Bishkek and the Great Game

The most widely reported news story to come out of Bishkek in the second half of 2009 was this: “Ice Skating Bear Kills Circus Director.”

Foreign aid and supply planes for Afghanistan went in, gold and felt handicrafts came out, and that was the extent of international interest in this remote Central Asian nation. Behind the curtain of obscurity, however, rather more challenging stories were simmering: the scramble for resources, territory and influence; ethnic violence and clan-based rivalries; endemic corruption and the abuse of power.

Then, this past spring, Kyrgyzstan was thrust into the limelight as revolution, civil unrest and ethnic conflict grabbed international headlines. As the political center and home to one-fifth of the country’s population (as well as Russian and U.S. air bases), Bishkek has been at the heart of recent troubles.

walking along bishkek’s wide, tree-lined streets, you could be in any backwater city in the former Soviet Union. For four or five months a year, pedestrians slip and slide on the slushy grey ice and compacted snow that coats the sidewalks and municipal parks, while aging cars (and a few new, flashy imports) limp along gridlocked roads. Peeling apartment blocks overshadow forlorn playgrounds, and an occasional stray dog shelters in the storm drains with the tramps.

Bishkek’s origins are humble: in the early nineteenth century, a Sogdian caravanserai* on a branch of the Silk Road through the Tien Shan Mountains was fortified by the Khan of Kokand (a region now in the Fergana Valley between Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan). When Tsarist Russia annexed the territory in 1862, the Sogdian fort was razed to the ground, replaced with a Russian garrison and christened “Pishpek.”

Linked now to a much larger empire, Bishkek began to expand. Among the city’s earliest immigrants were a Romanian doctor and his Russian wife, and in 1885 they gave birth to Bishkek’s most famous son and future namesake: Mikhail Frunze. Few buildings remain from this period of Bishkek’s past: only the neoclassical opera house and the cottage where Frunze was born (now encased in modern concrete) still stand.

Frunze left for Almaty and then St. Petersburg shortly after the turn of the century, but as he rose through the ranks of the Russian Bolshevik Party, ultimately becoming Chairman of the Revolutionary Military Council, Bishkek began to celebrate its role in his upbringing. Bishkek was renamed “Frunze” in his honor in 1926 (the same year the Kyrgyz Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic was formed; Frunze lasted as the city’s name until independence in 1991), and to this day a statue of Frunze mounted on his horse stands proud in Erkindik Park. There is a Prospekt Frunze in the center of the city, a Frunze museum, and a disproportionate number of elderly men called Frunzik.

Bishkek as we see it today – laid out on a grid system with wide, straight streets – came into being in the mid-twentieth century. The Soviets built impressive public buildings, city squares and the ubiquitous grey apartment blocks. A Russian Drama Theatre, National Museum and National Gallery sprung up, as did the Philharmonic Concert Hall and the Circus. Almajan, a former Professor of English at Bishkek’s University, recalled how “the Turkestan-Siberian Railway linked us to every part of the Soviet Union. If you were a student, a lecturer, or indeed any kind of professional, you could travel easily, become a real expert in your field at the best universities in Russia or East Germany. And famous people came here too – writers, politicians, opera singers. You could see them all without leaving Bishkek.”

For Bishkek, the second half of the twentieth century was a time of unprecedented economic growth, increased literacy and social mobility. Certainly enforced urbanization under Stalin irreparably damaged the country’s nomadic heritage, but it also created the political institutions, processes and new national identity required for an eventual nation state. The ties between Kyrgyzstan and the rest of the Soviet Union were strong: in Bishkek just 22 percent of the population were ethnic Kyrgyz, while 60 percent were Russians, Ukrainians and other Slavic groups; more than 36 percent of Kyrgyz citizens considered Russian their first language; and as late as March 1991, 89 percent of the population voted in a referendum to retain the Soviet Union as a renewed federation. Kyrgyzstan’s fortune was intricately entwined with Russia.

Independence came to Kyrgyzstan suddenly and with a heavy toll. Dependent on Moscow for both its prosperity and its prestige, Bishkek was hit harder than most. Cut off from its former trading partners (98 percent of Kyrgyz exports had been sold within the Soviet Union), Kyrgyzstan’s economy shrunk by 40 percent overnight; per capita GDP fell 54 percent; manufacturing ground to a standstill, unemployment soared, and educated professionals fled into exile, searching for jobs abroad. Even today, as much as ten percent of the country’s population is employed overseas, and that figure rises to 90 percent among university graduates. Higher salaries, better opportunities for promotion, and perceived job security all draw professionals to Kazakhstan, Russia and beyond.

Askar Akayev, trained as a physicist, had been elected the first president of the Kyrgyz SSR (by the republic’s parliament) in 1990, and ran unopposed for the same post in the newly independent state in October 1991, receiving 95% of the vote. But such national consensus belied a serious power vacuum left by the USSR’s collapse.

