This article is published as part of a partnership between AUCA and Novastan, which brings graduate students’ academic work to a wider readership. Through this collaboration, Novastan aims to highlight research produced in and on Central Asia, and to make academic perspectives more accessible to the public.

In 2024, nearly one in every two marriages in Bishkek ended in divorce. According to official statistics, 45.4% of marriages registered in the capital resulted in divorce, compared to the national average of 28.9%. Across Kyrgyzstan, divorce has become increasingly common over the past several years. The trend is gradual rather than dramatic, but it is consistent. While roughly one in four marriages ended in divorce several years ago, the figure is now approaching one in three nationally and nearly one in two in Bishkek.

Also read on Novastan: Between Extended Family and Personal Boundaries: How Parenting is Changing in Kazakhstan

These numbers suggest that divorce is no longer unusual. Yet statistics tell only part of the story. Demographic change does not automatically transform social attitudes. A phenomenon can become common while still carrying stigma, judgment, and social consequences. This contradiction sits at the center of contemporary discussions about divorce in Kyrgyzstan.

This article is based on my own research that combined 31 survey responses, eight in-depth interviews, and an analysis of more than 200 social media comments. Rather than asking why people divorce, it explores how divorce is experienced, interpreted, and discussed in contemporary Kyrgyz society. It focuses not on legal procedures but on the social life of divorce: the conversations, expectations, judgments, and cultural meanings that continue long after a marriage ends.

One finding emerged repeatedly throughout the research: although divorce affects both spouses, its social consequences are often profoundly gendered. Women were more willing to discuss their experiences, while men frequently avoided conversations about divorce altogether. Existing scholarship suggests that emotional restraint remains an important part of dominant expectations of masculinity, while women are more often expected to explain, justify, and carry the social consequences of family outcomes.

Divorce is becoming statistically ordinary. Socially, however, it often remains a highly visible event, particularly for women.

Divorce rarely begins with leaving

If you listen carefully to how people talk about divorce, the story rarely begins with separation, it begins with staying.

Participants repeatedly described years of trying to preserve relationships before seriously considering leaving. They spoke about compromise, adaptation, and the belief that greater effort might eventually solve existing problems. Divorce did not appear in their stories as a first option. It appeared only after other possibilities had been exhausted.

“I kept thinking maybe I just need to try a bit more”.

“I thought it was my responsibility to keep the family together, even if it was hard”.

These statements reveal an important pattern. For many participants, especially women, the question was not whether they should leave but whether they had done enough to stay. The burden of proof worked in one direction, continuing the marriage required little explanation, ending it required justification.

Also read on Novastan: In Tajikistan, daughters-in-law face a hidden system of control

Several interviewees described spending years adapting to circumstances they considered temporary. They hoped that communication would improve, that family tensions would ease, or that personal sacrifices would eventually strengthen the relationship. In many cases, divorce was viewed as a last resort rather than a legitimate option among many possibilities.

What is particularly striking is how often responsibility was framed in gendered terms. Several women described feeling personally accountable for the success or failure of the marriage, even when difficulties involved both partners equally. When relationships deteriorated, many initially interpreted this not as evidence of incompatibility but as evidence that they needed to try harder.

As a result, divorce is rarely experienced as a single decision. Instead, it emerges at the end of a long process shaped by effort, repetition, compromise, and self-questioning. Before leaving comes staying, and before staying comes the belief that staying is what one is supposed to do.

Living under the question: “What will people say?”

Long before divorce becomes visible to others, many participants begin imagining how it will be perceived.

Several interviewees described preparing explanations before speaking to relatives or friends. Others delayed conversations entirely. What mattered was not only the existence of social reactions but the anticipation of them.

“You think it’s your situation, but very quickly it’s not just yours anymore”.

This finding resonates with the concept of “uyat”, often translated as shame. Scholars describe uyat as a mechanism through which social norms are maintained and behaviour is evaluated through the eyes of others. The concept extends beyond individual embarrassment. It reflects an awareness that personal actions can become subjects of collective evaluation.

Also read on Novastan: Bound by Tradition: Silent Suffering of Daughters-in-Law in Uzbekistan

Within this context, divorce is rarely experienced as a purely private matter. Participants frequently described thinking not only about their own feelings but also about how neighbours, relatives, colleagues, and acquaintances might interpret the situation.

Survey results reflected this pattern clearly, reactions came from multiple directions simultaneously. Friends and colleagues were among the most frequently mentioned groups, followed by parents and relatives from the spouse’s side. Extended family members, neighbours, and members of the broader community also played important roles.

The significance of these reactions lies not only in what people say but in the awareness that divorce becomes socially visible. Once it becomes visible, it enters conversations. It becomes interpreted, discussed, and evaluated.

“The hardest part wasn’t the divorce itself, but the realization that people would see it and talk about it”.

Female participants discussed this anticipation particularly often. Many worried about how others would interpret their divorce. Concerns about reputation, respectability, and blame appeared repeatedly. Some feared being seen as selfish. Others worried that people would assume they had failed as wives or mothers.

Also read on Novastan: Uzbekistan: when women demand to have a voice

Men were not absent from these conversations, but they appeared less frequently as subjects of social scrutiny. Women, by contrast, often expected to be asked what they had done wrong, whether they had tried hard enough, or why they failed to preserve the marriage.

The result is that social norms become powerful not only because people enforce them but because individuals internalize them. Even before reactions occur, people anticipate them. In this way, the possibility of judgment becomes part of the divorce experience itself.

Family as the interpreter of what is right

While society creates a broader environment of expectations, family often becomes the institution through which divorce acquires moral meaning.

Participants frequently described conversations focused less on emotional well-being and more on responsibility, effort, and obligation.

“I felt like I had to prove that I didn’t just leave without a reason”.

Relatives encouraged participants to remain patient, think about the children, and continue trying to preserve the family. Yet these expectations were rarely distributed equally.

Also read on Novastan: Through roads, markets and silence: Tolomush Zhanybekov films Kyrgyzstan’s unseen lives

Several women described being reminded of their duties as wives and mothers. References to patience, sacrifice, and endurance appeared repeatedly in their stories. Existing research from Kyrgyzstan and other patriarchal societies suggests that women are more likely to be viewed as guardians of family stability, making their decision to leave more visible and more likely to be questioned.

Importantly, these conversations were not always experienced as hostile. Many participants emphasized that relatives acted out of concern. Advice was often framed as support rather than criticism. Yet even supportive conversations frequently relied on the same assumptions: that preserving the family should remain the primary goal.

Participants also described being reminded of the years invested in the marriage, shared responsibilities, and the consequences of divorce for children. These arguments transformed divorce from a personal decision into a moral question. Leaving the marriage was not evaluated only in terms of individual well-being. It was evaluated in relation to obligations toward family and community.

This dynamic helps explain why divorce can remain socially difficult even when it becomes more common. Statistical frequency does not automatically remove moral expectations. The expectation to preserve the family continues to shape how divorce is interpreted and discussed.

The words that stay after

After the legal process ends, another dimension of divorce often remains: language.

Participants described encountering labels such as “razvedenka”, a term used for divorced women that frequently carries negative social connotations.

“When people say ‘divorcee’ it’s no longer just a fact. It’s as if everything about the person is immediately understood”.

Perhaps the clearest evidence of gendered perceptions appeared here. Participants repeatedly referred to labels used for divorced women, while comparable labels for divorced men appeared far less frequently in interviews and online discussions. This asymmetry suggests that women’s marital status remains more socially visible after divorce.

Also read on Novastan: « Kourmanjan Datka » : l’épopée féminine, nationaliste et historique de la reine de l’Alaï

The label does more than describe marital status. It often implies assumptions about character, responsibility, and social value. As a result, women frequently carry a social identity attached to divorce long after the legal process ends.

