Eight Years Without My Mother: What I Carry, What I’m Learning, and What Still Hurts
Opinion: Akida Pulat - Daughter of Uyghur Anthropologist Rahile Dawut
Today is December 12, and it reminds me of my mother, who has been detained by the Chinese government for eight years. Today marks the 8th anniversary of her detention.
My mother, Rahile Dawut, is a renowned Uyghur anthropologist who dedicated her life to documenting and preserving Uyghur cultural heritage. My mother is exceptionally hardworking. I have vivid memories of seeing her working in the office in our apartment in the middle of the night.
But eight years ago, she disappeared. I haven’t talked to her for eight years. In 2023, I learnt from the Duihua Foundation that she was sentenced to life. Like many Uyghurs, my mother is in prison simply because she is Uyghur. Her work was academic, never political. She has been conducting research within the strict confines of the censorship imposed by the Chinese government. But in an environment where Uyghur identity has been criminalized, even preserving heritage is seen as a threat.
Aside from her career, what stands out to me is her generosity. She helped people without expecting anything in return. She brought warmth into people’s lives. She often invited students to our home for lunch or dinner and gave them advice and emotional support. She is a good friend too. Whenever her students or friends faced difficulties, she was there to help. She is my greatest role model, shaping me into the person I am today. Her passion for her work and her dedication to our family inspire me every day.
The world knows her as a renowned Uyghur scholar whose life’s work preserved our people’s sacred sites, stories, and traditions. But when I think of her outside the politics and the headlines, in my memories, my mother had a quiet way of contributing positively to people’s lives. Whether it was supporting her students or helping people in need. She helped people in every way in her daily life. Like inviting her students who were working in the offices to have lunch with us at our home, remembering her students’ birthdays, and hosting a small party at home, or noticing people who were struggling and offering practical help. I want to carry that with me now. She showed that even small acts of kindness can make a lasting impact on people’s lives.
Right now, I am living alone in the United States, and haven’t seen my family for many years. But there are moments, I remember my mother unexpectedly. Before her detention, she visited me in the United States. I had one of the rare moments where it was just the two of us. We stayed in the same apartment, walked together, went shopping, and shared time that felt simple and intimate. I miss those moments. Now, whenever I pass the old apartment where we lived together, or any place we went together, I think of her.
I know she thinks of me every day. If my mother could see my life in the U.S., I think she would be proud of me for speaking up and becoming an advocate. I used to stay far away from politics, and I knew very little about the injustices happening to our people. But if she could see me now, she would know that I stepped out of my comfort zone. And I do that out of responsibility. She would also want to give me advice.
My relationship to Uyghur identity changed completely after her detention. I used to not know much about Uyghur culture. But after my mother’s detention, I slowly began to gain more understanding of my own culture. I now feel deeply protective of our language, our traditions, and our stories, especially knowing how easily they can be erased. I want to learn as much as I can as a Uyghur, and I want to be the voice of the voiceless.
Her disappearance forced me to confront responsibility in ways I never imagined. I used to stay away from politics entirely. The disappearance of my mother forced me to speak up and advocate for human rights. Advocacy is not easy, especially while living alone in a foreign country and trying to build a life at the same time. I have to continue until she is released and until her voice—and the voices of others like her—are heard again.
Over the past eight years, I’ve spoken to institutions, journalists, and governments. I truly appreciate any journalist, media outlet, or institution that has covered my mother’s case, because even a single article can help keep her story alive. Those efforts have a real impact. But something feel performative when people talk about human right, for example when people, organization or even country talk about human right, but when it came to human right, people stay silent, when the condemnation is being made, but not enough actions are being made to change the situation, and when countries are still doing business deal with a country that detains millions of Uyghur.
Do I imagine an ordinary future with her? Yes. Because it is the reason I continue advocating for her release. My ultimate goal is to bring her home, to be reunited with her, and to take care of her. It isn’t just a dream—it feels like a responsibility I carry every day. Before her detention, I rarely had the chance to spend quiet, simple time with just my mother and father. She was such a devoted person—always giving her energy to her students, her friends, and her research. Our home was constantly filled with people who needed her. I often found myself wishing for a small, peaceful family life where it could be just the three of us. So yes, I imagine a future where I have my own home, where my parents can live with me, and where I can share ordinary moments with just my parents. That future feels far away right now, but it’s the future I’m working toward every single day.
This year, on my mother’s disappearance anniversary, I spoke up again. Because the situation is not changing. My mother is still in prison. Eight years have passed, yet we remain in the same silence—waiting, hoping, and advocating, while she remains behind bars for simply being who she is and doing the peaceful work she dedicated her life to.
I cannot change this reality alone. If my mother’s story moves you, I ask you to speak about her, to share her name, to raise her case with your institutions and elected officials. Even small actions matter. Each voice helps break the silence that allows injustices like hers to continue. Your voice is a reminder that my mother is not forgotten, and that the world still has people willing to stand against injustice.
More about the author:
Akida Pulat, the daughter of prominent Uyghur academic Rahile Dawut. She is currently lives in the U.S. and works as a data analyst. She has been advocating for her mother’s release since 2019.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of Kashgar Times
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