Over the 1990s, divisions crystallized between the clans of the North and South, with each side battling for influence and propelling their representatives to power through both legal and illegal means. Politicians and criminals became almost synonymous in the minds of ordinary people, as they demanded bribes, bought and sold positions, had opposition figures assassinated, and siphoned off public funds. Kyrgyzstan plummeted to 162nd place in the international corruption index of 180 countries, a position it shared with Angola, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Venezuela.

A collapse of Kyrgyzstan’s social fabric followed. Poverty, unemployment, a breakdown in law and order, and fear of ethnic violence prompted ethnic Russians, Germans and Poles to flee the capital and the country. The capital began to lose the cosmopolitan atmosphere it had under the Soviet Union and Kyrgyzstan was becoming a failing state. The UN and OSCE, both of which Kyrgyzstan had joined in 1992, deployed funds and expertise, but the country caught too few headlines and was not considered a major concern.

september 11, 2001 changed Kyrgyzstan’s fortunes almost overnight. When the U.S. decided to go to war with the Taliban in Afghanistan, it needed regional allies for military bases and supply routes. Kyrgyzstan was conveniently located, had more accessible terrain than neighboring Tajikistan, was more amenable to close cooperation than either China or Uzbekistan, and already had a functioning airstrip – Manas Air Base – on the outskirts of Bishkek.

Where the American military goes, money is sure to follow, and Bishkek was no exception. The Hyatt chain opened the city’s first (and, to date, only) four-star hotel; commercial airlines added the city to their flight schedules; NGOs and development consultants poured in with dollars to spend. The U.S. embassy rapidly expanded to take on 160 full-time staff, Manas Air Base took on contractors, and everyone needed housing, feeding and entertaining. For the first time in a decade, Kyrgyzstan’s economic prospects were looking up.

The arrival of American troops and their allies in Operation Enduring Freedom also increased Russian government interest (which had been all but nonexistent since 1991) in the region. Russia demanded that it too be given an air base on Kyrgyz soil. Kant Air Base, which had trained over 1500 Soviet pilots (including Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak) before being transferred to Kyrgyzstan after the fall of the Soviet Union, was returned to Russian hands. The Russian Air Force’s Fifth Air Army (since disbanded) moved in, and the base was officially reopened in September 2003. It was the first overseas air base opened by the Russian military since 1991.

By the end of 2003, therefore, Bishkek was surrounded: the American air base lay 16 miles to the northwest; the Russian base was 12 miles to the east. Balancing the demands and expectations of such powerful and well-armed neighbors, especially when they were inclined to be mutually exclusive, required sophisticated diplomatic skills and pushed Kyrgyz politicians outside their comfort zone. They would ultimately be left feeling like pawns, out of their depth in a far bigger political game.

From the beginning, the ground rent paid for the air bases was part of a larger package. In their first contract, the Americans paid just over $2 million a year for Manas, but this was accompanied by increased levels of investment in Kyrgyzstan’s core industries (most notably in the mineral and energy sectors), the offer of development loans at preferential rates, and humanitarian aid. Although largely hidden behind a smokescreen of subsidiary companies and local suppliers, personal cash payments and gifts (including everything from hand-tailored suits to attractive escorts) had to be made to leading figures in Kyrgyzstan’s administration (including President Akayev and his successor, Kurmanbek Bakiyev) to ensure their co-operation. Such covert payments reportedly were at times in excess of $8 million a month (as a result, the companies alleged to be primarily responsible for their facilitation – fuel suppliers Red Star and its sister consultancy company Mina Corps – are currently under scrutiny by a the U.S. House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform).

Rather than engaging with one another directly, the U.S. and Russian governments played out a Great Game-type rivalry for influence in Kyrgyzstan by backing different political players.

President Akayev, once offered the vice presidency of the Soviet Union by Mikhail Gorbachev, had been reelected in Kyrgyz national elections in 1995 and 2000. He promised to step down in 2005, but there were rumors he was putting in place a dynastic succession (his children had run for parliament), combined with allegations of vote rigging. Demonstrations which had been sporadic since 2002 gathered steam, culminating in the “Tulip Revolution” of March 2005. Akayev fled to Russia with his family (today he works as a scientist in Moscow).

Akayev’s successor and leader of the Tulip Revolution, Kurmanbek Bakiyev, was believed to have the support of the U.S. Bakiyev inherited the lucrative arrangement with Red Star, allegedly passing funds through companies owned by his son and expected successor, Maxim Bakiyev. He therefore had a vested interest in keeping Manas Air Base operating on Kyrgyz soil. In a bid to strengthen their relationship with Bakiyev and, as a result, to protect Manas, the U.S. was apparently prepared to overlook certain irregularities in Bakiyev’s business and political practices. During his first term in power, several prominent politicians (and rivals) were murdered, violent clashes broke out between protesters and police, and Bakiyev increased his own power at the expense of the elected parliament.