Several participants described subtle shifts in social interactions. They noticed changes in how people spoke to them, what questions they asked, and what assumptions they made. Some reported feeling excluded from certain social situations. Others described being treated as cautionary examples rather than individuals with unique experiences.

One participant recalled not being invited to a wedding because she was perceived as bringing bad luck. Whether such incidents are common or rare, they reveal how divorce can acquire symbolic meanings that extend beyond the event itself.

Language matters because it shapes perception. When a complicated life experience becomes reduced to a single label, the label often replaces the story behind it. People stop asking what happened and begin assuming they already know.

From city to region: different experiences of visibility

Participants consistently distinguished between urban and rural experiences.

“In villages everyone knows each other. In the city you can divorce and nobody knows”.

The difference is not necessarily one of values but of visibility. In smaller communities, personal information circulates rapidly through overlapping social networks. Divorce therefore becomes more public and more difficult to separate from one’s reputation.

Also read on Novastan: L’Asie centrale en documentaires et courts-métrages

In cities such as Bishkek, greater anonymity creates more opportunities for privacy. Social expectations remain present, but they are reinforced less through constant observation.

Participants frequently described village life as a setting where personal events quickly become collective knowledge. In such environments, divorce is more likely to become a topic of discussion across different social circles. This visibility can intensify pressure and increase awareness of public judgment.

For divorced women, this visibility often carries additional consequences. Reputation remains closely tied to expectations surrounding marriage and family, making community scrutiny particularly significant.

These observations correspond with broader demographic trends. Divorce rates tend to be higher in urban areas than in surrounding regions. Although many factors contribute to this difference, participants frequently linked it to varying levels of visibility, anonymity, and social control.

A society between two models of marriage

Many participants compared their experiences with those of previous generations.

“They stayed together not because they were happy, but because that’s how it was supposed to be”.

Increasingly, younger generations evaluate relationships not only by their longevity but also by their quality.

Also read on Novastan: Nicolas Faye : « Le Kirghizstan aspire à être mieux reconnu sur le plan international »

“We no longer look at how long people lived together, but at how they lived”.

Participants linked this shift to education, media exposure, and growing discussions about emotional well-being and healthy relationships. Access to new ideas has expanded conversations about personal boundaries, mutual respect, and emotional fulfillment.

Yet new ideas have not replaced older expectations entirely. Instead, both coexist.

This coexistence creates tension. Individuals may value personal well-being while simultaneously feeling pressure to conform to traditional expectations. They may believe that unhealthy relationships should end while also fearing the social consequences of divorce.

As a result, divorce occupies an ambiguous position in contemporary Kyrgyz society. It is becoming more common and, in some ways, more accepted. At the same time, it continues to carry stigma and remains subject to social judgment.

The findings reveal a central paradox. Divorce in Kyrgyzstan is becoming statistically ordinary, yet socially it often remains extraordinary.

The research also suggests that these consequences remain deeply gendered. While both men and women experience separation, women more frequently bear the burden of public evaluation, family expectations, social labeling, and responsibility for preserving relationships.

In this sense, divorce is not judged solely as the end of a marriage. It is often interpreted as a reflection of how successfully women are perceived to have fulfilled expected social roles.

Understanding divorce therefore requires looking beyond legal procedures and demographic statistics. It requires examining the cultural expectations, family dynamics, social norms, and gendered assumptions that continue to shape how separation is experienced and understood in contemporary Kyrgyzstan.

As divorce becomes increasingly common, an important question remains: will social attitudes eventually adapt to demographic reality, or will the gap between lived experience and public perception continue to persist? For now, the evidence suggests that while marriage is changing, the expectations surrounding it still carry considerable weight. That weight is often invisible, but for many divorced women, it remains impossible to ignore.

By Amaliia Abubakirova, Journalism student at the American University of Central Asia (AUCA)

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

The post The Hidden Weight of Divorce in Kyrgyzstan: Why Its Social Consequences Remain Gendered appeared first on Novastan English.

Citizens from Central Asia now represent the largest group of foreign nationals fighting in the Russian army. Novastan spoke with several of them after their capture by Ukrainian forces. Their accounts reveal how Central Asian migrants have become an especially vulnerable recruitment pool for Moscow.

In the yard of a military prison in Lviv region, West Ukraine, dozens of prisonners silently head towards the dining hall. The walls surrounding them are filled with portraits of Ukrainian prominent nationalist figures such as Daniel of Galicia or Stepan Bandera. In the largest prisoner camp in the whole country, everything is in Ukrainian, from the inscriptions to orders given to prisoners.

“There is no trouble here, they are pretty calm and do not brawl much” says a prison guard. In front of him, prisonners start entering the lunchroom, their faces blank. Some of them have already been detained for four years. Many prisonners clearly appear to have Asian features. Among them, some Russian citizens from Siberian republics of Buryatia and Yakutia, where mobilisation rates are particularly high.

Faites un don à Novastan

Many others come from the five former Soviet republics in Central Asia. “From what I saw, a majority of foreigners in the Russian army come from this region”, explains Khushbakht Peruzaliev. In spring 2024, the 47-year old Tajikistani citizen signed a contract to serve the Russian Army : “I was told that I would not have to go to the front or anything of this kind. They said I would only be working in a warehouse, so I accepted”, he remembers. But soon, these promises revealed to be lies. Few weeks later, the man was captured by Ukrainian forces after being injured in a frontal assault in Donetsk oblast.

Far beyond the 1,400 Africans or 200 Indian citizens that the Russian army recruited since the beginning of the war, more than 12,000 soldiers from Central Asia have already participated in the “special military operation”, according to public data published in April 2026 by the Ukrainian war prisoners coordination. More than half of foreign soldiers serving Russia are originally from Central Asia.

Passport promises amid raids and deportations

In Mykolaiv penitentiary, all Central Asian soldiers that Novastan met were already in Russia before 2022. “Recruitment efforts towards foreigners were targeting on both migrant workers and people who were in jail”, according to an officer of the Ukrainian coordination of war prisonners.

Ilyas, a 40-year old Kyrgyz citizen, worked as a drink retailer in Moscow since 2007. He signed his contract in April 2025. “During the hiring process, they didn’t directly promise me citizenship, but I knew I would have the possibility to obtain it after” he says.

Novastan est le seul média en français et en allemand spécialisé sur l'Asie centrale. Entièrement associatif, il fonctionne grâce à votre participation. Nous sommes indépendants et pour le rester, nous avons besoin de vous ! Vous pouvez nous soutenir à partir de 2 euros par mois (défiscalisé à 66 %), ou en devenant membre actif par ici.

Indeed, in January 2024, a decree was signed by Vladimir Putin, allowing certain foreigners to obtain Russian citizenship under the condition that they served the army, especially during the “special military operation”. The number of foreigners who benefited from this process remains unknown.

In Ukraine, most prisoners from Central Asia mention that they were sent to the front only after a short training, which caused heavy casualties. “We were moving to a village, when on the road, drones already started appearing and targeting us”, Ilyas remembers. He barely escaped, only to be taken prisoner shortly after.

Khushbakht Peruzaliev, a prisoner whose wife and children still live in Ryazan, 200 kilometers south east of Moscow, was harmed during an intense artillery bombing, while he was moving towards Ukrainian lines. “Half of the group was killed immediately, all 200 [Russian military code for death, Editor’s note]”. 

He describes a general climate of fear that began to appear “right after the Crocus City Hall attack”. This terrorist attack committed by Tajikistani citizens was claimed by the Islamic State of Khorasan, and killed 149 people. Following this tragedy, living conditions of Central Asian migrants in Russia got tougher. “Raids against Tajiks” became frequent, during which migrants were “barred from Russian territory”, according to Khushbakht Peruzaliev.

