If we take it off it's like stripping off our clothes
On the southern island of Hainan, a ten-thousand-strong Muslim community called the Utsuls has become the latest people to feel the weight of a government determined to reshape identity itself. China's Communist Party has issued directives banning traditional dress, restricting mosque architecture, and erasing Arabic script from public life — measures that echo a far larger campaign already consuming millions of Uighur lives in Xinjiang. What is unfolding is not a series of isolated regulations, but a sustained philosophical project: the remaking of a diverse civilization into a single, state-approved self.
- Beijing has formally banned hijabs and long skirts for Utsul women in schools and government buildings, striking at the heart of a community whose religious dress is inseparable from daily identity.
- The restrictions cascade beyond clothing — new mosques must be smaller, Arabic script is forbidden on storefronts, and even the Mandarin words for 'halal' and 'Islamic' cannot be publicly displayed.
- Small protests broke out in Sanya's Utsul neighborhoods, and a photograph of headscarved girls reading outside their school, surrounded by police, circulated on social media before disappearing.
- The Utsul crackdown mirrors policies already devastating the Uighur population — over one million detained, birth rates collapsed, and researchers still documenting new camps being built despite official claims of releases.
- The pattern now spans multiple Muslim minorities — Uighurs, Hui, and Utsuls alike — suggesting a systematic, state-level campaign to dissolve ethnic and religious identity into a singular Chinese cultural identity.
In Sanya, on the island of Hainan, about ten thousand people known as the Utsuls have lived for generations with their own language, customs, and Islamic faith. Last month, the Communist Party issued an order banning the hijab and long skirt — the traditional dress of Utsul women — from schools and government buildings, the very spaces where daily life takes shape.
The official document framed the measures as governance over two Sanya neighborhoods, but the restrictions reached far deeper than clothing. New mosques would be required to be smaller. Anything with what officials called 'Arabic tendencies' was forbidden. Arabic script could not appear on shop fronts, and even the Mandarin characters for 'halal' and 'Islamic' were barred from public display. Each rule, taken alone, might seem administrative. Together, they amount to the erasure of a visible Muslim identity from public space.
An Utsul community worker captured the human weight of the policy plainly: other ethnic minorities in Sanya do not wear traditional garments in daily life, but for Utsul women, the hijab is not ceremonial — it is constitutive. 'If we take it off it's like stripping off our clothes,' the worker said. Small protests followed in the affected neighborhoods, and a photograph of girls in headscarves reading outside their school, encircled by police officers, briefly spread across social media.
The Utsuls are not alone. Under President Xi Jinping, a sweeping campaign has sought to subordinate religion and ethnicity to party loyalty across China. In Xinjiang, over one million Uighur Muslims have been held in facilities the government calls reeducation centers, where detainees have been compelled to sing propaganda songs, abandon their languages, and renounce their beliefs. Documented reports describe forced sterilizations and collapsed birth rates. The Hui, China's third-largest Muslim minority, have faced similar pressures. Beijing insists detainees have been released, yet researchers continue to identify new detention facilities under construction. What reaches the Utsuls as a dress code is, in the broader frame, one thread in a systematic effort to remake the religious and ethnic landscape of an entire nation.
In the southern Chinese city of Sanya, on the island of Hainan, about ten thousand people belong to a Muslim ethnic group called the Utsuls. They have lived there for generations, maintaining their own language, customs, and religious practices. Last month, the Communist Party issued an order that would reshape the daily lives of these ten thousand people in ways both visible and profound. The order banned the hijab and the long skirt that form the traditional dress of Utsul women—banned them from schools, from government buildings, from the spaces where daily life unfolds.
The document that authorized this ban carried the bureaucratic title "Working Document regarding the strengthening of overall governance over Huixin and Huihui Neighbourhood," referring to the two neighborhoods in Sanya where most Utsuls live. But the restrictions went far beyond clothing. New mosques would have to be smaller. Buildings with what officials vaguely called "Arabic tendencies" were forbidden. Arabic script could not appear on shop fronts. The Mandarin characters for "halal" and "Islamic" could not be displayed on any premises. Each rule, taken alone, might seem minor. Together, they form a systematic erasure of visible Muslim identity from public life.
When an Utsul community worker spoke to reporters about the dress ban, the weight of the policy became clear. "The official line is that no ethnic minority can wear traditional garments on school grounds," the worker explained, "but other ethnic minorities in Sanya don't wear traditional garments in their daily life." The distinction matters. For the Utsuls, the hijab is not a ceremonial choice made on special occasions. It is woven into the fabric of who they are. "If we take it off it's like stripping off our clothes," the worker said. Small protests erupted in the two neighborhoods last month. A photograph circulated on social media showing a group of girls in headscarves reading textbooks outside Tianya Utsul primary school, surrounded by police officers.
The crackdown on the Utsuls is not an isolated incident. It is part of a much larger campaign orchestrated under President Xi Jinping's vision of a unified China, one where religion and culture defer to the Communist Party. In Xinjiang, China's westernmost province, at least one million Uighur Muslims and members of other ethnic groups have been detained in hundreds of facilities that the government calls "reeducation centres." Inside these camps, detainees have been forced to sing propaganda songs in exchange for food, to recite praise for Xi, to abandon the languages and beliefs that define them. Reports have documented forced sterilizations, child quotas, and forced abortions—measures designed not just to suppress culture but to suppress the people themselves. The Uighur birth rate has plummeted since 2017.
China's government maintains that these policies are justified and that detainees have "graduated" and been released. Yet researchers continue to document dozens of new suspected detention centers being built or expanded. The campaign extends beyond Uighurs. The Hui, China's third-largest Muslim ethnic minority, have also faced efforts to erode their cultural identity. The Utsuls, with their ten thousand members on a southern island, are now caught in the same machinery of assimilation. What began as a dress code in schools and government buildings is part of something much larger: a systematic effort to remake the religious and ethnic landscape of China itself, one restriction at a time.
Citações Notáveis
The official line is that no ethnic minority can wear traditional garments on school grounds, but other ethnic minorities in Sanya don't wear traditional garments in their daily life.— Utsul community worker
If we take it off it's like stripping off our clothes.— Utsul community worker
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why target the Utsuls specifically? They're such a small group—ten thousand people on one island.
Size doesn't matter to the logic here. The policy isn't about the number of people; it's about the principle. If you allow one Muslim group to wear traditional dress, you've created a precedent. The system requires uniformity.
But the document talks about "strengthening governance." What does that actually mean in practice?
It means making Muslim identity invisible in public spaces. No Arabic on storefronts. Smaller mosques. No hijabs in schools. It's not about security or public order—it's about erasing the visual markers of a culture so that eventually the culture itself becomes harder to pass down.
The worker said the hijab is like stripping off clothes. Do you think people will comply with the ban?
Some will have to. Children in schools have no choice. But compliance and acceptance are different things. The photograph of girls in headscarves surrounded by police—that's resistance, even if it's small and quiet.
How does this connect to what's happening with the Uighurs in Xinjiang?
It's the same campaign, just at different scales and intensities. The Uighurs face detention camps and forced sterilizations. The Utsuls face dress codes and restrictions on religious buildings. But the direction is identical: the state is trying to make Muslim identity subordinate to Chinese identity.
Is there any indication this will stop?
Not from what we can see. Researchers are still documenting new detention centers being built. The government claims people have been released, but the infrastructure keeps expanding. This looks like a long-term project.