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Models from 100% Capri walk through the Bal Harbour Shops in Miami, advertising the store’s clothing.
Photographer: Scott McIntyre/Bloomberg

This Mall Is Only for

the Rich, and It’s
Doing Fine
The fanciest shopping center in America is
expanding while the rest face a looming retail
apocalypse.
By Kim Bhasin
8 de fevereiro de 2018 07:00 BRST Updated on 8 de fevereiro de 2018 12:55 BRST

At the northern tip of Miami Beach’s famed barrier island, atop

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what was once a tangle of mangrove-filled swamps, sits a three-story,
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466,000-square-foot sanctum for the super-rich. A pair of models dressed
Tweet in beige linen outfits strut silently past onlookers like a wandering catwalk
Post ad. Outside, shoppers shell out $30 for valet parking and the right to show
Email off their supercars near the main entryway. It’s sunny and breezy on this
picturesque Monday afternoon, but when it does rain, mall workers will
scurry out front with umbrellas to escort shoppers to shelter.

Bal Harbour Shops looks like a posh resort compared with the 1,100 or

so indoor malls sprinkled throughout America’s suburbs. Instead of the
glare of fluorescent lights and fake plants, the main drag here is lined with
tropical greenery and ponds with turtles and koi. It’s different from your
run-of-the-mill mall in other ways, too: This one isn’t constantly cutting
deals on rent to get stores to stay. In fact, there’s a waitlist. And while some
malls are desperately seeking financial lifelines, this one is planning a $400
million expansion.

On this day, Matthew Whitman Lazenby, the Bal Harbour Shops’

developer, is biting into a veggie club sandwich at the mall’s second-floor
grill. The view is expensive: Range Rovers and Porsches sit outside amid
the palm trees. Lazenby, 40, has just returned from a business trip to Bloomberg
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South America, where he visited several malls, including one in Sao Paulo
that’s a virtual duplicate of his. The grandson of the mall’s late founder,
Stanley Whitman, Lazenby says he’s fully cognizant of the industry’s
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troubles—and how they don’t really affect Bal Harbour.

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“There’s not many luxury stores you go into and say, ‘Ugh, this is luxury
terrible,’” he says. “There are some, though. Not here.”
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Malls across America are dealing with what’s been called the “retail L
apocalypse:” the looming death of an industry unable to cope with the
shifting shopping habits of consumers. Clothing retailers close stores by
the thousands as households shift spending to travel, eating out and other
leisure activities. More importantly, foot traffic continues to slow as
customers abandon the suburban mall for the ease of online shopping. U.S.
e-commerce sales are expected to account for 17 percent of all retail by
2022, up from 12.7 percent in 2017, with Amazon.com Inc. the main driver,
according to Forrester Research. 

Valet attendants park shoppers’ cars as they arrive at the Bal Harbour Shops.
Photographer: Scott McIntyre/Bloomberg

Even worse for the American mall, Credit Suisse has predicted that from 20
percent to 25 percent of the complexes will shut their doors within the next
five years. It’s the kind of cultural cataclysm so total that suburban explorers
now trek through dead malls with their cameras, chronicling decay as if
they were ancient ruins.

While the malls Generation X came of age in are on death row, luxurious
versions of those dinosaurs are doing just fine. Malls such as Americana
Manhasset on the wealthy north shore of New York’s Long Island, the
Forum Shops at Caesars in Las Vegas, and the Grove in Los Angeles, often
teeming with a healthy mix of wealthy locals and spendthrift tourists. But
even among these successful swanky malls, Bal Harbour Shops stands
tallest. It regularly tops the annual list of the most productive shopping
centers in America, according to real estate research firm Green Street
Advisors. Bal Harbour Shops declined to share revenue numbers, conceding
only that it’s profitable.

Shoppers visit stores among the sculpture garden.

