Loathsome Hui parasites: Islamophobia, ethnic chauvinism, and popular responses to the 2020 Wuhan coronavirus outbreak

ABSTRACT

On 31 January 2020 in the midst of the outbreak of COVID-19 in Wuhan, China the city’s Party Secretary, Ma Guoqiang admitted in a televised interview to feeling “guilty and remorseful,” about the city government’s failures to contain the virus. In response, netizens on Weibo directed visceral abuse at Ma, an ethnic Hui Muslim, about his faith and loyalty to the party. The attacks came just months after the publication of leaked documents from national party officials calling Islam a “virus” and vowing to stop its “contagion.” Using discourse analysis of posts regarding Ma from January and February 2020, this paper examines how online discussion of Ma exemplifies Islamophobic attitudes of netizens and illuminate the exclusory ethnic politics that unfold in the process of national boundary setting in China. These findings will also illuminate how Muslims become scapegoats for crisis in non-Muslim countries, particularly those under authoritarian governance.

KEYWORDS:

• Islamophobia
• Hui Muslims
• China
• everyday nationalism
• COVID-19

On 31 January 2020, as a novel coronavirus – soon to be known around the world as COVID-19 – continued to spread throughout the city of Wuhan in south central China, Wuhan Municipal Party Secretary Ma Guoqiang appeared in a nationally televised interview. Just four days prior the spread of the virus triggered a stridently enforced citywide lockdown, and the city’s mayor, Zhou Xianwang, had conceded that the city’s response was inadequate. Now, speaking candidly, Ma admitted to feeling “guilty and remorseful” about the city’s response, adding “our work has not been done well, and we have not acted decisively,” resulting in the virus spreading throughout China.

In response to Ma’s admissions, nationalist netizens flocked to the microblogging platform Sina Weibo to vent their anger at an unlikely target: Wuhan’s ethnic Hui Muslim community. Ma’s identity as Hui provided irate netizens with an easy target for their fury. One particularly lengthy and vitriolic screed posted by a netizen to Weibo began, “If you have to ask me why I hate Hui so much, it’s because my fellow Han from all over China have been hurt by them so much.” Launching into an extensive list of recent events where Hui were inferred to have caused disruption, the netizen declared “A lot of people don’t know about this even now!” Throughout the next two weeks, as the crisis in the city deepened, the abuse of Hui continued. By February 13, one netizen raged “these Hui parasites, these ‘people’ have really made China suffer this time.”

That netizens directed abuse at Ma is unsurprising. However, their extension of blame to all Hui is curious. In their targeting of Ma, netizens latched on to his ethnicity, framing his failures not just as a result of bad governance, but as attributable to his identity as a Muslim. Refracted through these logics, netizens construed Ma’s failure to contain the virus as a sign of his betrayal of China. The Hui community writ large were made into Ma’s co-conspirators – an internal enemy executing a grand plot and motivated by extremist religious ideologies.

Why did nationalist netizens target Hui ethnoreligious identities in this way, and why were Hui excluded from expressions of national solidarity in the face of the crisis? Indeed, in later stages of the pandemic, nationalist rhetoric in China shifted considerably. Rather than lashing out at internal scapegoats, netizens expressed solidarity and gratitude to emergency workers on behalf of the nation. Moreover, the target of nationalist ire shifted, as netizens looked to pin blame for China’s suffering and the global spread of COVID-19 on external forces, namely the United States. While the causes for such externalization of anger are complex, the coincidence of the global spread of the virus with a growing geopolitical rivalry between China and the US piled grievances about the virus on top of already existing animus. Further, China’s apparent containment of the virus, even as it spread widely in the US led to netizens gleefully trumpeting China’s successes and mocking the US’ failures (Singh 2022; C. Zhang 2022). Perhaps unsurprisingly, online nationalist narratives about the virus became tales of determined Chinese perseverance in the face of a deadly virus, and global antagonism.

Thus, though a number of studies have explored the impact of COVID-19 on expression of nationhood and nationalism in China, they have largely focused on the performance of national unity and remembrance after the initial outbreak subsided, or on the backlash against critics of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) as the virus spread outside of China (Zhao 2021; C. Zhang 2022). Comparatively less attention has been given to examining the inclusions and exclusions in the community of Chinese nationhood revealed by the outbreak of the virus, or explaining the understandings of Chineseness that they construct.

In the remainder of this article, I will assess how nationalist netizens making Islamophobic attacks on Ma Guoqiang and other Hui during initial outbreak of COVID-19 in Wuhan reveal how Muslims were excluded from Han-centric conceptions of Chinese nationhood. I contend that these attacks illustrate the ways in which globalized Islamophobic tropes merge with localized grievances to render Muslim populations as outsiders unworthy of solidarity in the minds of abusive netizens. Further, I contend that these posts illustrate the ways in which daily practices of Islamic identity performed by Hui were construed by netizens to paint Muslims as actors attempting to undermine (Han) Chinese culture and values.

Drawing on a sample of 649 posts gathered from Weibo between January 24 and 19 February 2020, I illustrate how Islamophobia intertwined with ethnic chauvinism in online abuse. By utilizing the method of constant comparative analysis (CCA) to conduct an examination of online discourse in the wake of Ma Guoqiang’s admission of his failure to contain the virus, I contend that these instances of abuse exemplify how Islamophobic tropes diffuse across national boundaries, adapt to exacerbate localized tensions, and result in Muslims frequently being branded as threats to the nation in unsettled times.

Everyday nationhood and the contagion of Islamophobia during unsettled times

In unsettled times, like those experienced during the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic, expressions of nationhood, especially those made in the course of daily life, take on heightened significance. The abandonment of the routines of “normal” life caused by the disruption frequently produces a sense of ontological insecurity. During these moments when calamity unmoors identities from the routines and practices that anchor them, the community of the nation frequently serves as a port in a storm for those feeling ontologically adrift (Skey 2010; Goode, Stroup, and Gaufman 2022, 63–64).

However, while displays of nationhood may provide the basis for togetherness and communal effort, they also may turn into channels for assigning blame and administering retribution to those perceived to be the cause of calamity (Skitka 2005). Majorities that see themselves as representative of the nation as it “ought” to be may turn aside those whom they feel disrupt normality or violate their sense of security in the community of the nation (Goode, Stroup, and Gaufman 2022, 78–79). Ethnic, racial and religious minorities provide activists in majority with convenient scapegoats to blame for disruption (Singh 2022, 107–108). This is especially true during epidemics when myths about contagion target the daily habits and lifestyles of marginalized populations, deeming them responsible for transmission. These “outbreak narratives” that pin blame on minorities, lower classes, and those in professions deemed taboo justify placing minorities under greater scrutiny and, frequently, sanction their punishment and abuse (Wald 2008, 13–20, 77–113). Abusers who perpetuate such harassment often latch on to everyday habits practiced by members of the supposed outgroup as the basis for their exclusion (Goode, Stroup, and Gaufman 2022). Discrepancies in behavior that depart from the perceived national norm may even grow to become the core of bizarre conspiracy theories that mark these “others” as foreign agents or enemies of the nation (Malešević 2022).

