A Communist Party official gesticulates in front of Ms Suo in her home
Credit: Liu Bowen for The Telegraph
Inside a snow-covered log cabin deep in the Greater Hinggan Mountains, Liuxia Suo potters on the dirt floor between the wood-fired brick stove, her bed and a cot that doubles as a seat at her only table.
The 57-year-old Ewenki is slowly recounting the story of her life as one of China’s last truly nomadic reindeer herders isolated in the snow drifts of Inner Mongolia.
Until the peace is broken.
A sharp sting of -40C air wafts through the flimsy doorway as eight Communist Party officials barge in, barking orders.
One points to the silver cross necklace around the neck of Ms Suo — who was explaining her Russian Orthadox beliefs passed down from ancestors — and yells: “You can’t wear that – take it off immediately!”
Another lays down in bed next to Ms Suo to prevent her from speaking with The Telegraph.
Liuxia Suo removes a cross on the orders of Chinese Communist Party officials who burst into her log cabin as the Telegraph was conducting an interview
Credit: Liu Bowen for The Telegraph
Yuguo Suo, 26, was detained and interrogated after the visit by The Telegraph
Credit: Liu Bowen for The Telegraph
Later, a third plods through snowbanks in a fur coat and heels following determinedly as The Telegraph attempts to steal some words alone with Ms Suo’s son Yuguo gathering firewood outside.
“Before, when the police would see us, they would bow,” says Mr Suo, puffs of breath framing him in the freezing air. “Now, it’s us who must bow.”
As The Telegraph left, he was forced to leave his mountain home as well with the authorities, and was detained and interrogated for more than a day. The official seized his phone and deleted all the communications with this newspaper.
His crime? Being different.
The Chinese state has little regard or respect for the Ewenki’s culture and religious beliefs, which sit uncomfortably next to Communist Party uniformity.
The customs of the indigenous people from the Siberian taiga have been eradicated after decades of poorly planned government policies in the name of ‘poverty alleviation’.
Pressure from the state has made it almost impossible for people like the Suos to keep their traditions alive.
At most, only a few dozen Ewenkis like the Suo family remain reindeer herders in the wilderness. The rest have been ‘resettled’ in modern housing as part of a tourist park, akin to a Disneyland attraction.
Liuxia Suo's home in the Mongolian wilderness
Credit: Liu Bowen for The Telegraph
Reindeer found fenced in and with their antlers cut off at the official Ewenki settlement built by the Chinese Communist Party
Credit: Liu Bowen for The Telegraph
Outside his hut, knee deep in a snow drift Mr Suo searches for his reindeer, last seen three weeks ago.
“They don’t want to come back here – there’s little food left; they’ve grazed it all,” he said, clutching a bag of store-bought soybean feed, a paltry substitute to the natural lichen reindeer eat.
As nomads, Ewenkis used to move frequently to new areas abundant with food for their reindeer, pitching cone-shaped tents made of larch poles, birch bark and deer hide, before being split between modern-day Russia and China when borders were drawn.
“These days we just shift a hundred metres here and there,” said Mr Suo.
“It won’t take 20 years; within 15 years, our traditions, language and culture will cease to exist,” his mother added later.
For centuries, the Ewenkis hunted game for subsistence and relied on reindeer for milk and transport.
Chinese Communist Party minders barged in and sat through the remainder of the interview
Credit: Liu Bowen for The Telegraph
One of the first blows came in the 1960s when Chinese authorities bought Ewenki reindeer as part of a nationwide collectivisation of agriculture.
Ewenkis were allowed to manage them, but had to supply antlers – now belonging to the state – for traditional Chinese medicine. If an Ewenki fell short of the quota, the animals could be reallocated.
Then, the state began separating Ewenki children from their parents, sending them to study Mandarin in schools across China and losing their native language, a spoken tongue with no written form. In 2010, Unesco classified the language as “severely endangered.”
Mr Suo, forced to leave home at age 7, knows few Ewenki words. “For the first two years, I cried constantly,” he said.
