After more than a century of migration, repression and adaptation, the Koryo-Saram are building new communities in the United States. Hana Sexton, founder of Koryo Saram Koreans in America, speaks to Novastan about historical memory, cultural survival and the challenge of making a little-known diaspora visible.

The history of the Koryo-Saram extends across several countries and political systems. Their ancestors began settling in the Russian Far East in the nineteenth century, many fleeing poverty, famine and Japanese colonial rule on the Korean Peninsula. In 1937, Stalin’s government deported the entire Korean population of the Soviet Far East to Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, accusing them collectively of potential collaboration with Japan.

The deportees endured a brutal journey in overcrowded railway wagons and were forced to rebuild their lives in unfamiliar conditions. Over subsequent decades, Koryo-Saram communities became deeply rooted in Central Asia. They contributed to agriculture, science, medicine, education, culture and public life, while also experiencing linguistic assimilation and the gradual erosion of some Korean traditions.

See more on Novastan: How Central Asia became home for the Koryo-Saram

Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, the community became increasingly dispersed. Many moved to South Korea, Russia, Europe and the United States, creating new forms of transnational family and cultural life. Today, an individual Koryo-Saram family may have relatives in Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, South Korea, Russia and North America.

Hana Sexton grew up in Central Asia and later settled in the United States. After repeatedly encountering a lack of awareness about Koryo-Saram history, she established Koryo Saram Koreans in America, a nonprofit initiative intended to increase the visibility of the community and strengthen its connections with the wider Korean-American diaspora.

She is a member of the Council of Korean Americans and The Korea Society, and participates in cultural, community and policy events across the United States. In this interview with Novastan, she explains why the Koryo-Saram experience cannot be reduced to labels such as “Soviet Korean” or “Russian Korean,” and why preserving the community’s history matters far beyond the diaspora itself.

Novastan: Could you begin by introducing yourself and telling us what inspired you to establish Koryo Saram Koreans in America?

Hana Sexton: For more than a decade in the United States, my life has involved repeatedly answering one question: who are the Koryo-Saram?

Meeting people across very different social and professional circles taught me something important. My lifetime would simply be too short to explain the history of the Koryo-Saram individually to every new person I encountered. That exhausting realisation is precisely why I founded a nonprofit initiative dedicated to our community.

I am a Koryo-Saram Korean American. It is an identity that I claim proudly, but it is also one that is constantly obscured by misconceptions. We are frequently described as “Soviet Koreans,” “Russian Koreans,” “Central Asian Koreans” or even “North Koreans.” The reality is far more complex.

Many Koryo-Saram migrated to the Russian Far East long before the Soviet Union was established. They moved there during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, often fleeing famine, poverty and Japanese colonisation. The Soviet era was only one chapter in our much longer history, just as the Russian Empire before it and the post-Soviet Central Asian states afterwards were also chapters.

Each period and each region shaped our culture, but none of them defines us entirely.

We are ethnic Koreans and today many of us predominantly speak Russian. The broader Russian-speaking Korean world also includes communities such as the Sakhalin Koreans, although their historical experience is distinct in important ways.

For me, Koryo-Saram is a collective identity for a global diaspora united by a shared history of migration, Stalinist forced displacement, trauma, resilience and cultural adaptation. We also developed a distinctive cuisine, including dishes such as morkovcha, the spiced carrot salad that has become famous across the former Soviet Union.

Through this organisation, we are no longer telling our story only one person at a time. We are trying to share our historical legacy with the wider world.

For readers unfamiliar with this history, who are the Koryo-Saram, and how would you describe their journey from the Russian Far East to Central Asia and, more recently, to the United States?

The Koryo-Saram are ethnic Koreans whose ancestors settled in the Russian Far East from the second half of the nineteenth century onwards. Labour was needed to develop sparsely populated land around Vladivostok and other border regions, and many Koreans settled there as farmers, labourers and traders. Others arrived while fleeing Japanese colonial rule on the Korean Peninsula.

Koryo-mar, the traditional language associated with the community, is now officially considered endangered. The language carries traces of the varieties of Korean spoken by the original migrants, but decades of displacement and assimilation transformed the linguistic life of the community.

In 1937, under Joseph Stalin, the Soviet government forcibly deported the entire ethnic Korean population of the Russian Far East to Central Asia, primarily Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. The authorities justified the deportation by invoking fears of Japanese espionage and alleged “anti-Soviet activities.”

Read more on Novastan: From Bukhara to Queens: The Global Journey of the Bukharan Jews

It was the first large-scale Soviet deportation of an entire ethnic community, although it would not be the last.

The journey was brutal. Families were loaded into freight and cattle wagons. Many people died from disease, hunger and exposure during the journey or shortly after their arrival. Survivors found themselves in a completely different climate and environment. They had to farm in the steppe, grow food for their own survival and meet state agricultural demands, while trying to preserve elements of Korean family and cultural life.

For decades, many deportees remained classified as “unreliable people.” Their movements were restricted and they were required to report to local authorities.

A lesser-known part of our history concerns the Korean intellectuals and officials who survived deportation and were later sent to North Korea to help establish the new state. Some were subsequently purged, imprisoned or killed by the North Korean authorities. For them, deportation was followed by another form of displacement and political repression.

Over time, the Koryo-Saram became Soviet citizens. Many entered professional life and became scientists, doctors, teachers, engineers, artists and administrators. At the same time, Soviet assimilation policies, the closure of Korean-language schools and the dominance of Russian contributed to the decline of Korean-language transmission.

Read more on Novastan: Diasporas et diversité : brève histoire des peuples au Kazakhstan

After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, many Koryo-Saram began seeking opportunities abroad. South Korea became a major destination, but the United States also attracted a growing number of migrants.

I was personally surprised to discover how many Koryo-Saram live in different American states. Today it is common to meet a Koryo-Saram American citizen with relatives in both South Korea and Central Asia.

Unlike some other communities deported under Stalin, including many ethnic Germans or Poles, the Koryo-Saram were never collectively repatriated. As a result, the diaspora is now scattered across Central Asia, Russia, South Korea, Europe and the United States.

In America, Koryo-Saram often settle in cities with established Korean communities, including New York and Los Angeles. They become part of a broader Korean diaspora while maintaining cultural and family ties to Central Asia and the post-Soviet world.

There are estimated to be around 500,000 Koryo-Saram worldwide, with growing populations in South Korea and the United States. The community’s journey is one of displacement, resilience and cultural adaptation: from early migration to the Russian Far East, through forced deportation to Central Asia, and later to the rebuilding of lives in South Korea, America and elsewhere.

Much has been written about Koryo-Saram communities in Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, but far less about those living in the United States. What distinguishes the American experience, and how has the community evolved there?

The Koryo-Saram population in the United States is extremely diverse. Some people came directly from post-Soviet countries. Others were born in South Korea or another country and later moved to America for education, employment or family reunification.

Even Koryo-Saram living in the United States are not always aware of the full diversity of the community here.

Unlike the Soviet deportations, migration to the United States is generally voluntary. This allows Koryo-Saram to integrate into American society under completely different circumstances.

In my own case, I entered the American diplomatic and policy world relatively easily as the spouse of a former US diplomat. Other people make different choices. Some surround themselves primarily with Americans. Others remain within Russian-speaking social circles. Some identify strongly as Korean American and build their networks among ethnic Koreans.

Read more on Novastan: Qu’est-ce qu’être un Coréen au Kazakhstan aujourd’hui ?

One characteristic that many Koryo-Saram communities share is a tendency towards insularity. I believe this is partly a legacy of our complicated history and the experience of living for generations as a distrusted or misunderstood minority.

At the same time, many families successfully preserve Koryo-Saram traditions. These include hansik, Korean food culture, hwangap, the traditional celebration of a person’s sixtieth birthday, family rituals and distinctive forms of Koryo-Saram cuisine.

In the United States, Koryo-Saram may identify simultaneously with the broader Korean diaspora and with Russian-speaking immigrant communities. This creates opportunities for networking and cultural exchange, but it also means navigating several identities, languages and national backgrounds.

The American Koryo-Saram experience is shaped by voluntary migration, economic opportunity and comparatively successful integration into US society. It shares historical roots with Central Asia but is also influenced by post-Cold War migration and the blending of Korean heritage with American life.

I hope that, as Korean Americans, we will become a more confident, outward-facing and globally connected diaspora.

What are the main objectives of Koryo Saram Koreans in America? What kinds of activities do you organise, and what needs within the community are you hoping to address?

At present, my main priority is raising awareness and increasing the visibility of the Koryo-Saram community. This work is vital, and it requires thinking beyond one’s own experience in order to advocate for people who often remain unseen.

I believe that South Korea, the United States and wider society all benefit from greater cross-cultural understanding and from recognising the diversity that exists within the Korean diaspora.

Read more on Novastan: The Lexicon of Kazakh Decolonisation

The needs within the Koryo-Saram community are broad and can be difficult to address.

Many people face cultural barriers when asking for help. Some find it extremely difficult to admit that they are low-income or vulnerable. They may come from backgrounds in which revealing weakness historically invited exploitation rather than support.

One of my goals is to bridge that gap and help create an environment in which people feel safer asking for assistance.

I take great pride in fostering cross-cultural understanding through grassroots advocacy.

On Samiljeol, Korea’s March First Independence Movement Day, in 2025, I became the first Koryo-Saram in America to participate in a joint commemoration with Korean Americans in the state of Florida. I built on that milestone by taking part in a larger Korean-American commemoration in Georgia in 2026.

In autumn 2025, I represented South Korea at FusionFest in Orlando, one of Florida’s largest multicultural festivals. I organized a cultural display featuring reproductions of national treasures from the National Museum of Korea, traditional hanbok, heritage skincare and other elements of Korean culture.

I also modelled a traditional hanbok during the FusionFest fashion show, accompanied by music from KPop Demon Hunters. In addition, I have carried the South Korean flag at several major cultural events in Florida.

Alongside grassroots events, I invest in leadership and institutional engagement by participating in major Korean-American and US policy forums. I attend these events at my own expense because I believe that the Koryo-Saram diaspora needs a visible voice in such spaces.

