The Caspian Region, Volume I: A Re-emerging Region

The Caspian Region Volume I A Re-emerging Region

Edited by Moshe Gammer

The Caspian Region Volume I A Re-emerging Region

Edited by Moshe Gammer

First published 2004 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004.

© 2004 Moshe Gammer for selection and editorial matter; individual contributors their contribution

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. The publisher makes no representation, express or implied, with regard to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and cannot accept any legal responsibility or liability for any errors or omissions that may be made. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 0-203-00511-2 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-714-65247-4 (Print Edition)

Contents

Maps

vii

Acknowledgement

viii

Preface

ix

Contributors

xiv

Abbreviations

xvii

Glossary

xx part i a new region of international importance?

1. Oil, Pipelines and Security: The Geo-politics of the Caspian Region Mustafa Aydın 2. Oil and Gas in the Economies of the Caspian Region Paul Rivlin

3

32

part ii a new round in an old game? russia, iran and turkey 3. Islam in Russian Security Concerns Flemming S. Hansen

55

4. Central Asia and Russia; Francophone Africa and France: Parallels and Differences Moshe Gammer

73

5. Dancing with Wolves: Turco-Iranian Relations in Perspective Anat Lapidot-Firilla

104

v

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

6. Iran’s Internal Azerbaijani Challenge: Implications for Policy in the Caucasus Brenda Shaffer

119

part iii birds of a feather? central asian regional concerns 7. Negotiating the Waters: Trans-Boundary Resource Management in the Aral Sea Basin Elisa A. Chait

143

8. The Region of Earthquakes in the Centre of the World: The Ethnic Problems of the New Independent States of Central Asia Yuri Kobishchanov

165

part iv between democracy and authoritarianism? the states of central asia 9. Clientelism, Corruption and Struggle for Power in Central Asia: The Case of Kyrgyzstan Vladimir (Ze’ev) Khanin

181

10. The Problem of Political Order in Contemporary Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan Paul Georg Geiss

203

11. The Mahalla in Present-Day Uzbekistan Boris Mathieu Pétric

228

Index

244

vi

Maps

1. The Caspian Region

xxv

2. The Caspian Region: Existing and Proposed Pipelines

5

3. Central Asia: Chinese Territorial Claims in the 1970s

87

4. Azerbaijan and Iran

120

5. The Sea of Aral Water Basin

145

6. Central Asia: Ethnic Division

167

7. Kyrgyzstan: Administrative Division

183

8. Kazakhstan: Administrative Division

205

9. Turkmenistan: Administrative Division

216

10. Uzbekistan: Administrative Division

vii

229

Acknowledgement

Most of the work on this volume was done during my stay at the Institute of Advanced Studies of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, in February–August 2000. I am grateful to Professor Reuven Amitai and Dr Michal Biran, the conveners of the study group, for inviting me and to both the institute and its staff – Liba Maimon, Shani Feldman, Smadar Danziger, Dalia Avieli, Anette Orelle and Avi Aleharar – for their efficient and immediate help on any matter.

viii

Preface

In the 1990s, following the dissolution of the Soviet Union, new states, most of them Muslim, emerged in Central Asia and the Caucasus. Furthermore, these new states of the southern belt of the ex-USSR soon proved to be both oil-rich and a central part in a strip of conflict and instability stretching from Central Europe to the Far East. This is strongly reminiscent of the 1950s, when a new area – the Middle East – emerged, containing a dozen or so of independent states, most of them Muslim. More importantly, being already a major source of oil for the West the new area became also a zone of conflict. In both cases a need has thus arisen for information on the new area. Indeed, there is a growing number of publications – journalistic, academic and popular alike – describing, analysing and forecasting what has increasingly been referred to as ‘the Caspian Region’. This collection, being part of that wave of publications, has two aims: • To draw attention to issues neglected so far by both scholarly and popular publications. • To re-examine some of the ‘established truths’ with regard to the states surrounding the Caspian Sea. The first question that comes to mind is the validity of the term ‘Caspian Region’. Here again some parallels can be drawn with the Middle East: • Both areas were defined out of Western geo-strategic considerations. In the case of the Middle East it is clearly reflected by its name. ‘The Caspian Region’ is a more neutral appellation. • Both were originally conceived as regions centred on a body of water. (The term ‘Middle East’ was coined in 1890 by Admiral Mahan to define the area surrounding the Persian Gulf.)1 ix

