March 14, 2014
URUMQI — In Mongolian, this city’s name means “beautiful pasture,” but don't be fooled. This capital of the autonomous Xinjiang region, located 2,400 kilometers from Beijing, is a Chinese city like so many others, with its clunky glass-and-concrete towers criss-crossed by expressways.
Ürümqi may be a mixed-race city, but the Han Chinese and Uyghur live separately in distinct neighborhoods. They have their own supermarkets, shops, restaurants and nightclubs. Traveling within Xinjiang, there are scenes all around that one would have thought belonged to the past. On flights inside the province, for example, the Han are seated in the front of the plane, the Uyghur in the back.
The schism dividing the province was horrifically manifested March 1, when eight attackers armed with cutlass swords slaughtered 29 people at the Kunming train station, in the southwest of China.
Chinese authorities believe separatist Uyghur were the attackers. Media have covered the tragedy as though it were the “Chinese 9/11.” At the opening of the annual parliamentary session, lawmakers observed a moment of silence. Chinese Premier Li Keqiang went off script to offer his condolences to the victims’ families.
This attack seems to indicate that the violent acts that regularly occur inside Xinjiang are progressively spreading to the rest of China. It is also reminiscent that tensions here continue to worsen. Radio Free Asia listed 14 violent incidents in the autonomous region that led to the death of at least 135 people, civilians and police officers, in 2013.
At the Erdaoqiao Bazaar, the smell of boiled lamb, spices, fabrics and clothing are all indicators that this is Central Asia, and not the Far East. “There’s no objective threat, but since the 2009 events, I don’t feel in my proper place in the Bazaar. It feels uneasy,” says Liu Yong*, a 40-year-old Han entrepreneur born in Ürümqi.
He’s referring to the July 5, 2009, riots between Han and Uyghur that killed 197. Since then, Ürümqi has been under strict surveillance, with the installation of no fewer than 40,000 cameras that fuels an atmosphere of defiance and suspicion.
“You know very well you cannot ask me this type of question,” an Uyghur magistrate says after evading queries about the situation. He is more focused on the prospect of going to see the next concert of a Turkish pop star in Ürümqi, and dreaming about leaving for the United States, where members of his family already live among the diaspora.
Urumqi - Ccyber5
Sayrat*, 24 years old, is fairly representative of a Uygur youth that is educated and tired of being held hostage by politics. A lover of magic, he works as a host in a nightclub popular with Han Chinese. His parents were both teachers, he speaks perfect Chinese and shares an apartment with a Han Chinese. “If you belong to an ethnic minority, you’d better have a special talent to find work,” he explains.
Sayrat does not plan on spending his life in Ürümqi, but instead hopes to try his luck in Beijing’s entertainment industry. In the longer term, he aims to live abroad, in Japan or the U.S. In his mind, he is already very far away from Xinjiang, China and the national identity issues. “As long as my freedom of religion is respected, I don’t have any problem with anyone,” he says.
In the last census, there were 22 million inhabitants in Xinjiang, including 46% Uyghur, 39% Chinese Han, 7% Kazakhs and 4.5% Hui Muslims. Things have changed dramatically over the course of a six decades. In 1953, Han Chinese represented just 6% of the population and Uyghur 75%.
The Chinese name “Xinjiang” literally means “new frontier.” During the first half of the 20th century, European travlers used to call it the Chinese Turkestan. It was only in the second half of the 18th century that the territory was integrated into the Manchu empire, even though certain parts of the region have been controlled by the Chinese empire on several occasions throughout history.
Kerim*, a Uyghur intellectual, returned to his native Kashgarie after studying social science in Europe. He now manages the family business with his brothers. As an astute observer of the evolution of Uyghur society, he illustrates the prevailing atmosphere in the villages with a specific case.
It happened a few months ago. One day, two women members of the village committee knocked on the door of Kerim’s brother and asked to talk to his wife, who is accustomed to wearing a headscarf outside the home. They refused to let them in. The next day, the two women returned with a squadron of 20 armed policemen. The brother refused to let them in, and the tension rose.
In the end, Kerim, who happened to be passing by, intervened. He knew the police officer in charge of the operation, a Uyghur. The tension was defused and, eventually, a single policeman entered the house to conduct a search for works of non-compliant Islamist propaganda. The matter went no further, but the situation could have easily degenerated, Kerim explains.
Wang Ping*, a 30-year-old doctor and Han Chinese who works at the prefecture hospital, says has been here for three generations. He acknowledges that there are serious security issues in the region and that the West is far from being aware of everything that is happening here. When clashes arise, police friends of his warn him discreetly.
“I don’t see many of my childhood Uyghur friends anymore,” he says. “Since the Ürümqi riots in 2009, the atmosphere has been uneasy.”