In February 2009, Russia raised the stakes. President Dmitry Medvedev offered Kyrgyzstan $2 billion in development loans and a further $150 million in aid. Allegedly, the unwritten part of the deal was that, in exchange for such generosity, the Kyrgyz government would ask the U.S. to leave Manas Air Base. Bakiyev accepted the deal and informed the U.S. it would have to leave.

Interestingly, Russia’s $2 billion in loans were to be tied primarily to infrastructure projects to dam Kyrgyzstan’s rivers and harness their energy as hydro-electric power. The loan repayment was set at three percent above Libor and was to be repaid within five years. Although not impossible terms for a developed nation, Kyrgyzstan’s GDP hovers around $10 billion. Thus, it appears that both sides were agreeing to something that they knew Kyrgyzstan would be forced to default on, with the ultimate outcome that Russia would take control of the physical assets, the water and electricity supplies they controlled. The impact would be felt not only in Kyrgyzstan but also in Uzbekistan, where rivers originating in Kyrgyzstan’s Tien Shan Mountains feed cotton production, and Afghanistan, to whom Uzbekistan re-exports power.

In a gutsy gamble, just four months after accepting Russia’s deal, Bakiyev reneged on his promise to expel the U.S. from Manas Air Base. In June 2009, it was announced that Kyrgyzstan and the U.S. had instead negotiated a rent increase, to $60 million a year (up from the $17.4 million per year it had reached in the preceding year), with an additional guarantee of $117 million for projects such as upgrading the airport, fighting drug trafficking and supporting economic development. As part of the compromise deal, the Americans changed the name of their air base to “Manas Transit Center,” and handed over security for the base to Kyrgyzstan. Russian leaders were incensed, calling the decision “an unpleasant surprise.”

Less than a year later, in April 2010, allegedly with the Kremlin’s backing, Russian newspapers, radio stations and television channels (the most influential media in Kyrgyzstan still comes from Moscow) began accusing Bakiyev of corruption and nepotism. Allegations of misconduct in the previous year’s presidential elections came to the fore; several exposés about Maxim Bakiyev’s business dealings were released; and the President was blamed for Kyrgyzstan’s ailing economy and spiralling utility bills. Bakiyev’s attempts to deflect responsibility onto his cabinet backfired (particularly when he fired them all), as did his suggestion that Kyrgyzstan was not suited to democracy and required an alternative model of rule.

Concurrently, Russia announced a dramatic increase in the tariffs on gas imports to Kyrgyzstan. Gas bills had already risen 400 percent over the course of the winter – far beyond the means of ordinary citizens. This was the final straw. Demonstrations in Talas (a city in the country’s Northwest) involving both opposition leaders and members of the public turned violent and spread quickly to Bishkek, the crowds railing against the rising cost of living and the endemic corruption that appeared to have official sanction. Bakiyev announced a state of emergency on April 7, but it was too little too late: the tide of public opinion had turned against him, and Bakiyev was on the run.

Official reports stated that there were some 80 fatalities and 450 serious injuries during the demonstrations, but these figures do not include police, members of the armed forces or other state employees, all of whom were hit hard by the heavily armed and surprisingly well organized mob. At a police station just a 15-minute walk from the White House, a crowd showered the building and inside with bullets; those who survived the initial onslaught were pulled into the streets and beaten.

Perhaps the most poignant photograph from Bishkek’s dark days was of two shoes abandoned on the pavement while cars burn at the White House’s railings. Their owner had been shot dead by snipers minutes before, seemingly picked at random from the angry crowd. The photographer lay on the ground to take this shot, blood and rainwater soaking into his clothes. “One moment I met his eye,” he said, “and the next minute he dropped beside me. There was no warning, no sign. He was gone.”

Bakiyev may have lost the Presidency, but escaped with his life: Kazakh Special Forces smuggled him from the White House even while the crowd outside bayed for his blood. He fled first to the South of the country, his childhood home, then to Kazakhstan and, finally to asylum in Belarus. It is alleged that he and his immediate family left with $100 million in cash, in addition to funds sequestered in foreign bank accounts during his five years in power.

Opposition leaders propelled Rosa Otunbayeva into the position of interim president. A former foreign minister and one-time Kyrgyz ambassador to Britain, Otunbayeva and her colleagues were widely believed to have been backed in their coup by Moscow, a view which gained greater weight when she announced, “We are grateful to the Russian Federation, grateful to the Russian prime minister, for the support, significant support from the Russian Federation in recent days in exposing this nepotistic, criminal regime.” Her first official conversation on coming to power was with Vladimir Putin, and subsequent discussions with Medvedev have purportedly turned once again to the ousting of U.S. forces from Manas.

