civilians in Bria, killing 85 civilians and displacing 11,000. Fulani who stayed in Bria were trapped as the FPRC closed in. The Fulani UPC has also reacted by committing atrocities. After the November 2016 attack, the UPC attacked Christians and Gula in Bakala, executing 32 civilians and displacing 10,000. The Fulani have been expanding into the southeast and parts of the west, engaging in violence in Bambouti, Obo and Zemio. Another armed group is the Return, Reclamation, Rehabilitation (3R), which claims to represent Fulani civilians. Human Rights Watch (HRW) says the 3R is profiting from the crisis. In May 2019, 3R killed 46 people and displaced 12,000 in a coordinated attack on three towns in Ouham-Pendé. 3R recently suspended its participation in the 2019 peace accord, demanding an end to ‘threats’ as MINUSCA warned against 3R expansion. Genocide Watch considers the CAR to be at Stage 8, Persecution. Genocide Watch recommends: MINUSCA and the CAR government should ensure the safe return of IDP’s to their homes. The U.N., France, and other donor nations should increase humanitarian assistance to CAR. War criminals on all sides should be arrested, promptly tried, and imprisoned. Candidates in the December 2020 election who incite ethnic hatred should be disqualified.

Investigate Killings, End Arbitrary Detention, Allow Peaceful Gatherings (Nairobi) – The arrest and detention of presidential candidate, Robert Kyagulanyi, is a sign of the growing repression of opposition politicians ahead of Uganda’s national elections scheduled for January 2021. The Ugandan authorities should release Kyagulanyi immediately and unconditionally and respect the rights of people to peacefully protest his detention. Security forces arrested Kyagulanyi, popularly known as Bobi Wine, on November 18, 2020, in Luuka district, Eastern Uganda, ahead of a planned campaign rally. The police spokesperson, Fred Enanga, said in a statement that Kyagulanyi, the presidential candidate of the National Unity Platform, was arrested for allegedly breaching Covid-19 regulations by mobilizing large crowds for his campaign rallies. A spokesperson for Kyagulanyi said that his lawyers have been denied access to him. The authorities responded with teargas and live bullets to the protests that followed in Kampala and elsewhere, which led to 16 deaths, with 45 people injured, the police said. “The increasing spate of violence so early in the campaign season does not bode well for the weeks to come before the elections,” said Oryem Nyeko, Africa researcher at Human Rights Watch. “The authorities can stem the slide toward further violence by ending the harassment of journalists and opposition candidates and their supporters, and the violent disruption of their campaign rallies.” On the same day in Gulu, Northern Uganda, the police arrested and later released another opposition presidential candidate, Patrick Oboi Amuriat of the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC) party. This was his second arrest in two days for allegedly planning an “unauthorized procession.” Video footage circulating on social media shows men in civilian clothes apparently working alongside security forces to disperse crowds during the protests, brandishing guns on the streets of Kampala and shooting toward the sky. Human Rights Watch has not verified the authenticity of the footage or the identity of the people shown. In the last two weeks, the authorities have used Covid-19 regulations as a pretext to violate rights and clamp down on the opposition and the media. They have arrested opposition party leader and journalist, and dispersed opposition campaign rallies with teargas for allegedly flouting Covid-19 guidelines. Despite attracting similarly large crowds in Kotido and Gulu, security forces allowed rallies and processions for the ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) party to continue undisrupted. On November 3, the police smashed the window of Kyagulanyi’s vehicle, trying to arrest him at Kyambogo University in Kampala after the Electoral Commission confirmed his nomination to run for president. Kyagulanyi told the media that the police sprayed pepper spray into his eyes during the arrest. He was later taken to his home in Magere in Kampala and released. Earlier that day police also arrested Amuriat as he made his way to Kyambogo for the presidential nominations, and later released him without his shoes. The Kampala-based African Centre for Media Excellence reported that the police used pepper spray on journalists on November 3 as they covered a procession by Kyagulanyi’s supporters in Kyambogo and arrested Ronald Kakooza, a journalist from the Vision Group, while he covered events at the Forum for Democratic Change headquarters in Najjanankumbi, on the outskirts of Kampala. On November 5,the police shot another journalist, Moses Bwayo, in the face with a rubber bullet as he was filming Kyagulanyi arriving at his party’s office. Since campaigns began two weeks ago, the police have violently dispersed opposition rallies and blocked opposition members from reaching their venues. On November 9, the police in Mbale fired teargas to disperse crowds as Amuriat traveled through the city to kick off his campaign in Soroti, Eastern Uganda. In Lira, police used teargas to disperse crowds ahead of Kyagulanyi’s campaign rally there on