I have attended the Van Fleet Policy Forum, the flagship policy event of The Korea Society.

I have also participated in the Council of Korean Americans’ annual Envision Gala and Summit, the Federation of Korean Associations US’s national leadership convention for presidents of Korean associations, and the World Korean Business Convention in Duluth, Georgia.

Ultimately, I believe that South Korea, the United States and the Koryo-Saram community all benefit from mutual collaboration, deeper cultural understanding and a shared appreciation of our Korean heritage.

Many Koryo-Saram families remain connected across Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, South Korea, Russia and beyond. How transnational is the community today, and what kinds of links exist between these different diasporas?

The Koryo-Saram diaspora is deeply transnational. Strong family, cultural and economic ties connect communities across Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Russia, South Korea and other countries.

As I mentioned earlier, the Koryo-Saram were never collectively repatriated. For that reason, they can now be found across the world.

Koryo-Saram in America often have relatives working or living in South Korea, Central Asia, Russia or Europe. This creates expanded social networks and a broader sense of identity and belonging, but it also produces challenges.

These include identity tension, legal and political complexity, social isolation and the practical difficulty of maintaining family life across borders.

Our history spans more than a century of migration, repression and cultural survival. As a result, Koryo-Saram identity is often a living negotiation between contrasting political, social and cultural frameworks.

One example concerns children born and raised in South Korea to parents who are not South Korean citizens. In many cases, those children do not automatically acquire South Korean citizenship. They may later be required to return to Russia or Central Asia, where they face additional questions about identity, belonging and integration.

I am not afraid to enter uncomfortable rooms or spaces, because that is often where change must be made.

It is not uncommon for people to ask whether the Koryo-Saram are “communists”. This is insulting, but such questions usually reflect genuine ignorance rather than deliberate hostility.

The diaspora lived for decades under the Soviet label of an “unreliable people” after the 1937 deportation. After surviving that history and eventually reaching the United States, the last thing many people want is to prove repeatedly that they should not be distrusted because of where they come from.

This is one reason why many Koryo-Saram do not identify publicly as Koryo-Saram. It can be exhausting to remain permanently on the defensive.

Being part of a transnational diaspora offers cultural richness, economic opportunity and global connections. But it also brings identity challenges, risks of cultural loss and substantial emotional and logistical demands.

Success often depends on how well individuals and families manage these multiple worlds, using technology and community networks to sustain connections without becoming overwhelmed by distance or isolation.

You are also active in organisations such as the Council of Korean Americans and The Korea Society. How has this broader engagement shaped your work, and do you think awareness of the Koryo-Saram experience is growing within Korean-American and US policy circles?

I see myself as trailblazing by becoming the first Koryo-Saram American to join both the Council of Korean Americans and The Korea Society.

These are among the most prominent Korean-American organisations in the United States.

Because I have an American MBA and practical experience of foreign-service life, I am able to engage with policy, academic and business environments. I understand the language used in those circles and can find a sense of belonging there.

This is a significant step forward. Awareness of the Koryo-Saram experience is gradually growing, but much more work remains to be done.

Korean-American organisations are increasingly aware that the Korean diaspora is not limited to migration directly from the Korean Peninsula. It also includes communities shaped by life in China, Japan, Central Asia, Russia and other parts of the world.

The Koryo-Saram experience adds an important dimension to that wider history. It shows how Korean identity survived and changed under Russian imperial rule, Soviet repression, Central Asian integration and post-Soviet migration.

Uzbekistan has qualified for its first FIFA World Cup, and Central Asia is receiving increasing international attention. Do you think this growing visibility is also creating greater interest in the region’s Korean communities, or do the Koryo-Saram remain largely overlooked?

Uzbekistan’s World Cup qualification has undoubtedly increased Central Asia’s international profile. However, its effect on the visibility of the Koryo-Saram is likely to remain indirect and relatively limited.

The community is still underrepresented in Western media. Without deliberate cultural, journalistic or diplomatic outreach, Koryo-Saram history can easily remain overlooked, even as international interest in Central Asia increases.

Nevertheless, any positive attention given to Central Asia helps us in the broader sense. When more people become curious about Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan and the wider region, there is a greater opportunity to introduce them to the communities that have contributed to its social and cultural development.

Read more on Novastan: Uzbekistan at the World Cup: The White Wolves Enter the Global Stage

Several internationally known figures have Koryo-Saram heritage or partial Koryo-Saram ancestry.

They include Lomon, also known as Park Solomon, the Uzbekistan-born South Korean actor; Nellie Kim, the Olympic gymnastics champion; and Gennadiy Golovkin, the world boxing champion.

Figures such as these undoubtedly contribute to the visibility of the diaspora. Yet the wider history of the Koryo-Saram remains much less well known than their individual achievements.

How are younger generations engaging with their multiple identities – Korean, Central Asian, Russian-speaking and American? Are there particular challenges in preserving language, culture and historical memory?

America seems to me to be an ideal place in which to preserve culture.

Because many of our organisation’s activities revolve around culture and heritage, I have met Korean Americans who immigrated to the United States more than 40 years ago. This includes both Koreans from the Korean Peninsula and Koryo-Saram Koreans.

Some have preserved as “heritage” cultural practices and social norms that are no longer common in contemporary South Korea or in post-Soviet countries. Diaspora communities sometimes preserve a version of culture that reflects the period in which people emigrated.

I did not grow up in the Soviet Union, and I always felt that I had a strong sense of American individualism. I was never afraid to be different, even though I grew up without Americans around me.

Ironically, it was in America that I encountered what I considered a Soviet mentality most clearly. That experience helped me recognize how different I was from what I understood as a stereotypically Soviet mentality.

In a similar way, one may encounter patriarchal South Korean social norms in some Korean-American communities even when those norms no longer exist in exactly the same form in contemporary South Korea.

There is no single model for younger Koryo-Saram.

Some are not merely preserving their multiple identities. They are reinventing them in ways that reflect both their heritage and the globalised world in which they live.

Others in the United States currently show little interest in their background or in what their ancestors experienced. It can be very comfortable to become a fully integrated American.

Many Koryo-Saram already possess a global outlook and have relatively little difficulty integrating into American society.

At the same time, I believe the community carries shared generational trauma. When you work with Koryo-Saram for long enough, you may notice certain behavioural patterns even among people who do not speak Russian or who do not publicly identify as Koryo-Saram.

Language loss remains one of the greatest challenges. Many younger people no longer speak Koryo-mar or Korean. Some do not speak Russian either. In such cases, identity is transmitted through food, family stories, names, photographs, celebrations and memories rather than language.

Historical memory can also become fragmented. A young person may know that a grandparent was deported but may not know the details. Another may know the family’s migration route but feel little emotional connection to it.

Preservation therefore requires more than nostalgia. It requires education, documentation, community spaces and opportunities for younger generations to interpret the history in their own way.

Looking ahead, what projects are you currently working on, and where do you see the greatest opportunities for cooperation between Koryo-Saram communities in the United States, Central Asia and South Korea?

We are preparing to participate in a Korea Liberation Day event, and I hope we will make history by participating for the first time in the upcoming Council of Korean Americans Summit in Los Angeles.

Koryo-Saram communities in the United States, Central Asia and South Korea share a common heritage. They can build on this to develop cultural, economic and educational cooperation.

Cultural preservation and exchange

Koryo-Saram communities in Kazakhstan and South Korea have worked for years to revive Korean traditions, language and cuisine.

In the United States, where the Koryo-Saram population is growing, there is also increasing interest in Korean heritage.

Cooperation could include joint cultural festivals and language-immersion programmes connecting communities in America, Central Asia and South Korea.

Youth-led initiatives in Kazakhstan, including Korean Sunday schools, could inspire similar programmes in the United States and South Korea. Such initiatives would help younger generations build a stronger sense of identity and shared history.

Economic and business cooperation

Projects such as K-Park in Alatau City, Kazakhstan, demonstrate how Koryo-Saram entrepreneurs can strengthen economic links between Kazakhstan and South Korea.

Koryo-Saram in the United States could act as an additional bridge, connecting Central Asian and South Korean businesses with American markets.

Promising sectors include Korean culture, Korean food, technology and creative industries.

Cooperation could take the form of co-branded products, joint ventures, professional networks and investment platforms linking the three regions.

Education and research

Koryo-Saram descendants in the United States, Central Asia and South Korea possess increasingly strong academic and professional networks.

Cooperation could include joint research on Korean history, diaspora studies, migration and cultural adaptation, as well as student and scholar exchanges.

Universities in South Korea, Central Asia and US cities with significant Korean populations, including New York and Los Angeles, could establish partnerships focused on heritage, language and diaspora studies.

There is still a great deal of Koryo-Saram history that remains insufficiently documented, especially at the family and community levels.

Tourism and heritage tourism

K-Park in Kazakhstan is intended to serve as both a cultural landmark and an economic hub.

Similar initiatives could be developed in the United States and South Korea. Heritage tourism routes could connect significant Koryo-Saram locations and communities across several countries.

Visitors could learn about Korean culture as it developed in the Russian Far East, Central Asia, South Korea and the United States.

Such projects could contribute to cultural diplomacy and deepen mutual understanding.

Policy and diaspora engagement

Given the strong diplomatic ties between South Korea and the Central Asian states, Koryo-Saram communities could advocate for policy frameworks that support diaspora engagement.

This could include cultural grants, support for research and education, diaspora investment incentives, easier routes to legal status or naturalisation and greater recognition of Koryo-Saram heritage in national historical narratives.

The greatest opportunities lie in cultural revitalisation, cross-border business networks, educational partnerships, heritage tourism and policy advocacy.

By pooling resources and networks across the United States, Central Asia and South Korea, Koryo-Saram communities can strengthen their shared identity while contributing to sustainable cultural and economic development.

Finally, if there is one message you would like Novastan’s readers to take away about the Koryo-Saram experience, what would it be?

The Koryo-Saram story is not simply a footnote in Korean history.