The Tajik migrant abandoned plans to renew his expired passport, for fear of being arrested on his way to the embassy in Moscow. “Eventually, special police forces started checking the construction site where I was working”, he explains. During police controls, he was promised to obtain citizenship if he accepted to join the army.

Caress Schenck, a political science professor at Nazarbayev University in Astana, acknowledges that “Tajiks were indeed more targeted than other ethnic groups from Central Asia, after the Crocus City Hall attack”. According to the Ukrainian coordination of war prisoners, Tajiks represent the second most represented nationality in the Russian army, with more than 3,400 recruits, while 4,800 Uzbeks and 2,400 Kazakhs also joined the army.

Caress Schenck reminds that, however, in Russia “migration control policies, raids and pressure to join the army are still highly influenced by the news cycle”.

Other ethnic groups have also been targeted since the beginning of the war, depending on the context : “Sometimes, anyone with Asian features can be perceived as suspicious”, according to the researcher.

Since November 2025, some foreigners in Russia are required to present a commitment contract in the army to obtain Russian citizenship or a residency permit. People from Central Asia are particularly impacted by these policies, as they make up more than 40% migrants living in Russia in 2020.

Despite that, all prisoners met by Novastan explain that they signed the contract by their own will to obtain a Russian passport, Caress Schenck mentions a strong administrative pressure on migrants that “reduces their ability to act and make their own decisions, rather than offering them a real choice”

The ideological vulnerability of migrants

In addition to the precarious administrative status of Central Asian migrants, the Russian army bases its mobilization stategy on shared ideological patterns. “As for me, I wanted to live in Russia. I considered that I had the right to obtain citizenship, so to earn it, I had to serve the homeland” says Jasur Islamov with a detached voice. After a year and a half in the army, in March 2025, the 38-year old man was promised he would obtain citizenship if he continued serving. A few weeks later, Jasur Islamov was captured, after being wounded by a drone strike.

Ilyas, Islamov and Khushbakht never tried to surrender on purpose, unlike accounts from other foreign prisoners of war fighting for Russia, such as African recruits. This behaviour at war could be explained by the fact that parts of migrant populations in Russia are already “Russian speakers, born in the 1970s or 1980s, under the Soviet Union”, according to the Ukrainian coordination of war prisoners.

Prisoners met by Novastan also state that they wish to go back to Russia, hoping to be included in a prisoner exchange. “We have nothing against an exchange of prisoners from Central Asia”, says the Ukrainian coordination of war prisoners. However, among the 7,000 Russian soldiers already exchanged, those originally from Central Asia remain a small minority. 

When Novastan asked them about their experience with racism in Russia, before or after serving, all assert that they “never” faced it. They are confident in their ability to rejoin Russian society after their detention, once they obtain a passport. “Could you imagine that I risked my life to obtain citizenship, and they would send me back to my country, when I have nothing left there ? It would be a huge betrayal” says Jasur Islamov, bitterly.

However, it would not be the first time that these war prisoners face disappointments related to their migrant experience in Russia. Despite being married to a Russian woman for years, Ilyas failed to obtain a passport : “I submitted all documents to apply for citizenship, a long time ago, but it was refused”. Jasur Islamov admits that he “did not even receive any money from the contract”, with only two months paid out of the eighteen months he spent in the army.

Novastan est le seul média en français et en allemand spécialisé sur l'Asie centrale. Entièrement associatif, il fonctionne grâce à votre participation. Nous sommes indépendants et pour le rester, nous avons besoin de vous ! Vous pouvez nous soutenir à partir de 2 euros par mois (défiscalisé à 66 %), ou en devenant membre actif par ici.

“I believe it would take years to dismantle internalized discriminations” Caress Schenk explains. The researcher reminds that in the Soviet imagery, racism was seen as inherent to capitalism and the Western bloc.

Citing the Geneva convention, the Ukrainian coordination of war prisoners explains that Central Asian citizens are treated the same as other prisoners. In the courtyard, on the weight training benches, Central Asian prisoners exercise alongside their Russian cellmates.

“We never thought we would end up here”, says Jasur Islamov. When he is reminded that he signed consciously and was aware of risks, the Uzbek detainee bristles : “You are talking as if I specifically signed to kill people… I only needed a place to live, a passport, to work and feed my family”. After a silence, he adds, regretfully : “I’m not saying we made the right decision. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone”.

Driss Rejichi,
Contributor for Novastan France

Translated by Elea Muresan

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 “I only needed a passport” : In Ukraine, Central Asian prisoners of wars caught between loyalty and regret appeared first on Novastan English.

Few works of literature are as politically alive as the Kyrgyz epic Manas. It is not simply an old poem, nor only a heroic tale recited by specialists. In Kyrgyzstan, Manas is a national reference point, a school subject, a monument, an airport name, a political symbol and a language of identity. It tells the story of a people gathering around a hero, but it also helps explain how modern Kyrgyzstan imagines itself: independent, mountainous, resilient, threatened from outside, and always searching for unity.

A story too large to stay in the past

The origins of Manas are difficult to date precisely because the epic was transmitted orally for centuries before being written down. Kyrgyz tradition often presents it as a very ancient work, sometimes linked to events of the ninth or tenth century; Western scholarship has been more cautious, pointing out that the earliest references are much later and that parts of the plot may reflect political realities from later centuries. In 1995, four years after independence, Kyrgyzstan turned Manas into a state-building event: the UN General Assembly formally recognized the year as the millennium commemoration of the Kyrgyz national epic.

What is certain is that Manas belongs to a living oral tradition. It was performed by manaschi, epic reciters who chant the story without musical accompaniment and who are respected not just as performers, but as carriers of memory. UNESCO describes the trilogy of Manas, Semetey and Seytek as a work that expresses the historical memory of the Kyrgyz people and tells of the unification of scattered tribes into one nation.

What the epic is about

At its core, Manas is a heroic epic about unity, warfare, migration, leadership and survival. The central figure, Manas, is a warrior who gathers and defends the Kyrgyz people against powerful enemies. The wider trilogy continues through his son Semetey and grandson Seytek, turning the story into a multi-generational saga of struggle, succession, loyalty, betrayal and renewal. The trilogy is a narrative about Manas’ uniting the forty scattered Kyrgyz tribes against attacks by powerful neighbours and leading his people through the Altai and toward the Alai region.

Also read on Novastan: « Manastchy » : l’âme kirghize dans toute sa poésie

The epic is enormous, but its political grammar is clear: a people survive when they unite; a leader is legitimate when he protects the community; enemies are both external and internal; and identity is forged through memory, sacrifice and struggle. This is why Manas is not read merely as literature. It is often treated as a national code.

Why Manas matters so much to Kyrgyz people

For Kyrgyz people, Manas is important because it offers a deep narrative of origins and continuity. It links modern Kyrgyz identity to a heroic past, to nomadic culture, to the mountains, to clan memory and to the idea of unity among the “forty tribes”, a motif also echoed in the forty rays of the Kyrgyz flag. This matters especially because Kyrgyzstan, like other post-Soviet states, had to build a national story after 1991. Manas offered something older than the Soviet Union and broader than a modern state border. It gave independent Kyrgyzstan a heroic genealogy, a cultural anchor and a language of sovereignty. In a young state marked by regional divisions, political upheaval and economic vulnerability, the epic’s promise of unity has remained attractive.

Manas in school and education

Yes, Manas is studied in Kyrgyzstan. It appears in school education and in higher education through literature, cultural history and “Manas studies” or Manasovedenie. In schools with the Kyrgyz-language teaching Manas is studied in eighth grade, in schools with the Russian-language teaching – in ninth grades and the eleventh grade in courses on Manas studies.

