Postcards from Stanland

by David H. Mould

  After the fall of the Soviet Union, Americans “plunged headlong” into Central Asia, writes Karl Meyer, “the way led before 9/11 by high-minded nongovernmental organizations and profit-minded energy executives, followed after 9/11 by convoys of Pentagon officials, special White House emissaries and eager members of Congress.”1 As long as only US economic interests were at stake, the democracy and human rights faction had a fighting chance, but once military and security considerations were in the mix, all it could do was shoot off critical reports on rigged elections, human rights abuses, restrictive media legislation, and dismal press freedom rankings. Although the United States and other Western governments sometimes added their voices, most criticism was ignored because it came without penalties or sanctions.

  Western governments hoped that the honor of chairing the OSCE in 2010 would convince Kazakhstan to mend its ways, open up politics to opposition parties, and repeal restrictions on press and Internet freedom. The hopes were in vain. Kazakhstan took the carrot, ate it, and boasted about eating it; the stick was never wielded. In November 2012, less than a year after the massacre of striking oil workers in Zhanaozen and a month after the jailing of Vladimir Kozlov for “inciting social discord,” Kazakhstan was elected to a seat on the UN Human Rights Council, winning support from all but 10 of the UN’s 193 members. There was no penalty for bad behavior. Not only did Kazakhstan’s government not get sent to its room, it continued to be invited to all the best international parties.

  The paradox has played out on a broad canvas since 9/11. The leaders of Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, and Uzbekistan opened up their roads, railroads, air corridors, and military bases for the campaign in Afghanistan, and were rewarded with aid and diplomatic cover. In 2002, the United States promised to triple annual aid to Uzbekistan to $160 million, despite rigged elections, President Karimov’s crackdown on opposition and media, and the routine torture of political prisoners. In 2005, Karimov ordered troops to fire on demonstrators in Andijan in the Fergana Valley. At least 187 were killed (some put the death toll at over 1,000), and thousands fled over the border to southern Kyrgyzstan. While the US State Department condemned the crackdown and reduced aid, US Central Command quietly continued to fund the Uzbek military. Since 2009, the NATO-led coalition has used the so-called Northern Distribution Network (NDN) of road and rail routes through Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan to ship supplies to Afghanistan; the Central Asian states have reaped an estimated $500 million a year in “access fees” for the NDN. As NATO withdraws, they will continue to benefit not only from the fees but from “excess defense articles,” such as military vehicles and hardware, either donated or sold at yard-sale prices. The NATO allies are not going to fuss about human rights violations in the Central Asian republics while extricating themselves from Afghanistan.

  However, to shrug off “creeping authoritarianism as a price worth paying in the bigger geopolitical and financial game” is a mistake, says the Economist. “Tyrannies with unhappy subjects are unlikely to be reliable economic or strategic partners.”2 Such realpolitik, writes Meyer, amounts to abandoning Central Asians “who have taken seriously America’s oft repeated pledges to promote human rights and genuine elections, as well as to succor freedom of speech and worship.” The task facing Washington, he adds, “is to deal fairly and effectively with Central Asia’s rulers without becoming their accessories in abusing human rights, creating dynastic oligarchies and funneling unearned increments into Swiss bank accounts.”3

  #2: The New Great Game

  If you want to leave Kazakhstan, learn English. If you want to stay, learn Chinese.

  What started as a joke in business and government circles in Astana and Almaty has taken on a serious tone as China’s economic, military, and political clout has increased. In the nineteenth century, China watched from the sidelines as Russian and British explorers, envoys, and spies wandered around its western provinces and Tibet, mapping trade routes, building alliances with local leaders, and hatching plots. The Chinese empire, weakened by internal discord and rebellion, could not play in the Great Game. By the end of the twentieth century, the roles were, if not reversed, at least rebalanced, with China vying with Russia and the United States in a new Great Game. Hungry for oil, gas, and natural resources, China has invested heavily in Kazakhstan’s energy sector. It built the pipeline to carry oil from the Caspian Sea east to Xinjiang, and is financing construction of a gas pipeline and a 1,700-mile stretch of highway to connect China with Europe. Russia, Europe, and the United States support pipelines running west to the Black Sea and Turkey. For now, there’s plenty of oil to flow both ways, but the supply will not last forever. Analysts worry about population pressures: if its cities cannot accommodate more people, will China look west to the sparsely populated steppe?