Wang Ping’s father works as a manager at the local government headquarters. Before entering his parents’ home, Wang Ping explains that managers will soon be rehoused in new buildings, further away from the city center, for security reasons. A few months ago, in a neighboring village, 15 people were killed during a demonstration that turned violent.
Wang Ping’s father is the archetype of the ideal government adminstrator driven by his faith in Chinese socialism. Their apartment is basic and impeccably clean. Very friendly, he gladly talks about the history of the region, the archeological sites along the Silk Road, the architecture of mosques, all the while sharing a piece of lamb.
Later, as many bystanders come to shake his hand, it’s clear he speaks perfect Uyghur. Just next to the market, between the smoke of the brochette sellers and the bakeries, his baseball cap on his head, Wang seems to be in his element.
He praises the economic progress made at the prefecture. The government has invested 1 billion RMB ($160 million) annually, infrastructure projects are being built, farmers have new houses, unemployment is low, fluctuating between 3% and 4%.
“You can see the people’s happiness on their faces,” he says. To complete the picture, he demonstrates the virtues of the single-party system, before concluding with a warning. “The interest of the state is above everything, so when the unity of the nation is in peril, all means are to be employed to preserve it.”
*Names of those interviewed have been changed to protect their identities.
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It is today a proven fraud, nailed by the French stock market watchdog: Air Next resorted to a full range of dubious practices to raise money but the simplest of errors exposed the scam and limited the damage to investors.
October 27, 2021
PARIS — Air Next promised to use blockchain technology to revolutionize passenger transport. Should we have read something into its name? In fact, the company was talking a lot of hot air from the start. Air Next turned out to be a scam, with a fake website, false identities, fake criminal records, counterfeited bank certificates, aggressive marketing … real crooks. Thirty-five employees recruited over the summer ranked among its victims, not to mention the few investors who put money in the business.
Maud (not her real name) had always dreamed of working in a start-up. In July, she spotted an ad on Linkedin and was interviewed by videoconference — hardly unusual in the era of COVID and teleworking. She was hired very quickly and signed a permanent work contract. She resigned from her old job, happy to get started on a new adventure.
Others like Maud fell for the bait. At least ten senior managers, coming from major airlines, airports, large French and American corporations, a former police officer … all firmly believed in this project. Some quit their jobs to join; some French expats even made their way back to France.
Share capital of one billion
The story began last February, when Air Next registered with the Paris Commercial Court. The new company stated it was developing an application that would allow the purchase of airline tickets by using cryptocurrency, at unbeatable prices and with an automatic guarantee in case of cancellation or delay, via a "smart contract" system (a computer protocol that facilitates, verifies and oversees the handling of a contract).
The firm declared a share capital of one billion euros, with offices under construction at 50, Avenue des Champs Elysées, and a president, Philippe Vincent ... which was probably a usurped identity.
Last summer, Air Next started recruiting. The company also wanted to raise money to have the assets on hand to allow passenger compensation. It organized a fundraiser using an ICO, or "Initial Coin Offering", via the issuance of digital tokens, transacted in cryptocurrencies through the blockchain.
While nothing obliged him to do so, the company owner went as far as setting up a file with the AMF, France's stock market regulator which oversees this type of transaction. Seeking the market regulator stamp is optional, but when issued, it gives guarantees to those buying tokens.
The infamous typo that brought the Air Next scam down
Raising Initial Coin Offering
Then, on Sept. 30, the AMF issued an alert, by way of a press release, on the risks of fraud associated with the ICO, as it suspected some documents to be forgeries. A few hours before that, Air Next had just brought forward by several days the date of its tokens pre-sale.
For employees of the new company, it was a brutal wake-up call. They quickly understood that they had been duped, that they'd bet on the proverbial house of cards. On the investor side, the CEO didn't get beyond an initial fundraising of 150,000 euros. He was hoping to raise millions, but despite his failure, he didn't lose confidence. Challenged by one of his employees on Telegram, he admitted that "many documents provided were false", that "an error cost the life of this project."
What was the "error" he was referring to? A typo in the name of the would-be bank backing the startup. A very small one, at the bottom of the page of the false bank certificate, where the name "Edmond de Rothschild" is misspelled "Edemond".
Before the AMF's public alert, websites specializing in crypto-assets had already noted certain inconsistencies. The company had declared a share capital of 1 billion euros, which is an enormous amount. Air Next's CEO also boasted about having discovered bitcoin at a time when only a few geeks knew about cryptocurrency.
Employees and investors filed a complaint. Failing to find the general manager, Julien Leclerc — which might also be a fake name — they started looking for other culprits. They believe that if the Paris Commercial Court hadn't registered the company, no one would have been defrauded.
Beyond the handful of victims, this case is a plea for the implementation of more secure procedures, in an increasingly digital world, particularly following the pandemic. The much touted ICO market is itself a victim, and may find it hard to recover.
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