Photographer: Scott McIntyre/Bloomberg

Though it’s not enough for a mall to simply be near rich folks, it sure does
help, says Michael Brown, a partner in the retail practice of consulting firm
A.T. Kearney. “Those malls in the densely populated, high-income sectors
are continuing to thrive,” he says. Bal Harbour is certainly among
them. Many shoppers do come here from afar, but some live right next
door. The two towers of the equally decadent St. Regis Hotel across the
street are visible from the mall’s second floor. The Ritz-Carlton is just down
the road, with one-bedroom suites that can run more than $1,000 a night.
Between them sits more than a half-dozen luxury high-rise condominiums
lining that famous beach. 

One downside for luxury malls located among the well-

to-do, however, is that they constantly need to update
their offerings to appease all those discerning buyers
searching for the hottest brands.

But if your mall’s in the wrong place, all the hot stores

in the world won’t save you—no matter what you’re
selling.

Look no farther than a traditional mall located just 15

minutes from Bal Harbour. The Mall at 163rd Street in
North Miami Beach is a desolate shell of its former self.
Its decline took decades, as department store anchors
slowly departed for a more upscale mall nearby. The
only direction to go was downmarket, as a chunk of
it was demolished and replaced by a Walmart Inc.
Supercenter. What remains today is a tall, arched
hallway where blocks of five storefronts or more remain
vacant. Most kiosks are abandoned, too.

The few shoppers walking through on a weekday were headed to the

discount racks at Marshall’s or Ross Dress for Less. A hopeful sign on the
wall promises: “New stores coming soon!”

Luxury cars are parked in the Bal Harbour valet area.

Photographer: Scott McIntyre/Bloomberg

There is no Sears-to-Chanel story for the mall in Bal Harbour. It

sought to be ostentatious from the start. When Stanley Finch
Whitman opened the doors in 1965, he hoped to attract the poshest stores.
Most European luxury brands had yet to invade the U.S., which left New
York as the nation’s sole home for the glitziest names. Early shops and
boutiques at Bal Harbour included FAO Schwartz and a Martha Phillips
dress salon, but Whitman was unable to lure a major anchor for years.
Then, in 1971, Dallas-based Neiman Marcus agreed to open its first
department store outside its home state of Texas. New York’s Saks Fifth
Avenue soon followed.

Lazenby joined his family’s company in 2003 and took over as chief

executive in 2013. He’s more expansion-minded than his predecessors,
investing in a second mall property downtown rather than staying put in Bal
Harbour, as his grandfather did. “Now we have an eye on possibly doing
some other things,” says Lazenby, who adds that while he’s open to more
individual projects, he doesn’t plan to expand nationally. “Size has never
been what it’s about.”

For the bulk of the U.S. retail world, the word “mall” has become a curse,
one inexorably tied to the aforementioned apocalypse. Owners prefer
“collection” or “town center” or “promenade.” Lazenby grudgingly
concedes that Bal Harbour Shops is indeed a mall, but goes on to refer to
“store clusters” as “shopping environments” instead.

Malls for the rich aren’t immune to e-commerce, Lazenby acknowledges—

they just have more time than normal malls before the online monster hits.
Much of luxury hasn’t shifted there yet—it’s much harder to
convince shoppers to dump $10,000 on a bejeweled necklace or alligator
shoes without seeing the items up close. Nevertheless, elite labels that once
spurned e-commerce are now moving some business online. Internet
retailers such as Net-A Porter and Farfetch have proven that there is an
appetite for high-end online shopping.

Even the 1 percent sometimes have

to get buzzed in.

There are luxury brands that still shun the internet, but Lazenby warns they
should pursue both sides of the business. “One shouldn’t be at the expense
of the other,” he says.

Inside Bal Harbour, a row of jewelry stores draws double-takes, even from
well-appointed passersby. These shiny outposts include Bvlgari, Harry
Winston and Chopard. At Graff, the biggest head-turner is a ring with an
emerald-cut diamond the size of a fingernail. These are among the few
shops at Bal Harbour whose doors are closed—even the 1 percent sometimes
have to get buzzed in. Still, the complex is generally a plush, pleasant,
materialistic paradise for shoppers with cash to burn.