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

• Separate traditional entities were brought together in both. In the case of the Middle East these were Persia, the Arabian peninsula and the Ottoman Empire, or what remained of it by the beginning of the twentieth century. In the case of the Caspian Region these are at least Central Asia and the Caucasus. • The boundaries of both have not been clearly defined. In the case of the Middle East different definitions still exist, including different lists of countries. • Yet, in spite of all these, the term ‘Middle East’ has taken root in all the languages of the area because it reflects an entity – what its people used to call in the past Dar al-Islam (the Land of Islam). The term ‘Caspian Region’ also reflects an entity that existed until the beginning of the twentieth century – what many scholars call ‘the Turco-Iranian world’. It might, therefore, follow the Middle East and become accepted by the region’s people. The second question, connected to the first, is who should be included in this new region. While obviously it cannot be limited to the littoral states – such an absurdity would run contrary to any logic, be it geographical, economic, strategic or other – practically all experts tend to include in it only ex-Soviet areas, mainly Central Asia and the Caucasus (both inside and outside the Russian Federation; RF) and sometimes also the RF. However, does not logic demand also the inclusion of Iran? After all, it is a littoral and a regional power influencing the region. Afghanistan is in many respects – hydrologic, ethnic, and so on – part of Central Asia. Why should it not be included as well? Turkey looks, perhaps, a less obvious candidate to be part of this region but there are many reasons for its inclusion. Apart from strategic, economic and other considerations, historically Central Asia, Afghanistan, Iran, the Caucasus and Anatolia were for ten centuries parts of a distinct entity within the Islamic civilisation. The third question is the general belief that the Caspian Region will be ‘a geopolitical centre of the XXI century’.2 This is based mainly, though not exclusively, on the assumption that the region’s oil and gas reserves are of great potential importance to world economy. The fourth question is what has become by now almost an axiom – that the dissolution of the USSR has placed the area in the focus of competition (if not full-blown struggle) among regional and world powers. Indeed, there has been plenty of talk of a new ‘Great Game’ being played out in this region.3 In this context two widely accepted views in particular need re-examination. The first is that Russia has lost its dominant position in this region. This view seems to rest on the belief that the USSR collapsed as a result of the Cold War and that the RF, as its successor is therefore a x

PREFACE

defeated, weakened power. The Russian military failure in the first war in Chechnya (1994–96) seemed to many to prove this point.4 One can, however, argue convincingly that the dissolution – not collapse – of the USSR had nothing to do with the Cold War. On the contrary, the dissolution of the USSR may be seen as a tool used by Yeltsin in his power struggle with Gorbachev. The second is that Turkey and Iran are not only two regional powers struggling for influence in the ‘new’ region, but they offer diametrically opposed models for the future development of its states. Turkey is portrayed as the ‘good guy’, a Muslim country that successfully adopted the Western secular, democratic, market economyoriented model and therefore an example to be imitated by the new Muslim states of this region. Iran, on the other hand, is described as the aggressive ‘villain’ attempting to spread its ‘Islamic revolution’ to these new states. While in reality competition is but one side of the coin of Turco-Iranian relations, both deem it in their interests not to reject this description. All these questions are discussed in Parts I and II. Chapter 1 gives a general overview and analysis and touches on all five issues mentioned above. Chapter 2 discusses in depth the premises of the third question – that is, the prospects of the region’s oil and gas and their possible influence. Part II deals mainly with the fourth question – the neighbouring powers that should or should not be included in the region. Chapter 3 discusses the connection between security, foreign and internal policies in the RF, Islam being both a domestic and an external factor. Chapter 4 attempts to demonstrate by way of comparison that Russia’s dominant role in Central Asia is a crucially vital interest to both the RF and the states of Central Asia. The chapter is a slightly updated and modified version of an article published in Middle Eastern Studies.5 The two remaining chapters in this part deal with the two other powers in this triangle. Chapter 5 demonstrates that Turkey’s policy towards Iran has always been dictated by Ankara’s interests and that, contrary to the common perception, it has usually favoured cooperation rather than confrontation. Chapter 6 raises a topic usually ignored in the West, showing Tehran in a defensive position vis-à-vis the new independent states on its northern border. Far from being a threat to them, as it is usually portrayed in the West, Iran is threatened by these new neighbours, in particular by Azerbaijan. Parts III and IV deal with Central Asia. Chapter 7 raises a most important topic, seldom brought up outside a narrow circle of specialists. The growing gap between the demands of a rapidly increasing population, economic development and at best a limited amount xi

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

of available fresh water in many arid areas of the world is a critical management issue for the twenty-first century. The stability of the Central Asian states and perhaps even the very existence of a few of them depend inter alia on their ability to solve their water problems by regional cooperation with appropriate international assistance. While Chapter 7 surveys the record of this cooperation among the Central Asian states in the 1990s, Chapter 8 points at another potential cause for conflict: nationalism and ethnic friction. It surveys the national and ethnic problems of the five Central Asian states while giving them unusual interpretations. The chapter is a slightly modified translation of an article first published in Nezavisimaya Gazeta.6 A fifth question to be re-examined is that of democracy. Since Western experts and public opinion alike have seen in the dissolution of the USSR a victory of the West and Western values – the transformation to a ‘market economy’ and ‘democratisation’ – these have become almost the sole yardsticks with which to grade the rest of the world. However, even if one overcomes Western political self-interest and manipulation, how is one to define ‘democracy’, and how is one to measure it? Furthermore, is the use of a single, imported model not imposing a black-and-white, two-dimensional picture on a colourful, three-dimensional reality? Part IV tackles this issue. Chapters 9 and 10 examine the current approaches to these questions by means of a detailed analysis of case studies. The former concludes that the counterposition of ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’, of ‘democratic’ and ‘authoritarian’ or ‘despotic’ defeats the purpose of understanding non-Western societies because in reality ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’ are intertwined in a complex and intricate symbiosis. The latter argues that premature adoption of imported ‘democracy’ in states where regional and local loyalties are still strong may, in fact, hinder the state- and nation-building processes and in the end also ‘democratisation’ itself. While the above two chapters deal with ex-nomadic societies, Chapter 11 studies a settled society, which is no less divided, though along territorial rather than clan lines. It surveys and analyses the attempt of the authorities to redraw and redefine the traditional community in order to control society. NOTES 1 Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Influence of Seapower upon History, 1660–1783, 1890. 2 ‘Transcaspian – a Geopolitical Centre of the XXI Century’, Transcaspian Project, Tuesday, 5 September 2000.

