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Xinjiang's tourism boom masks ongoing rights concerns, visitors say
In 2015, Anna's friends questioned her decision to visit Xinjiang, then considered one of China's most volatile regions. One even canceled plans and stopped responding to messages, citing parental warnings. Yet Anna, a 35-year-old Chinese national, proceeded-and returned this June to find a transformed landscape: stunning but crowded, as Beijing's aggressive tourism push reshapes perceptions of the embattled region.
A region rebranded
Once notorious for ethnic tensions and allegations of human rights abuses-including mass detentions of Uyghur Muslims and UN-backed claims of crimes against humanity-Xinjiang is now marketed as a pristine tourist destination. China denies the accusations but restricts foreign media access, while exiled Uyghurs describe ongoing repression of relatives. Meanwhile, Beijing has invested billions in infrastructure, state-backed TV dramas set in Xinjiang's dramatic landscapes, and curated press tours to recast the region's image.
Stretching across northwest China and bordering eight countries, Xinjiang's Silk Road history, rugged mountains, and turquoise lakes draw comparisons to New Zealand and Switzerland. Singaporean tourist Sun Shengyao, 23, who visited in May 2024, called it "all three packed into one place." Yet beneath the scenic veneer, critics argue the state is erasing Uyghur identity while commodifying its remnants for tourism.
Tourism surges amid tight controls
Domestic visitors dominate Xinjiang's tourism boom. Official figures show 300 million tourists in 2024-more than double 2018's numbers-generating $51 billion in revenue, a 40% increase. Beijing aims for 400 million annual visitors and $143 billion in revenue by 2030. Over 200 international hotels, including Hilton and Marriott, now operate or plan to open in the region, signaling growing foreign interest.
Yet skepticism lingers. Sun initially struggled to convince friends to join his May trip, though his nerves dissolved amid Xinjiang's "breathtaking" landscapes. While he found locals "very welcoming," his group-like many tourists-interacted primarily with Han Chinese drivers and guides, who constitute 40% of the population. Heavy surveillance, including police checkpoints and mandatory stays in designated hotels for foreigners, went unremarked by Sun: "That's not to say it's a big problem."
"A whitewashed version"
Other visitors describe a more fraught experience. Thenmoli Silvadorie, a Singaporean who wore a hijab during her May trip, recounted Uyghur vendors expressing envy at her freedom to do so-conversations cut short by restrictions. "We couldn't visit most mosques," she said. Such accounts contrast with state media's portrayal of Xinjiang as a haven of "ethnic harmony," where foreign influencers like German vlogger Ken Abroad praise its mosques as more numerous than in Europe.
"They are telling the world we're no more than dancing, colorful folk who look good on social media."
Irade Kashgary, Uyghur-American activist
Culture as commodity
Critics accuse Beijing of repackaging Uyghur culture as a tourist attraction while suppressing its authentic expression. Human Rights Watch's 2024 report documented the renaming of hundreds of Uyghur villages-stripping references to Islam or history-and the demolition of mosques. Josh Summers, who lived in Xinjiang in the 2010s, described Kashgar's Old Town as "completely torn down and rebuilt" to erase Uyghur heritage.
Yet online, Xinjiang's allure grows. Chinese social media buzzes with autumn photos of golden poplar forests and posts like: "At Ka Nasi Lake, I understood paradise." Travel agencies promote "exotic" itineraries-$1,500-$2,500 tours featuring Uyghur villages (with carriage rides), Silk Road performances, and "big plate chicken" feasts. State-funded dramas like To the Wonder, set in Altay's mountains, further fuel domestic fascination.
"The Xinjiang they want you to see"
For Uyghur exiles, the tourism push is a bitter irony. Irade Kashgary, who fled in 1998, warns visitors they're seeing "a whitewashed version" of her homeland. "People like me can never return," she said. "It's too dangerous-yet this is my home."
As Beijing's narrative gains traction, the gap widens between Xinjiang's marketed beauty and the allegations it suppresses: detention camps, forced sterilization, and cultural erasure. For tourists like Anna and Sun, the region's wonders overshadow its shadows. For Uyghurs like Kashgary, the cost of that illusion is incalculable.
