The white Volkswagen Tiguan slipped into the rearview window a few kilometres past the checkpoint, on the blacktop that cuts across the parched eastern stretches of Xinjiang.<\/p>\n
The SUV bore no licence plates. But inside were two police officers who, moments before, had questioned me about why I had come as a journalist to this region in China\u2019s distant west. Authorities here continue to expand what they say is an anti-extremism campaign, which has involved locking large numbers of Muslims in centres for political indoctrination and skills training.<\/p>\n
Chinese state media declared the effort a success and that the arid landscape was now an oasis of peaceful productivity. I had come to see for myself.<\/p>\n
Within minutes of entering Xinjiang, I had to register at a highway checkpoint, one in a dense network of armed sites that ensure locals cannot move far without official permission, giving the region the air of an occupied military zone.<\/p>\n
An officer in riot gear, noting my journalist visa, demanded to know where I was going before calling ahead to ensure others were alerted to my presence. As he spoke, a rifle lay on his desk, pointed at my chest.<\/p>\n
It was the first sign this reporting trip would be unlike any I\u2019ve done, offering a glimpse of the surveillance and control regime that has made Xinjiang among the world\u2019s more authoritarian places.<\/p>\n