Al-Masri has been charged with trying to establish a terrorist training camp in Oregon, conspiring to take hostages in Yemen and facilitating terrorist training in Afghanistan.

He is already serving a seven-year sentence in Britain for fomenting racial hatred and urging his followers to kill non-Muslims.

Senior District Judge Timothy Workman, presiding at City of Westminster Magistrates Court, said the case would now be referred to Home Secretary Jacqui Smith for a final decision.

Smith has two months to decide whether to surrender Al-Masri to the U.S. If she decides to hand the cleric over, he can then appeal to Britain's High Court, the House of Lords and the European Court of Human Rights.

Al-Masri, who lost both arms below the elbows and an eye fighting the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan in the 1980s, was arrested on a U.S. extradition warrant in May 2004, but the process was put on hold while he stood trial in Britain and then appealed his convictions.

In January, the House of Lords denied al-Masri permission to make further appeals, clearing the way for extradition proceedings.

The Democratic Society Party, which won 20 seats in parliament in July, last week called for autonomy for Kurds living in the country's southeast. The call came amid tension over how to deal with separatist Kurdish rebels, with the military preparing for a possible cross-border offensive against their bases in northern Iraq.

Chief Prosecutor Abdurrahman Yalcinkaya said in a statement "that speeches and actions by party leaders have proved that the party has become a focal point of activities against the sovereignty of the state and indivisible unity of the country and the nation."

He said a legal case was launched in an effort to shut down the party.

The prosecutor's office will send an indictment to the country's Constitutional Court for a trial. Several predecessors of the pro-Kurdish party were banned by Turkey's Constitutional Court on similar grounds and for alleged ties to rebels.

The party demanded more rights for the Kurdish minority and autonomy for Kurds living in the southeast during a party congress last week.

"It is envisaged that each autonomous section is represented with its own colors and symbols and creates its own democratic administration, although the national flag and official language remain valid for the entire nation of Turkey," the party said in a statement last week.

Selahatin Demirtas, a legislator from the pro-Kurdish party, said Friday that banning it would only aggravate the Kurdish problem, the Dogan news agency reported.

Turkish leaders have accused the pro-Kurdish party of having ties to the rebel Kurdistan Workers' Party, or PKK. Turkish leaders insist the party should declare the PKK a terrorist organization to prove its allegiance to Turkey. Both the U.S. and the European Union have labeled the PKK a terrorist organization.

DEHAP, the predecessor of the present party, dissolved itself in 2005 as prosecutors tried to close it. The constitutional court closed down four previous pro-Kurdish parties.

Yalcinkaya accused leaders of the current party of dissolving DEHAP and establishing the new party under orders from imprisoned Kurdish rebel chief Abdullah Ocalan, who is serving life on a prison island near Istanbul.

"By implementing orders they received from the leader of a terrorist organization in prison, (they) have openly shown their allegiance to the terrorist organization and its leader," Yalcinkaya said.

The European Union's consumer chief dismissed fears she intends to introduce US-style class action lawsuits to member states next year as part of her strategy to strengthen consumer rights.

EU Consumer Protection Commissioner Meglena Kuneva announced in March that she hoped to introduce a new system of "collective redress" aimed at giving European consumers more power to bring claims against providers of faulty goods or services.

But she dismissed claims that she proposed to copy the US system, where class action laws have allowed lawyers to create a thriving litigation industry seeking colossal damages against companies.

Class actions have been criticised in the US as letting enterprising law firms win big fees while often generating little return for the individuals concerned.

He was decreed too emotionally unstable to carry a weapon _ a humiliation, he says, designed to corner him into quitting. For 500 days, he was ordered to sit alone in a tiny room at the Ehime Prefectural Police.

"I became a policeman because I wanted to help powerless people. But when I got in, I learned it was totally different," said Semba, 58.

He was passed over for promotions after he refused to fake receipts and is still a sergeant after 34 years. "I wear that title proudly _ like a medal," Semba said.

Whistleblowers like Semba have been especially solitary in Japan, where conformity and respect for hierarchy are venerated as tradition. They have suffered in silence, labeled as traitors.

That is gradually changing. As Japan modernizes, people increasingly see themselves as individuals and consumers, with a duty to speak up against wrongdoing.

Whistleblowers are behind the spate of recent scandals embroiling a pastry maker that forged manufacturing dates, a builder that cheated on fireproofing tests and a meat processor that sold a mixture of meats and chicken as pure ground beef.

Reports to the government of suspicious food manufacturing, nearly all from insiders, have skyrocketed from some 100 a month last year to 697 last month, food safety official Yosuke Abe said.

Semba won personal vindication in September when a court awarded him $8,800 in damages, ruling that his on-the-job treatment was retaliation for his 2004 exposure of police corruption. The police are appealing the ruling.

Semba couldn't hold back tears when his court ruling was read.

"I felt there's justice in this world," he said.

