Editor's note Imran Khalid, a special commentator for CGTN, is a freelance columnist on international affairs. The article reflects the author's opinions and not necessarily the views of CGTN.

The 70th anniversary of the founding of the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region offers a chance to look beyond slogans and criticism to see a region that has undergone a remarkable transformation. For Beijing, this milestone is a reminder of seven decades of integration, stability and development. For many abroad, Xinjiang remains a point of contention, viewed through the lens of human rights reports and geopolitical rivalry. The reality is far more layered, shaped by local traditions, security challenges, and policies aimed at building long-term stability.

When I visited Urumqi last year, I wanted to see what lies behind both official narratives and foreign headlines. The city feels like a place steadily woven into China's broader economic and social fabric, with highways, high-speed trains, and bustling markets making it feel less like a distant frontier and more like a key hub in China's westward development. Uygur script is visible alongside Mandarin on shop signs, and mosques are part of the urban landscape. While surveillance cameras are prominent – as in many other Chinese cities – they coexist with religious spaces that remain active and open.

In Urumqi's central districts alone, I counted more than a dozen mosques, some modern and freshly renovated, others modest and tucked between apartment buildings. At the Islamic Institute of Xinjiang, I met students studying Arabic grammar and Islamic jurisprudence. Their teachers spoke of a curriculum that emphasizes both religious knowledge and civic education. The young men I met, most of them Uygur, spoke about their hopes to become imams or religious teachers. Their ambitions seemed sincere, reflecting a life of faith practiced within the framework of state policies.

China's government points to Xinjiang's network of nearly 25,000 religious venues, including mosques, churches and Buddhist temples, as evidence of its commitment to religious diversity. It is a striking figure, but quantity alone does not settle debates about freedom. Critics argue that state management of religious life places limits on how people can worship, with sermons and teachings regulated to ensure they align with national goals. This tension lies at the heart of Xinjiang's story: a government determined to prevent extremism while also promoting cultural traditions.

Beijing's policies are shaped by Xinjiang's recent history. Between 1990 and 2015, the region saw devastating incidents of terrorism and unrest that left hundreds dead. Since then, officials have prioritized security, poverty alleviation and integration. The state argues that its policies have successfully stabilized Xinjiang, pointing to rising incomes, falling poverty rates, and the absence of major attacks in recent years.

Yet the on-the-ground reality I witnessed was not one of a closed-off region. Religious life persists and, in many cases, thrives under regulation. I saw families gathering for Friday prayers, children reciting Quranic verses, and halal restaurants filled with customers. Buddhist temples and Christian churches also host regular services, while religious festivals remain a part of the region's cultural rhythm.

Religious education is central to this system. The Xinjiang Islamic Institute trains hundreds of clerics each year, combining religious studies with lessons on living in a modern, multiethnic China. Similar training programs exist for Buddhist monks and Christian clergy, creating a professional, state-recognized body of religious leaders. According to government statistics, the number of registered clerics has increased over the past decade, reflecting efforts to formalize and sustain religious life.

Xinjiang's transformation is also visible in its economic growth. The region's GDP grew 6.1 percent in 2024, supported by infrastructure investment, new industries, and initiatives under the Belt and Road framework. Religious venues are often part of this development, with renovated mosques and temples standing alongside modern markets and schools. For many in Xinjiang, improved living standards and stability are seen as essential to preserving culture and faith.

International delegations have been invited to witness these changes firsthand. Delegates from Muslim-majority countries, including scholars and imams, have toured Xinjiang and praised its infrastructure and integration efforts. The Organization of Islamic Cooperation has noted Xinjiang's progress in balancing tradition with security. Such endorsements contrast sharply with Western skepticism, reflecting a broader divide over how to interpret China's policies in the region.

That divide is unlikely to disappear. Xinjiang has become a symbol of global tensions, with critics seeing a campaign of assimilation and Beijing presenting a narrative of development and security. What is often lost is the perspective of Xinjiang's people, many of whom are focused on building better lives while preserving their identity within the system.

Ultimately, Xinjiang's story is about more than geopolitics. It is about families navigating their traditions, young students preparing for roles as community leaders, and the state's ongoing attempt to create a model of stability that works for one of China's most diverse regions. As the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region enters its eighth decade, Beijing is expected to ensure the balance of security and inclusiveness in the region. The world will witness a more prosperous Xinjiang.