xii

PREFACE 3 The ‘Great Game’ is the common designation of the Anglo-Russian competition/struggle in Asia throughout the nineteenth century, which ended officially with the 1907 Anglo-Russian agreement. 4 The most outspoken example is Anatol Lieven, Chechnya: Tombstone of Russian Power (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998). 5 Moshe Gammer, ‘Post-Soviet Central Asia and Post-Colonial Francophone Africa: Some Associations’, Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 36, No. 2 (April 2000), pp. 126–49. 6 Iurii Kubishchanov, ‘Region zemletriasenii v tsentre mira: Etnicheskie problemy novykh nezavisimykh gosudarstv Srednei Azii’, Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 30 August 1994, p. 5.

xiii

Contributors

Dr Mustafa Aydın is Associate Professor of International Relations at the Faculty of Political Science, Ankara University, Ankara, Turkey and head of the Central Asian Affairs Department at the Center for Eurasian Strategic Studies. He is the author of Turkish Foreign Policy During the Gulf War (1998), Turkish Foreign Policy Towards the Year 2000 (1998, in Turkish), Central Asia and the Caucasus: Conflict and Security in the Post-Soviet Space (1999), New Geopolitics of Central Asia and the Caucasus: Causes of Instability and Predicament (2000), and the editor of Turkey at the Threshold of the 21st Century (1998), and Turkish Yearbook of International Relations. Elisa A. Chait is a PhD candidate in the Department of Government at the London School of Economics and Political Science. Her main research focus is the hydropolitics of the Syrdarya basin, for which she travelled extensively in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan in 1997 and 1998. She has served as an expert adviser to the BBC Central Asian Service for a radio series on regional water issues, and has presented several conference papers on her research. Dr Moshe Gammer is Senior Lecturer at the Department of Middle Eastern and African History at Tel Aviv University. He is the author of Muslim Resistance to the Tsar: Shamil and the Conquest of Chechnia and Daghestan (London: Frank Cass, 1994) and numerous articles and chapters on the modern and contemporary history of the Caucasus, Central Asia and the Middle East. In addition to this book he has edited Political Thought and Political History: Studies in Memory of Elie Kedourie (London: Frank Cass, 2003). Dr Paul Georg Geiss is Research Associate at the German Institute for Middle East Studies in Hamburg. He completed his PhD on xiv

CONTRIBUTORS

‘Communal Commitment and Political Order in Change. The Pretsarist and Tsarist Central Asia’ at the University of Vienna. His publications include Nationenwerdung in Mittelasien (Frankfurt, 1995) and articles on anthropology, social history and politics in Central Asia. Flemming S. Hansen teaches Russian politics and International relations at the University of Copenhagen. His research areas include Russian foreign policy, Russian Islam and Central Asian and Caucasian affairs. Dr Vladimir (Ze’ev) Khanin is Research Associate at the Cummings Center for Russian and East European Studies, Tel Aviv University, and lecturer at the Department of Political Science, Bar-Ilan University, Israel. His publications include Jewish Life in Ukraine after the Second World War: Documents on National Identity and Emigration, 1944–1987 (London: Frank Cass, 1999) and articles on African, East European, Israeli and Jewish politics and society. Dr Yuri Kobishchanov is Senior Research Associate at the Institute of African Studies of the Russian Academy of Sciences and Professor at the Superior School of Culture at the Moscow University of Culture. He is the author of a number of books and more than 360 articles. His main research focus is the history of Islamic and Christian civilizations. He is working now on the study of the ‘great feudal formation’ among the Muslims in (post)socialist Russia and Central Asia. Dr Anat Lapidot-Firilla teaches Turkish and Ottoman History at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and at Tel Aviv University. She is the editor of Decoding Turkish Foreign Policy (London: Frank Cass, forthcoming) and is currently writing a book on the American Near East Relief Mission in Anatolia. She is also working on a project on Jewish witches/healers in the Ottoman Empire. Her latest article, ‘The Memoirs of Halide Edib (1884–1964): The Public Persona and The Personal Narrative’, was published in New Perspectives on Turkey, No. 21 (Fall 1999), pp. 61–77. Boris Mathieu Pétric is a PhD candidate in anthropology at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales, Paris. Between October 1997 and June 1999 he was a member of the French Institute of Central Asian Studies in Tashkent. Dr Paul Rivlin is Senior Research Fellow at the Moshe Dayan Center for Middle Eastern and African Studies, Tel Aviv University. He is the xv

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

author of The Dynamics of Economic Policy Making in Egypt (New York: Praeger, 1985), The Israeli Economy (Boulder: Westview, 1992) and Economic Policy and Performance in the Arab World (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2000). Dr Brenda Shaffer is Research Director of the Caspian Studies Program at Harvard University, and a post-doctoral fellow at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Her main research interests include political, social and security trends in the Caucasus and Central Asia, with emphasis on the Republic of Azerbaijan; the Azerbaijani minority in Iran; Ethnic politics in Iran; Russian–Iranian relations; Iranian policy in Central Asia and the Caucasus; and the Karabagh Conflict, questions of collective identity, and connections between core ethnic groups and co-ethnics abroad. She is working on a book provisionally titled Islam and the West: The Case of the Caspian.

