A recent journey to western Myanmar has revealed a provincial capital divided by hatred and thousands of its Muslim residents terrorised by what they say is a state-sponsored campaign to segregate the population along ethno-sectarian lines.Decades-old tension between ethnic Rakhine Buddhists and Rohingya Muslims in coastal Rakhine state exploded with new ferocity in June, leaving at least 78 people dead and tens of thousands homeless.

Exclusive reporting conducted last week in the highly restricted region suggests that the long-term fallout from recent violence could be even more damaging than the bloodshed.

The United Nations has estimated that 80,000 people are still displaced around the cities of Sittwe and Maungdaw, and international rights groups continue to denounced Myanmar for its role in the conflict.

As it stands, any thought of reconciliation between local Buddhists and Muslims appears a distant dream.

Many Rohingya have fled the polarised region, fearing revenge attacks and increasing discrimination. Their status has sparked international concern and disagreement.

Rights groups have condemned the violence. The Myanmar government has denied any wrongdoing, while neighbouring Bangladesh has rejected an influx of refugees and slashed access to aid.

For those Rohingya caught up in the dispute, the day-to-day situation is rapidly slipping from desperate to dire.

Social ‘non-engagement’

In Sittwe, the capital of Rakhine state, the scars of recent conflict were everywhere.

Burned homes, shops and entire markets dot the Buddhist-majority city of nearly 200,000 people. Traditionally Muslim neighbourhoods, such as Shwe Pyar, Nazi Konetan and Mawlike, were deserted, locked up, or living in deep secrecy.

Prominent mosques and buildings bear signs from the municipality reading, “No one is allowed to enter.” Locals told Al Jazeera the properties have been taken over by the state. In some areas of Sittwe, the devastation from the violence that peaked in June is comparable to Cyclone Nargis, which struck Myanmar in 2008.

Most striking was the almost completely absence of the Rohingya population that once made up nearly one-third of the city’s residents, and the largest portion of its working class.

The impact of that loss was obvious. The Rohingya who worked as the city’s ever-present ricksaw drivers and porters at the jetty and markets are now gone. There are no signs of Muslims at the airport, the boat shuttles that ferry passengers to outlying islands, or even the local busses that run Buthidaung to Maungdaw, two Rohingya-majority states.