November 12. Amid the chaos, unidentified people reportedly attacked two NBS television journalists, Daniel Lutaaya and Thomas Kitimbo, as they covered Kyagulanyi’s campaign, stealing their property – a laptop was stolen, as well as camera chargers and phones – and vandalizing their car. On November 16, police again fired teargas and live bullets to disperse crowds in Mayuge district during Kyagulanyi’s campaign events there, reportedly for not complying with Covid-19 crowd restrictions. Any use of force and “less-lethal” weapons such as teargas must comply with international law as articulated in the United Nations Basic Principles on the Use of Force and Firearms by Law Enforcement Officials. Force should only be used when other means of de-escalation have proven inadequate. When police use force, they should ensure that it is strictly proportionate to the danger to public order posed by protesters and seek to minimize the risk of injuries and protect the rights to life and health. The police can only employ firearms in self-defense when “less extreme means,” are insufficient and it is “strictly unavoidable to protect life.” The Ugandan government is obligated to ensure that excessive use of force is subject to scrutiny and in particular that there is an effective investigation into the deaths and injuries of all civilians that leads to accountability for unlawful killings and injuries and access to a remedy for the victims. Before the election campaigns formally started, the authorities blocked opposition meetings and rallies. In January, police blocked Kyagulanyi from conducting meetings in Gayaza, Gulu, and Lira, allegedly because he had not met all the requirements of the Public Order Management Act. Police later arrested Kyagulanyi and journalists covering his events in Gayaza and Lira, and reportedly ordered at least one reporter to delete his footage of the events. While enforcing the government’s Covid-19 measures, earlier in the year, security forces shot at civilians and beat and arbitrarily arrested hundreds. The police arrested vendors, journalists, and lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) youth. In April, police arrested and badly beat an opposition member of parliament, Francis Zaake, for distributing food to his constituents after the government banned public and private transport, suspended non-essential services, and closed non-food markets to prevent the spread of Covid-19. The government said he failed to channel his food donations through a government-organized task force. “The authorities have consistently used Covid-19 guidelines as an excuse for violent repression of the opposition rather than to safeguard the democratic playing field for free and fair elections,” said Nyeko, “The Ugandan government should instead focus on ensuring that the security forces respect the rule of law, are held accountable for abuses, and act in an impartial manner.” SOURCE: HUMAN RIGHTS WATCH

WASHINGTON DC, 18 November - Jubilee Campaign releases their report Genocide is Loading: Finding Reasonable Basis to Believe Crimes Against Humanity Occurred during Ministerial Event on Nigeria's Invisible Genocide hosted by Save the Persecuted Christians. The report counters the farmer-herder clashes narrative that has been used to describe the violence in the Middle Belt and northern Nigeria, noting the casualty asymmetry. The report clarifies that the research and focus are on the armed, violent, radical Fulani militant groups and the violence cannot be attributed to the entire Fulani ethnic community. The report notes that attacks by Fulani militants often happen at night or in the early morning while the community members are at home, unsuspecting of attacks and unable to respond, again countering the claim that the attacks are a result of clashes. The report also describes the advanced weaponry used by the militants and how the attacks are often well-coordinated, with militants arriving by motorcycles en masse and even by boat. The report relates cases where the rules of engagement used by the Fulani militants liken those of Islamic Jihad, with Fulani militants sending threatening messages prior to an ambush, "your land or your blood." The report joins NGOs around the world in the continuing call for international efforts to end violence in Nigeria and hold the perpetrators to account. It concludes that Fulani militants pose a mortal threat to the predominately Christian farming tribes in the Middle Belt and surrounding states and that the Nigerian government is failing both to protect the victims and bring the perpetrators to justice. Click the link below to download the full report. Jubilee Campaign © 2020