xvi

Abbreviations

Agitprop AIOC ANAP ASBP ASSR bn b/d bcm BOTAS BP BSECZ BVO CAMECO CAOPP CAU CC CEC CENTO CIS CP CPC CPC CPSU CSCS EC ECO EEC EIA

Agitatsiia/propaganda Azerbaijan International Operating Company Anavatan Partisi (Motherland Party) Aral Sea Basin Programme Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic billion billion per day billion cubic metres Turkish pipeline consortium British Petroleum Black Sea Economic Cooperation Zone Basseinovye Vodokhoziaistvennye Ob’edineniia (River Basin Commissions) Canadian Mineral Extraction Company Central Asian Oil Pipeline Project Central Asian Union Central Committee Central Election Commission Central Treaty Organisation Commonwealth of Independent States Communist Party Confederation of the Peoples of the Caucasus Caspian Pipeline Consortium Communist Party of the Soviet Union Caspian Sea Cooperation Scheme European Community Economic Cooperation Organisation European Economic Community Energy Information Administration of the US Department of Energy xvii

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

EU FSK

European Union Federal’naia Sluzhba Kontr-Razvedki (Federal Counter-intelligence Service) FSU former Soviet Union GAMIC Güney Azerbaycan Milli I˙stiqlal Cebhesi (South Azerbaijani National Front for Independence) GDP gross domestic product GNP gross national product GUAM Georgia, the Ukraine, Azerbaijan and Moldova GUUAM Georgia, Uzbekistan, the Ukraine, Azerbaijan and Moldova ICAS Interstate Council for the Aral Sea ICKKU Interstate Council for Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan ICWC Interstate Commission for Water Coordination IDP Islamic Democratic Party IEA International Energy Agency IFAS International Fund for the Aral Sea IMF International Monetary Fund IRP Islamic Renaissance Party KGB Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopasnosti (Committee for State Security) KNB Komitet Natsional’noi Bezopasnosti (Committee for National Security) KOMSOMOL Kommunisticheskii Soiuz Molodezhi (Young Communist League) Kyrgyzgazmunaizat National Gas Company of Kyrgyzstan m million mb/d million barrels per day NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organisation NEP Novaia Ekonomicheskaia Politika (New Economic Policy) NGO non-governmental organisation NKR Nagorno-Karabakh Republic NKVD Norodnyi Kommisariat Vnutrennikh Del (People’s Commissariat of Internal Affairs) NSP National Salvation Party OMON Interior Ministry Special Forces OSCE Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe Oshgazmunzait State Gas Company of Osh xviii

ABBREVIATIONS

RF SIABECO SIC SDC SOCAR SSR TACIS tcf UN UNEP USAID USSR UTO WB WTO

Russian Federation transnational branch of CAMECO Scientific Information Center Sustainable Development Commission State Oil Company of Azerbaijan Soviet Socialist Republic (European Union) Technical Assistance to the Commonwealth of Independent States trillion cubic feet United Nations United Nations Environment Programme United States Agency for International Development Union of Soviet Socialist Republics United Tajik Opposition World Bank World Trade Organization

xix

Glossary

Agzybirlik (Tk. ‘concord’) – a group of Turkmen intellectuals who promoted the agenda of national revival in Ashgabad at the end of the 1980s. Ail (Kg. from Tc. awul) – village. Akim (Kg. from Ar. Hakim) – oblast governor. ‘Alim (Ar. ‘learned person’) – Muslim religious scholar. Amir (Ar. ‘commander, ruler, head’) – chairman. Aqsaqal (Tc. ‘white beard’) – head of a human group. Aq süyek (Kz. ‘white bone’) – descendants of Gengiz Khan. Archyn (Tk.) – elected head of a gengesh in Turkmenistan. Aspirant (R.) – research student in Soviet (and post-Soviet) institutions of higher education. Azat (Kz. ‘freedom’) – a Kazakh nationalistic grouping founded in April 1990. Choyhona – (Uz. from Tj. Chay-haneh) – teahouse. The centre of social life. Däp (Tk.) – customary law (as opposed to Muslim religious law). Derzhava (R. ‘strong power’) – a nationalist movement in Russia. Dhikr (Ar. ‘memory’) – Sufi ritual of the glorification of God. Duma (R. ‘Council’) – the lower house of the Russian parliament. Emir (T.) – see Amir. Etrap (Tk. from Tj.) – province. Fuskha (Ar.) – the literary language. Gengesh (Tk. ‘assembly’) – local bodies of self-government in Turkmenistan. Glasnost (R. ‘openness’) – Gorbachev’s policy of democratisation. Guberniia (R. ‘governorate’) – administrative division in Imperial (Tsarist) Russia. Guzar (Tj.) – see Mahalla. xx