The Ewenki, lovers of nature who consider their reindeer part of the family, also believed in animism and shamanism, with influence from Russian Orthodox Christianity. Shamans, like Ms Suo’s grandmother, would sing traditional songs to summon reindeer and ward off misfortune, enveloping the mountains in sound.
But “these days, we don’t hear anything,” said Ms Suo. The last shaman died in 1998.
The sole vestige of Ewenki culture and identity disappeared in 2003 when the government confiscated guns and banned hunting. Some Ewenkis turned to alcohol or suicide in despair.
Without guns, they struggled to protect reindeer from predators, like bears and wolves; newborn calves were easily killed. Widespread logging and poaching further damaged their natural habitat. Ewenkis and experts fear the reindeer population is being decimated.
Yuguo Suo says most of his culture has been eroded
Credit: Liu Bowen for The Telegraph
Chinese authorities monitor the Ewenkis closely, calling on them at their homes deep in the mountains. Local officials stopped by a day before the Telegraph arrived to remind the Suos to declare the virtues of the ruling Communist Party.
The family has received government support – a lone fluorescent bulb powered by a solar panel flickers on when the sun goes down, and Mr Suo attended university in Beijing.
But they’re rankled by the state for suppressing and terrorising them. As a child, Ms Suo lost her father after Chinese guards shot him at the Russian border when they tried to cross and reunite with relatives.
So they choose to keep a picture of former US president Barack Obama – like black people, the Suos say they identify with widespread discrimination.
Hours away from the Suos live Ewenkis who have been forcibly resettled – now for the third time since the Communist Party came to power in 1949.
The most recent relocation in 2003 came as the hunting ban went into effect, plucking families out of nature and dropping them into a new development aimed at attracting tourists.
The plan – justified as necessary social development for Ewenkis and environmental conservation of the Greater Hinggan range – has largely fallen flat, those at the New Aoluguya settlement told the Telegraph.
There, Ewenkis now craft traditional boots of deer hide or carve reindeer bone amulets for sale from their cottages as part of the tourism park; entering a shop means wandering into their living rooms.
A handful of the sixty Ewenki households in the settlement also advertise homestays.
Ewenkis have been forcibly resettled in a 'Disneyfied' version of their communities
Credit: Liu Bowen for The Telegraph
Liuxia Suo and Yuguo Suo outside their simple home
Credit: Liu Bowen for The Telegraph
Reindeer, with their antlers sawed off and ears pierced with plastic ID tags, are paraded in small pens for tourists.
A museum exhibit introduces Ewenki lieba, a traditional round loaf made with reindeer milk, but includes nothing of their history or culture.
Many strain to make ends meet without being able to hunt and live off the land as their forebears did.
“We live in these fancy homes, but we’re destitute,” one woman said. “Though as long as we don’t starve, it’s ok.”
She might sell a couple of lieba each day at 30 yuan (£3.40) apiece. If she’s lucky, a tourist might buy a reindeer hide for 2,000 yuan (£225).
But few visitors come – the nearest airport is 300 miles away – and much of the revenue that comes in goes to the state tourism company that operates the park.
Chinese state media, however, frequently claim the Ewenki voluntarily lay down their guns and left the mountains for modern life, and tout the tourist project as a success. China’s foreign ministry didn’t respond to a request for comment.
Reminders of the Party, and constant surveillance, are everywhere. At the entrance of the settlement, a sign directs officials to a welcome center; near the back, propaganda with pictures of leader Xi Jinping flank a vast police station.
Four cars were dispatched to watch with whom the Telegraph approached. Minutes after greeting people, their phones would ring with authorities on the other end demanding they stay silent. At times officials physically blocked interviews.
At least a dozen officials and ten vehicles, including unmarked cars, followed for days including through the airport to ensure the Telegraph boarded a departing flight.
“There’s no point in living down here,” said one Ewenki woman at the settlement. “I much prefer being up in the mountains.”
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