image source: Wikipedia The 2018 election of Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, an Oromo, resulted in the freeing of political prisoners and devolution of power from the federal government in Addis Ababa to ethnically dominated state governments. Minorities within Ethiopian regions were not protected from ethnic regional militias. Over one million people were displaced due to ethnic violence between 2018 and 2020. In 2019 Abiy Ahmed was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for settling Ethiopia’s long conflict with Eritrea. However, within Ethiopia, Abiy Ahmed is struggling against the centripetal forces that are inherent in the ethnic regional structure of the Ethiopian federal system. Tigrayans in the Amhara and Oromia regions claim that other ethnic groups have looted and destroyed Tigrayan businesses and homes. Prime Minister Ahmed fired many Tigrayan ex-officials on corruption charges, which Tigrayans cite as ethnic persecution. On November 1, 2020, at least 54 people from the Amhara ethnic group were killed in massacres by terrorists from the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA). Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, The Prime Minister’s term was extended and national elections were postponed. The TPLF objected to Ethiopia’s delayed elections and Abiy Ahmed’s extended time in office. In September 2020, Tigrayans voted in regional elections that Ethiopia’s government declared illegal. The federal government bypassed the TPLF regional government to directly fund local governments. Tigrayan militias have 250,000 men under arms that are equipped with heavy weaponry. The Ethiopian federal government has one of its largest military bases in Tigray. On November 4, 2020, Tigrayan militias attempted to seize weapons from the Ethiopian military base. On November 4, 2020, Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed declared an “unexpected war” on the Tigrayan Peoples Liberation Force (TPLF) in Tigray state. On November 6, the Ethiopian Air Force bombed bases of the TPLF. Genocide Watch is updating its Genocide Emergency Alert on Ethiopia due to this war. Genocide Watch now considers Ethiopia to be at Stage 9: Extermination. Genocide Watch recommends: · The U.S., E.U., and other providers of weaponry to Ethiopia should cut off weapons sales. · The U.N., African Union, and the U.S. should offer to broker a ceasefire between the parties in Ethiopia and bring them to the negotiation table to end this incipient civil war. · The genocidal intent and atrocities committed by the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA) should be condemned and the perpetrators of the massacres of Amharas should be brought to justice. · The Ethiopian Constitution should be amended to remove the right of secession of ethnic regions, to prohibit regional militias, and to strengthen the federal government. · Ethiopian diasporas in the U.S. and Europe should stop sending money to support the ethnic war.

Lift Access, Communication Restrictions; Avert Looming Humanitarian Disaster Ethiopian women who fled fighting in Tigray region at a refugee camp in the Sudanese border town of al-Fashqa, November 13, 2020.© 2020 REUTERS/El Tayeb Siddig (Nairobi) – The Ethiopian government and Tigray regional authorities should protect people and property at risk from the fighting. Amid credible reports of increasing casualties, the authorities on both sides should facilitate access for humanitarian groups, stop interrupting essential services, and immediately restore communication services in the region. Early on November 4, 2020, the Ethiopian government began military operations in Tigray, one of the country’s semi-autonomous regions, in what Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed said was a response to an attack on a federal military base by the ruling party in the region, the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF). The TPLF led the former coalition that ruled Ethiopia for nearly three decades before Abiy took office in April 2018. “Tight restrictions on access for aid agencies and communications mean that millions of people in Tigray affected by the fighting may be at grave risk,” said Laetitia Bader, Horn of Africa director at Human Rights Watch. “Federal and regional authorities should respect the right to life and take all necessary measures to assist and protect the population.” The fighting follows a year of growing tensions between the federal government and the Tigray authorities. The situation worsened after the federal government reconfigured the ruling coalition, which was responsible for serious human rights abuses, into a single party and postponed highly anticipated national elections, citing Covid-19-related health risks. Several opposition parties condemned the decision, including the TPLF, which held its own regional elections in September, in defiance of the federal government’s decision. Following the alleged attack on the federal military base, phone and internet communications were swiftly cut in the region, and the federal government soon after announced a round of airstrikes in areas around the regional capital, Mekelle. By November 10, more than 14,000 Ethiopian refugees, half of whom were children, had crossed the border into Sudan – a number humanitarian agencies expect could swell in the coming days if the fighting continues. Hundreds of people were also reportedly killed and injured on November 9 in an incident around Mai Kadra, in western Tigray where much of the fighting has occurred. Authorities on both sides need to protect the population from the fighting, facilitate immediate and unhindered access to health and aid workers to help all those in need, and conduct an impartial investigation into the incident, Human Rights Watch said. Six humanitarian agencies reported that the movement restrictions and the communication shutdown were significantly hampering their activities, including tending to those wounded and killed in the fighting. Access into Tigray