The epic is also used more broadly as a source of moral and civic education. Research on Kyrgyz education links Manas to the upbringing of schoolchildren and youth, especially through themes of cultural heritage, wisdom, moral values and national identity. At university level, the University of Central Asia has offered a “Manas Studies” course examining the epic’s role in the formation and development of Kyrgyz society and national identity.

Also read on Novastan: Le président kirghiz a signé le décret pour renommer Djalal-Abad en Manas

This educational presence is important politically. Teaching Manas is not just about preserving folklore. It is about shaping citizens through a national story.

Manas in everyday life

In Kyrgyzstan, Manas is everywhere. It appears in statues, street names, school lessons, cultural festivals, public ceremonies, tourism branding, official speeches and national iconography. Performances by manaschi remain part of social gatherings, celebrations and ceremonies. Traditional Manas performances take place at social gatherings, community celebrations and ceremonies, preserving the practice as a living form rather than a museum object.

The epic is also physically present in Bishkek. The statue of Manas on Ala-Too Square places the hero at the symbolic centre of the capital. Streets, institutions and cultural initiatives carry his name. Bishkek’s main airport was named “Manas” at the suggestion of Chinghiz Aitmatov, in honour of the hero of the Kyrgyz national epic. Manas functions as the country’s most recognisable national symbol. Even people who have never read or heard the full epic know Manas as the emblem of Kyrgyz strength, unity and sovereignty.

The political uses of Manas

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Manas acquired a new political function. Kyrgyzstan was no longer a Soviet republic but an independent state, and nation-building had to reconcile two potentially competing ideas: Kyrgyz ethnic identity and citizenship in a multi-ethnic country. For ethnic Kyrgyz, independence meant becoming the titular people of a sovereign state. For many Russians, Uzbeks, Germans, Jews and other minorities, it could also create a sense of sudden displacement within a country they had long considered home.

President Askar Akayev therefore used Manas carefully. He presented the epic as a unifying source of national values, but avoided turning it into an openly exclusionary ethnic ideology. This was politically important after the Kyrgyz-Uzbek clashes in the Ferghana Valley and amid fears that Russians, Germans and Jews would leave the country in large numbers. Drawing on the Soviet-era recognition of Manas as cultural heritage, Akayev promoted seven principles inspired by the epic as a basis for independent Kyrgyzstan’s national ideology. These principles softened the epic’s more divisive themes, including ethnic conflict, religious antagonism and hostility toward China, and instead emphasised ethnic pride, friendship among nationalities, hard work, respect for nature, humanism, nobility and forgiveness.

Also read on Novastan: L’épopée de « Manas » : encyclopédie de l’histoire et des mœurs kirghizes

This political use has continued in different forms. After 2010, the promotion of Manas intensified partly because of heritage politics, including concern over China’s 2009 UNESCO inscription of the Manas tradition associated with Kyrgyz communities in China. More recently, Manas has returned as a tool of state symbolism under President Sadyr Japarov. In September 2025, Japarov signed a law renaming Jalal-Abad, Kyrgyzstan’s third-largest city, as Manas. 

This is where the epic becomes current affairs. Invoking Manas allows political leaders to wrap infrastructure, centralisation, regional development, sovereignty and national unity in heroic language. It can inspire cohesion, but it can also serve as political theatre: a way to claim legitimacy by presenting contemporary decisions as continuations of an ancient national mission.

A national epic, but also a political risk

The political power of Manas lies in its flexibility. It can be used to promote unity in a divided country, cultural pride in a globalised world, and sovereignty in a region shaped by Russian, Chinese and broader geopolitical influence. But the same flexibility can also narrow public debate.

When leaders invoke Manas, they borrow the authority of the nation’s deepest cultural symbol. That can make ordinary political choices appear sacred or inevitable. A city renaming, a state-building project, a moral campaign or a geopolitical message can be presented not merely as policy, but as loyalty to ancestral memory.

Also read on Novastan: Un conteur récite l’épopée de Manas pendant plus de 14 heures pour battre le record du monde

This is the double edge of Manas. As an epic, it preserves a people’s imagination. As a political symbol, it can elevate power above criticism.

Why Manas still matters today

Manas remains valid today because Kyrgyzstan still faces many of the questions the epic dramatises: how to hold a diverse society together, how to defend sovereignty between larger powers, how to balance regional identities, how to define leadership, and how to transform memory into a future rather than a museum.

Also read on Novastan: Manas, de la tradition orale au jeu vidéo

The epic’s message of unity is still powerful, especially in a country with strong regional identities and a history of political upheaval. Its warnings are also still relevant. Manas shows that unity cannot be reduced to slogans. It depends on justice, loyalty, wise leadership and the ability to hold a community together without erasing its differences.

That is why Manas should be read not only as a monument of Kyrgyz culture, but as a living political text. It is the story Kyrgyzstan tells about where it comes from. It is also one of the languages through which power in Kyrgyzstan still explains where the country should go.

Maya Ivanova for Novastan

The post Manas and the Making of Kyrgyzstan appeared first on Novastan English.

Danil Usmanov will present a photographic reportage at the L’Aléatoire gallery (Paris), taken in the Batken region of southern Kyrgyzstan, exploring the theme of migration. 

Danil Usmanov, a Kyrgyz photojournalist, currently works with major media outlets (Le Monde, The Guardian, Eurasianet, etc.), but here at Novastan we are proud to have featured his debut work back in 2014. The photograph shown on this page is from a report produced south of Lake Issyk-Kul in 2014. In 2020, we featured his work as part of our series “Central Asia through the lens of …”.

Danil Usmanov’s exhibition “The Valley of the Winds” at the L’Aléatoire gallery, from Saturday 6 June 2026 until Saturday 13 June 2026.

Credits : Danil Usmanov (Kyrgyzstan, http://danilusmanov.com/)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post The Valley of Winds appeared first on Novastan English.

In Konorchek Canyon, about two hours from Bishkek, the mineral landscape unfolds in shades of ochre.

Credits : Salomé Aldeguer-Roure (France)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post A land devoid of men appeared first on Novastan English.

Kyrgyz director Tolomush Zhanybekov turns his camera toward the people and places often left outside the frame: cemetery guards, pensioners selling their belongings, children facing humiliation, brothers bound by care and solitude. Born in Balykchy and based in Kyrgyzstan’s contemporary film scene, he builds a cinema rooted in roads, bazaars, industrial landscapes and social margins.

His films The Road, Birdsong, Balyk and Barakholka reveal a Kyrgyzstan far from the usual images of mountains and nomadic traditions. Through silence, fragile encounters and carefully chosen locations, Tolomush Zhanybekov explores loneliness, vulnerability and the quiet dignity of people living on the edges of public attention.

Faites un don à Novastan

In an interview with Novastan, the young filmmaker discusses his childhood, his relationship with cinema, the places that shape his work, the ethics of filming vulnerable people and the emergence of a new generation of Kyrgyz directors seeking to show an authentic, unvarnished Central Asia.

Novastan : Could you tell us about your journey into cinema? When did you first feel that you wanted to become a director?

Tolomush Zhanybekov : Since childhood, my main friend was the television. I hardly ever left the house: I watched all kinds of films and, figuratively speaking, spoke with the screen. Stories for my own films were constantly being born and developing in my head. Most likely, the desire to become a director came from that childhood solitude.

You were born in Balykchy, and several of your films seem very closely connected to specific places. Could you tell us where The Road, Birdsong, Balyk and Barakholka were shot, and why you chose those particular locations?

My graduation film, The Road, was shot in the city of Balykchy, where I was born and grew up. It is a very textured, visually rich place. Birdsong was shot in the village of Kaji-Say, in the Issyk-Kul region. In Soviet times, it was a thriving industrial town where coal was mined, and there was a uranium tailings site nearby. Today, there is a persistent feeling that time froze there somewhere in the 1990s. Balyk and Barakholka were shot in Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan.