Occasionally, this othering causes nationalists to conflate outsider status with contagion itself. Indeed, findings from political psychology suggest a predictive relationship between the sentiments of disgust directed at perceived outgroups and nationalism (Gao et al. 2021). Exclusionary nationalist actors frequently describe outgroups as vectors for disease, often describing members of the outgroup themselves as the plague (Singh 2022). These claims, especially when made by prominent political figures, may find replication in daily discourse (Croucher, Nguyen, and Rahmani 2020).

As the COVID-19 pandemic spread, Muslims found themselves accused by Islamophobic conspiracists of either deliberately spreading the virus, or of exploiting emergency response measures for their own sinister ends. They also became the victims of ugly, anti-Muslim slurs, especially online (Rose 2021). Largely, these attacks came as a convergence of new fears about contagion of the virus with well-established, pre-existing Islamophobia.¹ The heightened salience of “insider” and “outsider” designations may reinforce pre-existing Islamophobic tropes about Muslims, especially in majority non-Muslim spaces (Duman 2020; Menon 2023, this issue). Islamophobic rhetoric frequently posits that Muslims living in non-Muslim spaces represent potential latent threats or fifth columns. Such prejudices frame Islam as out of step with ideologies of tolerance, secularism or multiculturalism and portray Muslims as backward, parochial, and prone to extremist violence (Shyrock 2010; Najib 2021, 40). The spread of Islam frequently appears in such formulations as a threat to a perceived national way of life, threatening to subsume local culture and trample values like liberalism, secularism, tolerance and multiculturalism (Silverstein 2010; Cainkar 2011, 3; Frydenlund 2023, this issue; Ganesh and Faggiani 2023, this issue).

Placed in this essentializing framework, Muslims appear as monolithic, and uniformly threatening (Halliday 1999; Duman 2020, 437; Itaoui and Elsheikh 2018). Though such characterizations usually racialize Muslims – frequently rendering “Muslim” and “Arab” as essentially synonymous – the fact that Islam is a global religion whose adherents embody a wide array of racial and ethnic identities may only intensify feelings of distrust and reinforce rhetoric proclaiming Muslims a latent or hidden threat (Sealy 2021). These conceptions of a “Muslim World” whose inhabitants prioritize an overriding and homogenous Muslim “master status” above all other identities further reifies fears of a Muslim “other” that cannot be integrated into a societal mainstream (Cainkar 2011, 156; Bangstad and Linge 2023, this issue). In designating Muslims as “outsiders” who threaten a national way of life, Islamophobia often intersects with and inflames feelings of ethnic or national chauvinism (Frydenlund 2023, this issue). Islamic practices of diet or dress which diverge from those of local majorities, or a perceived allegiance to a “foreign” authority may provoke feelings of grievance or anger in those non-Muslim chauvinists who purport the supremacy of their in-group above all others (Cleemput 1995, 64–67; Gustavsson and Stendahl 2020, 450).

As another consequence, these Islamophobic portrayals justify distrust of Muslims and facilitate aggressive programs of assimilation. These constructions of Islam reify a diverse and dynamic collection of ideologies and beliefs as being represented only by a single, very conservative expression (Halliday 1999, 897). These homogenizations of Islam scrutinize ordinary lifestyle habits and expression of faith for signs of “extremism” (e.g. veiling, regular prayer attendance, etc.) and thus allow Islamophobes to call into question the loyalty of those who practice them (Cainkar 2011). Further, it allows antagonists to create dichotomies of “good” (i.e. moderate or secular) and “bad” (i.e. extremist) Muslims that are weaponized against ordinary people, demanding that they “choose a side” and demonstrate loyalty (Shyrock 2010, 9; Klug 2012; Duman 2020).

Such conceptions of Muslim untrustworthiness have become universalized and created a set of stereotypes about a uniquely threatening, homogenous Muslim “other.” After the attacks of 9/11 and the enactment of the Global War on Terror (GWOT), tropes about Islamic radicalism diffused across national boundaries, and combined with localized grievances. Through this process of racialization of threat, Muslim populations living in non-majority-Islamic spaces were cast as a universalized threat to security, in many cases reinforcing long-held local prejudices. As such, universalized discourses about the dangers of Islam are often intertwined with distinctively local nativist chauvinisms or ideas of racial or ethnic supremacy (Bakali and Hafez 2022; Hafez 2020).

While interactions between agents of western imperial powers and the Muslim populaces they colonized may have produced essentializing notions of a “Muslim World,” and the U.S. led GWOT may have popularized the widespread tropes that dominate current Islamophobic rhetoric, recent scholarship in human geography underlines Islamophobia as a transnational and multi-scalar phenomenon (Aydin 2017; Ganesh, Frydenlund, and Brekke 2023; Najib 2021, this issue). Thus, even though globalization has spread a repertoire of Islamophobic stereotypes about Muslims that are modular and easily diffused across contexts, Islamophobia also conforms to localized expression that draw on particular histories and socioeconomic dynamics (Ganesh, Frydenlund, and Brekke 2023, this issue).² For instance, in Australia after 9-11, securitized rhetoric about the threats posed by terrorism have merged with longstanding xenophobia and notions of white supremacy produced by colonial immigration schemes. Thus, Australian far-right activists posed asylum seekers from Muslim majority countries as not only a danger to national values, but also potential violent extremists (Iner and McManus 2022).

During unsettled times, these perceived misalignments of Muslims with particular national practices may only intensify feelings that Muslims do not belong to the community of the nation, or represent a latent threat that must be excluded (Noble and Poynting 2010, 490). Thus, Islamophobic abuse surrounding everyday behaviors may pervade not only national, but also personal and emotional spaces, including in Muslims’ homes or online (Kozaric 2023; Najib 2021, this issue).

Pandemic and the pathology of islamophobia in China

The abuse of Hui citizens during the initial outbreak of the virus in Wuhan in early 2020 occurred amidst an already deepening climate of Islamophobia in China. Thus, the Islamophobic rhetoric voiced by netizens in response to COVID layered contemporary anxieties about contagion and societal disruption on top of long-established historical prejudices against Muslims, and Hui in particular.