is blocked, including by road and air, while the border with Sudan remains partially closed, based on reports by the media and humanitarian agencies. Prior to the outbreak of fighting, reports highlighted that food and fuel were already in short supply, with over 600,000 people relying on food aid to survive. The region is also home to 100,000 internally displaced people and 96,000 Eritrean refugees. Nearly 44 percent of those living in refugee camps are children. Humanitarian reports on the situation in Tigray also highlight that the closure of banks and restrictions on essential goods such as food, water, fuel, electricity, and medical supplies risk compounding the suffering of a population already in need. Under international human rights law, the Ethiopian government bears the primary responsibility to meet the needs of people on its territory. Lifting broad restrictions on services and granting humanitarian agencies access is essential to provide necessary aid to affected populations and avert a looming humanitarian crisis, Human Rights Watch said. The Tigray regional authorities are also responsible for addressing the needs of people under their effective control. While the phone and internet shutdown has made it difficult for journalists and aid workers to document and confirm reports of the situation on the ground, Ethiopians outside the region have also been cut off from their relatives in Tigray. Under Abiy’s administration, phone and network shutdowns have become routine during social and political unrest, including in the Oromia region, where the government has engaged in counterinsurgency operations within the last year. The current military action follows recurrent episodes of violence and unrest that have flared up throughout the country since Abiy took office in 2018, leading to the displacement of nearly two million people since the start of 2020 alone. There are concerns that the federal government’s accusations and current actions in Tigray may increase the discrimination, hostility, or violence toward ordinary Tigrayans, including those with perceived connections to the TPLF, as was already the case in the lead-up to Abiy taking office. Human Rights Watch has received credible reports that Tigrayan residents elsewhere in the country have been suspended from their jobs and prevented from flying externally as fighting escalates in Tigray. One ethnic Tigrayan civil servant who was ordered to stay home, said, “We asked our bosses to tell us how many days they expected us to sit at home and why. They keep saying they don’t know the reason, but accepted higher instructions from their bosses.” International law prohibits discrimination, unjustified interference with the right to privacy, degrading treatment, and violations of the right to physical integrity. Ethiopian authorities should push back against language and refrain from imposing measures that could fuel intolerance and risk alienating Tigrayans, Human Rights Watch said. “Federal and regional officials should caution against any violence, discrimination, or hostility against Tigrayans or any other group,” Bader said. “Ethiopia’s partners should also emphasize that credible investigations into serious crimes and meaningful accountability would go a long way to reestablishing trust and addressing past and ongoing harm.” © 2020 Human Rights Watch

The country should be rich, but millions live in dire poverty. France must stop supporting the president and his electoral ploys Published by The Guardian on November 2, 2020. Cameroonian president Paul Biya and his wife, Chantal Biya, September 2018. (Alexis Huguet/AFP/Getty Images) On 6 December, Africa’s oldest serving leader, Paul Biya, and his ruling party, Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement (RDPC), will be declared the winner of the country’s first ever regional elections. That much is clear, and is expected inside and outside of the west African country – Biya has misruled with an iron fist for nearly 40 years. But the question we should be asking, but as yet have not, is what this means for Cameroon’s 25 million people. In my view the answer is more poverty, more violence, more corruption and more suffering. This should compel us all to act. As Africa’s largest producer of timber and the world’s fifth-largest producer of the cocoa, Cameroon should be a rich country. But Biya’s life-presidency, corruption and use of indiscriminate violence as a first resort have made Cameroon a country in crisis; on a downward trajectory I fear the world will only wake up to when nobody is left to save and Biya is too frail to stand trial. Since independence from France in 1960, Cameroon has been ruled by one party and two presidents. Biya, who “won” his seventh term with more than 70% in 2018, has been in power since 1982, before 75% of the population was even born. His current mandate will expire in 2025 when he’ll be 92. He is planning to run again. A vote for regional councils has been promised since 1996. So why is Biya is rushing to organise it now, in a middle of a coronavirus pandemic as well as a local separatist war that has, according to the Centre for Human Rights and Democracy in Africa, killed more than 4,000 people and internally displaced a further 500,000? Simple. Because Biya is trying to deflect local pressure and international criticism for his