Exploring the ‘Gaza region’ of China, I am overwhelmed with mixed emotions

Still tired from the long journey, I’m slowly adjusting to our time zone and trying to focus on the tasks waiting for me. But a flood of impressions keeps swirling in my mind, making it impossible to rest—especially after realizing how much Western propaganda had shaped my expectations. I thought I was heading to a brutal and backward corner of China, only to find myself utterly enchanted by what I encountered.

What intrigued me the most was the fact that I was about to visit what is often portrayed as China’s “most notorious” region. This is the province at the centre of ongoing accusations against China—claims of massive human rights abuses and even genocide, particularly targeting the Uyghur population. Sinophobia has various sources, triggers, and motives, and the narrative surrounding Xinjiang plays a major role in shaping perceptions.

What I find truly absurd is the eagerness to condemn the idea of genocide in Xinjiang while turning a blind eye to the very real and ongoing genocide in Palestine. Fact-checkers and so-called truth-verifiers operate with a clear agenda, often driven by Western grants that need justification.

Xinjiang is an incredible destination for anyone who prefers to experience a place firsthand, free from the interpretations of fact-checkers or NGOs who have never set foot here. This province has a remarkable tourism story to tell: in the first nine months of 2024, it welcomed an astounding 250 million visitors!

I hope I don’t come across as an arrogant representative of (so-called) developed Europe—or, to put it bluntly, the West. I’ll admit that I was initially caught up in the Western narrative myself. I expected to find a remote, desolate area—essentially “the middle of nowhere.” This assumption wasn’t rooted in ignorance, but rather in preconceived notions.

However, during my first visit to China last month, I was struck by its mysticism, diversity, and depth. I quickly realized that even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to fully appreciate all its richness and nuances. Whenever I mentioned to my Chinese hosts that my next stop was Urumqi, they would light up and say, “Ah, that’s such a different place! Expect to see new things!” And they were absolutely right—it was unlike anything I had ever experienced!

In the Kashgar Old City in Xinjiang, people dance to the music.

Like a modern-day Marco Polo or Sinbad the Sailor—albeit travelling by plane in the 21st century—I was excited for a “different” experience in Urumqi. What I discovered, however, was more of a continuation of the familiar China, but with a surprising twist. The real surprise came from the scents, colours, and sounds that reminded me of my homeland, Macedonia. It was an unexpected and fascinating blend!

As I boarded the flight to Urumqi, I noticed just as many passengers as I had seen on the flight from Frankfurt to Beijing. “Ah,” I thought, “after all, this is China—a country with 1.5 billion people!” When we landed at Urumqi’s airport, I was amazed by how modern and bustling it was compared to Skopje’s modest terminal. Urumqi had spacious, functional facilities for both domestic and international flights.

The bus ride to the hotel took place at night, providing me with a glimpse of the illuminated city—massive boulevards with four to six lanes in each direction, towering skyscrapers, brightly lit intersections, and iconic landmarks. In comparison, Skopje felt like a small Ottoman town from two or three centuries ago.

Another striking impression was the seemingly endless construction—buildings going up everywhere, with no end in sight! The city is clearly booming. We later witnessed the fruits of this economic growth during our visit to the China Energy Group (a small segment of which could potentially solve Macedonia’s entire energy issues) and the leading electric car factory. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at the thought of the “camel cornerstone” fiasco in Tetovo while observing this progress.

During our free time, we ventured out to explore the city on our own. I’ll save the story of Urumqi’s phenomenal museum for another time—it was so rich and exciting that it even evoked memories of Balkan history, where civilizations, cultures, ethnicities, and languages intersect in a beautiful tapestry.

One thing I’ll emphasize is this: while the EU promotes the slogan “unity in diversity,” China embraces the philosophy of “harmony in diversity.” This approach has successfully created a soft, seamless mosaic—not through domination but by integrating everyone into the vibrant fabric of Chinese society.

At times, I genuinely felt at home—whether through the intricate embroidery patterns, the carpets and crafts, or the traditional music and food. Xinjiang’s natural beauty is hard to capture in words, with its breathtaking blend of mountain ranges, rivers, lakes, and deserts. Yet, every now and then, I would spot familiar elements that reminded me of home—like Radika, Lake Ohrid (which has its own “Heavenly Lake,” Tianchi), the peaks of Korab and Šar Mountain, or the horses of Mavrovo.

This region has been both fortunate and unfortunate throughout the centuries, serving as a crossroads for various peoples and cultures. It lies at a central point of the ancient Silk Road, whose beginnings I had glimpsed during my first visit to Jinan, on the other side of China. Today, the modern Belt and Road Initiative, BRI, follows these same routes but with cutting-edge infrastructure for connection.

It’s heartwarming to realize that many influences—musical instruments, traditional costumes, and more—have travelled from this place to reach us. This experience underscores the idea that the world is both vast and small, and that we, too, are a part of it.

Kanas scenic area in Altay Prefecture, Xinjiang

During the wars in the former Yugoslavia, there was a Bosnian joke about superficial foreign “researchers.” A local man named Mujo encounters a foreigner in a pub, who is busily jotting down notes. After they exchange greetings, Mujo asks how long the foreigner will be in town and what he’s writing. The foreigner, who hails from the West, replies that he arrived yesterday and is leaving tomorrow, and that he’s working on a book titled “Bosnia and Herzegovina: Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow.”

I’m not claiming to be an expert on China or its complexities, nor do I intend to write a book about it. But my experiences have turned me into a modest and curious explorer—someone eager to learn more, not just about China, but also about the connections between our civilizations and the potential for collaboration in creating a peaceful world. We often hear that we stand on “opposite sides,” even unfriendly ones, a narrative spread by those in this tranquil country of ours, now transformed into a military base and a NATO outpost.

However, I felt welcomed and safe among warm, hospitable friends. There was also a subtle sense of Eastern familiarity in many aspects of life. It’s essential for us to set aside stereotypes and explore every opportunity for closer cooperation across various fields. There’s so much to learn from these people—not only about them but also about ourselves as part of the global community.

I hope I shall return to China. I want to write about the Grand Bazaar in Urumqi, the fascinating stories in the museum, and how they helped me better understand the complexities of the Balkans—where diverse influences have intersected and continue to shape the lives of our ancestors, contemporaries, and future generations. I also wish to reflect on the Islamic Institute, a university that is more modern than many of our secular institutions.

It’s true that China faces internal challenges, but not all stem from ethnic or religious diversity. Many arise from far more complex historical and external influences—issues we know all too well from personal experience. Yet, China addresses these challenges through investments, compromises, diplomacy, gentleness, and relentless development.

In just a few days, I gathered countless stories, inspired by the rich cultural tapestry and intellectual challenges I encountered. It was worth the exhaustion and effort. As for the critics—they can keep complaining: If I have the chance again, especially now as I navigate life’s final stretch, I would gladly return and experience the “most notorious” places for myself. No one else will define who my friends are or are not.

For now, China feels like a warm and familiar place—it even smells like home, reminiscent of the bread from the Grand Bazaar in Urumqi.