It is a living testament to resilience, cultural endurance and the quiet power of identity in the face of displacement and erasure.

For more than a century, the Koryo-Saram have navigated migration, forced deportation, language loss and assimilation. Yet they preserved elements of Korean culture through food, theatre, newspapers, music, family celebrations and community gatherings.

Our journey demonstrates that identity is not static. It evolves, adapts and endures.

History is not preserved only in official documents. It also survives through everyday acts of remembrance: cooking morkovcha, preparing family dishes, maintaining traditions, telling children about their grandparents or performing traditional dances at family celebrations.

The Koryo-Saram story is one of endurance with dignity, adaptation with pride and the belief that heritage can remain alive even when the ancestral homeland is far away.

It is also a call to recognise and honour such histories, not as isolated curiosities, but as vital threads in the global story of human resilience.

Interview conducted and edited by Mathieu Lemoine.

Photographs courtesy of Hana Sexton.

Mathieu Lemoine, Editor-in-Chief for Novastan-English

The post From Central Asia to America: The Koryo-Saram Diaspora Finds a New Voice appeared first on Novastan English.

The visit to Bishkek on 26 February by EU sanctions envoy David O’Sullivan reflects the European Union’s tougher stance on the circumvention of sanctions targeting Russia in the region. Kyrgyzstan could thus become the first country targeted by heavy counter-sanctions from Brussels.

Since the start of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Central Asia has become a strategic link in parallel trade flows allowing Russia to keep its economy afloat. Faced with this situation, the European Union is sharply toughening its tone, placing Kyrgyzstan on the front line of its new pressure strategy.

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Bishkek’s role as a re-export platform is now documented. Analyses show a surge in Kyrgyz imports from China, notably trucks, components and industrial parts, which are then re-exported to the Russian market.

According to internal European Commission documents cited by Kazakh media outlet Kursiv, imports of so-called “priority” goods, often dual-use civilian and military products, from the European Union to Kyrgyzstan have increased by around 800% since 2022. Over the same period, Kyrgyz exports to Russia have jumped by around 1,200%, fuelling suspicions of re-export to the Russian market.

This circuit allows Moscow to bypass Western restrictions, while undermining international rules on trade transparency.

Activation of the “anti-circumvention” tool

For the first time, Brussels is considering deploying its most coercive instrument: the sanctions anti-circumvention tool. This mechanism, which would be part of a twentieth sanctions package – delayed by Hungary’s veto – would make it possible to ban the export of certain products to a third country without having to provide irrefutable proof of their re-export, as reported by Reuters.

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The targeted measures could include export bans on industrial machine tools, including CNC machines, and radio equipment, as well as action against the financial sector. A Kyrgyz cryptocurrency company is reportedly under scrutiny for allegedly supporting financial interests linked to Russia.

Discussions are focused instead on targeted measures, Radio Free Europe explains, such as listing Kyrgyz companies or financial institutions if they facilitate the circumvention of restrictions against Moscow.

A major diplomatic crisis

This Western pressure is considerably straining relations between the EU and Bishkek, at a time when the country is also trying to move closer to the United States. David O’Sullivan, the EU’s special envoy for sanctions, personally urged the local authorities to change their policy.

“We are not asking Kyrgyzstan not to have trade relations with Russia. We are only asking that this trade relationship not involve the deliberate circumvention of our sanctions,” he stressed during his visit to Bishkek on 26 February.

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Kyrgyzstan’s response has so far been direct, according to sources quoted by the British daily Financial Times: the country reportedly threatened to take the European Union to international courts if such sanctions were imposed. These allegations were immediately denied by the Kyrgyz government, local media outlet 24.kg reported in early March.

Roman Fuster
Contributor for Novastan

Thank you for reading this article! If you have time, we would appreciate your feedback, either through this anonymous form or by email at editorial@novastan.org. Thank you very much!

The post Kyrgyzstan in the EU’s sights for the twentieth sanctions package against Russia appeared first on Novastan English.

Last month, Kazakhstan hosted the 40th Conference of Directors General of Railways, bringing together representatives from more than thirty countries. It was an opportunity for Astana to showcase its ambitions for the “Middle Corridor”, against the backdrop of the war in Ukraine and the reshaping of global trade routes.

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From Monday 20 April to Monday 24 April 2026, the 40th Conference of Directors General of Railways brought together more than thirty countries in the heart of the Kazakh capital, against a backdrop of geopolitical uncertainty. The Organisation for Co-operation between Railways, known as the OSJD, is an intergovernmental organization that brings together a network of more than 320,000 kilometres of railway tracks, carrying around 5.5 billion passengers and nearly 5 billion tonnes of freight each year.

Founded in 1956, the OSJD – the main forum for railway coordination between Europe and Asia and a legacy of technical cooperation from the Soviet era – has gradually expanded to include new members. It currently has 27 members, ranging from Albania to Vietnam.

This year, the 40th Conference of Directors General of Railways brought together more than 300 officials and representatives of railway companies. Kazakhstan’s Prime Minister, Olzhas Bektenov, spoke in person, a sign of the political importance attached to the event.

He recalled that “Kazakhstan’s railway sector, which plays a crucial role in economic development, aims to improve the population’s quality of life and ensure sustainable growth”. The Prime Minister also announced strong ambitions for the coming years, declaring that he wanted to “build an additional 5,000 kilometres of railway tracks” over the next four years and to “increase transit volumes to 100 million tonnes per year by 2035”, thereby underlining his desire to strengthen Kazakhstan’s pivotal role in trade between Europe and China.

An Afghan delegation representing the Islamic Emirate met Kazakh and Azerbaijani officials to discuss the strengthening of the Hairatan and Torghundi ports and regional transit, according to the Afghan news agency Pajhwok Afghan News. This presence, like the joint presence of Ukraine and Russia, shows that railway cooperation can sometimes go beyond conventional diplomatic logic.

In addition to financial management issues, the conference also focused on the OSJD’s future work programme and the organization of the next meeting. Emphasis was placed on increasing volumes, modernizing infrastructure and transitioning towards more advanced technologies to improve the efficiency and fluidity of rail transport, reports the media outlet Transport Corridors.

The Middle Corridor at the heart of global challenges

By speaking of “transforming Eurasia into a single, fully functioning transport mechanism”, the Kazakh Prime Minister is directly referring to the trade route that has been developing in the region for around twenty years, particularly since China’s Belt and Road Initiative in 2013.

The Middle Corridor, also known as the Trans-Caspian International Transport Route (TITR), is a 4,000-kilometre multimodal transport corridor linking Chinese factories to European markets via Central Asia, the Caspian Sea, the South Caucasus and Turkey.

It is also the shortest overland route between China and Europe, provided the necessary infrastructure is in place, which was long not the case. Delivery times, which once took several weeks, have now fallen to around 18 days, according to The Astana Times.

Read also on Novastan : L’Asie centrale face au défi de la réalisation du corridor médian

This reduction was made possible in part by digital transformation and the introduction of the TezCustoms system, which has reduced processing time at the borders with China from 8 hours to 30 minutes.

Mr Bektenov emphasized Kazakhstan’s pivotal role, with around 85% of Middle Corridor traffic passing through the country. He also announced the construction of 5,000 kilometres of new railway lines over the next four years, with the aim of reaching a transit capacity of 100 million tonnes per year by 2035.

A route that has grown rapidly since the geopolitical crises…

This Eurasian route has been one of the main beneficiaries of the global geopolitical situation of the past four years, with two successive shocks having propelled its importance.

The first is the war in Ukraine since 2022: Western sanctions imposed on Russia caused westbound freight volumes on Russian routes to fall by 51% in 2023, according to Transport Corridors. The Middle Corridor has thus established itself as the only practical land bridge between China and Europe that bypasses Russian territory.

Read also on Novastan : Le corridor sud, une menace pour le transport kazakh ?

The second is the war in the Middle East and the Houthi attacks in the Red Sea, which began in late 2023. According to the Qatari media outlet Gulf Times, amid uncertainty in the region, some companies redirected their traffic from the Strait of Hormuz and the Suez Canal towards the Cape of Good Hope, making land-based alternatives all the more attractive.

In 2024, the volume of goods transiting along the Eurasian route increased by more than 63% year-on-year, according to the US think tank Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, reaching 4.1 million tonnes compared with only 500,000 tonnes before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. On the China-Europe segment alone, the number of containers transported increased twenty-fivefold between 2023 and 2024, according to the journal CEBRI.

…but remains constrained

However, according to an article by Friedrich Conradi published on the Carnegie Politika website, despite its potential to become a major competitive route, it could prove limited by structural problems. “The Middle Corridor is still far from competitive. It handles only around 6% of the annual capacity of the Northern Corridor via Russia, which stands at 100 million tonnes, and while many Western actors expect it to continue growing, several indicators instead suggest a slowdown,” the researcher explains.

The Middle Corridor’s infrastructure remains insufficient, with ports often saturated, particularly in Georgia, and an inherently fragmented route, since it relies on a succession of transport modes, making it slower, more expensive and less seamless than alternative routes via Russia or by sea.

Added to this is persistent geopolitical instability in the Caucasus and around Iran, as well as environmental challenges, particularly the falling level of the Caspian Sea, which directly affects port capacity and the continuity of maritime transport.

Lorenz Uberti
Contributor for Novastan

Edited by Elise Medina (French version) and Mathieu Lemoine (English version)

Thank you for reading this article! If you have time, we would appreciate your feedback, either through this anonymous form or by email at editorial@novastan.org. Thank you very much!

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With “Central Asia through the lens of…” Novastan presents Central Asian photographers and their work.

Kamila Rustambekova is a photographer and filmmaker based in Tashkent and Amsterdam. In her work, Kamila studies the imagery and untold stories of modern Uzbek society. For several years, she has been exploring her own family history and the communities of Uzbekistan.

Hi Kamila, thank you for taking time and speaking with us. Could you please give us a quick introduction about yourself?