  The end of the Soviet Union briefly revived the dream of the Uighurs of Xinjiang of uniting with their fellow Muslims in a Greater Turkestan or caliphate. China leaned heavily on Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan to restrict Uighur political activity and settled the border disputes that had plagued Chinese-Soviet relations. China has reduced the demographic power of the Uighurs by resettling Han Chinese in Xinjiang. With oil from Kazakhstan and gas from Turkmenistan, China no longer has to rely on sea routes that can be disrupted by the United States. China brought the Central Asian republics into the Shanghai Cooperation Organization and exploited new export markets.

  Russia has long-standing economic ties with Kazakhstan. It’s also the economic magnet for thousands of migrant workers from Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, the two poorest countries in the region. Remittances from migrant workers in Russia account for about 29 percent of Kyrgyzstan’s GDP and 47 percent of Tajikistan’s. Russia provides aid and loans and maintains military bases in both countries. With the withdrawal of NATO forces from Afghanistan and the handover of the Manas air base in Bishkek, the United States no longer has a significant military presence in Central Asia, but its economic interests, particularly in Kazakhstan’s oil, gas, and mining sectors and in banking, make it the other major player. Iran and Turkey are also in the game, although only Turkey has so far invested heavily in the Central Asian economies and sought influence through education and social programs.

  It may be too much to revive Sir Halford Mackinder’s theory and claim that Central Asia is once again the “geographical pivot of history.” It’s a complicated world, and other regions—notably the Middle East and East Asia—will vie for the title. Central Asia is more of a paradox than a pivot, but what happens there as China, Russia, the United States, Turkey, and Iran—and possibly India, making a late entry to the game—compete will affect the world balance of economic and political power. As the journalist Ahmed Rashid, author of two books on Central Asia, remarks: “One of the great dangers for the U.S. and other Western powers will be continuing ignorance and neglect of what is happening there.”4

  #3: Mind the Gap

  The Arab Spring of 2011 sent shock waves through the presidential palaces of Central Asia. If the rulers of Tunisia and Egypt could be overthrown so quickly by popular demonstrations, what could happen if crowds rallied in Ashgabat, Astana, Dushanbe, and Tashkent? Memories of the protests that toppled Kyrgyzstan’s President Bakiyev and the ethnic violence in the south less than a year earlier were still vivid. Central Asian governments were quick to draw contrasts between conditions in their countries and those in the Middle East. At the same time, they stepped up surveillance on opposition groups and media and tightened restrictions on the Internet and social media. It was a case of blaming the messenger; although social media and text messages were the organizing tools of the Arab Spring, the protests were caused by political, social, and economic conditions, not by communication technology.

  Among those weighing in with a “We’re not Egypt” message was Nazarbayev, in an op-ed for the Washington Post. After independence, when Kazakhstan’s economy “lay in ruins,” he wrote, most of the world “dismissed us as a remote former Sov
iet republic.” Now, twenty years later, “The Kazakh people’s hard work and unity have led to a stable, multicultural nation with a strong economy and rapidly improving living standards and public services.” He listed a series of achievements—a twelvefold increase in GDP per capita since 1991, a thriving private sector, a fast-growing middle class, ethnic and religious tolerance, and reforms to protect human rights, promote press freedom, and strengthen the independence of the judiciary. “We are not going to become a fully developed democracy overnight,” he wrote. “But we have proved that we can deliver on our big ambitions.”5

  Nazarbayev’s economic statistics were correct. At the same time, the gap between the rich and the poor has been widening. According to Forbes Kazakhstan, the fifty richest people in the country are worth a combined $24 billion. They include Nazarbayev’s daughter Dinara Nazarbayeva and her husband Timur Kulibayev (both billionaires), daughter Dariga Nazarbayeva and grandson Nurali Aliyev (millionaires). Taken alone, the Nazarbayev clan’s wealth is estimated at about $7 billion, according to the Russian magazine the New Times.