Not so for the mall’s tenants, who operate in an environment best labeled
as cutthroat. Space is limited, so underperforming stores are often culled
to make room for up-and-comers (That is, except for a fancy bookstore
that earned a permanent spot on the third level). Shops are
often relocated around the mall’s main hall as they jockey to gain
additional selling space. Fashion labels such as Chanel, Gucci and Goyard
currently rank as three of the most productive stores at Bal Harbour, the
mall says. 

Bal Harbour does include some stores you would see at a middle-
class mall, but their offerings are much fancier. Ralph Lauren is here, for
example, but this one is full of the retailer’s Purple Label line, the highest-
end merchandise it sells, including $5,000 silk dinner jackets and $500
bronco belt buckles. More often, though, Bal Harbour serves up boutiques
you won’t see at your local turnpike shopping center. Chanel’s shop, one of
the biggest in the mall, has a VIP lounge for the highest rollers. Its store here
is known for a selection of exotic leather bags that cost many times those of
the already pricey lambskin basics.

Shoppers look at the jewelry display at Graff.

Photographer: Scott McIntyre/Bloomberg

As successful as Bal Harbour is, Lazenby isn’t sitting still. In

2015, demolition crews descended on a 70-year-old Congregational church
behind the mall’s parking garage. “Worship this Sunday,” the sign for the
Church by the Sea still read as a Caterpillar excavator ripped down its
walls. Bal Harbour Shops had purchased the land for $30 million after a
decades-long negotiation begun by Lazenby’s grandfather, who died last
year. The deal sparked an uproar in the community.

“It’s crazy that they would go ahead at Christmas time—a religious time of
year—and start demolishing a historic church,” one local resident told the
Miami Herald. “What a Christmas gift for the residents of Bal Harbour and
the congregants.”

Lazenby was unmoved. “Activist naysayers,” he called his detractors.

The new wing of Bal Harbour Shops that will take the church’s place is
expected to open in 2023. The mall recently announced that a three-floor,
53,000-square-foot Barneys New York would be its new anchor shop.

On a recent sun-soaked afternoon, Lazenby is about to head back to his

corporate office across from the mall. Shoppers who just finished lunch look
into a window or two on their way out. A man in a T-shirt and basketball
shorts exits Le Zoo, a restaurant where a cheeseburger costs $18. His friend
asks him what stores are inside Bal Harbour. “Pretty much anything
bougie,” he replies, as they stroll toward the shops.

They’re back just a few minutes later, toting a Versace shopping bag, and
hop into a yellow, half-million-dollar Lamborghini parked right in front. The
driver revs the engine repeatedly as they roll away, leaving nearby diners
annoyed.

“Who was that?” a mall worker asks as the valet returns to his post.

The valet shrugs. “Somebody’s son.”

(Adds store headquarters in 13th paragraph. An earlier version corrected a

reference to Sao Paulo.)

A security officer keeps watch as women perform a traditional dance at the main bazaar of Xinjiang’s regional capital, Urumqi, in November.
Source: Bloomberg

Inside the Vast Police

State at the Heart of
China’s Belt and
Road
Xi’s economic ambitions drive the anti-Muslim
crackdown in Xinjiang.
Peter Martin

24 de janeiro de 2019 18:00 BRST

Twice a day, employees at an upscale jewelry boutique in

China’s remote western region of Xinjiang stop what they’re doing and don
bulletproof vests and combat helmets. Thrusting long clubs, they practice
defending the store against attackers. Their imaginary assailants aren’t jewel
thieves—they’re Muslim terrorists.

The state-mandated drills are part of China’s suppression campaign against

Uighurs, predominately Muslim ethnic groups whose members have
periodically lashed out with riots, stabbings and other attacks in protest of a
government controlled by the Han Chinese majority. China has responded
by installing a pervasive surveillance system in cities across Xinjiang and
locking up as many as 1 million Uighurs—almost 10 percent of their regional
population—in mass detention camps.

