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!

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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)

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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

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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.

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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. 

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

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

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