  High unemployment and poor living conditions in rural areas have fueled migration to the cities. The urban underclass is growing and with it fears of social unrest. Many unskilled migrants end up in low-paid jobs, struggling to pay for rent and food. In the shadow of corporate office blocks, condominiums and five-star hotels, people live in broken-down khrushchevkas or shacks built from rough lumber and scrap metal, without safe water or reliable heating. For the journalist Joshua Kucera, the paradox of wealth and poverty in the oil city of Atyrau was palpable. Most people, he wrote, “may not care much about the finer points of democracy and human rights, but they do resent their politically well-connected compatriots getting rich while their lives go nowhere. . . . If there is any challenge facing [Nazarbayev], it’s not resentment over repression or authoritarianism, but inequality and corruption.”6

  In 2010, according to a report by the World Health Organization and UNICEF, three-quarters of Kazakhstan’s rural population did not have access to safe running water. The poverty, education, and health indicators for rural populations in Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan are just as bad, if not worse, but at least these countries do not boast of “rapidly improving living standards and public services.”

  #4: Nation Building

  Over lunch at ENU, I asked my colleague Zhas Sabitov, a political scientist, for a rundown of Kazakhstan’s political demographics. “There are three groups,” he said, with a smile. “The Kazakh-speaking Kazakhs vote for nationalist parties. They think Nazarbayev is a traitor to his people for working with the Russians and the West. The Russian-speaking Kazakhs are doing well in the economy. They vote for Nazarbayev to maintain stability. And the Russians who don’t speak Kazakh vote for Nazarbayev because they are afraid the first group is going to kill them.”

  It’s not as simple as that, of course, but Zhas’s wry summary points to the intersection of ethnicity, language, economy, and politics. Most Kazakh speakers live in rural areas, where jobs and services are lacking. Some feel as poor and neglected as in the Soviet era, but now the pain is more deeply felt because it is ethnic Kazakhs, not Russians, who are running the show. Russian-speaking Kazakhs make up most of the urban middle class. Their incomes and living standards have been improving, and they credit Nazarbayev with developing the economy and maintaining social stability. Russians may resent the preference given to Kazakhs in government jobs and higher education, and the increasing use of the Kazakh language in schools and for official business. They may grumble that Russia’s contribution to Kazakhstan’s development has been written out of the history books and that the street names have been changed. Through the 1990s, some voted with their feet, moving to a Russia most had never known. Those who stayed admit that things could have turned out worse if a rabid nationalist, not Nazarbayev, had been in power. They worry what will happen when he is gone.

  For Nazarbayev, another message is as persuasive as “We’re not Egypt.” It’s “We’re not Kyrgyzstan.” The so-called island of democracy has experienced two revolutions, violent ethnic clashes, and political turmoil, while the economy has tanked, poverty levels have risen, and education and social services have declined. Are these the fruits of democracy? It’s tempting to attribute the problems to a weak and divided government that was unable to maintain control, and to an open political system that allowed extremists to garner support. This interpretation overlooks the social and economic conditions—poverty and lack of housing and social services—that breed protest, but it is readily accepted by those who believe the dangers of democracy, political pluralism, and press freedom outweigh the benefits. They fear that granting too much freedom will unleash divisive ethnic, religious, and political forces. What is the point of liberty, they argue, if it destroys the nation?