This detention center in Hotan was identified using satellite coordinates. The United Nations
has described as credible estimates that as many as 1 million Uighurs are being held in such
camps. Local officials said it was a high school.
Source: Peter Martin/Bloomberg

The Xinjiang crackdown has drawn condemnation from human rights

groups and calls for sanctions from U.S. lawmakers, who reject China’s
claims that the camps are voluntary education centers that help purge
“ideological diseases.”

“It is like if you have a child who misbehaves,” said Du Xuemei, a supporter
of the camps and the spokeswoman for Yema Group, a trading company
that operates the jewelry boutique. “The parents need to teach it right from
wrong.”

But China’s severe actions in Xinjiang are about more than forcing ethnic
minorities into line, as I saw on a recent trip to five cities in the region.

Far-flung Xinjiang is critically important to President Xi Jinping’s

loftiest goal: completing China’s return as one of the world’s great powers.
Although it represents just 1.5 percent of China’s population and 1.3 percent
of its economy, Xinjiang sits at the geographic heart of Xi’s signature Belt
and Road Initiative. It’s a trillion-dollar plan to finance new highways, ports
and other modern infrastructure projects in developing countries that will
connect them to China’s markets—and, skeptics say, put them in China’s
debt for decades to come.

The government has spent vast sums building up cities in Xinjiang to attract
companies and fuel growth in the relatively poor region. Concerns about
lawlessness in Xinjiang could chill investment. China's campaign against the
Uighurs is aimed in part at reassuring wary investors that Xinjiang is a safe
place to live and work.

The Alaska-sized region borders eight countries and serves as a crossroads

for a railway link to London and a route to the Arabian Sea through
Pakistan, where China is financing a $62 billion port and transportation
corridor.

But while Xi builds Xinjiang into a platform to project global influence, he

risks undercutting his efforts to present China as a defender of free markets
and international rules. Already, the surveillance tactics used in Xinjiang are
spreading throughout China. Facial-recognition cameras, internet
monitoring and experiments with so-called social credit systems to grade
citizens based on behavior are becoming commonplace. And they are not
just targeted at Muslims, but at anyone who threatens the Communist
Party’s hold on power or is perceived to stand in the way of China’s
geopolitical goals.

China’s Belt and Road

Modern-day Silk Road aims to revive and extend the ancient routes
Silk Road Economic Belt Maritime Silk Road Initiative

Rotterdam Moscow
Duisburg
Urumqi

Almaty
Venice Bishkek
Istanbul
Samarkand
CHINA
Athens
Xi’an
Tehran Dushanbe XINJIANG

Fuzhou
Kolkata Guangzhou
Gwadar
Hanoi Zhanjiang

Colombo
Nairobi Kuala
Lumpur
2,000 miles
Jakarta
2,000 km

Sources: Belt and Road Portal, China’s National Development and Reform Commission

Western politicians and economists long-predicted that once China opened

its markets, its society would inevitably open up, too. As China digs in for a
protracted trade war with the United States that’s as much about competing
worldviews as steel and soybeans, he appears out to prove them wrong. If
anything, China under Xi is becoming less free even as he preaches
openness abroad.

That has ramifications for investors concerned about their own reputational
risk. It also poses a broader challenge to the West as China holds out its
centralized model of government as a viable alternative to Western-style
democracy. For the leaders of some poorer countries weighing different
paths to development, a top-down system may be appealing—especially if it
comes with cash to finance high-cost roads, bridges and power plants.

“I see what’s happening in Xinjiang not as a local phenomenon, but as a

symptom of the larger system that holds in China now under Xi,” said Rian
Thum, a senior research fellow at the University of Nottingham who wrote a
book about Uighurs. “It shows that Xi’s Communist Party is an organization
that’s willing to go to greater extremes of repression than I think any outside
observer expected.”

So far the police state in Xinjiang doesn’t appear to be reassuring investors,

even as tourism picks up and a rush of government spending lures workers
in search of well-paying jobs. Almost no foreign companies have located
there and the region’s economy slowed last year. China sees that as a
temporary setback. But as the Xinjiang campaign continues to draw
unwelcome scrutiny, it is focusing attention not only on China’s treatment
of Muslims but Xi’s vision for the nation’s future.

