San Francisco, USA - There's a lot of meat on the menu at Mr. Yang's Chinese restaurant in San Francisco -- beef pastry and lamb hotpot are specialties. Pork, however, is completely absent. Yang and his family are Hui Chinese, and they run their restaurant according to Islamic dietary law.
The sign outside includes the Chinese characters "qingzhen," meaning "pure and true." Elsewhere is printed its Arabic equivalent, "halal."
At a time when Islamic populations around the world are under increased scrutiny, the Chinese Hui are often confused in the Western media with China's second-largest Muslim minority, the restive Uighurs, an ethnically distinct group concentrated in China's Central-Asian Xinjiang province.
Chafing under Chinese rule, the Uighurs have given the Chinese government the opportunity to claim its own front in the War on Terror. It is the relationship between the Uighurs and the Chinese state that has dominated most international coverage of Chinese Islam.
By contrast, the Hui, although no strangers to political unrest, have maintained a relatively balanced relationship with the secular Chinese state. With the hurtling pace of change in China today, the question now is whether the Hui's relationship with Beijing will remain stable.
Out of China's 56 recognized ethnic minorities, the Hui are one of the largest. As a Muslim minority of 9.8 million people, they outnumber the population of many an independent Muslim country. Lacking a distinct language, they are also the only ethnic minority differentiated from the Han majority solely by religious practice. Mr. Yang of the Old Mandarin Islamic Restaurant is quick to point out that the Hui are different from Muslims elsewhere in the world.
"Hui Islam and Arabic Islam are not the same," says Yang, a native of Beijing. "We are the same in that we don't eat pork, we don't drink alcohol, and we don't smoke. We worship at the mosque and we pray five times a day. It is in matters of law that we are different."
Although some of the larger Hui communities boast scholars of Islamic law, in legal matters the Hui rarely come into conflict with local representatives of the secular state. Partly as a result of this, Mr. Yang says, he never felt marginalized in China.
"Listen, we speak Chinese like everyone else," he says. "Just because we don't eat pork doesn't mean we're very different."
Yang's attitude towards the secular state is typical of the Hui. Dru Gladney, a professor of anthropology at the University of Hawaii and an expert on Chinese Islam, describes the traditional relationship: "The Hui have a history of protesting to the government, rather than against it."
While the Hui are separated by their ethnic "otherness," the tensions that occasionally arise do not signal a break with the political order. That doesn't mean Hui protests can't be violent. There was widespread rioting by the Hui in East-Central Henan province last November.
"The Hui have a saying: 'A small riot every three years, something big every 30 years,'" Gladney says. Foreign sources reported 148 deaths in last November's riots.
Yang, who maintains close contact with family and friends back in China, denies that the unrest indicates any separatist or extremist tendencies. They were, he says, triggered by class tension.
"These days cities are filling up with immigrants from the countryside," Yang explains. "They arrive and they can't find work. They behave terribly and start trouble."
The Hui communities are often well-established with successful businesses, and they become a flashpoint for resulting tensions.
Gladney argues that such instances as the Henan riots arise when local officials are seen by Hui communities to favor incoming Han Chinese immigrants. These riots are more about economic tensions commonly experienced in China today, signifying a demand for central government action, rather than a strike against the political order.
"It's certainly not about religion," Gladney says.
Last November's riots were marked by a new development, however: the speed by which far-flung Hui communities mobilized in response to the violence.
Using cell phones and text-messaging, local Hui called in truckloads of friends and family members from other parts of the country, rapidly increasing the size of the conflict. Like other Chinese, Hui are now more mobile and connected than ever before, which may eventually worry the government.
Yang's restaurant in San Francisco reflects patterns of the Hui experience in Chinese society. Han Chinese, Hui and Muslim of Middle Eastern decent all frequent the restaurant.
The Hui in China are what Gladney calls "excellent ethno-religious mediators." Caught between Chinese and Muslim identities, they blur the lines dividing the two spheres. Particularly in northern and Western Chinese cities, Hui Muslim restaurants serving roasted meats and lamb stews are very popular among Han and Hui alike.
Yang says that in the wake of 9/11, he hasn't felt any greater scrutiny. "Living in America and living in China are the same for me," he claims. "I've never had any problems with any government."
His son Shuai, a student in his early 20s, also hasn't felt singled out, especially since he doesn't resemble more familiar Muslim minorities in the United States. He also doesn't feel at odds with the secular society around him.
"It [Islam] is about bringing people together, it's not about separation. It's only a religion; it doesn't mean you have to do different stuff from other people," Shuai says.