  #5: Reinventing History

  Each Central Asian republic has tried to create a usable past—a collective narrative with a timeline and gallery of heroes to build national unity. Everywhere, this has involved renaming cities, towns, and streets, erecting statues and monuments, creating museum displays, and rewriting school textbooks. In Uzbekistan, historians have adopted a “history of the territory” approach. That means that anything that ever happened within the borders of present-day Uzbekistan becomes the country’s historical property, making it possible to depict thousands of years of “Uzbek” history. The texts and artifacts of ancient civilizations living between the Amu Darya and Syr Darya rivers? Definitely Uzbek. The fourteenth-century warlord, Tamerlane (Timur), who gives his name to a street in almost every city and has a whole museum in Tashkent dedicated to him? Also Uzbek (although he wasn’t). Timur’s capital of Samarkand, and Bukhara, the great centers of Tajik culture? Centers of Uzbek culture. By contrast, Tajik historians have had to adopt a geographically elastic approach, focusing on historical periods when Tajik culture was dominant in Central Asia. That allows them to reclaim Samarkand and Bukhara, at least in their writings.

  Historians in Kazakhstan can focus on the three hordes and the eighteenth-century batyrs and bis, and then skip to Abai Qunanbayev and other Kazakh writers, and finally to the Alash Orda movement. In Kyrgyzstan, which has almost no written history, there are more gaps to fill. That did not prevent the government from celebrating “2,200 years of Kyrgyz statehood” in 2003. The claim was based on Chinese annals from the first century BCE that describe a tribe known as the Yenisei Kyrgyz living in what today is southern Siberia. They did not start moving south to the Tian Shan until the tenth century, so “statehood” seems a stretch. The national epic is the Manas, which may be the world’s longest praise poem; with more than half a million lines, it’s about thirty times as long as The Odyssey and can take three weeks to recite. It recounts the exploits of an ancient hero, with superhuman powers, who vowed at the age of twelve to free the Kyrgyz people from oppression and establish a homeland. The epic is preserved and delivered by manaschis, masters of recitation who chant it at festivals and other gatherings. Some Kyrgyz claim that the epic is more than a thousand years old—a leap of time-travel proportions, considering that most events described took place in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Like other praise poems, the content was shaped by the prevailing political climate. In nineteenth-century versions, Manas is the leader of the Nogay people, a Turkic tribe from the north Caucasus. In versions dating from 1920, when the Soviets were constructing a distinct Kyrgyz nationality, Manas becomes a leader of the Kyrgyz.

  Each nation reconstructs history to suit its present purposes, but in Central Asia, where the republics did not exist until the Soviets created the SSRs, the reinvention of a usable past along with national heroes has become an academic cottage industry. In the Uzbek narrative, the bloodthirsty Tamerlane is repackaged as a wise philosopher-king and national role model. All the Kazakh batyrs are noble, patriotic warriors. It’s no different in nationalistic Russia where Stalin usually finishes in the top five in the list of most-admire
d historical figures. You can do wonderful things with history if you try.

  #6: The Dead Dog of Press Freedom

  In May 2002, Irina Petrushka, editor of the independent newspaper Respublika, found the headless body of a dog tied to the door of the newspaper’s offices in Almaty with a note that read, “This is the last warning.” The newspaper had been a thorn in the side of the authorities for exposing official corruption and supporting an opposition party. Several days later the office was burned down. Petrushka, who was under police surveillance and feared for her life, fled the country.

  The dead dog was a warning not only to Respublika but to all journalists to toe the line and not probe too deeply into the murky doings of Kazakhstan’s political and business elite. It was simply the latest, and most gruesome, incident in an ongoing war against independent media. In 2012, the media monitoring group Adil Soz recorded 19 assaults on journalists, 17 criminal cases (including 11 of criminal libel), more than 100 civil libel suits, and more than 180 cases where access to websites, online forums, and blogs was denied. Many journalists put personal survival ahead of principles and adopt self-censorship. They know which topics are safe to cover, which are not, and for those on the borderline, how far they can go.