I grew up with my family in Yangiyul, a small industrial city near Tashkent. I studied sciences in a lyceum and later completed a bachelor’s degree in economics in Tashkent. Currently, I live between Amsterdam and Tashkent. I’m doing a two-year master’s program in filmmaking in Amsterdam. My main artistic mediums are photography and film, broadly speaking.

When it comes to creatives, I always think about when they made the choice to pursue it “full-time” instead of placing it as a hobby. What is your relationship with creativity and was there a moment when you knew you wanted to pursue it as a career?

It’s really hard for me to generalise two decades of experience into a few words. I never thought of photography as the main focus of my life or as a career path. Culturally, socially, and at home, I grew up with the idea that I had to pursue a ‘normal job’, something stable that would allow me to make a living. While studying economics, I completed internships and was working, but after some time I felt disappointed and unsure whether I wanted to dedicate my life to that. In Tashkent, I met a lot of creative people and that shifted something in me. It made me realise that maybe I could take seriously what I naturally gravitate toward and do best.

Read more on Novastan: Central Asia through the lens of… Behzod Boltayev

I first saw your photos on Novastan and then again on Nowness Asia. How does it feel to become more internationally recognised?

I don’t really feel internationally recognised, I wouldn’t put it that way. But I do think that representing Uzbekistan, even indirectly, comes with a sense of responsibility, especially because voices from the region are still so underrepresented. The ethics of representation is something I think about a lot, it’s complex and challenging. I don’t claim to speak for Uzbekistan as a whole, what I present is a very specific gaze, by a specific person from a specific place and time.

Of course, I’m always grateful and happy when my work gets published or exhibited, it means a lot to me. To be seen, to matter.

Talk to me about ‘The Home, The Field and The Flux’. You recently combined this collection from another series called ‘Another Paris’. Why did you combine the two and what does ‘The Home, The Field and the Flux’ mean to you?

This idea had been with me for a while — to combine the project on independent farming with the one about cotton picking. Both were photographed in the same visual style, with the same distance, approach, aesthetics, so bringing them together felt natural. They both are about modern agriculture practices and internal migration in Uzbekistan. Cotton pickers often travel from specific areas to the Tashkent region during harvest season, while farmers move to Farish [a mountain village in Jizzakh region] for about eight months to grow crops like melons, watermelons, tomatoes, and sometimes peanuts, peas, or sunflower seeds.

The work is an attempt to document labor practices in Uzbekistan, and to look at how temporary communities form around this movement. It’s also about post-colonial agricultural structures, and how ideas of home shift when people live between places for much of the year.

‘The Home, The Field and The Flux’ documents adapting to land and traditions, whereas, I believe ‘New Uzbekistan’ is the evolution of culture and its intersection with traditions. What do you think of this understanding of ‘New Uzbekistan’

For me, this project is more about pop culture, globalisation, and the broader visual and symbolic landscape of contemporary Uzbekistan. I’m asking: What are the recurring themes, patterns, small details that define this area? What images would I show to a non-human creature from another reality who’s never heard of Uzbekistan? I think showing my collection would be fun, no?

It’s an ironic and playful attempt to portray Uzbekistan and at the same time question the official political narrative of “New Uzbekistan”. I see Uzbekistan as a vast field of untold stories, since they’re not always easy to find naturally. I recreate and collect everything that feels vivid, funny, and meaningful to me. These become cultural symbols for me.

You say how “narratives of diamond paintings [pictures made out of numerous small coloured rhinestones, which can be assembled at home as a hobby] reflect the country”. I was wondering if you could expand on why these mosaics of pop-culture represent Uzbekistan?

Narratives in diamond paintings come from global pop-culture and these paintings themselves are produced in China. But what you actually find in stores across Uzbekistan reflects what people are buying and gravitating toward here, as a mirror of local taste/values.

I collected the most popular narratives – religious iconography, cute animals, fantasies about Paris, portraits of Leo Messi. They tell a lot about a place, not because they originate there, but because they’ve been chosen, distributed, and assembled here.

“Sabrina” is a beautiful collection highlighting the secure bond of family. What is your relationship with this family and what was your motivation for this collection?

I met this family during a spontaneous trip around Uzbekistan with my friends. We were just enjoying ourselves, not really knowing where we’d end up next. I had always wanted to visit Farish, the birthplace of my grandfather. We made it there, and while in a taxi, the driver suggested we visit Sentob, a beautiful mountain village that had become a bit of a tourist destination. That’s where I met Sabrina and her father.

They invited us to their home, introduced us to the rest of the family and we cooked lunch together.

After that, we visited a few more times and stayed overnight. Gradually, my connection with Sabrina, her mother Gulnoza, younger brother Anis, and father Mashrab became deeper. Eventually, they moved to Angren, an industrial town near Tashkent. I visited them, they visited me. They met my family. I tried to be there for meaningful moments: birthdays, new years, the birth of Sabrina’s baby sister.

Now Sabrina is doing her bachelor’s degree in Tumen, Russia, and I’m super proud of her. She feels like a little sister to me, and her mother calls me her daughter. Through my work, I’ve been lucky to find many new homes and families, and this is one of them. The last time I visited them was especially emotional, I cried a lot, I felt so safe and loved.

Finally, do you have any upcoming pieces that people should know about?

I’m currently working on my graduation project for my masters degree. It’s a research-based work exploring girlhood in exile. I try to bring forward girls’ experiences, the search for home, and the attempt to construct a new one. Part of the project takes the form of a ‘zine’ [a small specialised magazine] built from found footage. I use images from rental listings to create an endless house tour — a continuous, imagined living space made up of countless beds, toilets, and washing machines.

I’m also working with 3D animation as a way to build imagined worlds. Compared to my photography practice, my film practice has always been more personal, more introspective. This project is about loneliness, solitude, isolation, lack of enjoyment, apathy, teenagehood, the exploration of sex, and the mother-daughter relationship.

Thank you Kamila Rustambekova. Where can we stay up to date on your work?

You can find updates on my Instagram @kamilarustambekova and website kamilarustambekova.com

This conversation was edited and condensed for clarity.

Written for Novastan by Lex Durham-Arnold

For more news and analysis from Central Asia, follow us on Twitter, Facebook, Telegram, Linkedin or Instagram.

The post Central Asia through the lens of… Kamila Rustambekova appeared first on Novastan English.

Traffic congestion is a major problem in urban centres around the world, as vehicle emissions pollute air quality and cause significant environmental and health issues. Central Asian governments have been slow to adapt to this reality. Although local authorities in several major cities are trying to turn the tide by investing in prestigious rail projects, including light rail and metro, urban transit options remain limited overall. A Novastan review of urban public transport developments in Central Asia.

Twice a day during peak hours, Dushanbe, the capital city of Tajikistan, grinds to a halt as its broad Soviet-era boulevards are clogged with traffic. The city faces significant congestion issues, exacerbated by a population that has doubled since gaining independence from the USSR in 1991. Car ownership has increased even faster, doubling over the past decade. Existing infrastructure is unable to keep up with this rapid growth and resulting environmental problems caused by vehicle emissions have severely impacted air quality in Dushanbe.

To deal with the challenges of rapid urbanisation, city authorities are exploring options to build a metro system. Domestic know-how on building this infrastructure is virtually non-existent, which is why the government has reached out to South Korea. In 2022, Tajikistan’s transport ministry signed a memorandum of understanding with the South Korean National Railway Corporation to assess the feasibility of the project. Novastan reported earlier that the ministry expects to start detailed planning for the construction of what would be Dushanbe’s first metro line in mid-2025.

Urban rail has clear benefits over, for example, buses or trolleybuses, in that trams and metros are more effective in reducing traffic congestion and air pollution, and have a much higher capacity than most other modes of transport. Moreover, they are a sign of progress, which is why many urban rail developments are often also prestige projects. However, a metro system cannot replace city buses and other less flashy forms of public transportation, particularly in areas where building urban rail is not economically viable.

Trolleybuses – an endangered species?

In Naryn, a provincial capital in central Kyrgyzstan, for example, local lawmakers recently decided to dismantle their city’s trolleybus system. Located at an altitude of just over two thousand meters, Naryn boasted the highest trolleybus network in the world. Hence it was a source of local pride and a tourist attraction among public transport aficionados. However, due to the deteriorating condition of the infrastructure, as well as high maintenance costs, the city council voted to discontinue service. As a replacement, there are plans to purchase ten diesel buses, which will obviously contribute to air pollution. 

The decision to abandon the Naryn trolleybus system follows last year’s announcement that Bishkek would do away with its large trolleybus fleet. A recent longread by the Kazakh media outlet Vlast highlights that this decision faced significant backlash, as Kyrgyzstan’s government had received long-term financial support from the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) to upgrade the network. For reasons unclear, the local authorities opted to replace the fleet with new electric buses, a transition co-financed by the Asian Development Bank (ADB). To prevent violating the credit agreement with the EBRD, “Bishkek’s mayor’s office said it paid off the EBRD loan, essentially making the city pay two loans for one mode of public transport since the trolleybuses were halted on November 8.” 

Read more on Novastan: Last stop – Bishkeks trolleybuses on the brink of extinction (in German)

Authorities decided to transfer most of the old trolleybus fleet to other cities in Kyrgyzstan, a move many critics have called “a distraction for the inadequacy of the whole project.” Vlast already reported that the transfer of these buses “greatly exceeds the local demand and the capacity for local infrastructure to absorb them.” Still, around one hundred trolleybuses were transported to Osh, the country’s second-largest city, which now operates the country’s only remaining trolleybus network. There was also talk of moving buses and infrastructure, such as electrical substations, to Batken, Kara-Balta, and Tokmok – none of which have any active trolleybus lines. Naryn also received six trolleybuses, even though these proved no longer needed after the recent city council decision to permanently abandon the system. In the end, most vehicles will likely end up rusting away in local storages. Meanwhile, Bishkek activists have launched a legal effort to preserve the city’s trolleybus network from total dismantling.

