Inside Xinjiang: China clamps down on dissent in restive Uighur homeland

We set out to cross China's vast western province of Xinjiang knowing that journalists have been blocked from reaching many areas in this increasingly troubled region.

Nearly every month there is a fresh report of violent conflict in this, the homeland of Turkic-speaking ethnic Uighurs.

Hundreds have died over the past year – sometimes as a result of knife or bomb attacks on random members of the public, sometimes following what appear to have been disputes which have spun out of control.

Innocent bystanders have been killed, so have alleged attackers. Police have fired on crowds accused of rioting.

We wanted to throw some light on the dispute – to speak to people who live in Xinjiang in an attempt to find out what might be causing this bloodshed.

Chinese officials do not want reporters to talk to anybody in this traditionally Sunni Muslim area unless they are in control of the process.

The vast majority of our journey to the west was like this: roadblocks, grinning minders, uniformed police, plain-clothed police, passport checks, more minders, more police, more roadblocks and questions.

"Where are you going now? What are you doing tomorrow? What are you doing here?"

At one stage we interviewed a Uighur bread-maker asking about the traditional food.

There would have been a dozen police and other government officials hanging off every word that dropped from the nervous bread-maker's mouth.

In another town, we had plain-clothed officers waiting outside our hotel rooms on the 11th floor of a hotel, 24 hours a day.

They made a pretty lame attempt to act as if this was a natural thing to be doing, putting their heads down to text or do something else every time we appeared.

Over recent decades, Xinjiang has seen waves of government-sponsored migration, boosting the Han Chinese population from around 7 per cent to more like half of those living there.

Some cities in Xinjiang feel like they could be anywhere else in China.

Yet, in the south of Xinjiang, the Uighurs still make up the majority. Most of the clashes have occurred here, and the security is much more intense.

As soon as you hit Hotan, you can see light armoured vehicles on many corners, and you cannot go 100 metres without some state security presence.

At one stage, we had a brief window without teams of officials and police trailing us and used it to get our only chance to speak to a group of Uighurs without them being intimidated and harassed for being in our presence.

They were nervous and would not speak about everything, but what came through from them was this: they feel like they are treated like second-class citizens in the home of their forefathers; they say they have no freedom; and they are afraid to complain about the unhappy state of their lives.

It is precisely comments like this that the Chinese government does not want the outside world to hear.

Beijing wants there to be a single explanation of the violence in Xinjiang – foreign-encouraged terrorist extremism.

There were various excuses from officials as to why we would not be allowed to speak to people there.

"You didn't get prior permission from the local government," we were told, "You don't have a special interviewing permit," and so on.

For a journalist, being in Xinjiang is like being in North Korea. You get in a lift, they follow you in. You sit down for breakfast, they surround you.

Tibet is still the low-water mark in terms of reporting. Foreigners cannot even enter the Tibetan Autonomous Region, as it is called, without government permission.

Some in Beijing could well be considering a similar set of rules for Xinjiang.

We left there frustrated and worn out by the endless assault from China's security apparatus but, with a lot of persistence, we came away with a story that I think people will find enlightening when they see it.

• Watch China - Crackdown on Foreign Correspondent on ABC at 8:00pm.*