Crossing into Xinjiang from neighboring Gansu province, a deep

divide soon becomes clear between Uighurs and the Han, who comprise
more than 90 percent of the country’s 1.4 billion people, including Xi and
almost all the party’s top leadership. Many Han have little interaction with
the Turkic-speaking minority, and receive a steady stream of government
news painting them as unsophisticated and susceptible to extremist ideas.

Ten Days in Xinjiang

Exploring the police state at the heart of Xi Jinping's Belt and Road initiative

K A Z A K H S TA N

MONGOLIA

Urumqi
Khorgas

XINJIANG Jiayuguan
Kashgar
Hotan GANSU

P A K I S TA N
CHINA
500 miles
INDIA
500 km

Source: Bloomberg

On an overnight train into the city of Urumqi, a retired People’s Liberation

Army soldier with the surname Cai told me he had no sympathy for Uighurs
in the once “desolate, backward and poor” region. He thinks they should be
thankful for all China has done for them.

“We have built roads for them, homes for them, given them schools,” said
Cai, 69. “Some people lack any sense of gratitude to the country and the
party.”

Read more: China Tests Facial-Recognition Fence in Muslim-Heavy Area

Many Uighurs have long resented the influx of Han into Xinjiang; some
Uighurs consider the region an independent nation called East Turkestan.
Beijing, in turn, has feared Xinjiang could peel away the same way the
neighboring Central Asian republics abandoned Moscow as the Soviet Union
collapsed.

China’s crackdown on the region began after a series of Uighur attacks on

civilians starting in 2013, including a flaming car attack in the heart of
Beijing: Tiananmen Square. The escalation alarmed authorities who had
repeatedly attempted to pacify Xinjiang, most recently after 2009 riots in
Urumqi killed some 200 people, mostly Han.

People inspect a burned vehicle after days of rioting by Uighurs in Urumqi in 2009. The uprising
killed almost 200 people and raised concerns about how China treats its ethnic minorities.
Photographer: Peter ParksAFP/Getty Images

“The government decided that openness wasn’t working,” said Raffaello

Pantucci, director of international security studies at the Royal United
Services Institute in London, whose research focuses on counter-terrorism
as well as China’s relations with its Western neighbors. “A massive heavy
hand came crashing down on the region.”

Almost all Han I spoke to in Xinjiang shared Cai’s view of the Uighurs as
disloyal. They said they approved of Xi’s efforts to modernize the region,
painting an optimistic picture of economic opportunities on a pacified
frontier—though it was often difficult to tell whether they were truly
speaking their minds, or repeating the official Communist Party line.

By contrast, most Uighurs appeared too scared to say anything, They

engaged in hushed and cryptic conversations, insisting all was fine and
abruptly walking away. Two Uighurs eating lamb and radishes in a
restaurant just outside Xinjiang had warned it would be hard to get anyone
to talk. Many of their neighbors back home had disappeared to “study,” one
said.

Uighurs have reason to be paranoid. The police presence

designed to track them is anything but subtle. Always, there is the fear of
being taken away.

Police question them on the street, demanding to know where they’re going
and why. Metal detectors, facial scanners and document checks are routine.
Surveillance cameras are everywhere, even in some public restrooms. In
one Uighur mosque, I counted 40 of them.

The mosques themselves were sparsely attended and I never heard a call to
prayer in Xinjiang. Over time, authorities have banned “abnormal beards,”
religious names for children, fasting during Ramadan and attending lavish
weddings—part of a broader effort to assert control over all religions,
including Christianity.

Read more: China Takes Diplomats to Tour Xinjiang ‘Re-Education Camps’

As I was riding in a packed third-class train car to Hotan, a former oasis

town that once connected China to India, Uighur passengers fell silent and
lowered their heads as a police officer walked in. Parents shushed their
children.