A UN commission estimated that trolleybuses cost cities forty percent less than operating electric buses. Yet, local governments in Central Asia are forced to improvise if they wish to take back control over public transport in their cities. After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, funding for municipal transportations systems virtually evaporated. The decline of public transit gave rise to privately-owned alternatives such as informally-operated minibuses, commonly known as marshrutkas. These minibuses largely followed well-established bus routes, but have the additional advantage of being able to navigate narrow and bumpier roads in city suburbs and other outlying neighbourhoods, something which trolleybuses obviously cannot. In short, the marshrutkas offer far better service that people are willing to pay for.

Read more on Novastan: Change through mobility – the marshrutka project (in German)

Another challenge to urban public transport in Central Asia is the rise of ride-hailing apps, such as YandexGo. In comparison to other intra-city transit options, ridesharing apps generally offer greater convenience and comfort. An article by The Diplomat explains how in cities and towns not yet serviced by YandexGo, taxi services which charge fares based on a standardised meter have grown in popularity. “To utilize these services, customers have to phone a call center, where they are connected to an operator who asks where they are currently located, where they want to go, and other logistical questions like number of passengers or luggage needs. The operator then connects the caller directly to a driver, who asks many of the same questions but with more detail, and usually will give an estimated wait time.”

The return of the tram

But not only trolleybuses have fallen victim to the erosion of public transit in Central Asia. Trams have also grown increasingly rare. Tashkent, for example, had one of the biggest tram networks in the former Soviet Union until it was gradually dismantled in the early 21st century. The last route closed down in 2016 and most trams were transported to Samarkand, where one year later – in 2017 – a ‘new’ tram system opened using much of the old Tashkent tram infrastructure. Meanwhile, in Tashkent, the authorities already seem to regret their decision to dismantle their once great tram network. According to the Uzbek news outlet Kun.uz, a plan for bringing back tram service in Tashkent was agreed upon during President Shavkat Mirziyoyev’s recent visit to France on March 12, with the French firm Alstom reportedly set to construct a nearly ten kilometre long tram line.

There are only a handful of active tram networks left in Central Asia, most of which are in dire need of maintenance. In Öskemen, formerly known as Ust-Kamenogorsk, the unofficial capital of eastern Kazakhstan, tram operations were suspended in 2018 as the operator went bankrupt. Yet, with the help of the regional government, operations could be resumed later that year, after a number of old Almaty trams were transferred to Öskemen. Infrastructure repair works have since begun, and, in 2022, an order was placed for additional rolling stock at a Belarussian firm. 

Up north, the city of Pavlodar boasts the largest tram system in Kazakhstan. The city successfully navigated the post-Soviet collapse of public transport in Central Asia, and authorities are even exploring options to expand the network. In doing so, the EBRD announced in 2024 that it would provide a loan to the Pavlodar tram management company to fund the purchase of battery-powered trams capable of operating without overhead catenary lines, thereby lowering infrastructure maintenance costs. 

Also in the city of Temirtau, home to the largest steel factory in Kazakhstan, new Chinese-made trams were recently commissioned into service after a brief suspension of operations following a series of overhead line thefts. The city’s single tram line is now operated by JSC Qarmet, the owner of the steel plant, and mainly serves to transport employees to and from the factory. However, the new trams may not meet with approval from everyone. In an interview with a local news website, users complained about poor visibility from the windows. A director of one of the companies involved in the recommissioning of the Temirtau tramline wittingly replied that “Temirtau is beautiful in its own way in the dark, so it’s better not to look at it” – a joke referring to the city’s notorious reputation as one of the ugliest and most polluted cities in Kazakhstan. 

Visions of modernity: light rail & metro

All jokes aside, public investments in the region’s few remaining tram networks are rare. Instead, city authorities across Central Asia have abandoned existing systems without providing proper alternatives, forcing people into overcrowded city buses or privately-owned marshrutkas. But now that urban rail seems to gain traction in Central Asia, regional governments appear to prefer light rail and metro options, both of which are generally more expensive and more complex to construct, operate, and maintain than trams.

Currently, only Tashkent and Almaty have metro systems. In Tashkent, construction of the first line started in 1972, six years after a devastating earthquake had leveled most of the city. Since then, the network has expanded to four lines, around fifty stations and an annual ridership of several hundred million. There are a couple of plans for further expansion, and the construction of an important circle line is currently ongoing. For those passionate about urban rail, the Tashkent metro is an absolute must-see. It is the archetype of urban rail in Central Asia. Most Soviet-era stations are lavishly designed and decorated, with the architecture and decor of each station reflecting its name. 

By contrast, the Almaty metro consists of a single line. Although construction started in the late 1980s, the newly independent government of Kazakhstan was unable to finish the project after funds from Moscow dried up following the collapse of the USSR. Construction resumed in the 2000s, and most of the Almaty tram network was disassembled in anticipation of the metro’s opening in 2011. In retrospect, a strange decision considering the fact that the tram lines followed different routes than the new metro line, had way more stops, and hence would have been a great supplement to the metro system. Similar to Tashkent, there are ambitious plans to revive the Almaty tram – albeit now as a light rail.  

This year, the region will also see the long-awaited opening of the Astana light rail, or light metro, connecting the city’s airport with the main train station. Construction of this system started back in 2011, but was put on hold multiple times because of problems with funding and a corruption scandal, in which “officials and Astana LRT [light rail transit] executives had inflated contracts and embezzled the difference, which a court later heard ran to 5.8 billion tenge ($13 million at current exchange rates).” For many years, a series of massive concrete pillars stood as silent reminders of the unfinished project, until in 2023, Kazakhstan’s President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev ordered it to be completed. Meanwhile, the Kazakh news outlet Orda.kz reports that the search for those involved in the embezzlement of public funds is still ongoing.

The crucial role of regional governments

In short, most problems related to public transportation in Central Asia are the result of poor planning and haphazard decision-making. Regional governments have largely failed to take back control over public transit in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union. Although in some major cities, such as Dushanbe, there is discussion about developing modern light rail and metro systems, basic public transport options, such as (trolley)buses, remain inadequate. In fact, in many cities, big and small, these services are still being whittled away. 

Apart from such infrastructure-related issues, a World Bank specialist concluded that the poor state of public transit in Central Asian cities is also in large part “due to regulated fixed fares (which are insufficient to meet operating expenses), a high number of fare exemptions for multiple categories of people, and the inability to provide state subsidies on a stable basis.” As such, local authorities are not only part of the problem – they also hold the key to improving urban mobility. 

Text and photos by Julian Postulart

For more news and analysis from Central Asia, follow us on Twitter, Facebook, Telegram, Linkedin or Instagram.

The post Navigating the gridlock: Central Asia’s struggle with urban public transit appeared first on Novastan English.

Tajikistan has one of the highest emigration rates globally, with most Tajiks migrating to Russia for work. One million Tajiks are estimated to reside in Russia at any given time, sending crucial remittances back home. However, migration is not just about money. Novastan interviewed Dr Elena Borisova who, in her book, argues that social expectations related to what it means to be a ‘good’ person play a crucial role in motivating Tajiks to move to Russia.

Tajikistan’s economy is highly dependent on remittances. Approximately one million Tajiks reside in Russia, mostly for work. When in Russia, Tajiks face xenophobia, an increasingly restrictive migration regime and even the risk of being drafted into the Russian army to fight in Ukraine. What then motivates Tajiks to continue to move to Russia, despite the growing risks involved?

Read more on Novastan: Moscow attacks highlight Tajikistan’s radicalisation problem

To discuss the paradoxes of migration from Tajikistan to Russia, Novastan spoke to Dr Elena Borisova, a social anthropologist based at the University of Sussex. Originally from Russia, Elena has studied migration since 2012. While doing her first research inside Russia, she there met an ethnically Uzbek woman who invited Elena to join her on a trip to her native village in the north of Tajikistan. Later, in 2017-2019, Borisova spent fourteen months conducting ethnographic fieldwork as part of her PhD research there. Based on this research, she published her book ‘Paradoxes of Migration in Tajikistan: Locating the good life’, which is freely available at the website of UCL Press.

Common misconceptions about migration from Tajikistan

Elena Borisova highlights two common misconceptions about migration in Russia, which also apply to migration in general. First, migration is often seen as a ‘new’ phenomenon, without a history. As her colleagues Malika Bahovadinova and Isaac Scarborough showed, in the late Soviet period, there were programs to resettle Central Asians to Russia. These were often unsuccessful, as Central Asians did not want to move. Russian ethnographers and sociologists explained this failure as the result of inherent traditionalism in Central Asia. However, when the Central Asian republics experienced deep economic crises after the fall of the Soviet Union, many Central Asians did migrate to Russia, which caught many Russian researchers by surprise.

Second, migration is often explained with the help of economic theories, in which migrants are exclusively seen as rational actors trying to maximise their economic benefits. This is coupled with ‘push-pull’ logic: Central Asia has a ‘labour excess’, which leads to a ‘flow’ of migrants that is ‘absorbed’ by Russia’s economy. This obscures the motivations and experiences of the individual migrants, and the obstacles they face. Why do Tajiks feel they need to migrate? Motivations vary.

Migration as a way to live the ‘good’ life

Elena Borisova’s work shows that migration is intimately linked with people’s pursuit of living a ‘good’ life. This is not just about getting ahead economically, but also about being recognised as a good person by your community. To achieve this status, one must engage in major life projects, such as getting married, building a house, getting children and caring for the elderly, in a good and timely manner. After the Soviet Union collapsed it became practically impossible to achieve these things while working in Tajikistan. So, migration emerged as an alternative way to fulfil social expectations.

The village where Elena Borisova lived and conducted her ethnographic fieldwork, in Sughd province in the north of Tajikistan, was transformed by the Soviet modernisation project in the 1950s. A factory was built, which provided work and infrastructure. Schools, kindergartens, libraries and even a House of Culture were built, which gradually transformed people’s lifestyles. Goods produced at the local factory were shipped all the way to Moscow, and the local youth travelled throughout the USSR for education and military service. Graduates from around the Soviet Union also moved to Tajikistan to work, and people with different ethnicities mingled at work in the factory and during social activities. Russian became the lingua franca as it was seen as an integral part of this modernity.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the ‘modernity’ that had emerged came under pressure. The movements of goods and people throughout the Soviet space came to a standstill, and infrastructure gradually degraded. These changes were experienced as isolating the village. Interethnic social relations declined when the factory and social facilities shut down. Migration to Russia slowly started in the 1990s but really took off in the early 2000s, after the border with Uzbekistan had closed. Going to Russia was an attempt of retaining modernity, which was already linked to mobility since the very emergence of the new industrialised place on the map. It was not just about closing a financial gap, but also about perceiving the ideal of being a modern, cultured person.