The Hui are commonly referred to in popular media as “Chinese Muslims.” With a population number over 10 million as of the 2010 census, the Hui constitute the largest of China’s 10 Muslim ethnic groups.³ Many claim descent from Arab, Persian or Turkic Muslims who intermarried into Han communities upon their arrival in China as early as the 8th century, or from Chinese converts to Islam (Ha 2020). As such, Hui communities are geographically dispersed, and linguistically, economically, and culturally heterogenous (Stroup 2022). Indeed, as one of the most widely dispersed of China’s ethnic groups – Hui neighborhoods exist in most of China’s major urban centers – the Hui are one of China’s most prominent minority communities, frequently interacting with and living alongside the majority Han. Unlike other Muslim ethnic groups in China, Hui do not speak an ethnic language, or exhibit obvious ethnic or racial differences from the majority Han (Gladney 1991). Consequently, many Han regard Hui as “familiar strangers,” who are culturally proximate and essentially Hanified (Lipman 1998).

Even with such a long-established presence within the country, much of the suspicion and disdain for Muslims expressed in contemporary Chinese society finds roots in comparatively recent history. The violent conflicts between communities of Muslims and the armies of the Qing state in the 18th and 19^th centuries – commonly referred to as the “Muslim Rebellions” – have been especially consequential in shaping popular attitudes about the Hui (Kim 2004). Despite the party-state’s attempts to reposition the Hui as a patriotic, “model” minority, a lingering historical mistrust born of these conflicts pervades relationships between Hui and the majority Han (McCarthy 2009; Stroup 2021).

Physical separation reinforces these prejudices. Urban Hui enclave communities have historically centered around mosques and often stand out from surrounding areas (Gaubatz 2002). In many cities, Han infrequently visit these spaces, and often perpetuate stereotypical notions that they are poor, backward, or unwelcoming to non-Muslims (Gillette 2002, 22–29; Miao 2020; Stroup 2022, 43–50). Taken together, these historical legacies and physical segregation between Han and Hui perpetuate the exclusion of Hui. Despite sharing many linguistic and cultural ties, many Han continue to regard Hui as “others,” especially those who practice their religious faith in a more overt manner (e.g. wearing religious garments or routinely attending prayer services).

In the years following the 9/11 attacks in the United States, reports of violent acts perpetrated by Islamic extremists abroad and a spate of violent incidents – usually between Han and Uyghur Muslims – have intensified these fears. Tropes about Islam perpetuated by the US’ Global War on Terror have been adopted in China both at popular and official levels, heaping increased scrutiny – and often abuse – onto domestic Muslim communities (Luqiu and Yang 2020; Roberts 2020). Those Muslims who chose to display visible markers of their Islamic identity as well as those Muslim intellectuals who deeply engage with Islamic culture and history, have frequently been branded as “two-faced” (liangmianren), implying that they secretly harbor allegiance to a hostile foreign power and are intent on subverting China’s security (Byler 2022; Miao 2020; Xie and Liu 2021). These caricatured accounts which depict Muslims as prone to extremist violence reanimate old historical stereotypes about the Hui rooted in the rebellions during the late Qing. The spread of these narratives has been especially consequential in shaping popular attitudes among Han about the Hui.

Communications from the Chinese party-state also contribute to this securitization of Muslims.⁴ Addresses by Xi at the start of the so-called “People’s War on Terror” launched in the wake of attacks in the cities of Ürümchi and Kunming in April 2014 described Islam in the language of disease and contagion. Grimly, Xi pronounced “in some places, the influence of religious extremism has gained control to the point where our needles cannot penetrate and medicine cannot be injected” (Xi 2014). Later, in May, while addressing the Second Central Xinjiang Work Forum, Xi used even more emphatic language to describe Islam as a form of disease as he spoke of the need to “strengthen the body and the mind” against religious extremism with the “medicine” of correct education about Chinese culture. Without such intervention, Xi expressed fear that “violent terrorist activities will continue to replicate and multiply like cancer cells” (Xi 2014).

With the subsequent declaration of a “People’s War on Terror” in Xinjiang, the party-state followed longstanding practices of using the language and methodology of pathology to treat “targeted people” in need of intervention (zhongdian ren). The implementation of these policies effectively identified aspects of everyday Islamic practice as symptoms of mental illness. This diagnosis was used to justify measures taken to effect a “quarantine” of Muslims considered “deviant” as necessary to prevent a contagion – often accompanied by ideological re-education through labor (Grose and Leibold 2022).

While this suspicion and targeting of Muslims resulted in unfathomable levels of surveillance and repression by the party-state in Xinjiang, the ripple effects of this Islamophobia have also been felt in Hui communities nationwide. A sweeping campaign of Sinicization has altered the architecture of mosques, stripped Arabic text off signs, and closed opportunities for religious education in the name of fighting off “Arabization” of China’s public spaces (Gansu sheng huanjing baihu ting 2018; Stroup 2022, 157–166). Further, as the party-state enacted these measures, Hui across China reported an upsurge of harassment, both online and in person (Ho 2010; Luqiu and Yang 2020). Indeed, Chinese social media platforms saw a rise in the prominence of so-called muhei (Muslim haters) following a spate of violent incidents involving Muslims in Xinjiang in 2013 and 2014. These users primarily used platforms like Weibo and WeChat to mock China’s Muslim communities, brand all Muslims as terrorists, or to rail against a perceived tide of “Arabization” or “halalifcation” that sought to overwhelm and destroy Han identity (de Seta 2021).

Placed against this backdrop of growing Islamophobia, Ma’s admission of failure to contain COVID sparked an enormous backlash online. Though some netizens made passing note of Ma’s identity as Hui after his appointment to the post of Party Secretary of Wuhan – an overwhelmingly Han city – in 2018, his ethnicity garnered little attention before the outbreak.⁵ However, with the spread of the virus, Ma’s Hui identity became a target for abuse. In a context where organs of the party-state referred to Islam with metaphors of disease and painted daily behaviors associated with the practice of faith as signs of growing contagion, Ma’s identity as Hui became the subject of wild conspiracy theory, and left him – and other Hui – exposed to vitriolic and exclusionary Islamophobic abuse.

Methodology

To assess the ways in which Islamophobia was expressed during the initial outbreak of the virus, I sampled posts collected from the social media site Sina Weibo, a microblogging platform, made between January 24 and February 19, 2020. This period captures the period between the initial announcement by Chinese health authorities that the COVID-19 virus was transmissible person-to-person, and Ma Guoqiang’s eventual sacking from his post as Party Secretary for the city of Wuhan. To limit data analyzed to relevant posts, I employed targeted keyword searches for three terms: Ma Guoqiang (马国强), Hui (回族), and Islam (伊斯兰). In all, I gathered a sample of 649 posts.⁶ This collection is by no means an exhaustive or universal sample of posts on the subject. The sample is, however, broadly representative of the discussion unfolding on Weibo in the moment.