For readers discovering your work for the first time, could you briefly present each of these films in two or three sentences: what is it about, where does it take place and what drew you to this story?

The Road: The story of a 65-year-old cemetery guard. He lives and works far from the noise of the world, and in this silence, alone with those who have passed away, he paradoxically feels much more comfortable than among the living.

Birdsong: A documentary about two brothers. The elder brother finds it difficult to go outside, and the only person who looks after him is his younger brother, who goes to the village centre every day in search of casual work. Their meeting at the end of the day is the most important thing in their lives. Since childhood, I had been interested in what it means to have a brother, how such relationships work, how brothers support one another and what they talk about. One day, in a small village, I met these protagonists and understood that I had to make a film about them.

Barakholka: A documentary about pensioners. Every weekend, near my home, they set up a street market where they sell their old, vintage belongings. I have always been fascinated by watching them, their daily lives and the past they are selling off.

Balyk: A short fiction film about a teenager who stutters heavily, which makes it difficult for him to communicate with others. It is partly a personal story, as I faced this problem myself.

For readers who do not know Kyrgyzstan well, how would you describe places such as Balykchy, Bishkek, Barakholka or Kaji-Say, geographically, socially and personally?

Balykchy is the city of my childhood, in northern Kyrgyzstan, surrounded by picturesque but harsh landscapes. A place of winds and memories.

Bishkek is the city where I grew up. It is a noisy capital, where people from all regions come in search of a better life, creating a bubbling social melting pot.

Read also on Novastan: Kirghizstan : les déchets radioactifs continuent de polluer les eaux de Kadji Saï

Kaji-Say is an abandoned industrial trace of a bygone era, squeezed between the mountains and Lake Issyk-Kul, where history itself seems to have come to a standstill.

Barakholka is not just a market, but a living open-air social archive, where people’s destinies are revealed through old objects.

How important is location to you in the process of making a film? Do you first find a place and build a story around it, or does a character appear first, after which you look for the right space?

In my work, location is a fully-fledged character. It conveys the atmosphere of the film in its own right. Sometimes I see a textured place, and a plot immediately begins to take shape within it. And sometimes I work the other way around: first the image of a character is born, and then I look for a space that could organically receive that character or emphasise their inner state.

Your films often focus on people who usually remain outside public attention: children, pensioners, solitary figures, people living or working in difficult social conditions. Why are you drawn to these kinds of protagonists?

In contemporary Kyrgyz cinema, these layers of the population are undeservedly neglected. They are rarely shown on screen. Mentally, all my characters are united by a deep inner loneliness, and it is precisely this vulnerability, this invisibility to the wider world, that attracts and moves me most.

In The Road, the road seems to be something more than just a physical space. What does it mean to you?

You are right. During my student years, I first came face to face with death: every autumn during my four years of study, someone in my family died. This tragic cycle forced me to think constantly about death and even, subconsciously, to wait for it. It may sound naive now, but at the time I desperately wanted to make sense of and understand a person’s departure. From these experiences came the metaphor of the road as a path between worlds, a transit from life into non-being.

Silence and atmosphere also play a very strong role in The Road. Is silence important in your cinema?

Yes, absolutely. To return to the previous question: to make sense of such fundamental things as life and death, silence was vitally necessary for me. In addition, as a director, I feel very close to a pure visual language. I like it when thoughts, feelings and dramaturgy can be conveyed to the viewer without unnecessary words, through pauses and the atmosphere of the frame.

Birdsong was your first documentary film. What pushed you towards documentary cinema?

By nature, I am a contemplative person. Since childhood, I could sit for hours and openly observe people, although now, of course, I do it more carefully and tactfully. Documentary is the foundation of cinema. It always contains genuine organic life, living human faces and real stories that cannot be artificially constructed within the framework of a fiction script.

How did you meet the protagonists of Birdsong, and how did you manage to build trust with them?

I was walking through the centre of the village and sat down at a bus stop, observing the local residents. From a distance, a man wearing a kalpak approached me. We began talking. From what he told me, I understood that he lived with his elder brother, was constantly looking for any kind of casual work and spoke about him all the time, with immense tenderness and anxiety. I suggested that he appear in a film, he agreed, and I immersed myself in their fragile, closed world.

Read also on Novastan: Vie et mœurs des déchets uraniques centrasiatiques

The trust between us probably emerged on the level of pure energy. My original intention was to make this film with great love and respect for them. I think the viewer feels that warmth through the screen and through the way the camera angles were chosen.

When you film real people, especially vulnerable people, how do you decide what can be shown and what should remain off camera?

It is always an extremely difficult inner dilemma. In documentary cinema, you very quickly become close to your protagonists. They become dear to you, and subconsciously there is a strong desire to protect them, to defend them, to show them from their best side.

During filming, I gather a lot of material. At the editing stage, when the final story is being built, I always mentally put myself in their place: how would I feel if this personal information became public? Here it is critically important to sense the fine line between artistic truth and ethics, to understand what needs to remain for the dramaturgy and what must be hidden from the viewer’s eyes forever.

In Balyk, the main character is a boy who lives between school, work at the market, loneliness and humiliation. Where did this story begin?

The word Balykchy means “fisherman” in Kyrgyz. In childhood, our family lived by cooking and selling fish. In addition, during my school years, I stuttered very badly. I remember that in the lower grades we had speed-reading tests: we had to read as many words as possible in one minute. In second grade, my classmates read between 40 and 65 words, while because of my stutter I managed only nine.

It was an enormous stress and trauma. At home, alone, I could read completely normally. I would memorise texts in advance, but as soon as I stood in front of the class, everything collapsed. The plot of Balyk grew out of these painful personal memories.

Want more Central Asia in your inbox? Subscribe to our newsletter here.

What does the title Balyk mean to you? Is the fish a symbol in the film?

Yes, the fish is a key symbol here. When you cut or kill a fish, it does not make a single sound. Its “facial” expression does not change; you cannot read pain or emotion in it. My main character is locked in the same way in his muteness and loneliness in the face of a cruel outside world. He suffers silently, like a fish.

The market in Balyk is not only a workplace, but an entire social world. What did you want to show through this environment?

I wanted to capture our authentic bazaar. It is a unique space, always incredibly interesting to be in and to observe: all kinds of types, destinies, tragedies and comedies collide there. Moreover, the East is historically and culturally tied to bazaar culture. It is its heart and the mirror of society.

Faites un don à Novastan

Balyk is a Kyrgyz-French co-production. How did this international collaboration come about, and did it influence the development of the film or its reception?

In 2024, a Script Lab for authors from Central Asia was organised in Kazakhstan as part of the Post Space film camp. My mentor was Katya Khazak, a producer from France. At that time, I already had a rough cut of Balyk. I showed her the material, she liked the film very much and offered to help complete it at a high international post-production level.

Our project was supported by the European fund Creative Europe MEDIA. Thanks to this collaboration, we shortened and significantly improved the editing, and carried out professional sound correction and colour correction. This greatly raised the artistic level of the film.

Could you explain the title Kesilish joldogu pensionerlerdin maekterinen (Barakholka)? How would you translate it into English or French?

In English, the title translates as: Conversations of Pensioners at a Crossroads. The title contains a double meaning: the physical crossroads of the streets where they stand, and the crossroads of life at which they find themselves in the twilight of their days.

Why did you decide to film pensioners at Barakholka? What did you want to convey through their conversations?

I wanted to reveal their deep social loneliness, but at the same time to show their desperate, touching attempt to remain part of society, to be among people. Through their everyday conversations, sometimes sad, sometimes paradoxical, an astonishingly sincere and unembellished life emerges.

