Uighurs in Turkey protest Chinese foreign minister's visit over Xinjiang concerns

In the spring of 2021, hundreds of Uighurs took to the streets of Turkey's two largest cities to make a plea their government could no longer ignore. They gathered in Istanbul's Beyazit Square and outside the Chinese Embassy in Ankara, holding photographs of relatives they believed were locked away in detention facilities thousands of miles away. The occasion was the visit of China's foreign minister, Wang Yi, who had come to meet with his Turkish counterpart and the country's president. For the Uighur community living in Turkey, the timing felt urgent, almost desperate.

Burhan Uluyol stood among the protesters in Istanbul, his message direct and tinged with worry. He called on Turkey to stand with what Uighurs call East Turkestan—their ancestral homeland in China's Xinjiang region. The plea carried an unspoken fear: that Turkey, once a vocal defender of Uighur rights, was now willing to look away in exchange for economic advantage. "We call on Turkey to not turn its back on our Uighur people because of some economic benefit," Uluyol said, naming the tension that had come to define the relationship between Ankara and Beijing.

For decades, Turkey had been a natural refuge for Uighurs fleeing their homeland. The two peoples shared cultural and linguistic roots, and Turkey's government had historically spoken out against the treatment of Uighurs in Xinjiang. But that posture had shifted. As China and Turkey deepened their economic ties, Turkey's willingness to criticize Beijing had quietly diminished. The government in Ankara had become cautious, measured, diplomatic in ways that felt like abandonment to those with family members trapped on the other side of the world.

The camps themselves remained a point of contention. For years, Beijing had denied their existence entirely. When that position became untenable, Chinese officials reframed the facilities as vocational training centers designed to combat extremism and provide job skills. They rejected all accusations of human rights violations. But for Uighurs in Turkey, the official denials and rebranding changed nothing about what they believed was happening inside those walls.

What made the moment particularly fraught was a pending extradition treaty. China had recently ratified an agreement with Turkey that had been signed years earlier but never finalized by Ankara. The prospect terrified the Uighur community. If Turkey ratified the treaty, they feared, the government could be compelled to send them back to China—back to the very system they had fled. Fatma Hasan, a twenty-one-year-old Uighur protester, articulated the fear plainly. She believed Wang's visit was designed to pressure Turkey into signing. "If there is pressure, and the agreement is signed, we will be returned," she said. "We are here protesting because we don't want to end up in such a situation."

Both Turkish and Chinese officials insisted the extradition agreement posed no specific threat to Uighurs. The language of diplomacy required such assurances. But the protesters knew what was at stake. They held up pictures of the missing, chanted against Beijing, and tried to remind their adopted country that some things mattered more than trade deals. Wang's visit was part of a larger regional tour—he would go on to Saudi Arabia, Iran, the United Arab Emirates, Oman, and Bahrain—but in Turkey, his arrival had become a focal point for a community watching its safety net fray.