Retaining modernity

A tragic paradox arises in that when Tajiks come to Russia, these modes of self-fashioning are not relevant in Russian society. The Russian migration regime sees Central Asians as unskilled, disposable labour migrants. The Tajiks are there to create modernity for the Russian middle classes but are never recognised by the Russians as being modern themselves.

While the conceptions of the ‘good’ life in different parts of Tajikistan might vary, they are always bound up with social expectations that can be contradictory. In her book, Borisova highlights the example of a man who is a single child and does not have a son himself. This requires him to simultaneously care for his immediate family and his elderly parents, for which he needs to be physically present in his village. However, he is also expected to provide for them financially, to build a house and to organise important festivities. This forces him to move to Russia to work and make money. These contradictory social expectations make him move back and forth between Russia and Tajikistan constantly, which puts a lot of pressure on him.

Weddings are particularly important social events that mark the creation of a new family, and a person’s gender and place in the extended family. To be perceived as a good person you need to have your wedding in a timely manner, before you are considered too old. Weddings then create social obligations between people and are important in establishing social networks. If you invite someone to your wedding, they ‘owe’ you and you can turn to them for future help.

The scope of festivities has differed over time, and some research suggests that they were the largest in late Soviet times. Festivities shrank during the post-Soviet economic downturn and the civil war in the 1990s but have increased in size again due to migration. Working in Russia has given people access to more financial means, and this has exacerbated competition when it comes to feasts. People feel pressured to organise larger and larger family events and are often forced to go to Russia to make enough money to pay for them.

Another paradox relates to citizenship. Russia has tightened its migration regime since 2012, and in 2016 introduced a blacklist of Tajiks who are not allowed to enter Russia. To avoid being blacklisted, many Tajiks have tried to obtain Russian citizenship. However, this should not be seen as them ‘belonging’ to Russia, but rather as an attempt to facilitate meeting social obligations and expectations at home. This, rather than ‘legality’, is their main concern. People are concerned with entry bans and illegal status only as far as it troubles the temporalities of their social being.

The impact of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine

Dr Borisova’s current research together with Dr Malika Bahovadinova examines how Russia weaponizes the institute of citizenship to attract manpower for its war in Ukraine. The regime grants citizenship as a reward for doing military service and threatens with police violence or revoking citizenship when naturalised citizens fail to meet military expectations. The Tajiks are using their decades worth of knowledge about Russia’s bureaucracy and changing migration laws to navigate these new existential risks.

Read more on Novastan: How Russia is recruiting Central Asian soldiers for its war in Ukraine

In Russian media, this has resulted in a new popular construct – that of a ‘migrant with a Russian passport’. This concept shows how the distinction between a migrant and a citizen is obfuscated. Developments like these change the perception that Tajiks have of Russia, and of migrating there. That is why many Tajiks are looking to move elsewhere. Yet, this is often easier said than done. Tajiks have established themselves in Russia for decades. They often own property there, and their children often only speak Russian.

Central Asian governments are also exploring new destinations for their citizens to work. For example, Uzbekistan signed agreements with different countries, including with Germany, which has recruited Uzbek care workers. Uzbekistan also seeks to strengthen cooperation with Saudi Arabia, South Korea, Turkey, and the UK as potential recipients of migrant workers.

Time will tell whether the diversification of Central Asian migrant workers’ destinations will continue.

The interview has been edited for length and clarity.

For more news and analysis from Central Asia, follow us on Twitter, Facebook, Telegram, Linkedin or Instagram.

The post The paradoxes of migration from Tajikistan to Russia: an interview with Dr Elena Borisova appeared first on Novastan English.

Over thirty years after the Soviet Union’s collapse, colonial influences persist in Kazakhstan. Russian remains widely spoken and serves as the primary language for interethnic communication. As language is a vital symbol of national identity, the enduring linguistic prominence of Russian poses a significant challenge to fully decolonising Kazakh identity. However, the invasion of Ukraine has spurred a young, urban middle class to confront these imperial remnants by reclaiming their native language.

Russia’s colonial war against Ukraine has sent shockwaves throughout Central Asia. Moscow’s emphasis on historical, cultural and linguistic connections makes other former Soviet republics feel increasingly uncomfortable. 

Especially in Kazakhstan, home to a sizable ethnic Russian population, many fear that their country could be next on the Kremlin’s list. These concerns are not unfounded. Since the start of the war in Ukraine, Russian propagandists have repeatedly voiced thin-veiled threats about annexing parts of their southern neighbour. 

Moreover, after partial mobilisation was announced in Russia in September 2022, hundreds of thousands of predominantly young men fled across the border into Kazakhstan. Their arrival has exacerbated existing concerns, and magnified domestic tensions between social groups that identify themselves differently.  

Although over the past three decades, Kazakhstan’s government has attempted to forge a new national identity, Russian influence remains. Since the conquest of the Kazakh steppe in the 19th century by tsarist forces, the lands and the people inhabiting the territory of modern-day Kazakhstan were shaped by imperial rule. First by the Russian Empire, then by the Soviet Union. 

In the 20th century, forced collectivisation uprooted traditional lifestyles and led to famine. Countless people flocked to towns and cities in a desperate search for food and work, places which themselves were colonial spaces, dominated by imperial infrastructure and buildings. Rapid urbanisation and industrialisation have scarred the landscape and still cause pollution and environmental and health problems to this very day. 

Russia’s linguistic legacy

But apart from these more abstract, postcolonial realities, there is the pertinent yet controversial issue of language. In the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, many have grown painfully aware of the influence Russia still exerts over Kazakhstan through language. 

Over thirty years after independence, Russian remains the country’s main interethnic language. Political scientist Dossym Satpayev, in a piece for Chatham House, writes that Russification policies in the colonial era suppressed the Kazakh language so thoroughly that most forgot how to speak their native tongue. As the de facto official language of the USSR, speaking Russian was key to social mobility. 

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the benefits of learning the Kazakh language remained negligible. Although Kazakh is the state language, and Russian a mere ‘official’ language, in reality, Russian-speakers still enjoyed significant privileges and advantages. Until recently, insufficient knowledge of spoken Kazakh was hardly considered a problem, as Russian proficiency was enough to live a comfortable life, especially in the north and in the cities, where most of Kazakhstan’s Russian-speaking population is concentrated.

In education, Russian has been more advantageous for increasing the possibilities to study at renowned schools and universities in Russia, partly because of the availability of a broader range of academic resources. Similarly, career-wise, Russian speakers have traditionally had more job opportunities. By contrast, Kazakh was viewed as backward and inferior, as sociologist Azamat Junisbai remembers how, while growing up, he associated the Kazakh language exclusively as rural, uncultured and of low status.

Read more on Novastan: “Alaqan” – Aida Adilbek’s decolonial documentary cinema

Fear for antagonising Moscow

Initially, Kazakhstan’s government made little effort to support the elevation of the Kazakh language. Policymakers were concerned that such a stance would feed into rising Kazakh nationalism, which in turn could endanger the country’s inter-ethnic stability. 

So, from the 1990s onwards, it chose to counter early national-patriotic movements by prioritising the development of a Kazakhstani civic identity. This civic identity, epitomised by the slogan ‘unity in diversity,’ sought to rally all people of Kazakhstan around the flag of the newly independent republic, regardless of ethnicity. 

However, the main threat to inter-ethnic stability did not emanate from Kazakh nationalism, nor from the country’s sizable Russian minority. As a matter of fact, Astana’s stance on the issue was long guided by the fear that, should it have followed a more ethno-national course, Kazakhstan would have risked antagonising its northern neighbour. 

Demographics driving change

Meanwhile, it was increasingly difficult for the government to balance the national interest against grassroots calls for the strengthening of Kazakh ethnic identity. After independence, millions of Russians left Kazakhstan, dramatically changing the country’s demographic make-up. Kazakhs now form a clear majority. They are the country’s fastest–growing ethnic group, and their proportion of the total population is only expected to increase. 

Satpayev, in his contribution for Chatham House, argues that the strengthening of national-patriotic sentiments and movements is occurring organically. Based on demographic trends, support for a Kazakh ethnic identity will continue to grow, while the use of the Russian language is expected to decline.

The Russian invasion of Ukraine catalysed societal developments resulting from these demographic developments, which are shaping current and future political preferences. Not so long ago, the debate on national identity was quite marginal, predominantly talked about among small-circles of Kazakh-speaking intellectual elites. The war has caused this discussion to spillover into public domain, with an ever-increasing number of people rediscovering what it means to be Kazakh in the context of persistent colonial legacies.

Language as a decolonial tool

Language possibly is the most enduring bastion of Russian influence in Kazakhstan. In an episode of RFE/RL’s Majlis Podcast, sociologist Junisbai discusses how older generations primarily engage with Russian media, which makes them more susceptible to Russian propaganda. Consequently, the idea of so-called benevolent colonialism still is widespread among the elderly. Many believe that Kazakhstan owes much to foreign rule, such as industrialisation and modernisation. 

Read more on Novastan: Pressure from Russia increases on Central Asian media outlets

This sentiment is not shared with younger generations. They have no living memory of the Soviet Union, and seek to undo the final vestiges of Russian and Soviet colonialism in pursuit of a new Kazakh identity. For them, language is a tool for decolonisation. On the streets, for example, this is reflected in the growing popularity of fashion brand Qazaq Republic. This company, famous for its trendy clothing and other merchandise with patriotic Kazakh and English language slogans, owes much of its success to ongoing societal developments.