When the coup was over, the foreign media departed. But the revolution was far from finished. High food prices and fuel shortages caused by the closure of Kyrgyzstan’s land borders elevated tensions, particularly in the cities. A tank of diesel fuel was a precious commodity, and people turned to secret, hidden supplies to keep their cars on the road. The police, understandably fearful after their beatings at the hands of the public, largely stayed home from work. This, combined with the absence of a functioning bureaucracy, enabled criminal elements to loot stores and settle old scores. More unpredictable and less focused than the rioters, these thugs spread fear among the public and especially small business owners.

Rioting broke out yet again in June 2010, this time in the areas surrounding Osh and Jalal-Abad in the South, close to the border with Uzbekistan. The initial reason for the unrest was unclear: everyone from Bakiyev’s supporters to Russian Special Forces and even Chechen rebels were blamed for inciting ethnic violence between ethnic Uzbeks and Kyrgyz.

Within days, the foreign journalists were back to watch in horror as clashes and arson turned to all-out slaughter: as many as 2000 people were left dead and 400,000 people – almost 10% of the country’s population – were on the move, fleeing over the border to Uzbekistan and begging to be transported on military flights to Bishkek.

The UN demanded a humanitarian corridor be created, and the Red Cross sent in emergency supplies for the refugees. Otunbayeva blamed the Bakiyev family for instigating the riots, in a bid to destabilize her interim administration, and she fiercely denied allegations that Kyrgyz troops had supported Kyrgyz gangs in the murder of Uzbek civilians in Osh.

In the foyer of the Hyatt Hotel, an Al Jazeera cameraman showed the film clips that would shortly be broadcast and discredit Otunbayeva’s claim: Kyrgyz soldiers turning machine guns on Uzbek civilians. “Everyone panicked,” he said slowly. “These were young men – 18 or 19 at most – and they hadn’t a clue what to do. The army had put guns in their hands but they had no training, no experience. They should have been there to protect people, but in the end they were scared and lashed out.” The cameraman looked away from the screen.

Kyrgyzstan was in turmoil and the interim government had completely lost control. Both those within and outside the presidential administration agreed that additional security forces (either from the UN or from Russia) were needed, and Otunbayeva wrote to President Medvedev, requesting troops to help her regain control. The request was politely declined.

It is not clear why, having assisted Otunbayeva in her rise to power, Russia would turn its back on her administration. One explanation is that it is in Russia’s interests to engage with a weak Kyrgyzstan. If the Kyrgyz government is crippled by domestic politics and a faltering security situation, or becomes beholden to Moscow for saving it at the final moment, Russia is in a much stronger negotiating position when discussing subjects such as Manas, or financially and diplomatically lucrative infrastructure projects. If the Kyrgyz administration, and the president in particular, believe they are dependent on Moscow to retain control even of their own country, they cannot stray.

Another explanation is that Medvedev is concerned he has backed the wrong horse, and is distancing himself from the problem. Despite her reasonably strong political track record in Kyrgyzstan, Otunbayeva so far seems unable to unite either the clans of the North and South, or, most recently, the country’s different ethnic groups. When you ask people on the street what they think of their new president, most just shrug and smile.

“She’s a career politician,” said student Kubat Mamatov, “but in Kyrgyzstan that’s really not an endorsement. The longer you stay in politics, the dirtier you have to become. It’s not what this country needs.”

Otunbayeva’s much-heralded constitutional referendum (held  June 27) is unlikely to significantly increase the legitimacy of her regime, as too many voters (and, especially, ethnic minority voters) were unable to return home to participate.

Kyrgyzstan’s short-term prospects, therefore, remain unclear. Civil war is a possibility, as is direct intervention from abroad. Most likely, however, things will simply continue in a similar vein, with periods of relative stability interjected with violence and governmental breakdown.

Meanwhile, Russia and the U.S. remain locked in a battle for influence, yet neither side can afford for Kyrgyzstan to collapse. With its extreme poverty, proximity to Uzbekistan and Afghanistan, and rising support for Islamist groups, Kyrgyzstan as failed state would be a prime breeding ground for militancy. And that sort of outcome in this modern Great Game is not one anyone wants, or can afford, to see.  RL

Kyrgyzstan is roughly the size of Nebraska, but could not be more different topographically, as it is located in the heart of the Tien Shan range. Over 90 percent of the republic’s territory is at least 1500 meters above sea level.

There are just 1000 or so U.S. troops stationed at Manas Air Base, but 170,000 coalition troops passed through the air base in 2008 alone. (geopoliticalmonitor.com)

osh: This Kyrgyz city is the country’s second largest, and quite likely its oldest. It was a silk producing center along the ancient Silk Road, and even today has one of the largest, most vibrant outdoor 

market in Central Asia. It’s location next to Uzbekistan makes it very diverse, ethnically.