Soon, a dozen more men wearing blue train conductor suits and red
armbands clambered in, pulling bags from the overhead racks and shouting
commands.

“Take this down!” “Open it!” “What’s this?” They took a young Uighur girl
into the next car for questioning. A child started crying.

When we arrived in Hotan, I approached a Uighur man and told him what
had happened.

“That’s what it’s been like every day for three years,” he said cautiously.
Some of his family members had been sent to the Muslim camps, he added,
where they spend all day studying Chinese law.

Foreign news outlets and non-profit organizations have detailed physical

and psychological abuse inside the camps, with the Associated Press
reporting that Uighurs were forced to disavow their Islamic beliefs, praise
the party and endure solitary confinement. Former detainees told Human
Rights Watch they were jailed without hearings, shackled and beaten.

“People go for two years minimum, and many for three years,” the Uighur
man told me. “The first one or two years you can take it, but after that, you
can’t.”

Officially, Xinjiang is just as open as most other parts of China.

Yet as I arrived in Khorgas, a city established in 2014 on the border with
Kazakhstan, four police officers with body armor and rifles ordered me
from the car. One instructed me to kneel on the ground and empty my bag.
He pointed a laser at things he wanted to inspect more closely.

A man in a black jacket joined the uniformed policemen. He introduced

himself as “Mr. Li, a local businessman.” But his ID card said he was Mr.
Wang, of the Public Security Department

“We knew you were coming,” he said pleasantly.

Wang took my phone and erased photos and files, something that happened
repeatedly during my time in Xinjiang. “I am deleting these for your own
good,” he said, before handing it to a colleague who took down the phone’s
identifier number, presumably to track my location.

Wang and two propaganda officials were my constant companions. They

pointed out construction sites and exhibitions hailing Xi’s accomplishments,
including a display titled “My Country Is Awesome.” Wang encouraged me
to take pictures, but only of “positive things.”

Read more: The Architect of China’s Muslim Camps Is a Rising Star Under Xi

At one restaurant a waitress wore body armor, though it was unclear why:
there is little visible crime in Khorgas. Police stations with flashing lights
dotted the road and a near-constant whir of sirens filled the air.

At the end of my time in Khorgas, Wang bid me farewell. “You are welcome
back anytime,” he said. “As soon as you arrive, I’ll appear.”

In Kashgar, another former Silk Road oasis, the full gamut of Xinjiang’s
security state was on display. Police patrolled the streets in teams of three,
wielding shields and pointed black sticks. Soldiers marched with automatic
weapons and sheathed bayonets.

Wittingly or not, Han civilians play a part in the government’s efforts to

stoke fears that a Uighur attack could happen at any moment. Groups of
shopkeepers all around the city performed drills with wooden clubs. Knives
were chained to the tables in butcher shops, and storefronts were
barricaded at night.

At times, the surveillance was excessive to the point of absurdity. Seven

security officers were assigned to shadow me in Kashgar. When I asked a
local police officer why such a large group was required, he denied the men
were there at all.

“You’re hallucinating,” he said.

Across Xinjiang, the fear of saying something wrong hung over

every conversation, even with the Han. It was impossible to know who was
telling the truth.

One afternoon in Hotan, when the police didn’t seem to be following me, I
ventured into a coffee shop. A young Han woman came charging toward me
through the metal detector at the entrance. When she saw I was a foreigner
she burst into nervous laughter

“You scared me to death!” she said. “I thought it was the police inspecting
our security arrangements—and our guard isn’t here.” If it had been the
police, “we’d all have to go for a study session on security in the
community.”

Conditions like this would drive businesses and people away from any
Western city. In Xinjiang, the police presence is a selling point and source of
pride for some newly arrived Han.

While it’s unclear how many Han migrants have moved to Xinjiang—the
most recent annual statistics available, from 2016, showed a decline in the
Han population—the number of visitors is rising. The state-run China Daily
reported that Xinjiang attracted more than 105 million tourists in the first
eight months of 2018, almost as much as in all of 2017.