In an article by media outlet The Diplomat, Biybaris Seitak — founder of a popular Kazakh language Instagram channel Kazakh Bubble — says that the Russian invasion of Ukraine made many Kazakhs realise “that speaking Kazakh was a matter of national security.” The war has made them feel uncomfortable talking about decolonisation in the language of the former coloniser. 

Hence, Russia’s invasion caused many to put words into deeds. The popularity of Kazakh language schools and clubs has exploded, and Kazakhstan’s government has jumped the bandwagon by introducing new plans promoting the Kazakh language.

Even though President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev has stated that the proposed alphabet reform, which would see the transition of written Kazakh from Cyrcillic to a Latin-based script, should not be ‘rushed’, he has introduced several other plans for a more independent language policy. These include a mandatory Kazakh language test for people wanting to obtain citizenship, a draft plan for a new media law to increase the use of the Kazakh language, and education reforms aimed at boosting Kazakh proficiency. 

An unstoppable development

Yet, fears of backlash remain. The growing importance of Kazakh could alienate the non-Kazakh speaking population, such as the country’s still significant Russian minority. Satpayev, in his work for Chatham House, described that these people could feel ‘trapped’ or even discriminated against. A conflict of identities looms, heightening the risk of radicalisation and pro-Russian separatism which could trigger a response from Moscow.

Read more on Novastan: “An escalating manifestation of Russophobia” – Kazakhstan at the epicentre of an information war

Prior to the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Russia used the perceived infringement of Russians’ rights abroad to intervene in neighbouring countries, either diplomatically, economically or militarily. However, chances of Russia invading Kazakhstan for the promotion of the Kazakh language are slim. Moscow is preoccupied on other fronts and, more importantly, it needs Kazakhstan for economic reasons, including for the import of dual-use goods that help Russia sustain its war effort against Ukraine. 

In short, neither Astana nor Moscow is in the position to stop the growing importance of the Kazakh language in Kazakhstan, even if they wanted to. The war in Ukraine and tensions with the West are currently constraining any meaningful Russian response. In parallel, demography is pushing Tokayev’s government ever-closer towards embracing a more ethno-centric national identity. What the future holds remains to be seen. Yet, as long as this geopolitical reality persists, the decolonisation of Kazakhstan is expected to continue. 

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The post The Lexicon of Kazakh Decolonisation appeared first on Novastan English.

Almost every year, countries in Central Asia are placed at the bottom of NGO Reporters Without Borders’, annual ranking for the freedom of press. Every country has dropped in ranking, compared to the previous year.

The position of media coverage in Central Asia has never been renowned for its freedom. However, it seems that this year marks a turning point. 

In the NGO Reporters Without Borders’, new report as published on the 3^rd May 2023, it is noted that if ‘the Russian invasion in Ukraine and the deployment of the Kremlin’s propaganda […] has darkened the whole region [of Eastern Europe]’, Central Asian countries have also seen a sharp decline in their freedom of press since last year.

In a ranking of 180 countries, the nations that are in theory the most liberal in the region, such as Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan, are regressing. Kyrgyzstan is undergoing the most substantial evolution by dropping fifty rankings from 72^nd place to 122^nd place. Meanwhile, Kazakhstan fell twelve lines and is now positioned 134^th. Uzbekistan fell by four points (now at 137^th) due to the rise of attacks against the media.

The Remarkable Fall of Kyrgyzstan 

The deterioration of the freedom of press in Kyrgyzstan is evidenced by multiple attacks against journalists since 2022, as well as the promulgation of the law against false information in summer 2021. Under the scope of this law, the Kyrgyz government is intensifying the campaign against Kyrgyz service of the Radio Free Europe, known locally as Azattyk, in demanding the withdrawal of its licence on the 27^th April. At the end of October 2022, the Ministry of Culture blocked Azattyk as it refused to remove a video addressing the confrontations between Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, at their border. 

Amnesty International asserts that this decision was a ‘blow to media freedom’, whilst the Committee to Protect Journalists has called it ‘a deeply chilling message.’ Reporters Without Borders speaks of ‘increasingly severe censorship’ in Kyrgyzstan.

Read more on Novastan: Closure of Radio Azattyk sparks discontent from civil society and international human rights activists

Last January, the independent media service Kloop found itself in a similar situation. The Ministry of Culture had threatened to block Kloop’s website if the editors refuse to withdraw an article on the inflating of construction costs by a state agency.

Last November, the journalist Bolot Temirov was extradited to Russia following a politically motivated trial, after he had denounced cases of corruption on his YouTube channel, Temirov Live.

Kazakhstan and Online Censorship

In Kazakhstan, media censorship is issued more discretely by blocking websites that might unsettle power. A report by the Open Observatory of Network Interference (OONI) indicates that authorities are obstructing access to the Azattyq website, the Kazakh service of Radio Free Europe.

Read more on Novastan: “An escalating manifestation of Russophobia” – Kazakhstan at the epicentre of an information war

From the snap presidential election of November last year till this January the access to the websites of Radio Azattyq and Current Time, another branch of Radio Free Europe, was blocked.

Kazakhstan has also promulgated a law ‘on the mass media’, a pretext to regulate, or even censor, the information that is available on the internet and particularly the information spreading in social media.

Pressure on Journalists in Uzbekistan

As in the previous year, Reporters Without Borders notes that in Uzbekistan, ‘the situation for the media has only slightly improved since the death of President Islam Karimov in 2016, and criticism of the government remains difficult.’ Nevertheless, Uzbekistan has gained twenty-four points in 2022.

Notably, the report indicates that the Uzbek authorities have ‘extensive’ control of the media and that many bloggers have close ties to the government. The country enforces ‘repressive’ laws on the media and ‘widespread surveillance, censorship and auto-censorship’, reports Gazeta.uz.

Read more on Novastan: Pressure from Russia increases on Central Asian media outlets

‘The large and medium media platforms, as well as bloggers with an audience of over 5,000 people, are subjected to intense pressures and censorship,’ as reported to Novastan by an Uzbek blogger with a small audience. ‘However, there are exceptions, with some channels having less than 1,000 to 2,000 subscribers who are also now facing pressure’, he continues.

Another Uzbek journalist with a critical stance on the government tells Novastan about the recent pressure imposed by the authorities upon journalists and bloggers, ahead of the constitutional referendum of the 30^th April 2023. ‘I know of at least three examples where managers of Telegram channels and journalists have been summoned to the State Security Service for a conversation’, he testifies.

Tajikistan and Turkmenistan, Always Bottom of the Ranking

Tajikistan and Turkmenistan, whose political regimes are the most repressive, remain at the bottom of the ranking. Compared to last year, Tajikistan drops one position on the list, now ranking 153^rd place. According to the NGO, the country has transitioned from a ‘difficult’ to a ‘very difficult’ position with regard to its freedom of press. The report notes that more and more journalists are choosing to exile.

Over the past year, repression has intensified against all forms of opposition, particularly in the Gorno-Badakhshan region and against the Pamiris ethnic minority. Certain activists for the community, who have been exiled, have been extradited to their countries of origin and sentenced to long-term prison sentences.

Read more on Novastan: Human rights in Tajikistan: Interview with the UN Special Rapporteur

Turkmenistan ranks 176^th place and remains among the five worst-ranked countries. Reporters Without Borders notes that censorship in Turkmenistan increased after Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedow’s son, Serdar Berdimuhamedow, rose to power in March 2022.

For more news and analysis from Central Asia, follow us on Twitter, Facebook, Telegram, Linkedin or Instagram.

The post In Central Asia, the Freedom of Press is in Decline appeared first on Novastan English.

Russian president Vladimir Putin has invited his counterparts from Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, and Uzbekistan to attend the annual Victory Day celebrations in Moscow on May 9. The occasion marks the first time the Central Asian presidents will meet Putin after the latter’s indictment by the International Criminal Court.

On April 25, the office of the Kyrgyz president issued a press release stating that Kyrgyzstan’s Sadyr Japarov would attend the annual military parade on Red Square on May 9 as a “guest of honour”. Several days later, on May 5, Putin also invited Tajikistan’s Emomali Rahmon to Moscow.

The day before the parade, on May 8, a rapid fire of invitations sent the presidents of Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan all flying to Russia. It will be the first time in years that all five Central Asian presidents will take part in the Victory Day celebrations.

Since the start of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the Kremlin has paid significantly more attention to Central Asia. In 2022 alone, Putin visited all five countries in the region – something that had not happened in a long time. While the Russian president is increasingly cornered internationally, Moscow clearly holds on tight to its few remaining allies.

Yet, this will be the first time for Central Asian leaders that they share the stage with the Russian president after he was charged with war crimes.

A wanted man

Recently, the International Criminal Court (ICC) issued an arrest warrant for the Russian president on allegations relating to the illegal deportation of Ukrainian children from occupied areas to Russia.

Last week, South African authorities warned that Putin risks being arrested during the upcoming BRICS summit in August, should the Russian president decide to make an appearance. South Africa has ratified the founding treaty of the ICC and hence obligated to act should Putin set foot in the country.

In Central Asia, Tajikistan is the only state party to the treaty and thus – in theory – bound to cooperate with the Court. Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan both signed the treaty some twenty years ago, but have so far failed to ratify it. By contrast, Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan are non-signatory states. Hence, should the Russian president decide to visit the region, as he did so often last year, chances of Central Asian authorities refusing Putin entry because of the arrest warrant are slim.

An offer one can’t refuse

In many ways, Central Asia still is highly dependent on Russia. According to political analyst Arkady Dubnov, who was interviewed by Kyrgyz news outlet Kloop about the Kremlin’s invitation to Japarov, Bishkek had no choice but to accept.

Kyrgyzstan still has deep economic ties with Russia. Although China is making significant inroads in Central Asia as part of its Belt and Road Initiative, Russia remains incredibly important in terms of trade and remittances.

Read more on Novastan: Effects of sanctions on Russia strongly felt in Dushanbe

The most recent data from the World Bank show that over 30 percent of Kyrgyz GDP consists of remittances. 97 percent of these remittances are sent by Kyrgyz migrants working in Russia. Hence, it is safe to say that economic ties with Russia are highly asymmetrical and Moscow is well aware of this.