Although the award is small by U.S. standards, it is a major victory in Japan, where court-ordered damage compensation tends to be minimal and the value of whistleblowers is barely starting to be recognized.

The first law to protect whistleblowers passed only last year, but critics say it's inadequate. It requires whistleblowers to first tell their employer and wait before going public if they hope to get any protection.

Whistleblowers have been rare because Japanese companies, even major ones, are run like families, and individual workers don't see themselves as hired by contract as do American workers, says Koji Igata, business administration professor at Osaka University of Economics.

"Whistleblowers are seen as eccentrics who've turned on their parents," he said.

Japan modernized over the last half-century by fostering corporate loyalty in return for secure employment. So when a company runs into trouble, good workers are expected to defend it; exposing wrongdoing is viewed as betrayal.

Only in recent years, as Japanese companies hire lower-paid younger workers and drop job guarantees in response to global competition, has the idea of criticizing an employer started to catch on, said Igata, who studies U.S. corporate governance.

Japan is slowly starting to change as individuals start to see themselves more as consumers and investors, he said.

Calls to strengthen corporate ethics are on the rise, partly from grassroots movements but also from companies eager to catch up with the rest of the world in governance standards.

The increasing influx of part-time workers has also contributed to eroding the ties of loyalty that discouraged whistleblowers.

Akafuku, the pastry maker targeted as a result of a whistleblower, employed about 250 part-time workers, half of its work force. It was shut down after it was found to be reselling unsold pastries shipped back from stores as new ones.

Hiroaki Kushioka, who exposed price-rigging at his trucking company 30 years ago, was one of Japan's pioneer whistleblowers. He was confined for years to a closet-like office, denied promotion and pressured to quit. He often spent his time gardening or shoveling snow at work.

He sued for damages in 2002, and won a landmark victory in 2005. The attention his court case received has been critical in raising public awareness about social responsibility.

"Back in those days, we were seen as informants and rats," said Kushioka, who retired last year. "It may be happening way too late, but finally the idea of the public good is starting to take root in Japan."

The biggest corporate scandals of the last decade in Japan were brought to light by whistleblowers _ the systematic cover-up of defects at Mitsubishi Motors Corp., the illicit pocketing of government subsidies at Snow Brand Foods and the cover-up of nuclear power plant defects at Tokyo Electric Power Co.

The examples set by high-profile whistleblowers like Kushioka and Semba are providing courage for others to come forward.

But Japan still lags behind the West nations in recognizing their status.

American whistleblowers can become heroes with book deals and lecture tours. They can even collect a portion of what the federal government recovers if they expose overcharging by contractors.

The lonely tales of Japanese whistleblowers are a stunning testament to a culture that is docile on the surface but ruthless to those who dare to question authority.

Akiko Tamura, 63, a former public servant who tried to expose the misuse of donations eight years ago, recalls how hard it was to endure yelling from bosses and heckling from co-workers.

Akiko Tamura, 63, who eight years ago tried to expose the misuse of donations at a welfare section of the local government in southern Japan, recalls how hard it was to endure yelling from bosses and heckling from co-workers.

"I thought about killing myself so many times. I had to watch others get promoted. And I never thought I did anything wrong," she said.

Two years after retirement, Tamura still has nightmares. "I don't think I'll ever get over it," she said.

Semba, still a railway policeman, says he is donating his lawsuit money to an ombudsman charity because money was never the goal of his career-long battle.

But what made it all worth it was an elderly woman, who recognized him at a highway rest stop where he had stopped for a cup of coffee.

"She told me, 'You made sacrifices for us. I must thank you,'" he said. "She understood everything."

A sixth man was sentenced to life in prison by the Intermediate Court in Kashgar on Friday. Xinhua said the six were convicted of charges ranging from illegally making explosives to leading a terrorist organization.

Chinese authorities say militants among the Uighurs — Turkic-speaking Muslims — are leading a violent Islamic separatist movement in Xinjiang and are seeking to set up an independent state in the Central Asia border province.

"In order to split the nation ... they carried out extreme religious activities and advocated holy war and established a terrorist training base," Xinhua said of the six.

Critics accuse Beijing of using claims of terrorism as an excuse to crack down on peaceful pro-independence sentiment and expressions of Uighur identity.

About 1.5 percent of China's 1.3 billion people are Muslim, according to the U.S. State Department's International Religious Freedom Report. But not all of them are Uighurs or live in Xinjiang.

A man who answered the phone at the Intermediate Court confirmed the sentences but said he had no other details. He refused to give his name. A call to the city government office rang unanswered.

Xinhua said the six men "recruited dozens of terrorists and sent them to 'Black Valley Training Camp' to undergo nearly two months of secret training." It did not say what the training camp was.

It also said the six men killed a police officer when they were arrested. It did not say when they were arrested.

China has cracked down hard on anyone it feels is challenging its authority in Xinjiang. In February, U.S. broadcaster Radio Free Asia reported that China had executed another Muslim, Ismail Semed, in the region on charges of trying to split the country.