Weibo serves as China’s major online platform for public deliberation and political discussion (Lu, Pan, and Xu 2021). Similarly, online forums like Weibo have served as echo chambers where hardcore nationalists develop insular and extreme understandings of belonging and nationhood (Leibold 2010; C. Zhang 2020). Thus, though its user base ought not be considered as broadly representative of China’s general public, it does still present a useful means for finding the “edges of the nation” and gaining greater insight about how such extreme conceptions of nationhood contribute to the way that national boundaries are formulated and contested (Fox 2017).

To analyze these posts, I used the software program NVivo 12 to follow the Constant Comparative method of coding (Glaser and Strauss 2009). This method seeks to draw out grounded theory from textual data via an inductive, iterative, qualitative coding process. In all I conducted three stages of coding: an initial open coding stage, a secondary axial coding stage, and a final stage in which I synthesized categories of codes to produce an overarching theoretical finding.

During the open coding phase, I coded all lines of relevant text in the dataset until a point of coding saturation. In all, this phase produced 64 discrete codes. After this exhaustive coding stage, I employed a second, axial phase meant to establish categories among the initial codes. In this phase, I examined the relationships between the codes and placed them into an exclusive, equivalent and exhaustive typology. In all, I produced 8 axial-level codes during this second stage (see Figure 1 below). For the final coding stage, I assessed the relationship between the categories of codes produced during axial coding, and described the relationship between them.

Figure 1. Typology of characterizations of Muslims on Weibo during the outbreak of COVID-19 in Wuhan (January-February 2020).

After completing this qualitative coding process, I conducted two forms of analysis. First, I used basic cross tabulations to discuss the frequency of recurrence for particular codes within the text. Following this analysis, I conducted a critical discourse analysis of the posts to explore how they constructed Hui and Muslim identities and barred them from inclusions in netizens’ conceptions of Chinese nationhood.⁷ I contend that the characterizations of Hui on Weibo in the midst of the outbreak of COVID-19 painted them as dangerous outsiders who breached perceived national solidarities, and therefore attempted to exclude them.

Typologizing Islamophobic posts during COVID-19

As discussed in the previous section, Weibo comments about Ma Guoqiang, and about Hui as a group, during the outbreak of COVID-19 in Wuhan fell into 8 categories (see Figure 1 below; for a complete code book with descriptions of codes produced during open coding, see Appendix A). These categories illustrate how Islamophobic netizens used both daily, localized interactions with Hui as well as transnational stereotypes about Muslims to construct Hui as “others” to be excluded from the community of the nation.

The categories produced during the axial coding stage illustrate how the Hui’s identity as Muslims led others to treat them as outsiders, or as latent threats to Chinese nationhood. These characterizations reflect both global Islamophobic tropes about Muslims, as well as locally held prejudices rooted in China’s past.

For example, the category bad elements comprises codes that accuse Hui of violating China’s civic values.⁸ These codes not only cast Ma Guoqiang as incompetent and corruptly working to give his Hui co-ethnics favourable treatment, they also suggest Ma’s identity as a Hui official represented a violation of China’s official state secularism. The category unassimilated contains posts that express resentment at the perception that Hui refuse to assimilate into mainstream (read as Han) society. These posts include gripes about Hui observing a halal diet or wearing religious clothing, but also contain expressions of anger from netizens who perceived Hui as flaunting the status as an ethnic minority in arrogant or condescending ways. These two categories both reflect localized tensions exposed by that pandemic.

However, other categories showcase the way that global Islamophobic tropes have diffused into China. The category extremist contains posts that characterize the Hui as intolerant religious zealots or as harbouring plans to Islamize China. The most virulent of these posts depicted the Hui as in league with radical Islamic terrorism, or groups like the Islamic State. Similarly, reflecting global Islamophobic tropes about the inherent untrustworthiness of Muslims, the category foreign contains posts that disavow the Hui as Chinese, suggesting instead that they are “two-faced” agents of a foreign power, or that they should return to the Middle East (zhongdong). The category conspirators contains numerous posts about secretive plots held by Hui to undermine China – like storing only halal meat in disaster reserves – that the pandemic exposed. Even posts that attempt to defend Muslims, coded under the category good muslims, attempt to separate Huiness from Islam, falling into Islamophobic tropes that “good” Muslims are secular, assimilated, and moderate.

Finally, these categories also include a number of posts which advocate more violent exclusions. The category inhuman contains numerous posts which use ethnic slur to dehumanize Hui, rendering them into animals, or indeed as a kind of virus in and of themselves. The category guilty contains those posts from netizens who pronounced the Hui responsible for the spread of the pandemic and proposed coercive or violent remedies (forcible expulsion or worse) as punishment. It also contains those posts which threaten or intimidate Hui as a response to their perceived betrayal of the nation. A breakdown of these categories may be seen in Figure 2 and Figure 3, below.

Figure 2. Characterizations of Hui in Weibo Posts from 24 January to 19 February, 2020,

Figure 3. Distribution of codes in Weibo post about Hui from 24 January –to 19 February 2020.

While this analysis illustrates the frequency and distribution of the Islamophobic abuse unleashed by the outbreak of COVID-19, understanding how these categories reflect the othering and exclusion of Hui – as Muslims – from inclusion in the community of Chinese nationhood requires analysis of the posts at a more granular and in-depth level. A critical discourse analysis which assesses how these characterizations fit together reveals how Islamophobic netizens evoke a Han-centric core of Chinese nationhood to exclude and scapegoat Hui during the crisis.