GLOSSARY

Haj (Ar.) – the pilgrimage to Mecca that each Muslim has to perform if able once in his/her lifetime. Hakim (Kz. from Ar. ) – oblast governor. Hoja (Tc. and Tj. from Ar. Hawaja – ‘master’) – in Central Asia: descended of one of the first four Caliphs. Imam (Ar. leader ) – the man leading the prayer; religious and/or political leader. Jadid (Ar. ‘new’) – supporter of reformist Islam in Russia in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The term comes from the new educational method (usul-i jedid) and the new school (mekteb-i jedid) introduced by the movement. Jihad (Ar. ‘effort’) – holy war against the infidels. Contrary to a common belief in the West, it is not one of the five basic commandments of Islam and not even a personal obligation of each Muslim. Kazennye zemli (R. ‘treasury lands’) – state lands in pre-Soviet Russia Kengash (Uz.) – volunteer. Khalk maslakhaty (Tk. from Ar. ‘people’s council’) – traditionally a tribal council. At the present the supreme consultative body of Turkmenistan. Khalk Vekilleri (Tk. from Ar. ‘people’s representatives’) – the elected members of the Khalk maslakhaty representing the provinces. Khan (Tc.) – the supreme political leader of a tribal group among Eurasian tribesmen. Khokim (Uz. from Ar. Hakim) – oblast governor. Khokimyat (Uz.) – the Governor’s administration. Kïshï zhüz (Kz. ‘the junior part’) – ‘the little horde’. One of the three Kazakh tribal alliances which existed until the Russian conquest. Kizil choyhona (Uz. ‘red teahouse’) – traditional areas of socialisation that were turned by the Soviet authorities into instruments of Agitprop. Kizil Toy (Uz. ‘red feast’) – Soviet festivals that replaced the traditional ones. Kolkhoz (R. ‘collective farm’) – the main form of village community in the Soviet Union. Established during ‘collectivization,’ it was based on the collective ownership of land. Komsomol (R. ‘Lenin’s Young Communist League’) – the party organization for young people. All university students were obliged to be members. Korenizatsiia (R. ‘nativization’) – the Soviet policy of replacing Russian party and government functionaries by natives in the 1920s in the ‘Eastern periphery’ of Russia. Kotib (Uz. from Ar. Katib) – secretary. Krai (R. ‘land’) – an administrative division in Soviet and post-Soviet Russia. xxi

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

Kulak (R. ‘Fist’) – an official Soviet term in 1920s–1940s meaning the ‘petit bourgois’ village elite that had to be eliminated. Kutan (R.) – see Kazma. Madrasa (Ar. ‘place of study’) – institution of higher (religious) studies in Islam. A person who has completed his studies is acknowledged as an ‘alim. Mahalla (Ar. ‘place’) – neighbourhood. Majles (Ar. Majlis ‘council’) – the parliament in Iran. Maktab (Ar.) – traditional Islamic primary institution of education. Manap (Kg.) – title of a leader of tribes and tribal confederations in the nineteenth and at the beginning of the twentieth century, previously known as bii. Maslakhat (Uz. from Ar. Maslaha – ‘benefit’ ) – council. Maslahatchi (Uz.) – councillor. Mäzhilis (Kz. from Ar. Majlis ‘council’) – the lower house of the parliament of Kazakhstan. Medrese (Tc.) – see Madrasa Mejlis (Tk. from Ar. Majlis ‘council’) – the parliament of Turkmenistan. Mestnichestvo (R. ‘localism’) – regional influences Metod chistykh aktivov (R. ‘method of net assets’) – the method applied by the joint government – World Bank ‘State Agency for the Reorganization and Liquidation of Enterprises’ to evaluate state enterprises. Miliyi Manaviyat’ (Uz. ‘national spirituality’) – the new official ideology of Uzbekistan. Moulid (Ar. Mawlid – ‘birthday’) – celebrations on the birthday of the Prophet Muhammad and other saints. Mufti (Ar.) – interpreter of the Islamic law. In Soviet and post-Soviet Russia the head of the Spiritual Board of Muslims. Mulla (Tc. and Tj. from Ar. Mawla – ‘companion’) – Muslim religious functionary usually officiating at the level of a local mosque. Murid (Ar.) – a disciple of a Sufi sheikh. Nomenklatura (R.) The list of party members eligible to state and party positions and thus in general the social stratum of party members. Novruz (Tj. ‘new year’) – the festival at the beginning of spring. Oblast (R. ‘province) – province in Uzbekistan. Olii Majlis (Uz. from Ar. ‘Ali Majlis – ‘upper council’) – the parliament of Uzbekistan. Oqsoqol (Uz.) – see Aqsaqal. Orta zhüz (Kz. ‘the middle part’) – ‘the middle horde’. One of the three Kazakh tribal alliances, which existed until the Russian conquest. xxii