The outside view of Kyrgyzstan often focuses on mountains, nomadic traditions and impressive landscapes. Your films, by contrast, turn more towards everyday life, urban or semi-urban spaces, roads, markets and social margins. Is this a conscious choice?

Yes, it is an entirely conscious artistic choice. Our country is incredibly full of contrasts. Of course, we have majestic mountains and postcard landscapes, but there is another side of reality too: the everyday life of ordinary people, urban outskirts, the underside of society. This underside is still very little explored and rarely conveyed in cinema, and it is precisely this that I want to reveal to the viewer.

How would you describe the current generation of young Kyrgyz directors?

We are a generation of sincere and, in a good sense, naive directors. There is an enormous, pure desire burning in us to make films despite any difficulties and to rediscover for the world an authentic, non-ceremonial Central Asia.

Also read on Novastan: « Kourmanjan Datka » : l’épopée féminine, nationaliste et historique de la reine de l’Alaï

What are the main difficulties independent filmmakers face in Kyrgyzstan today: funding, distribution, education, censorship, access to audiences?

I would say that the main problems are specialised education and an acute lack of infrastructure for film production. Making films in co-production with other countries is especially difficult. We still lack the legal and technical foundations for easy international partnerships.

Do you feel part of a broader Central Asian cinema, or do you primarily see your work in the context of the Kyrgyz film scene?

I think I feel more like part of a broader regional, Central Asian cinema. Our countries have very similar historical backgrounds, common social problems and a mentality that is close in spirit, so we understand each other’s pains and joys very well.

What would you like international audiences to better understand about Kyrgyzstan through your films?

I do not have any specific educational or didactic goal. My task as a director is simpler and, at the same time, more difficult: to tell human stories honestly. If, through these local stories, foreign viewers can empathise with the characters, then the universal language of cinema has worked.

For Novastan readers who would like to discover your work: where can they watch your films? Are The Road, Birdsong, Balyk and Barakholka available online, shown only at festivals, or can they be watched on request?

Unfortunately, the films are not freely available online for now. They are currently in an active period of their life, so legally they can mainly be seen at film festivals.

Are there any upcoming screenings or festivals where viewers in Kyrgyzstan, France, Europe or online will be able to see your work?

No screenings are planned for the very coming months. The main wave of screenings and festival premieres is expected closer to autumn, when the new global film season traditionally begins.

Also read on Novastan: « Centaure » : film poétique et critique sur la société kirghize

If readers discover your work through this interview, which film would you advise them to start with, and why?

I would recommend watching them in strict chronological order, starting with the 2022 work. That way, viewers will be able to see not only the stories of the characters, but also my personal evolution as an author, the development of my directorial language and my cinematic thinking as a whole.

What are you working on now, and would you like to make a feature film in the future?

Right now, I am working on my next short film. At the same time, I am taking a big step forward: I am writing the screenplay for my debut feature film.

Interview by

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

Maya Ivanova, Contributor at 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 Through roads, markets and silence: Tolomush Zhanybekov films Kyrgyzstan’s unseen lives appeared first on Novastan English.

On 10 February, Kyrgyz President Sadyr Japarov dismissed Kamchybek Tashiev, head of the State Committee for National Security, or GKNB, and a central figure in power for several years. His removal, followed by dismissals targeting those close to him in several institutions, brings an end to an alliance that had structured Kyrgyzstan’s political-security apparatus.

The ruling tandem that had dominated Kyrgyzstan for more than five years has finally cracked. On 10 February, by dismissing Kamchybek Tashiev, head of the State Committee for National Security, by decree, Kyrgyz President Sadyr Japarov did not merely end a long-standing collaboration with his closest ally. He also regained control of the coercive apparatus that had until then been one of the pillars of the system established since he came to power in 2020.

Faites un don à Novastan

For more than five years, Kamchybek Tashiev had been the most powerful man in Kyrgyzstan after the president, overseeing the main anti-corruption investigations. He appeared publicly during spectacular arrests and embodied an increasingly omnipresent security apparatus. A co-founder of the Mekentchil party and a key actor in the political upheavals that brought the tandem to the top of the state, he had gradually turned the security services into a pillar of the regime. In a political system marked by the personalisation of power, his influence extended far beyond the institutional framework of his position.

Under his leadership, the GKNB became one of the nerve centres of the state. Its prerogatives expanded, its resources increased and its visibility grew. Internal promotions, the allocation of housing to officers, nepotism and direct interventions in the management of sensitive economic cases: Kamchybek Tashiev had gradually built a network of authority and loyalty that structured the regime’s balance.

Kamchybek Tashiev, security architect of Sadyr Japarov’s regime

Kamchybek Tashiev began his political career in 2007 as minister of emergency situations. After disagreements with former Prime Minister Daniyar Usenov, he left his post in 2009, before siding with the opposition during the Kyrgyz revolution of 2010. These events enabled him to found his party, Ata-Zhurt, in 2006, and to win the early parliamentary elections of 10 October 2010 with 15.89% of the vote and 28 seats.

He thus returned to political life as a member of Kyrgyzstan’s Supreme Council from 2010 to 2013. In 2014, Ata-Jurt merged with Respublika in an attempt to win the 2015 parliamentary elections, but this merger displeased Kamchybek Tashiev, who left the party and joined Mekenchil, which he had co-founded with Sadyr Japarov on 16 June 2010 and which brought together many members of Ata-Jurt.

Novastan est le seul média en français et en allemand spécialisé sur l'Asie centrale. Entièrement associatif, il fonctionne grâce à votre participation. Nous sommes indépendants et pour le rester, nous avons besoin de vous ! Vous pouvez nous soutenir à partir de 2 euros par mois (défiscalisé à 66 %), ou en devenant membre actif par ici.

The parliamentary elections of 4 October 2020 once again turned into a conflict extending beyond the political sphere, with major demonstrations from 5 to 15 October 2020. Amid this new socio-political chaos, former Prime Minister Sadyr Japarov and his supporters, including Kamchybek Tashiev, increased pressure on former President Sooronbay Jeenbekov, who resigned on 15 October 2020. As a result, Sadyr Japarov became acting president and appointed Kamchybek Tashiev head of the GKNB on 16 October that year.

Also read on Novastan : Condamnation d’Almazbek Atambaïev : retour sur le parcours mouvementé des anciens présidents du Kirghizstan

His influence was also visible during the border clashes with Tajikistan in April 2021 and September 2022. As head of the GKNB, the body overseeing the border guards, Kamchybek Tashiev played a central role in managing operations and ceasefire negotiations. These crises strengthened his image as a strongman guaranteeing Kyrgyzstan’s territorial integrity.

Dismantling extended to several institutions

Tashiev’s departure has been accompanied by a wider reorganisation. Within the GKNB itself, his deputies for state security were removed, and a new acting head was appointed without delay.

President Japarov then stated that an Investigative Committee would be created and would report directly to the president, while the GKNB’s area of competence would be reduced. The agency will henceforth focus on intelligence, counterintelligence, counterterrorism and organised crime, Radio Azattyq noted. “It is necessary to depoliticise the State Committee for National Security and free it from the influence of political parties, ideologies and various stakeholders,” assured Jumgalbek Shabdanbekov, the new GKNB chief appointed on 19 February, in an interview with the local newspaper Vecherny Bishkek.

But the reshuffle goes far beyond the security apparatus alone. The minister of natural resources, ecology and technical supervision, Meder Mashiev, as well as his deputy minister, Bolot Jusupbekov, were dismissed. In the south of the country, considered Tashiev’s electoral stronghold, mayors, notably in Osh and Manas, are being replaced.