Discourse analysis of sampled posts

Many netizens’ posts asserted that being Hui – and ostensibly Muslim – should have disqualified Ma from party membership, let alone a position of leadership. “Muslims can’t become party members, right?” asked one adding “how did he even get in?”⁹ Others were more demonstrably angry. One post singled out Ma’s religion as specifically incompatible with governance, remarking, “Msl shouldn’t be able to be officials (internet abbreviation for musilin, Muslim).”¹⁰ Another netizen, in excoriating Ma, declared “Party members and officials’ believe in Marxist-Leninism, atheism and socialist thought; They believe in serving the people rather than being ignorant religious believers!” Continuing on, the post chastised those who defended Ma, declaring “National unity is not a veil for covering up the problems with Islam!”¹¹

While these decried Ma’s status as a Muslim in an oblique sense, some went further, specifying that Ma’s Muslimness led him to corruption on behalf of co-religionists, usually at the expense of Han. Accusing Ma of abusing his powers as party secretary, one netizen moaned, “after taking office you repaired mosques for your people, but what are we Han to do?”¹² Often, these detractors also fumed that Ma’s status as a privileged minority placed him beyond official reproach. Exemplifying such grievances, one netizen seethed, “They use relevant policies to be arrogant and domineering, and nobody can oppose.”¹³

Such charges not only painted Ma’s corruption and incompetence as primarily responsible for the virus, but reasoned that Ma’s loyalty was first and foremost to other Muslims, at the cost of public order. These traits, posts asserted, were intrinsic not just to Ma but all Hui. These types of assertions reframed complaints about perceived corruption and good governance into specifically ethno-religious concerns that placed Ma’s Hui identity at the forefront. One netizen’s rant exemplified this blame: “I’m just waiting for the central government to punish the Hui municipal leader whose dereliction of duty caused this shocking global pandemic and indirectly killed people.”¹⁴

These notions about Ma as corrupt and the Hui as beneficiaries generated numerous accusations of pre-meditated conspiracy. In response, netizens levied accusations of deliberate malfeasance related to the outbreak of the virus, and disaster relief by Ma in collusion with other Hui. Prominent among these were wild and unsubstantiated conspiracy charges that Ma had wasted the city’s public funds to build mosques.¹⁵ In response to a post claiming that Ma prioritized appeasing Muslims before public good, one netizen groaned, “After Ma Guoqiang took office, he built such a big, beautiful mosque. Isn’t that enough to prove himself?”¹⁶ These posts railed against the perception that, despite being a clear minority, Muslims dictated Ma’s governance agenda. Others replied to these rumors with calls for retribution. “Turn the mosques into mobile field hospitals!” cried one netizen.¹⁷

Other rumors suggested that Ma had abused his power in the procurement of emergency supplies. A number of posts claimed that Ma embezzled medical supplies, ostensibly to hoard for Hui to use. Many framed these actions as stealing from the people of Wuhan. One netizen fulminated at Ma, “can you please explain exactly why you’ve taken the people of Wuhan’s masks?”¹⁸

An even more provocative conspiracy theory alleged that Ma had only purchased halal meat for the city’s food reserves to be distributed after Wuhan declared a city-wide lockdown. In so doing, netizens replicated a common global Islamophobic trope that Muslims use halal food to subjugate non-Muslims, and force them to consume meat that otherwise might be considered unclean or taboo (Anand 2005, 207–208; Brekke 2021). Numerous posts from Han netizens spread this rumor, proclaiming that Ma sought to discriminate against non-Muslims – or worse, forcibly convert them by withholding food. Responding to this rumor one netizen pleaded, “can I ask what the governments measures are? Are they trying to starve us to death?”¹⁹

At the thought of being forced to eat halal food, some netizens expressed disgust. Responding angrily at the thought of the idea that non-Muslims would be able eat halal food without issue, one netizen fumed, “atheists don’t just eat anything. For example, to many atheists halal food is a shit-tainted food. How are atheists supposed to eat things that are tainted with shit?”²⁰ Others framed their refusal on the grounds that their rights had been violated. One defiantly protested that, “we Han do not agree to eat halal food,” before adding “I am an atheist, and I have the right to refuse to eat halal food.”²¹ Such vehement refusal to eat halal highlights the degree to which netizens marked Islamic practice as suspicious.

In each case, the rumors of Ma’s malfeasance were posed not just as normal corruption, but as deliberate plots specifically meant to benefit Hui at the expense of others. Some conspiracy-addled netizens linked this hearsay to historical events, suggesting continuation of chaos and disruption wrought by the Hui. One incredulous netizen spouted “This is exactly what you get when you let a Hui become party secretary! Inaction and invisibility!”²² The oft repeated slur, “if the country is in trouble, the Hui must be causing chaos” (guo you nan, Hui bi luan) was echoed by a number of netizens gesturing at this imagined history of Hui sabotage and disruption.²³

Conspiracy theories like these roused a number of grievances against and anxieties about Hui, particularly that their daily practices related to Islam made them unwilling or unable to assimilate into Han-centric conceptions of Chineseness. Chauvinistic netizens expressed their resentments about the perceptions that Hui flaunted privilege as one of China’s recognized ethnic minorities and refused to integrate with Han. These posts marked Hui as arrogant, or as provocative troublemakers who – as a privileged minority – the party-state dared not reproach. As one netizen sniped, “The Hui are the second most populous minority group, so everyone has to be polite.”²⁴

Numerous posts made derogatory statements about Hui daily practices of identity – particularly about diet or dress. Honing in on Islam’s treatment of pigs as haram (ritually unclean), aggressive netizens heaping abuse on Hui users frequently made menacing threats using pork or lard. In response to one Hui user asking for tolerance of Islamic dietary habits, a netizen posted “Eating pork is my religion, and I love eating pig heads the most.”²⁵ Another quipped, “Won’t all of you big Hui just please fuck off? Drink two mouthfuls of lard and settle down.”²⁶ In eating differently, or maintaining daily lives consistent with Islamic practice, Hui were deemed not just as outsiders, but as intolerant and actively threatening to Chinese national identity.

Others imagined a more sinister intention to Hui actions. For some netizens, Hui observing religious practice was not merely a sign of ethnic or cultural preservation, but an indication of extremist ideology. Islam, netizens suggested, represented a hostile ideology holding Hui captive. “Don’t scold (the Hui) so severely,” one netizen posted, “It’s just that the Muslims among them are holding them captive. After all, Muslims have a several thousand year history of kidnapping ethnic groups.”²⁷

Likewise, numerous posts expressed fear that, via empowered figures in the party like Ma, Hui sought to forcibly convert or Islamize China. “Some people just want to impose their faith on a minzu (usually translated as “nationality” or “ethnic group”),” remarked one netizen.²⁸ Another darkly forecasted “Green things (lüse dongxi) like to bind the nation to faith so that afterward they can have religion without having a country.”²⁹ In such instances, these posts suggested that Ma’s actions were not merely the result of poor governance, incompetence, or corruption, but instead a deliberate plot to undermine China’s sociocultural and religious identities. In this sense, netizens framed their harassment of Muslims as a defense of Chinese – imputed to be Han – tradition against invaders from outside who sought to dominate China.