GLOSSARY

Otan (Kz. from Ar. Watan) – fatherland. Perestroika (R. ‘restructuring’) – the economic policy of Gorbachev. Plemia (R.) – tribe. Politburo (R. ‘political bureau’) – the small group of Central Committee members in charge of the day-to-day running of the USSR. Pomest’e (R. ‘estate’) – land owned privately. Pravovoe gosudarstvo (R.) – law-bound state. Priusadebnye uchastki (R.) personal plots. Qadi (Ar. ‘judge’) – a judge according to the Shari‘a. Ra’is (Uz. from Ar. ‘head’) – head of Mahalla Committee. Raion (R. ‘district’) – remained in use in Uzbekistan. Razmezhevaniie (R. ‘demarcation’) – the policy of re-dividing central Asia along ‘national’ lines in the 1920s. Respublika (R.) – republic. Russkoiazychnoe nasselenie (R. ‘russophone population’) – Soviet and post-Soviet term intended to augment the numbers of Russian minorities in the non-Russian republics. Selsovet (Uz. from R.) – village council. Seyid (Tc. from Ar. Sayyid – ‘master’) – a descendent of the Prophet Muhammad. Sha (Tj. from Shah – ‘king’) – the title of noble persons in the Pamirs. Shari‘a (Ar.) – the Islamic code of law. Shura (Ar. ‘consultation’) – a consultative council. Sovkhoz (R. ‘Soviet farm’) – a form of village community in the Soviet Union established during collectivisation, in which the land was owned by the state and the peasants were state employees. Sultan (Kz. from Ar. ‘ruler’) – see Khan. Tarikat (T.) – see Tariqa Tariqa (Ar. ‘path’) – the mystical way of a Sufi order and thus also a Sufi order. Toy (Uz.) – feast. Trudovye kollektivy (R. ‘working collectives’) Türk Ocagı (T. ‘Turkish/Turkic House’) – a Pan-Turkic organisation in Turkey. Türk-I˙slam Sentezi (T. ‘Turkish–Islamic synthesis’) – the official ideology adopted by the Turkish authorities in the 1980s. Türkçüler Derneg˘i (T. ‘the Association of pan-Turkists’) – a PanTurkic organisation in Turkey. Turki (Ar. ‘Turkic’) – the Arabic script modified to transliterate Turcic languages. Türkmenbashy’ (Tk. ‘head of the Turkmen’) – the official title of President Niyazov. Ukaz (R.) – decree. xxiii

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

‘Ulama (Ar.) – pl. of ‘Alim. Ulema (T.) – see ‘Ulama. Ûly zhüz (Kz. ‘the senior part) – ‘the great horde’. One of the three Kazakh tribal alliances, which existed until the Russian conquest. Velayat (Tk. from Ar. Wilaya – ‘area controlled by a Wali’ ‘governor’) – province. Vokil (Uz. from Ar. Wakil) – delegate. Waqf (Ar.) – religious endowment. Zakat (Ar.) – alms. One of the five basic commandments of Islam. Zheltoqsan (Kz. ‘December’) – a Kazakh nationalistic group founded following the December 1986 riots in Alma-Ata (now Almaty). Zhogorku Kenesh (Kg. ‘the upper council’) – the parliament of Kyrgyzstan. Zhüz (Kz. ‘part’) – ‘horde’. Political alliance of Kazakh tribal confederacies led by a Chingizid, i.e. a sultan or khan. Ziyara (Ar. ‘visit’) – a visit to a holy place. Ar. = Arabic; Ir. = Iranian; Kg. = Kyrgyz; Kz. = Kazakh; R. = Russian; T. = Turkish; Tc. = Turkic; Tj. Tajik/Persian; Tk. = Turkmen; Uz. = Uzbek.

xxiv

Littoral states Other Caspian Region states

Map 1: The Caspian Region

xxv

PART I A NEW REGION OF INTERNATIONAL IMPORTANCE?

1

Oil, Pipelines and Security: The Geopolitics of the Caspian Region Mustafa Aydın

DEFINING THE REGION

With the collapse of the Soviet Union, new states, regions and security issues entered the stage of international affairs. Some of these regions, which, to all intents had been forgotten by the outside world, suddenly emerged out of obscurity into the forefront of revised geopolitical calculations. While Russia’s power and influence has weakened, the newly independent states of Central Asia and the Caucasus have taken different roads towards national consolidation and regional economic and political alliance, thereby raising international security and policy issues that did not exist before the fall of Soviet power. Properly speaking, the Caspian Region is centred on that inland body of water that is called a sea because of its size (approximately 371,000 sq. km), and includes five independent states that surround it: Russia, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan and Iran. The contemporary usage of the term ‘the Caspian Region’, in a wider geopolitical sense, implies a ‘geopolitics determined by peculiarities of geology, [that is] huge natural resources’, which has led to the formation of ‘a region defined by oil’ and gas.1 The result is the emergence of a new strategic region encompassing most of Central Asia, the North Caucasus and Transcaucasia as well as such nearby states as Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and even China. Thus the Caspian Region, connecting two distinct areas of the former Soviet Union, the Caucasus and Central Asia, carries all the geo-political weights and instabilities of both, in addition to having unique problems connected with its huge hydrocarbon reserves and multi-sided international rivalry to obtain the greatest benefit from them. 3

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

There are geo-strategic reasons to link the Caspian Basin with the wider geographic areas of the Caucasus and Central Asia when dealing with the security and geo-politics of the region. The area remains of profound interest and vital concern for Russia, which is ever-sensitive to external influence in, or the possibility of, actual physical threats to the region. For years, the region’s outlets to the world were controlled by and from Moscow. Today, as a result of the USSR’s disintegration and regional instability combined with geopolitical realignments, the number of political, economic and military actors who can influence the region’s future has increased manifold. Within the emerging geo-political equations, various factors contribute to the newly independent states’ geo-political reorientation away from their historic Russian bond. Among others, combined effects of geographic proximity, economic opportunity, ethnic and cultural ties and religion gently push the evolution of the new states in a southern direction, ‘toward historical preferences and allegiances that were interrupted by the USSR’s sealing of these areas to its own advantage’.2 These developments, however, have caused anxiety, to say the least, in Russian decision-making circles. These came by the end of 1992 to the conclusion that ‘the continuing independence of the Transcaucasian and Central Asian nations and the reorientation of their foreign policy, economic and transportation strategies toward the south will considerably undermine Russia’s great power status’.3 Losing its monopoly in regional transport and communications due to projects to build oil and gas pipelines and highways in the southern direction will also lead to the loss of direct access to the region’s rich natural resources and strategic metals. As Russia continues to depend heavily on supplies of raw materials from Central Asian states, the disengagement from the region is economically undesirable. Finally, in addition to the decrease in the overall role of Russia in the region, many Russians seem psychologically incapable of accepting a change in the status of the newly independent states. They continue to see the former Soviet southern border as Russia’s outer frontier.4 Consequently, Russia has, since 1992, been actively pursuing a policy to re-establish its economic, political and military control over Transcaucasia and Central Asia. Nevertheless, the area is also of increased relevance to Turkey, Iran, the US, China and Western European countries for various reasons. The existence of mostly Western-based multinational oil companies further complicates the situation. The West’s interest in gaining access to Caspian oil and other raw materials through market forces is clear, as is its interest in protecting its investments in the region.5 Consequently, what happens in the Caspian Region affects Western interests 4