Also read on Novastan : Les pistonnés : portraits au vitriol des enfants des présidents kirghiz

Even more significantly, people directly close to Kamchybek Tashiev have been targeted. While the parliamentary mandate of his brother, Shaiyrbek Tashiev, has not so far been called into question despite rumours of dismissal, the head of the transport prosecutor’s office, Nurgazy Matisakov, who is Tashiev’s nephew, has been removed. These decisions reflect a desire to neutralise not only one figure, but an entire family and political network.

A shift ahead of the presidential election

This rupture comes one year before the 2027 presidential election, in a climate marked by criticism of the economic and energy situation, as well as by a petition calling for an early vote.

Also read on Novastan : Le Kirghizstan s’inquiète d’une crise énergétique majeure cet hiver

Presidential statements, however, have sought to ease tensions. On 13 February, the head of state told the state news agency Kabar that there was no division between his supporters and those of his former ally, assuring that his “friendship with Kamchybek Tashiev will continue”. A few days later, he added: “We remain friends. But he will not resume public office. He needs to rest and focus on his health.”

Want more Central Asia in your inbox? Subscribe to our newsletter here.

The end of the tandem between Sadyr Japarov and Kamchybek Tashiev thus marks a phase of increased concentration of power in the hands of the presidency. It remains to be seen whether this centralisation will durably strengthen the stability of Kyrgyzstan’s system, or whether it will reveal new fault lines within the political elites.

Lenny Cabrol Noto
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 In Kyrgyzstan, after the dismissal of the GKNB chief, the political-security apparatus is reshuffled 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.

Faites un don à Novastan

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.

Novastan est le seul média en français et en allemand spécialisé sur l'Asie centrale. Entièrement associatif, il fonctionne grâce à votre participation. Nous sommes indépendants et pour le rester, nous avons besoin de vous ! Vous pouvez nous soutenir à partir de 2 euros par mois (défiscalisé à 66 %), ou en devenant membre actif par ici.

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.

Want more Central Asia in your inbox? Subscribe to our newsletter here.

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.

Used as a symbol throughout Central Asia, whether by sports clubs or municipalities, the snow leopard enjoys great popularity. This helps ensure its protection, as it is included on the international list of endangered animals.

The snow leopard, or irbis, is a large feline living in the mountains of Central and South Asia. Today, the species is on the Red List: only between 3,500 and 7,500 individuals remain worldwide. Officially, snow leopards have the status of a “vulnerable species”, one level below the “endangered” category.

In 2013, in Bishkek, during the Global Snow Leopard Conservation Forum, International Snow Leopard Day was established. It is celebrated on 23 October. On this date, experts and environmentalists organize various events dedicated to the protection of snow leopards.

Fergana News has decided to make its modest contribution to raising awareness about the preservation of rare species and is publishing an article prepared using data from the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP).

From Afghanistan to Siberia

The irbis is a large mammal of the feline family, living exclusively in cold climates. The snow leopard has a long, slender body which, including the head, can reach 100 to 130 centimetres in length. Its thick coat, marked with dark ring-shaped spots, provides excellent protection against frost.

Its distinctive feature is its long, bushy tail, which measures between 80 and 105 centimetres. The predator weighs between 22 and 40 kilograms.

The geographical range of snow leopards is fairly vast, covering around 1.2 million square kilometres. It stretches from the Hindu Kush range in eastern Afghanistan, through the Pamir, the Tian Shan, the Karakoram and the Himalayas, as far as the Altai and the Sayan Mountains in southern Siberia.

These animals are therefore found in the territory of four former Soviet republics of Central Asia: Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. These predators favour large prey, especially ungulates: sheep, mountain goats, argalis, roe deer and deer. But they also sometimes hunt smaller animals, such as ground squirrels and even birds.

A habitat threatened by human presence

The snow leopard fears humans. This is why, in some regions, it is called the ghost of the mountains. The animal lives at altitudes between 1,000 and 4,000 metres — more rarely up to 6,000 metres — above sea level and hides in caves and hard-to-reach valleys. It is practically impossible to encounter one. If one appears on a camera trap, it is already considered a real stroke of luck.

However, humans have managed to create problems even for these hermits. The issue is poachers engaged in the smuggling of wild ungulate horns. Illegal hunters reduce the food resources available to snow leopards.

Read also on Novastan : Sauver la panthère des neiges : comment les scientifiques luttent pour la survie d’une espèce

Shepherds also contribute to the problem. Because of pasture degradation, they are forced to move higher into the mountains, thereby driving irbises out of their usual habitats. Moreover, the felines remain predators and sometimes attack domestic livestock, risking becoming targets themselves for armed shepherds.

Climate change, linked to rising temperatures and the drying-up of glacial water sources, is also forcing the predators to migrate in search of more suitable habitats. All these factors have brought the snow leopard practically to the brink of extinction. Fortunately, some committed people understand the importance of preserving the mountain ecosystem, including its rare species.

A group of volunteers

In an area of the Tian Shan range in Kyrgyzstan, a group of volunteer rangers has formed and taken responsibility for monitoring 380 square kilometres in one of the harshest regions of Central Asia. Braving freezing cold and armed poachers, these volunteers strive to protect the prey and habitat of snow leopards.

As one of them, Baatyrbek Akmatov, explains, he and four of his companions are responsible for monitoring the Baiboosun community reserve. Many of these activists are former hunters and understand the scale of the damage caused to nature by wildlife smuggling, including of ibexes.

“We decided to launch this initiative, otherwise we will lose everything,” Baatyrbek Akmatov says of his group’s activities. “I don’t want to show children on my mobile phone that we once had this environment, these animals. I want them to be able to see them with their own eyes.”

The volunteers are supported by international organizations, in particular UNEP, as well as by local partners such as CAMP Alatoo and the Ilbirs Foundation. The project also receives financial support from Germany’s International Climate Initiative.

Changing mindsets

According to UNEP, the Kyrgyz government could not afford to pay the rangers, but gave them the authority to manage the territorial corridor and arrest poachers. In addition, experts from the United Nations Programme trained the volunteers and provided them with the necessary equipment.

At first, many local residents were outraged by the patrols. Shepherds feared they would be banned from grazing their livestock. But over time, according to Baatyrbek Akmatov, residents began to change their mindset, becoming aware of the importance of environmental protection.

UNEP’s partners became actively involved, training the population in agricultural practices less vulnerable to climate change. As a result, many people turned to beekeeping, cheese production or greenhouse farming, which helped increase their incomes.

The results of the patrols, the rangers say, are already being felt. For the first time in almost two decades, wild boars have returned to the region. Mountain goats, which had almost disappeared from sight, are now regularly observed. Deer antlers have also been discovered in the mountains, a sign that they too may be returning. Finally, recently, 12 snow leopards were spotted in and around the Baiboosun reserve.

Strict measures to protect the leopard in Uzbekistan

It should be emphasized that the protection of irbises is ensured at state level in all the former Soviet Central Asian republics where this feline species lives. It is listed in the Red Books of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan.

In addition, the authorities provide for penalties for hunting rare animals. For example, in Uzbekistan, poachers are prosecuted under the provisions of a government decree on damage to wildlife. According to this text, the fine for harming irbises amounts to 3,000 base calculation units — 1.2 billion soms, or 85,600 euros — for citizens of the republic, or 400,000 dollars — 343,000 euros at the Central Bank exchange rate — for foreigners.

Read also on Novastan : Deux léopards des neiges photographiés près du grand lac d’Almaty, une première en plus de 30 ans

Furthermore, in 2021, the Uzbekistani authorities adopted the Action Plan for the Conservation of the Snow Leopard in the country, covering the period up to 2030.

The snow leopard as a national symbol

The snow leopard is also remarkable for its imprint on culture and sport, becoming a widespread element of heraldry. The irbis is a national symbol for two countries. In Kazakhstan, this predator acquired this status during the presidency of Nursultan Nazarbayev. It was explained that, since ancient times, this rare animal had embodied power, strength and prosperity.