Uglier expressions of this sentiment linked Hui to international terrorism. One netizen exemplified this by using a bomb emoji in the place of the word “Islam” in posts (see Figure 4, below).³⁰ Another casually slurred “Everyone knows all msl are terrorists.”³¹ Some netizens made more specific links to extremist groups. One post, making a pun off of Ma’s given name (“strengthen the country,” Guoqiang 国强), questioned “Ma Guoqiang, what country are you trying to make stronger? Is it your Islamic State?”³² In these formulations, Hui were not just seen as deserving of exclusion from the bonds of nationhood, they were seen as literal adversaries who sought to harm the Chinese state.

Figure 4. Post from a netizen using a bomb emoji in place of the word “Islam.” The entire post reads “(bomb) faith”.

This perceived overriding allegiance to Islam led many netizens to tear down the Hui as not really being from China. Occasionally, these posts implied Hui held loyalties outside of China by implying they were “two-faced people.” Numerous posts taunted Hui for their perceived foreignness, insisting they should return to some unspecified homeland in the Middle East. As one netizen expressed, succinctly, “Hui ought to just fuck off back to the Middle East, China doesn’t like you.”³³

Finally, many posts simply dehumanized Hui, describing them as animals or lower forms of life. In one example, a Han netizen smeared Hui as subhuman due to their religious faith, perhaps echoing the Marxist axiom that religion is the “opiate of the masses.” The netizen posted, “religion is an anaesthesia for lowly animals, and the Chinese people (huaxiazu) are an elevated race, so they don’t cultivate low-end things like religion.”³⁴ On the basis of Hui beliefs as Muslims, the netizen had declared them to not only be outside of inclusion as Chinese people, but not to be human altogether.

Likewise, in numerous examples, netizens weaponized Islam’s regard of pigs as ritually unclean to attack Hui. Targeting a Hui commenter who had defended Ma, one netizen posted “Tonight I’m going to braise (hongshao) your pig ancestors.”³⁵ One netizen slurred, “Look at all you green pigs (lüzhu). It’s disgusting.” Some merely posted out strings of pig emojis in response to posts about Ma or as a retort to Hui netizens defending their faith (see Figure 5 below).

Figure 5. A netizen posting pig emojis in response to a post about Hui.

In some of the most extreme cases, netizens dehumanized Hui using the language of disease, itself. “Muslims are human cancers, there’s no need to respect them” posted one.³⁶ Others, in describing Hui people, replaced the character for Hui (回) with a homonym meaning intestinal parasite (Hui, 蛔) yielding slurs like “Hui parasites” (For example, Huizu 蛔族, or Huihui 回蛔, a parody of the older ethnonym Huihui 回回) or Hui worms (Huichong 蛔虫 or 回虫) (See Figure 6, below). One thundered, “You Hui parasites should fuck off back to the Middle East. What are you even doing on Chinese soil?”³⁷ In some particularly grim examples, netizens speaking of Hui as a disease combined these degrading slurs with threats of egregious, targeted violence. “We just want to give you Hui parasites some medicine, and after that build some showers for Hui,” menaced one post, in language that seemingly alluded to the genocidal murders of Jews during the Holocaust.³⁸

Figure 6. A netizen’s post using the slur “Hui worms”.

In using these dehumanizing slurs, netizens cast Hui as an invasive parasite, and Islam as another kind of virus whose contagion endangered China’s security and prosperity.³⁹ Far from including the Hui in a community based on national solidarity and shared Chineseness, such abusive language thoroughly excluded them, even marking them out as adversaries or, in extreme cases, as targets for eradication.

Even those who defended Hui usually did so by attempting to separate Huiness from Islam. A handful of Hui netizens attempted to disentangle religious and ethnic identities by suggesting that many Hui did not practice Islam. For instance, one Hui netizen who attempted to disassociate themselves from Ma Guoqiang commented “Hui are not the same as Muslims, thanks. Also, Hui have nothing to do with mosques.”⁴⁰ This type of distancing the community from perceived religious fanaticism may stem from a keen awareness of where the “red lines” lie in online discourse – especially for Muslims. Knowledge of potential party-state surveillance targeting “extremist” discourse (i.e. that which falls outside of bounds deemed permissible by censors) may lead to carefully manage online communication to avoid trouble, a process Jing Wang (2019) calls “guanli (self-management).” Other, largely Han, netizens pointed to specific behaviors – usually overtly Islamic habits of dress or diet – which distinguished “good” Hui from “bad” Muslims. Singling out Hui who observed Islam’s taboo on pork as nefarious, one netizen contended, “By the way, the Hui who eat pork are good people.”⁴¹

In drawing these distinctions about “good” Hui, these netizens ultimately reinforced ideas about the intrinsic threat of Islam or the incompatibility of Islamic practice with normal, moderate or reasonable lifestyles. A Hui netizen’s attempt to educate an Islamophobic netizen spreading rumors about Ma trying to Islamize society by forcing people to eat halal products illustrates this. “You’re mistaken,” the user began. “Ethnicity isn’t the same as religion, and (Ma) is seeking gain for religion. There are also many Hui compatriots who don’t believe in religion, and they aren’t required to eat beef blessed by an imam.”⁴² Such claims belie the Han-centered articulation of nationhood from which Muslims are excluded – only those Hui who embraced secularism and abandoned Islamic practices were considered trustworthy.

Conclusions

The deluge of online abuse targeted at Mao Guoqiang and other ordinary Hui people in the wake of the outbreak of COVID-19 offers several lessons about the content of everyday national identity in times of crisis and the diffusion of repertoires of Islamophobic tropes.

First, such vicious harassment reveals the ways in which the crisis magnified existing prejudices concerning outwardly Islamic habits and practices. As such it provides a revealing demonstration of how daily expressions of nationhood gain increased significance during times of crisis, and in turn, how these practices may be cited as grounds for exclusion or scapegoating of supposed outgroups by nationalist activists. The prominence of bigoted posts citing habits of daily dress, consumption and religious observance as markers of foreign extremism illustrate how such overt or visible markers of Muslimness breached netizens’ perceived norms concerning expressions of Chineseness. Frustration that Hui might seek accommodation for their religious faith in times of crisis, or anger at an alleged unwillingness to assimilate or adopt Han practices rendered the Hui as aliens in the eyes of chauvinist netizens. Casting Hui as foreign – or indeed in the most virulent cases as inhuman – on the basis of their Muslimness and labeling them primarily responsible for the upending of normality highlights the nationalists’ belief that Islam and Muslims are incompatible with Chinese identity.

Even those posts defending the Hui emphasized their otherness by attempting to divorce them from Islam. In demanding that abusers unlink Huiness and Muslimness defenders reinforced Islamophobic tropes about the latent threat of Islam and the duplicity of pious Muslims. By highlighting the existence of “good” (assimilated) Muslims – namely those who didn’t eat halal food, wear religious clothing or outwardly practice their faith – netizens affirmed the idea that observance of Islam and trustworthiness as members of a Chinese national community could not co-exist.