In the case of Tajikistan, economic dependence on Russia is just as significant. As Tajik news media Asia Plus reported that last year, remittances from Russia reached a record high. Russian authorities also registered a post-pandemic spike in migrant inflow. In 2022, nearly one million people from Tajikistan travelled to Russia for work.

Central Asia as a sanctions loophole

The war in Ukraine, however, has somewhat tilted the balance in favour of Central Asian economies. Countries such as Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan have transformed into important hubs for reexporting goods to Russia.

Radio Azattyk, the Kyrgyz service of Radio Liberty that was recently forced to shut down, interviewed Temir Shabdanaliev, head of a Kyrgyz lobbying group, about this trend. He explained: “If goods from Europe were previously sent to Russia, now they are registered as deliveries to Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan. But as soon as they are unloaded here, they are immediately taken to Russia.“

As a result, trade to and from Central Asia has boomed since the start of western sanctions. In Kyrgyzstan, there has been a remarkable uptick in trade of “shampoo, toothpicks, soap, and car parts”, according to RFE/RL.

Read more on Novastan: Turkey continues exporting drones to Central Asia

Relevant authorities in Tajikistan also signalled an increase in trade with Russia. Last year Tajik authorities were even accused of supplying Moscow with Iranian-designed drones for its war in Ukraine. These accusations were based on a recent deal Dushanbe signed with Tehran to produce drones under license in Tajikistan. However, US-based magazine The Diplomat found no visual evidence to support claims that Tajik-manufactured drones were roaming Ukrainian skies.

Risky business

But there is a certain risk in reexporting goods to Russia. The EU has warned the Central Asian republics that it could impose secondary sanctions on businesses helping Russia dodge sanctions.

For countries like Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, there is little room for manoeuvre. Economic dependence on Russia often outweighs western pressure. However, the invasion of Ukraine has made many in Central Asia aware of existing neo-colonial power relations.

Several weeks ago, Eurasianet reported about a Russian ban on the import of Kyrgyz dairy products after Bishkek moved to adopt a law to promote the Kyrgyz language. The Kremlin sees this development as an attempt to curb its cultural influence in Central Asia.

Patronage to Putin

May 9 is yet another important reminder of the region’s colonial past. That is why over the past decades, most Central Asian countries have gradually said goodbye to Soviet-imposed Victory Day. 

In Kazakhstan, military parades have been scrapped “to maintain the required level of combat readiness”, press agency Kazinform reported. In Turkmenistan, May 9 has not been a public holiday since 2018. Victory Day in Uzbekistan has been transformed into a ‘Day of Remembrance and Honour,’ emphasizing commemoration over military pomp.

Read more on Novastan: Kazakhstan: commemorating Victory Day without military parade

Although Victory Day in Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan still bears significant resemblance to the Soviet era, times are changing there as well. In many places, celebrations are scaled down or rescheduled to both countries’ respective independence days. Owing to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, this process will likely accelerate.

Yet, nation-building and symbolism remain subject to real-world constraints. As long as economic dependence continues, regional leaders have no option but to pay patronage to where the money comes from: Putin’s Russia.

Correction: in an earlier version of this article it was stated that Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan are parties to the ICC. Although the two countries have signed the founding treaty of the ICC, both have failed to ratify it as of yet. Hence, neither Tashkent nor Bishkek is legally obligated to cooperate with the Court.

For more news and analysis from Central Asia, follow us on Twitter, Facebook, Telegram, Linkedin or Instagram.

Written by Julian Postulart

The post Central Asian presidents invited to attend Russian Victory Day Parade appeared first on Novastan English.

In Central Asia, the beginning of spring is traditionally marked by Nowruz, also known as ‘Persian New Year.’ Typical holiday celebrations include horse games, family visits, and large feasts. But Nowruz is not only fun and games. As political leaders seek to break with their countries’ colonial past, Nowruz remains a popular tool in the quest for regional identity.

A faint smell of grass in the air, blue skies yet barren trees. In the outskirts of Bishkek, hundreds of supporters cheer as twenty-some men on horseback compete over a goat carcass. The date is March 21, and it is the first day of spring, an occasion that is marked by a region-wide holiday known as Nowruz. But not all Nowruz celebrations are as spectacular as the traditional polo-like horse game Kok Boru played at the Bishkek hippodrome.

The lead up to Nowruz is possibly just as important as the holiday itself. Regional differences aside, most people in Central Asia start preparing for Nowruz with a spring cleaning of their homes. Others repay their debts or reconcile with enemies to start the new year with a clean slate. On Nowruz itself, the day of the spring equinox, people dress up and spend time with family, friends or neighbours. Food and drinks are especially important and, in most countries, a centuries-old tradition prescribes that ‘sumalak’ is made. This incredibly sweet dessert is made from sprouted wheat.

The Zoroastrian roots of Nowruz

But enough with the customs and traditions – Nowruz is not only fun and games. This holiday has a political element to it as well. In the past, different rulers and colonisers have tried to suppress Nowruz. To explore the modern-day politics of Nowruz, it is essential to delve deeper into its history. Nowruz is also called ‘Persian New Year,’ a name that reveals this holiday’s Iranian roots. Although the exact origin story of Nowruz remains shrouded in mystery, most historians agree that Zoroastrianism was the driving force behind it.

Zoroastrianism is the world’s oldest monotheistic religion and is based on the teachings of Zoroaster, an Iranian prophet. Central to this religion is the battle between Good and Evil, often framed in terms of light and darkness. In this regard, it is clear to see why Nowruz is so important to Zoroastrians, as the arrival of spring generally brings warmer weather and longer days. The Zoroastrian roots of Nowruz also explain the holiday’s popularity in Central Asia. Many experts claim that Zoroaster, the religion’s founder, was a native speaker of Avestan. This Persian dialect was predominant in an area stretching from eastern Iran to Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. In short, Zoroastrianism, with all its customs and traditions, has ancient roots in Central Asia and might even have originated there.

A quintessential Central Asian holiday

Yet, contemporary Nowruz celebrations in Central Asia are not the same as they were thousands of years ago. They have been shaped by the unique geography of the region, as well as the peoples that came to inhabit Central Asia as the result of migration, invasion and (forced) assimilation. Historically, Nowruz has been associated with Greater Iran. Since antiquity, cities like Samarkand and Bukhara had been important centres of Persian culture and language. Until this day, a majority of the people living in these two cities still speak the Tajik dialect of the Persian language. But with the Muslim conquest of Central Asia and the influx of Turkic and Mongol tribes from the north, this Persian cultural dominance started to wane.

Read more on Novastan: Four Central Asian cultural practices newly inscribed on UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage List

With new rulers came new cultural influences. Some of these conquerors initially tried to suppress local customs and traditions like Nowruz. But neither Muslim leaders nor Turco-Mongol warlords such as Timur succeeded in abolishing ‘Persian New Year’. Instead, they embarked on a more successful approach of co-adaptation by integrating some of their own folklore into already existing cultural practices. That is why today, Nowruz in Central Asia is characterised by both nomadic traditions, such as Kok Boru, and Persian influences like the drinking of sumalak.

Colonisation and suppression

When the Russian imperial armies came to colonise Central Asia in the late 19th century, however, things changed. In modern-day Uzbekistan, the Russians had left the Emir of Bukhara as a local figurehead. To save face and strengthen his political legitimacy, the annual Nowruz celebrations were an excellent opportunity to show off. The emir even invited circus artists from European Russia to perform. But among the local population, popularity of Nowruz decreased. When the Soviets took over and annexed Central Asia after the Russian civil war, this trend continued. In the cities, Soviet engineers and urban planners redesigned public space, destroying centuries-old neighbourhoods in the process. This severely affected the social fabric of towns and cities throughout the region, hampering holiday preparations.

Read more on Novastan: “Hymns of Blood” – Tajik short stories from Perestroika

Moreover, during Soviet times, Nowruz was banned for years as it was seen as a religious holiday. Only after Soviet orientalists and ethnologists reframed it as pre-Islamic, celebrations were allowed once again. Especially since the collapse of the USSR, the popularity of Nowruz has increased spectacularly.

Nowruz as a political tool

Historically, Nowruz in Central Asia has always been subject to the political whims of local rulers. In the present day, this is no different. Nowruz encapsulates Central Asian histories, cultures, and geography. Hence, holidays like these can be instrumentalised by politicians and others who seek to break with the legacy of the Soviet-colonial past in a quest for regional and national identity. During the rule of late president Islam Karimov in Uzbekistan, for example, some government officials favoured Nowruz over Gregorian New Year. They even “issued instructions to stop holding end-of-year parties.” Holidays other than Nowruz were deemed “contrary to Uzbek culture.” Only after Karimov died and his successor President Shavkat Mirziyoyev took over in 2016, bans and constraints on celebrating Western-style New Year were relaxed.

Read more on Novastan: Central Asia and Russia: an ever-changing relationship

In Kazakhstan too, political leadership has rediscovered Nowruz as a way to strengthen legitimacy. In a move reminiscent of the Emir of Bukhara, current president Kassym-Jomart Tokayev has proposed several reforms with regard to Nowruz. These reforms include extending the national holiday to a whopping ten days instead of the usual four, as well as a proposal to deepen Nowruz’s spiritual and moral meaning. In 2022, Tokayev was re-elected president amid hopes and promises of political and societal reform. Some analysts argue that his plans are an attempt to break with the legacy of Tokayev’s predecessor, Nursultan Nazarbayev. But the low turnout of the recent parliamentary elections in Kazakhstan, just before Nowruz, illustrate that initial enthusiasm about reforms has somewhat subsided.

With deep historical roots in Central Asia, however, Nowruz is likely to remain a popular tool for identity politics as national leaders seek to navigate the future by cherry-picking from the region’s pre-colonial past.

Written by Julian Postulart

For more news and analysis from Central Asia, follow us on Twitter, Facebook, Telegram, Linkedin or Instagram.

The post Beyond fun and games – the politics of Nowruz appeared first on Novastan English.