"I am Uyghur. I eat pork."
Uyghur influencers used to promote the eating of pork in Chinese-occupied East Turkistan
Video 1 - Audio Transcript from Douyin User “@新疆楊大大”
“I am Uyghur. I eat pork. Say that out loud and someone will curse me. Go ahead, curse me. I don’t care anymore. Is eating pork illegal? Or did I hurt someone? I choose not to eat pork out of faith. I choose to eat pork out of freedom. The constitution gives me the right to choose. No one can take that away. Some will say, you’re Uyghur, how can you eat it? Then I ask you, who decided Uyghurs can’t eat pork? Is it the law? No. Is it tradition? No. It’s certain people imposing religious rules on an entire ethnic group. Then telling everyone that not eating pork makes you a true Uyghur. That’s not tradition. That’s hijacking. Uyghurs have thousands of years of history, before Islam arrived. What did our ancestors eat? Did they eat pork? Does eating it make them not Uyghur? That logic makes no sense. Choosing to eat pork doesn’t mean I don’t love my people. I love my people, so I refuse to let anyone define them by religion. I refuse to let any extremist ideology hijack them. If you think eating pork is betrayal, it only shows you’ve never truly understood what it means to be Uyghur.”
Recently, a noticeable trend has emerged on Douyin, the Chinese domestic version of TikTok. Uyghur influencers with large followings, some reaching into the millions, have begun posting videos that promote the consumption of pork. These videos are framed as casual, modern lifestyle content, often presented with humor or lighthearted commentary. But behind this presentation lies a deeper and more troubling shift in how Uyghur identity is being portrayed and reshaped.
For generations, Uyghurs, like other Turkic Muslim communities, have abstained from pork as a clear and well-established tenet of Islamic practice. What these influencers are now doing is attempting to recast that prohibition as outdated or unnecessary. In their content, avoiding pork is sometimes described as a misunderstanding of religion, a sign of backwardness, or a refusal to adapt to modern life.
Video 2 - Audio Transcript from Douyin User “@kk迪丽冷巴”
“Does this religion have anything to do with eating pork? First, what does a qualified Muslim need to do? Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t harm others. And pray five times a day, friends. The first prayer is around sunrise, about 5 or 6 AM. Young people in Xinjiang at 5 or 6 AM, either haven’t left the bar yet, or haven’t sobered up yet. How can they pray? Friends, you must have heard of our Xinjiang’s Wusu beer. And Xinjiang’s streets are full of bars run by ethnic minorities. So some people shouldn’t say we don’t eat pork because of religion. We don’t eat pork because it’s a dietary habit passed down from our ancestors.”
This shift reflects a broader pattern of state influence over religious and cultural expression in Chinese-occupied East Turkistan. In earlier years, reports consistently documented instances where Uyghurs were directly pressured or forced to violate Islamic dietary laws. During periods such as Ramadan, there were widespread accounts of restrictions on fasting and other religious practices. Pork consumption, in particular, became a visible marker of compliance, with refusal often carrying consequences.
What has changed is not the objective but the method. Instead of overt coercion, there is now a growing reliance on social media and peer influence. By elevating Uyghur voices who appear to voluntarily embrace these practices, the narrative is reframed. It suggests that these changes are organic, driven by personal choice rather than external pressure. This approach is more difficult to challenge, especially for younger audiences who are deeply engaged with digital platforms and influencer culture.
“Back then, I became friends with some Uyghurs and Kazakhs from Xinjiang, and they actually don't eat pork. So I was afraid they'd look down on me or reject me, so I told them I don't eat pork either. So whenever I went out with them, I always kept up this act of being halal. But when I got home, I'd still secretly eat it, because honestly, it tastes really good. What I'm trying to say is, I'm not avoiding pork because of my Uyghur identity, and being Uyghur doesn't mean I must avoid pork or that I'm allowed to eat it. I just live according to my own habits. Because when people talk about Uyghurs, they automatically link Islam with being Uyghur, and then assume that if you're Uyghur, if you're from Xinjiang, you absolutely can't eat pork. So this issue has actually bothered me for a very long time.”
The use of Uyghur influencers in this way serves multiple purposes. It creates the impression of internal change within the community. It also provides a layer of cultural legitimacy that state messaging alone cannot achieve. When the message comes from someone who shares the same background, language, and identity, it carries a different weight.
At the same time, dissenting voices remain largely absent from these platforms. The digital space in which these narratives are being promoted is tightly controlled, leaving little room for alternative perspectives. This imbalance further reinforces the appearance of consensus, even when it may not reflect the reality on the ground.
The result is a gradual rewriting of norms. Practices that were once central to Uyghur religious and cultural life are being repositioned as optional, even undesirable. Over time, this can have a lasting impact, particularly on younger generations who are still forming their sense of identity.
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