In extreme cases, these depictions used the language of contagion and imagery related to the virus to describe the Hui themselves, rendering them not just as scapegoats responsible for the problem, but as a manifestation of the crisis itself – a disease to be eradicated. The posts thus present examples of how epidemics allow nationalist actors to characterize destabilization of the perceived national norm as being itself a kind of plague. In these conceptions, those who violate what nationalists believe the nation ought to be, become themselves manifestations of disease to the nationalists who abuse them and their outward otherness a sign of contagion.

Finally, the abuse directed at Ma and other Hui also furnishes lessons about how times of crisis facilitate the transnational diffusions of Islamophobic frames. Those who harassed Ma and other Muslims on Weibo following the outbreak of the virus combined tropes derived from the global context – often tied to the Global War on Terror – with nationalized prejudices rooted in historical events – such as the so-called “Muslim Rebellions” of Northwest China in the 18th and 19th centuries – and local grievances about corruption and favoritism – such as the prominent repair of local mosques. In doing so, abusers imagined grievances on multiple scales – international, national, local and personal – often simultaneously.

Likewise, netizens’ fervor in connecting vague and globalized stereotypes about Muslims to localized tensions – like corruption or resentment of perceived minority privilege – exhibits how easily Islamophobic tropes about the universality of the duplicity of Muslims – and the danger they pose to national values – diffuse and adapt to fit particular contexts. Moreover, in construing local grievances as connected to larger frames about religious extremism, the posts display how Islamophobic rhetoric about “latent” threats effectively prohibit Muslims from integrating or finding acceptance in communities in which they are not majorities by constantly moving the goal-posts.

Rhetoric from Xi and others which asserts the need for Sinicization of Islam, and urges Muslims to conform to state-approved expressions of identity only further reinforce the idea that one becomes a “good” Muslim via assimilation and abandonment of overtly Islamic identity markers. As such, official discourse compounds and intensifies exclusions. If the party-state’s linkage of foreign Islamic practices with extremism portrays all but those secularized Hui as suspect, and results in seemingly trivial matters of everyday dress, diet and speech as outside the norm. When even such small matters become construed as signs of disloyalty by abusers, inclusion in expressions of national solidarity is unattainable.

The globalizing frames that attribute any localized events to conflicts involving ideologies of extremism and international networks of violent or fanatical actors suggest why, in non-Muslim majority communities in times of crisis, Muslims are often among the first targeted for abuse as alien “others,” made into scapegoats for problems that threaten the nation, and excluded from expressions of national solidarity.

Acknowledgements

The author would like to thank Iselin Frydenlund (University of Oslo), Torkel Brekke (Oslo Metropolitan University), Bharath Ganesh (University of Amsterdam), Pratiksha Menon (University of Michigan), David Tobin (University of Sheffield), Hannah Theaker (University of Plymouth), Chenchen Zhang (University of Durham), Guangtian Ha (Haverford College) and Tao Wang (University of Manchester) for their comments and assistance while writing and revising this article.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 Islamophobia is a widely contested concept (See, for instance discussion in Halliday 1999; Bleich 2012; Sealy 2021). I will follow Najib’s (2021, 12) definition of Islamophobia as “spatially pervasive form of anti-Muslim racism that occurs at various interrelated spatial scales (globe, nation, urban, neighbourhood and body (and mind)) and whose contours, effects, intensity and functioning vary accordingly.”

2 Torkel Brekke’s (2021) comparative study of Islamophobia has explored how multicultural environments provide fertile ground for the cultivation of Islamophobic sentiments centered around localized grievances. See; Brekke 2021.

3 Of China’s 56 recognized ethnic groups, 10 are predominantly Muslim. Besides the Hui, China’s other Muslim minority groups include the Turkic Uyghurs, Kazakhs, Uzbeks, Kyrgyz, Salars and Tatars, as well as Tajiks, and the Mongolic-speaking Dongxiang and Bonan. In contrast to the Hui, these communities usually speak a non-Chinese language, and live in a concentrated ethnic homeland. Many have links to cross-border co-ethnics elsewhere in Central Asia. For further information regarding population figures, see, National Bureau of Statistics of the People’s Republic of China (2013), “Sixth National Population Census of the People’s Republic of China, 2010,” Beijing.

4 These speeches were leaked as part of the collection of documents that has become known as the “Xinjiang Papers.” These documents have been authenticated by Adrian Zenz, James Milward and David Tobin. See Zenz 2021.

5 See, for instance: https://weibo.com/2865878802/GqP3B2oO6?refer_flag=1001030103_.

6 Due to the dynamic and responsive nature of censorship of posts on Weibo and other Chinese social media platforms, and the immediacy of the need to make a record of posts before they were taken offline, I was unable to archive posts. Instead, I was forced to rely on screenshots taken from my smartphone. For further discussion of censorship on Chinese social media platforms, see King, Pan, and Roberts 2013.

7 For more on critical discourse analysis, see Mullet 2018.

8 The term “bad elements” is derived from “huai fenzi” an emic label used during the Mao era to describe those deemed counterrevolutionary or in opposition to the party-state; see, Jian, Song, and Zhou 2006.

9 Post 20-004-1-27.

10 Post 43-041-2-16.

11 Post 71-002-2-1.

12 Post 99-007-2-2.

13 Post 38-015-1-29.

14 Post 52-019-1-25.

15 During Ma’s tenure, the Jiang’an Mosque did begin to undergo a process of relocation, overseen by the United Front Work Development. However, information regarding these procedures suggests that they were authorized prior to Ma’s tenure in the leadership. See, The United Front Work Department of the CPC Wuhan Municipal Committee 2020.

16 Post 98-001-2-15.

17 Post 22-003-2-11.

18 Post 46-008-2-08.

19 Post 21-008-1-25.

20 Post 07-038-1-29.

21 Post 88-002-1-17.

22 Post 49-006-1-26.

23 Post 90-001-1-25.

24 Post 27-014-1-27.

25 Post 54-002-1-25.

26 Post 40-002-2-01.

27 Post 43-038-1-26.

28 Post 46-012-2-01.

29 Post 70-007-1-26.

30 Post 74-011-2-10.

31 Post 48-001-1-27.

32 Post 20-005-2-01.

33 Post 38-010-1-25.

34 Post 17-003-2-10.

35 Post 38-019-2-14.

36 Post 53-001-1-25.

37 Post 43-010-1-25.

38 Post 46-020-1-27.

39 The notion of humans as possessing liminal bodies that may be construed as filthy because of understandings of cultural uncleanliness or impurity has been explored in previously in religious studies. See, for instance, Turner and Turner 1978; and Douglas 2003.

