Across China: The thin red line of Xinjiang's border patrol

Mamatur looks older than his 39 years. Countless hours on Xinjiang's freezing Pamir Plateau, as a member of a force voluntarily patrolling China's border with countries including Afghanistan and Pakistan, have taken their toll.

The plateau has already succumbed to thick snow that prevents Mamatur from riding his motorbike the 11 km from Akto County, where he lives with his wife and three children, to the border. He has to walk.

"Temperatures can fall to minus 40 degrees Celsius in winter. To guard against illegal crossings, I have to maintain surveillance all night, searching through caves and hills," he says.

Mamatur is one of thousands of local patrollers, mostly of Kyrgyz ethnicity, who provide valuable backup to the official border guards, under more pressure than ever as the terrorist threat in the region grows.

He is the fourth generation of his family to take up the mantle, but the tradition is under threat as Xinjiang prepares to celebrate 60 years of autonomy. Xinjiangers are becoming more privileged, cultural mores are changing and young people are proving less willing to give up their time for such an arduous job. Migration to more developed areas away from the border also risks leaving the patrols short of manpower.

ROCK OF AGES

"We Kyrgyzs have lived here and guarded the border for thousands of years. We are protecting our backyard," says Mamatur.

"The army told my grandpa to make sure the stones marking the border were not moved, not by an inch. The old man taught my father and then me to be vigilant watchers."

Kizilsu Kyrgyz Prefecture, which administers Akto, has 1,134 km of border and 3,265 patrollers. The government gives them each a meager 320 to 400 yuan (50 to 63 U.S. dollars) a month for their service.

"Our mission is to detect, prevent dangers and catch the bad guys. This is an honorable cause," according to Mamatur.

His father once caught a soldier who crossed from Tajikistan to China with a gun. "My father and other patrollers closed in on the man and subdued him before he could attack," Mamatur says.

When Mamatur is away, his wife takes care of the children and sends them to school. "I understand why my husband must do this. Only the people who live here know the meaning of a national border," she says.

TRADITION UNDER THREAT

Others are less understanding. Mamatur's teenage children find it hard to understand the job their father commits his life to. They have grown up attending schools, not wandering in the mountains like he did.

"Though I don't want them to forget our tradition, I hope my children can live a better life than I am," Mamatur says. "In 10 years, maybe no one will be willing to stay here."

The worry echoes across the Pamir Plateau. Abdurahman, a patroller in neighboring Oqar County, knows his lifestyle carries no charm for his kids.

"Our sons and daughters will be adults soon, and I don't know how many of them will remain in the mountains. Who will herd and guard?" he asks.

"To walk out of the hills" is how Gulandam, a junior middle school student in Akto, answers when asked about her dreams.

"When I grow up, I want to find a job in the city, not go back to the farm. I will ask my parents to come and live with me," she says.

The issue has caught the eye of Xinjiang legislators, who are drafting a bill aiming to consolidate the ranks of the patrollers.

"Their monthly salary needs to be at least 1,000 yuan, plus medical and other insurance," argues legislator Rehanguli. The border area needs better infrastructure and modern agriculture to keep people there, she adds.

"Only stable and prosperous lives for the border people can guarantee peace," Rehanguli says. Endi