misrule and abuse. The way I see it, Biya is losing the argument against the English-speaking south-west and north-west regions who want to create an independent anglophone state to free themselves from this despot. In 2017, the longstanding tensions between Biya’s Paris-backed regime and the English-speaking regions morphed into an all separatist conflict. The English-speaking regions want to succeed from Cameroon. Even I, someone who is against post-independence separatism in Africa, cannot help but think how they could not. Biya has turned Cameroon into a highly authoritarian and fascinatingly corrupt country. It actually earned Transparency International’s No 1 ranking as “the world corruption champion” two years in a row, in 1998 and 1999. Many Cameroonians live in dire poverty. According to the World Food Programme, 40% live below the poverty line. Another estimated 6.2 million are in need of humanitarian assistance. That’s 25% of the population. The renewed escalation of violence by Boko Haram in Nigeria and the Lake Chad region is adding to the suffering. The terrible irony of Biya’s ploy to deflect attention is that the elections will exacerbate the longstanding grievances of the English-speaking communities. After nearly three years of separatist violence, the two sides are currently at an impasse. For me, the best way forward for peace and for the reunification of Cameroon is to force out Biya, whose tentacles pry into every aspect of the country, choking life and talent. But France, the former colonial power, is still betting on one of its leading African strongmen and his electoral ploy, even though everyone knows it will not be free, fair or transparent. For France, the rebel regions’ ongoing struggle is an unforgivable sin against FranceAfrique, still recovering from the locals’ rejection of the CFA Franc. Secession in Cameroon could kill FranceAfrique. But, in doing so, France is strengthening the separatist’s strongest argument that Cameroon’s institutions represent only Biya and his corrupt, Paris-backed, Francophile elites who exploit the region’s resources and kill with impunity. This is why I think the poll will become a flash point, resulting in an escalation of the violence which persists, especially in opposition stronghold English-speaking regions where rebels have banned voting. Cameroon’s stabilisation should have started in 1992 after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of the cold war when Biya reluctantly adopted a multiparty system. But his greed and obsession with power has rendered this impossible. So long as Biya is in power the violence or corruption will not stop soon. Cameroon will continue on the downward trajectory that has characterised it for almost 40 years. Just how many more lives and dreams must a dictator like Biya destroy before France stops supporting him and his electoral ploy? © 2020 Guardian News & Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved.

By Gillian Mathys & Judith Verweijen. Published by The Conversation on October 28, 2020. A MONUSCO delegation in Fizi, one of the territories affected by recent violences, March 16 2019. (MONUSCO/Jacob de Lange) An intense debate about the rural commune, or district, of Minembwe in South Kivu province in the eastern part of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) has recently rocked Congolese politics. The stakes are high. The Minembwe area has been subject to horrific violence against civilians committed by militia groups linked to both proponents and opponents of the administrative unit. While the dispute over Minembwe is not the main cause of this violence, it does feed into it. The current controversy was sparked by the installation ceremony of the commune’s mayor on 28 September 2020, which was attended by a high-level political and military delegation. The ceremony drew attention to the fact that other rural communes are not yet functional. These communes were created in the framework of a nation-wide decentralisation process, and place populous rural areas under non-customary local governance. According to some, the uneven implementation of the communes points to preferential treatment of the Banyamulenge, an ethnic group that dominates the commune’s leadership. Opponents of the commune have also flagged procedural irregularities and issues with the commune’s geographical limitation. Yet what has provoked most commotion is that the creation of the commune is seen as an attempt by the Banyamulenge to usurp the authority of other ethnic groups and dispossess them of their ancestral grounds. This would be part of a wider conspiracy by Rwandophones (speakers of Kinyarwanda language) to ‘balkanise’ the Congo and annex parts of its territory to neighbouring countries or a putative ‘Tutsi empire’. Such accusations of balkanisation have a longer history, and have become a staple of Congolese politics. The idea of balkanisation is informed by discourses of ‘autochthony’ or indigeneity. These discourses revolve around the claim to be the ‘first’ or ‘original’ inhabitants of a certain area as opposed to newcomers or ‘foreigners’. Certain ethnic groups in South Kivu draw upon the notion of autochthony to claim local authority and land and deny this to others, who are portrayed as ‘foreigners’. These claims are generally grounded in specific readings of history, in