THE GEO-POLITICS OF THE CASPIAN REGION

Existing pipeline Proposed pipeline to China Proposed Caspian pipeline Consortium pipeline Proposed Baku–Ceyhan pipeline Proposed pipelines via Iran Proposed pipelines to Pakistan

Map 2: The Caspian Region: Existing and Proposed Pipelines

directly. For example the impact of the competition in Central Asia and the Caucasus on Turkey, a long-time ally, or Russian disquiet in view of Western penetration into the region by means of its oil and financial companies. Since exploration has revealed significant deposits of oil and gas in the Caspian Basin, new strains for regional stability have emerged in addition to the various potential conflicts on both sides of the Caspian Sea. These are the result of conflicting interests of quite a few regional and extra-regional powers. 5

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

The possibility of transferring large-scale oil and gas deposits to industrialised Western Europe raises hopes for regional economic development and prosperity. At the same time, however, ‘the belief that whoever secures the major share of oil pipeline transit will gain enhanced influence not only throughout the Caucasus and Central Asia but also on a global political scale’, highlights the concerns about the future stability of the region. In terms of regional geo-politics, ‘control of the Caspian, or even freedom of movement upon it, represents a prize of considerable value’, and the competition for influence among regional states, with its ideological, religious and political dimensions, lowers the threshold of the possible armed conflicts erupting in the region.6 Consequently, the rivalry over the Caspian Basin energy resources, interacting with many regional conflicts surrounding the area and with the international efforts to solve peacefully these conflicts, elevates the region into a unique geo-political interest harbouring various threats to regional and wider international peace and stability. Therefore, there is a need for a new broader and more flexible analytical model for this region. As stated by Clem, ‘regions are for geographers a classification scheme, much as periods serve historians. As is true for chronology, there is no all-purpose definition for divisions of geographical space.’ For both political reasons and the simplicity they provide, ‘regional definitions are often based on political boundaries, although these boundaries usually encompass important internal differences and frequently divide like places. Thus, the operational definition of a region may not be entirely satisfactory for one’s specific needs’.7 For the purpose of this study, then, the term ‘the Caspian Region’ employs a definition that transcends the politicalgeographic delimitations made during the Soviet period. It also defies the conventional and convenient way of handling the strategic and geo-political implications and the security threats of these regions separate from each other in the post-Cold War space. Foregoing the simplistic version of geo-political classification, this chapter will refer to a vast region stretching from the Black Sea to western China and Mongolia. In this it is based on the assertion that, ‘notwithstanding the inherent problems of regionalisation, there is much that binds the region into a relatively coherent whole’, especially in geo-political and geo-economical senses. At the same time, it allows for identification of distinctive sub-regions. Hence, although there is no doubt that the Caucasus and Central Asia are two separate regions in the turbulent post-Soviet geo-political space, with different political dynamics and plenty of internal diversities and conflicts, the working definition of the Caspian Region used in this article, seeks to trace the interplay of economic, political and strategic interests of various actors. It thus 6

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has a considerable utility as a framework for describing and explaining the complex geo-politics of this important and dynamic area.8 THE IMPORTANCE OF ENERGY RESOURCE DEVELOPMENT IN THE CASPIAN REGION

The full development of the reserves of the Caspian Sea region is only at its initial stage. The majority of gas and oil reserves in this region have yet to be developed. During the Soviet era, most of the Caspian remained unexplored, primarily because the Soviet Union had lacked adequate technology to develop its offshore oil and gas reserves (most of the oil deposits of Azerbaijan, and between 30 and 40 per cent of those of Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan, are offshore) and also kept them as a ‘strategic reserve’.9 Nevertheless, the major discoveries that were made in Azerbaijan and Kazakhstan during the Soviet period indicated large reserves of oil at least for those two countries. The production of these can be increased with additional investment, new technology and the development of new export outlets. The total proven oil deposits in the Caspian region are between 16 and 32 billion barrels (comparable to the deposits in the US – 22 billion barrels – and in the North Sea – 17 billion barrels). ‘With potential [recoverable] reserves of as much as 200 billion barrels of oil, the Caspian region could become the most important player in the world oil market over the next decade’, and ‘by 2015 Caspian region oil exports will be in the four million bbl/d range’.10 In addition Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan, with estimated 236–337 trillion cubic feet proven gas reserves, rank each among the world’s 20 largest natural gas countries.11 With these proven and prospective reserves, the area, although not another Middle East as some had hoped, could well be another North Sea.12 Among the littorals of the Caspian Sea, Iran is the least interested in the immediate development of Caspian oil deposits. It has oil reserves elsewhere which it is unable to utilise to their full potential due to the American embargo. Nevertheless, Iran is extremely interested in the distribution and transportation of Caspian energy resources. As Iran’s oil export and the income derived from it declined over the years because of the US-led embargo, it is agitated to see the development of new commercial rivals and wishes to benefit at least by the transportation of that oil to markets, both materially and as a way to loosen the US embargo that strangles its economy. Russia’s attitude is similar to that of Iran. It feels no haste to develop the Caspian Sea reaches as it already has large proven oil reserves and production capacity based on its Siberian oil and gas. 7