40 Post 98-001-2-15.

41 Post 67-005-2-05.

42 Post 40-005-1-30.

Appendix A:

Codebook

Table

Name	Description	Files	References
BAD ELEMENTS		172	228
Anti-multiculturalism	Posts that criticize multiculturalism or official tolerance of diversity	12	12
Betrayal	Expresses belief that Ma or Hui abandoned the people, did not serve public interest.	28	28
Communist party member	Expresses anger at Ma/Hui violating the CCP’s regulations on secularity.	50	50
Corrupt	Mentions Ma as corrupt or working to advantage Hui over Han	33	33
Divisive	Depicts Hui as promoting disunity or ethnic fragmentation.	34	34
Han Supremacy	Poster expresses superiority of Han ethnicity, Han culture, etc.	8	8
Incompetent	Describes Ma or Hui as incompetent or unsuitable.	18	18
Secular	Makes references to Hui as contravention to atheism or secularism	26	26
Unaccountable	Describes Ma or Hui as acting above the law or beyond account (e.g. 难查了)	6	6
Wasteful	Describes Ma or Hui as wasting or abusing public resources or funding.	9	9
Wrongful	Uses phrase to denote wrongful or harmful actions (作怪, 伤害, etc.)	4	4
CONSPIRATORS		109	112
Mask	Posts which reference Ma’s use of medical masks meant for frontline workers.	9	9
Mosque Construction	Mentions rumors of Mosque construction authorized by Ma with public funds. Uses 清真寺 or mosque emoji	56	56
Religious certification fee	En vivo code for discussion involving 宗教认证费	8	8
Reserves	References to reserved food/supplies in response to disaster.	13	13
Responsible	Indicates that Ma or Hui’s actions are responsible for the spread of COVID	26	26
EXTREMIST		194	257
Conversion	Post asserts Hui are attempting to make everyone follow Islamic custom by force. Especially references to sharia law, etc.	18	18
Cult	Refers to Islam as a cult or a superstition. (Particularly using the phrase 邪教)	29	29
Dangerous	Describes Hui as dangerous or fearful.	32	32
Evil	Describes Hui as evil or malevolent (use of words like 恶心, etc.)	22	22
Fanatical	Refernces Hui religious belief as fanatical or extreme.	38	38
Intolerant	Refers to Islam or Hui as intolerant or exclusive.	50	50
Invaders	Refers to Hui as taking over or overrunning something.	6	6
Mockery of piety	Mocking/deriding Ma or Hui for religious beliefs/belief in God.	30	30
Pedophile	Accuses Islam of pedophilia (i.e. citing historical narratives about the prophet Mohammed).	2	2
Prostitute	En vivo code for the phrase 卖淫.	4	4
Terrorism	Refers to Hui as terrorists or as linked to acts of terrorism. Especially with phrases using 恐暴分子, 恐暴主意, or bomb emojis, etc.	26	26
FOREIGN		74	81
Alien	Uses the phrase 天龙人 or 神族 to describe Ma or Hui generally as non-human/alien creatures.	16	16
Middle east	Refers to Hui as from Middle East or Arabia (as opposed to China). Phrases using 阿拉伯, or 中东.	32	32
Outsider	Describes Hui/Ma as “outsider” (“非我族类” or “外地人”)	17	17
Two-faced	Uses 双面 or 两面 to describe Hui or Ma.	16	16
GOOD MUSLIMS		88	105
Differentiated	Refers to Hui as not monolithic or having internal diversity.	29	29
Minority	Identifier. Describes Ma or Hui as minority using 少数民族	8	8
Minzu tuanjie	En vivo code. Describes Hui as being part of zhonghua minz or contributing to minzu tuanjie.	28	28
Not responsible	Poster defends Hui as not responsible.	29	29
Patriot	Attempts to include Hui. Includes appeals to 民族团结	11	11
GUILTY		91	102
Expel	Calls to get rid of or deport Hui	37	37
Punishment	Suggests that Ma or Hui should be investigated or punished.	14	14
Threats to Hui	Threatens or suggests violence against Ma or Hui.	51	51
INHUMAN		123	159
Animal	Refers to Muslims as unspecified beasts or animals (动物, etc.)	31	31
Dogs	Uses 狗 to describe Hui or a dog emoji	14	14
Ethnic slur	Refers to Hui by a derogatory or antiquated name (e.g. 鞑虏)	35	35
Parasite	En vivo code for terms using phrases like 绿蛔, 回蛔, 回虫, etc. that refer to Hui as parasites, worms, or carrying the virus	41	41
Pig	Post refers to Hui as pigs or uses pigs to slur Hui. Includes use of pig emojis.	38	38
Support	Expresses support or affirmation of previous Islamophobic tweet.	3	3
UNASSIMILATED		266	330
Bai maozi	Singles out Hui for wearing religious garments (e.g. 白帽子)	5	5
Conceited	Accuses Hui of thinking they are superior to others, especially Han.	2	2
Cowardly	Describes Ma or Hui as seeking to avoid blame or consequences.	5	5
Deceitful	Uses phrases like 诚祺 or 骗.	23	23
Halal diet	References to Hui observation of dietary codes in contrast to Han diet.	52	52
Huizu	Used as an identifier for someone else. Singles out Ma (or another poster as Hui).	31	31
Inferior	References Hui or Hui Culture as inferior or lacking suzhi	17	17
Loathsome	Uses phrases like 讨厌 in reference to Hui	26	26
monolithic	Describes all Hui or Muslims as being alike, uniform, or the same.	12	12
Pork	Mentions the pork taboo, eating pork, or pork products. Often refers to forced feeding.	37	37
Primitive	Refers to Hui or Muslims as primitive or backward.	3	3
Privileged	Refers to Hui as protected or receiving social benefits/favorable policy treatment.	21	21
Restive	Describes threat to peace or potential for unrest (e.g. 不得安生)	9	9
Separate	Describes Hui or Muslims as exclusive or separating themselves from others, especially Han.	1	1
Smooth brained	En vivo code for the phrase “降智光滑”	3	3
Troublemaking	Describes Hui as a source of trouble or calamity. (e.g. 国有难回必乱, etc.)	37	37
Unsanitary	Includes references to Hui eating wild game (野味)	12	12
Untouchable	Expresses belief that Hui are beyond criticism or that criticism of Hui will be punished.	31	31
Vengeful	Describes Hui taking vengeance or seeking retribution.	3	3