Xinjiang

With more than 50,000 closed-circuit cameras keeping an Orwellian eye on Urumqi's buses, markets and back alleys, along with thousands of paramilitary officers on patrol and a fresh infusion of economic aid, China managed to slide through the dreaded one-year anniversary of the worst ethnic violence in its recent history without incident. Urumqi, the northwestern city of 2.5 million in the Xinjiang region where 197 people were killed in riots in 2009, was quiet on Monday and "bathed in a golden sunlight," the official New China News Agency said.

A Chinese restaurant where no one eats rice? Eyyaaahhh. Well, listen. Xinjiang, China's rugged westernmost province, is full of Muslims, mostly a people of Turkic extraction known as the Uighurs. I visited the province in 1983 and spent a few days in the city of Turfan, a quiet oasis in the middle of one of China's largest deserts. And no kidding, there was no rice in Turfan. In fact, there was nothing to eat except flat bread and lamb shish kebab.

Prime Minister Sergei Tereschenko of Kazakhstan said here Wednesday that his newly independent nation is quickly establishing good-neighbor relations and expanded economic ties with China. He played down any possibility that Islamic fundamentalism will spread from his republic across its 1,000-mile border with China into the Xinjiang region, which has large and restless Muslim minority populations.

The Chinese government said Thursday that it had busted an Islamic terrorist ring that intended to stage suicide bombings and kidnap athletes, tourists and journalists to sabotage the 2008 Summer Olympics. The Public Security Ministry said 45 people from two terrorism cells in and around Urumqi, capital of the Xinjiang region, were arrested in January and last week. Ministry officials said authorities had seized explosives, poisons, detonators and literature calling for a jihad, or holy war.

Keeping up the rhetoric against alleged terrorists in its westernmost outpost, the Chinese government Monday accused Muslim radicals of masterminding attacks throughout the country and colluding with the world's most wanted man, Osama bin Laden.

Wang Wenlin and his family have eked out a living for decades farming and herding sheep and cattle on the vast, unforgiving Inner Mongolian steppes. But the opening three years ago of a nearby colliery and railway line to transport coal across his grazing land has squeezed Wang's livelihood. "My animals only have so much land to graze," said Wang, who earns about $9,000 a year. "In the winter, I'm cut off from the closest city. When it's windy, we get covered in coal dust because it's an open mine.

HOTAN, CHINA -- Mullah Masude, 63, removes his shoes and gingerly navigates an expanse of cheap carpeting in the Jaman mosque's main worship area before climbing a set of rickety steps to the roof. Powered by a good set of lungs and lots of practice, the cleric belts out the afternoon call to prayer. Despite his best efforts, the chant is all but drowned out by the din of a single-stroke tractor engine and a passing bus.

The eviction notice gave them one week to get out. Residents, many of them retirement age with nowhere else to go, stayed put and tried in vain to stop the demolition crew. "They hired more than a dozen thugs to tear down the houses while the people were still inside," said He Mulan, 63, one of the holdouts in the clash last summer. "One man had his ribs broken trying to protect his mother." Housing relocations have become a major source of social tension in China.

Bai Yiben worked hard to build up his property development business after retiring from a state-owned textile company in 1992, saving every penny and plowing it back into the company. After years of struggling, his firm turned the corner in 2000. His newfound wealth didn't go unnoticed. Powerful officials linked to China's military and Communist Party decided they wanted the fruits of his labor, family members charge.