A Han man named Tian, who traveled to Xinjiang from Shanghai with his
girlfriend, said he wouldn’t have imagined vacationing in the region until
recently.

“Look around, there are police everywhere,” he said while watching

Uighurs wrestle on stage in a bazaar. “It’s true it’s a little inconvenient but
there’s a guarantee of our safety. The terrorists and bad people have
nowhere to hide.”

Chinese paramilitary troops attend an anti-terrorism oath-taking rally in Hotan in 2017. These
specialized troops oversee regular police, and are now a fixture in Xinjiang.
Source: STR/AFP/Getty Images

Xinjiang’s cities can’t hire police quickly enough. Official statistics show that
regional government spending on public security nearly doubled in 2017.
From August 2016 to July 2017 more than 90,000 security-related jobs were
advertised, according to research published by the Jamestown Foundation.
Xinjiang accounted for 21 percent of all criminal arrests in China in 2017.

Many Han had stories about recently graduated friends who headed west to
find work. In Hotan, I met a 67-year-old woman named Lu who moved from
Gansu province a decade ago in search of a better life. Now her sons operate
two liquor stores.

“When we first came here, the Uighurs would tell us, ‘This is our place, we
don’t want you Han here,’” she said. Now that’s changed, and she credits Xi.

“I really like him,” she said. “There are a lot more Han now and it’s very
safe.”

It’s not at all clear, however, whether the huge public investment
and police presence are spurring the economic miracle China envisions for
the region.

Xinjiang’s economic growth slowed to 5.3 percent in the third quarter of last
year, compared with 7.6 percent during the same period in the previous
year, according to government data. Growth has been propped up by fixed-
asset investment, which increased 20 percent in 2017 and was set to rise
again thanks to a new rush of government spending.

Companies are not flocking to the region. Foreign direct investment into
Xinjiang fell more than 40 percent year-on-year in the first 11 months of
2016, according to the most recent release from the local statistics office.
That year FDI amounted to 0.4 percent of Xinjiang's economy, about a third
the rate of the national average.

QuickTake: China’s ‘Project of the Century,’ the Belt and Road Initiative

“It’s one of the main tensions in the Belt and Road as a concept,” said
Jonathan Hillman, a former U.S. trade official who heads the Center for
Strategic and International Studies’ Reconnecting Asia project. “If you want
to be promoting the movement of goods and people and data, having an
overwhelming security presence is at odds with that. You need to be willing
to give up some control.”

There is little evidence that Xi intends to do that. Some of the methods now
used in Xinjiang are spreading to other Chinese cities. An anti-terrorism task
force from the former British colony of Hong Kong recently visited Xinjiang
to study local security initiatives, the South China Morning Post reported.
The neighboring area of Ningxia also signed a cooperation agreement to
learn from the region’s efforts to fight terrorism and promote "social
stability."

Some Uighurs were finding it easier to join with the Communist Party than
to resist: Perhaps half of the shadowy men and propaganda officials who
followed me during various parts of my trip were Uighur.

On my last night before heading back to Beijing, I met a Uighur

couple who personified the anguish many face between retaining their local
identity and succeeding in Xi’s China.

It was a rare moment when I had no visible minders, and we spoke over
cigarettes and warm beer. Although both worked for Chinese state-owned
enterprises, they were subject to the same threat of heading to the camps as
other Uighurs.

“All Uighurs are scared that if we do anything we will get in trouble,” the
man said. At the same time, he defended Xi’s government: “If you think
about it, those people in camps could have all been executed, but they’ve
been given a second chance.”

His girlfriend said she was angered that Uighurs were searched before they
could enter buildings.

“It’s a real problem,” she said. “And when it happens we feel really
uncomfortable. Like we’re being accused.”

Then she, too, caught herself. Like a good student, she changed her tone to
echo Xi’s party line.

“The fact that they are there says they must have been influenced by those
extreme thoughts,” she said. “They are really very uneducated—and they
need to learn.”

— With assistance by Adrian Leung, and Hannah Dormido

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