Indeed, the snow leopard appears on the national currency. It is represented on the 10,000 tenge banknote from the 2003 issue and on banknotes of the same value issued in 2024. The stylized high-mountain feline was also the official mascot of the 2011 Asian Winter Games, which were held in Almaty and Astana.

Since July 2025, the snow leopard has also appeared on new Kazakh passports, in holographic form, helping to protect the document against counterfeiting.

An ornament for many coats of arms

In December 2023, the president of Kyrgyzstan, Sadyr Japarov, signed a decree recognizing the snow leopard as a national symbol of the country. It was stated that the species was not only part of the country’s natural heritage, but also a symbol of national identity, strength and freedom, widely present in the republic’s culture, folklore and heraldry. Recognizing the irbis at such a high level was intended to unite the efforts of the authorities, scientists, civil society organizations and international organizations to protect and promote these felines.

The irbis appears on the coats of arms of certain cities, districts and republics, and not only in Central Asia. The animal has thus long adorned the heraldic emblems of Russian regions such as Tatarstan and the Republic of Khakassia, as well as districts of the Krasnoyarsk region, including Ermakovsky and Shushensky.

Read also on Novastan : Le léopard des neiges, symbole national de la diplomatie verte au Kirghizstan

As for Central Asian cities, the spotted feline has been incorporated into Almaty’s coat of arms since July 1993. It holds in its mouth a branch bearing eight apple blossoms, corresponding to the number of districts in the municipality.

Since January 1994, a highly stylized snow leopard has appeared on Bishkek’s main symbol. According to the emblem’s description, the irbis is drawn at the centre of an azure circle inside a white square. The whole composition is set against the background of a fortress silhouette, and beneath the broken line of the mountains appears the name of the Kyrgyz capital.

An ideal symbol for athletes

In July of the same year, the coat of arms of Samarkand, in Uzbekistan, was adopted, with the snow leopard also playing the central role. According to artist Grigory Ulko, who designed the emblem, he was inspired by a legend according to which an irbis descended from the mountains to bless the builders during the founding of the city. To better understand the structure of the predator’s muzzle, the artist drew his domestic cat, Prokhor.

One could say that the snow leopard leads a sporting life, so much do its strength and endurance attract the founders of sports clubs. For example, in the Kontinental Hockey League, two teams have chosen to refer to the animal in their names: Ak Bars Kazan and Barys Astana. The trend also extends to summer sports: in 2024, in the Kyrgyz city of Karakol, a team named Bars was created, with, of course, a magnificent irbis as its logo.

Want more Central Asia in your inbox? Subscribe to our newsletter here.

But the most famous link between the big cat and sport is undoubtedly the title of “Snow Leopard”, awarded to seasoned mountaineers since the Soviet era, more precisely since the 1960s. Since 1990, this prestigious title has been awarded to those who have climbed five “7,000-metre peaks” of the former USSR: two peaks in the Tian Shan and three in the Pamir.

Such is the irbis: rare, discreet, but emblematic, especially in Central Asia.

The editorial team of Fergana News

Translated from Russian by Aruzhan Urazova and from French by Mathieu Lemoine.

The post How Central Asia is trying to protect the snow leopard appeared first on Novastan English.

In summer, the vibrant colours of the Alay Valley in southern Kyrgyzstan are home to a wide variety of bird species. The valley has been recognised as an Important Bird Area by the NGO BirdLife International. A few isolated yurts can be spotted here and there, a sign of life amidst this spectacular natural landscape.

Credits : Etienne de Vaumas (France)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post The Alay Valley appeared first on Novastan English.

Three card players are playing a game at the Karakol market in Kyrgyzstan. Intended for the sale of livestock, the Karakol market is held every Sunday from sunrise. A traditional Kyrgyz gathering place, visitors from far and wide come to buy and sell sheep, goats and horses. Cattle and camels are also available, though in smaller numbers.

Credits : Grégoire Chesnot (France, @greg_che)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post Queen of Hearts appeared first on Novastan English.

In Svetlaya Polyana, a small Kyrgyz village on the southern shore of Lake Issyk-Kul, nestled against the first mountain slopes, halfway between the great valleys of Jeti Oguz and Chonk Kyzyl Suu, Nuray welcomes her guests in a carefully decorated yurt.

Credits: Pierre-Armand Dussex (nomadsland, Switzerland)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post A carefully kept interior appeared first on Novastan English.

It is in the heart of Kyrgyzstan, in the province of Naryn, that this shepherd tends his flock. This mountainous landscape, dotted with sheep of every colour, exudes a sense of serenity far removed from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Credits : Etienne de Vaumas (France)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post A watering hole in the heart of the valley appeared first on Novastan English.

This very young calf would no doubt like to join the rest of the herd as soon as possible, but the herdsman’s young son has decided to test its resolve. Karakol.

Credits: Grégoire Chesnot (@greg_che, France)

The post First outing appeared first on Novastan English.

Travelers interested in Kyrgyzstan are familiar with Jeti Oguz, famous for its “Seven Red Rocks.” But the entire area between the city of Karakol and the towns of Barskon and Tossor boasts spectacular geology. As soon as you move away from the shores of the lake, you discover contrasting landscapes of forests, meadows, and ochre hills.

Credits : Pierre-Armand Dussex (Switzerland, mon-beau-jailoo)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post Red horizon appeared first on Novastan English.

‘I have always been moved by things that once were but are no longer. This image is a photograph of the main bazaar in Osh, Kyrgyzstan, being demolished in the summer of 2025. In the background, you can see contemporary Soviet and post-Soviet housing estates.’

Credits: Anir Amski (France, @anir_amsky)

The post Novastan Photo Contest #7 appeared first on Novastan English.

In the Ala Archa Valley, in the heart of the Kyrgyz mountains, horsemen ride along narrow trails between pine trees and glaciers. Their horses climb steep slopes, their proud silhouettes standing out against the clear sky, perpetuating a nomadic tradition as old as the steppes themselves.

Along frozen rivers and high-altitude meadows, they sometimes guide their herds, attentive to changes in the sky. The wind carries the scent of dry grass and the jingle of harnesses, while snow-capped peaks dominate their slow progress.

Credits: Salomé Aldeguer-Roure (France)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post A horseman in Ala Archa appeared first on Novastan English.

Along the A373 motorway connecting Tashkent (Uzbekistan) to Osh (Kyrgyzstan), in the Uzbek province of Namangan, a Lada Jigouli stands still, a reminder of the Soviet era. Despite the January cold, the road is clear, allowing for a peaceful journey to the heights of Kyrgyzstan. As their Tajik neighbours would say: “râh-e sefid” (literally “white road”) to wish them a safe journey !

Credits : E. S.

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post What remains and those who remain appeared first on Novastan English.

The Chong Kemin Valley lies at the heart of the natural park of the same name. Located to the north, around 93 miles from Bishkek, this 303,000-acre park was created in 1997 to preserve its exceptional flora and fauna (snow leopard, golden eagle, maral deer). Kok-boru, a Kyrgyz equestrian sport, has been part of Kyrgyzstan’s intangible cultural heritage since 2017.

Credits: Etienne de Vaumas (France)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post Kok Boru in the Chong Kemin Valley appeared first on Novastan English.

The peaceful Panorama district overlooks the city of Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. The small dachas overlook the city on one side and the majestic snow-capped peaks of the Ala Too mountain range, which rise to over 4000 metres, on the other.

Credits: Pierre-Armand, Dussex (Switzerland, mon-beau-jailoo)

Find all of our photos of the day. You can buy some of these and receive them at home: here is the list! If you can't find your picture in the list, mail us to photo@novastan.org.

The post The Panorama neighborhood in the hills above Bishkek appeared first on Novastan English.