particular precolonial and colonial history. International journalists and observers often take these pervasive discourses at face value. As a result, they reproduce deeply problematic readings of history. These would, for instance, ascribe the current violence in eastern DRC to ‘age-old’ ethnic animosities. But a close reading of in-depth historical work on the region tells us something else. ‘Age-old’ ethnic animosities? An exclusive focus on conflict and violence obscures histories of cooperation and collaboration. Research tracing individual life-stories in conflict-affected areas in eastern DRC shows that the social relationships between groups considered ‘ethnic’ are far more complex than the singular focus on conflict allows for. A good example is blood pacts between people of different communities, such as Banyamulenge and Bafuliiru. These pacts – sometimes going back to the nineteenth century – were an expression of ritual kinship and created bonds of mutual assistance between families from different communities. Violent conflict may have undone many of these older ties but mutual relations across ‘ethnic’ boundaries continue to the present. Moreover, in several villages, Banyamulenge and other communities are still living together. In the past, boundaries between ‘ethnic’ groups were never as rigid as they are today – neither in social nor in geographical terms. Kinship groups were often mobile and could attach and detach themselves to larger social collectives. Moreover, other forms of belonging, such as clan membership and initiation societies, were often at least as salient as ‘ethnicity’. But complex processes in the colonial era have made ethnicity a rigid and territorial notion. They have largely obscured the memories of these other modes of social existence and belonging. The dangers of anachronistic thinking Indeed, colonial and precolonial history are often read through the lens of the present, leading to anachronistic thinking. A case in point is the division between ‘autochthonous’ and ‘non-autochthonous’ populations. Near-constant population movements imply that few groups in the Kivus can actually claim to be original inhabitants of certain areas. Moreover, labelling groups that migrated to the present-day Congo before international boundaries existed as foreigners or immigrants is anachronistic. What causes these groups to be considered outsiders is not the fact that they came from elsewhere. Rather, colonial border-making changed the way their former areas of origins were considered. Policies pertaining to the organisation of customary governance further changed the perceptions of these groups. For reasons that had more to do with colonial interests than with existing sociopolitical organisation, the colonisers granted certain Rwandophone groups customary governance units and others not. Today, the absence of a colonially recognised form of ‘customary’ organisation is used as ‘proof’ of whether certain groups were present during the colonial era or not. However, this ‘criterion’ seems to be mostly applied to Rwandophone groups, and not the multiple other groups that were denied a chiefdom, such as the Batembo. Moreover, in spite of being granted their own chieftaincy in the colonial era, the Barundi are today not always considered ‘autochthonous’ either. The Barundi are an ethnic group in Uvira territory who speak Kirundi, which is close to Kinyarwanda. Similar to the Banyamulenge, politicised discourses continue to label them as ‘nationals’ from a neighbouring country. At the same time, some groups that migrated from the present-day territories of Rwanda and Burundi are at present considered ‘autochthonous’. This is so for the Bazige or Bahungu clans in Uvira territory. As these examples show us, invoking history to sustain claims to autochthony is often problematic. Bringing history back in Historical claims of belonging tend to be based on selective readings of history. Yet people in conflict perceive them to be very real. They consider the lands on which they live to be ancestral, and believe they have a right to the soil that is determined by ethnic belonging. To understand present-day conflicts, we need to take these perceptions into consideration. But we also need to acknowledge that these understandings of history have been shaped by a colonial ‘grammar of belonging’. They have also been mobilised politically. Engaging with the past in a conflict situation, where misinformation abounds, is not an easy task. Colonial documents are circulated out of context on WhatsApp and other social media to prove one position or another. While drawing on history is a potential minefield, we think there is value in genuinely engaging with the past. History shows us we should not take claims about who belongs where at face value. Moreover, it reveals that those groups in conflict today also have long-standing relations of friendship, integration and collaboration. These are the stories that are also told by people living in the Minembwe area. But they have become overshadowed by accounts of violence. To overcome conflict, we need to bring back historical nuance and listen to the entire range of lived realities of belonging. The failure to do so renders us complicit in the colonial project of classifying and dividing people. Copyright © 2010–2020, The Conversation Trust (UK) Limited.