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Moreover, the Russian part of the Caspian shelf, provided that it would eventually be divided into national sectors, is not very promising in oil reserves (although they are not yet fully developed and further exploration may still uncover rich deposits). Furthermore, as one of the more important oil-exporting countries, Russia, like Iran, would not be happy to see new export rivals emerging into the world oil market, especially out of its control. Turkmenistan, like Russia and Iran, is not concerned with urgent development of its Caspian oil reserves. It has large natural gas reserves elsewhere in the country and its Caspian coast is the least explored. Turkmenistan’s short- to mid-term objective is to develop an independent export infrastructure based on natural gas without having to pass through Russian territory. Nevertheless, Turkmenistan, too, is interested in the division and mid- to long-term prospect of Caspian Basin oil and gas. Azerbaijan and Kazakhstan, on the other hand, have been interested more than others in the immediate development and export of Caspian oil as most of the proven oil resources in the area are concentrated near their shores and ‘they are in greater need of hard-currency funds that will come from the export of oil’, which would also enhance their economic and political independence from Russia. 13 However, none of the countries of the Caspian Sea Region has the necessary capital to explore and exploit the regional hydrocarbon resources, and all will need foreign investment in the foreseeable future. Moreover, exploration in the Caspian Sea is further troubled by the technological complexity. In many cases, valuable oil deposits lie deep under the seabed and ‘many productive oil fields, such as the one in Tengiz, have highly sulphurous oil’. Developments in wider international oil markets may also affect the future development of Caspian Basin oil and gas projects unfavourably, especially if world oil prices decrease further or if supply boosts due to increases in oil extraction in newly developed fields in China, Indonesia, Vietnam and Saudi Arabia as well as old deposits in Western Siberia, the Persian Gulf, North Africa and the Americas, and also because of changes in international politics, such as the lifting of international sanctions against Iraq and/or a softening of the US position towards Iran.14 In any case, apart from the Caspian Sea littorals, a number of countries will have to be included in any project, either to make possible the transit of oil through their territory or to supply the necessary investment. Among others, Turkey, Georgia and Armenia stand out as most important players in the first respect, and Iran, Bulgaria, Greece, Afghanistan, Pakistan and China may potentially be involved. The Western European countries and the US should also be 8

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counted, since necessary funds for the projects would eventually come from them. Therefore, before tapping the full benefits of Caspian oil and gas reserves, various legal, political and strategic issues have to be tackled and solved to the satisfaction of at least the majority of the littoral states, regional countries, Western oil companies and their governments. THE LEGAL STATUS OF THE CASPIAN

During the Soviet period, most of the Caspian coastline, apart from a small Iranian portion in the south, belonged to the Soviet Union. The collapse of the Soviet Union, however, left five states sharing the coastline and claiming further authority into parts of the Sea area. Although it is not difficult to see the urgent need for an explicit definition of the legal status of the Caspian, the ongoing discussion among the riparian states has tended to dwell on the sea/lake controversy while the real problem appears to be that of sharing the profits.15 According to international law the choice regarding the status of the Caspian is either common ownership of, and joint sovereignty over, all the littoral states of the Caspian, or delimitation based on some agreed-upon formula. However, there is no direct historical precedent which can help to illuminate a solution to the status of the Caspian. There is, of course, the fact of an exclusive Russian naval and military presence for about two hundred years and the signing of a number of treaties between Russia/the Soviet Union and Persia/Iran concerning freedom of navigation, maritime activity and trade in the Caspian Sea. While Russia has been quick to use the 1921 and 1940 treaties to make its point, especially with Azerbaijan and Kazakhstan, that the Caspian is an object of common use by the riparian states on an equal basis, the latter, particularly Azerbaijan, have increasingly emphasised that these treaties are not applicable to the present problem of defining the status of the Caspian, because they had only applied to navigation and fishing leaving the problem of the exploitation of mineral resources on and under the seabed out of their scope. Besides, these treaties were all agreed when there were only two littoral states. The emergence of new states at least throws the validity of these treaties into question.16 According to the original position adopted by Russia with regard to the status of the Caspian, which was also supported by Iran and Turkmenistan, it was argued that the Law of the Sea could not apply to the Caspian since it has no natural connection with other seas; that joint utilisation was the only way forward; and that the legal regime 9

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of the Caspian cannot be changed unilaterally. Russia further advocated 20-mile territorial waters plus an additional 20-mile exclusive economic zone leading to common ownership of the central area of the Caspian by all riparian states. Russian claims were based on the argument that both the 1921 and 1940 treaties and the Almaty Declaration of 21 December 1991 require that the riparian states respect the present status of the Caspian. This Russian position was delivered to the UN on 5 October 1994, accompanied with a most forceful note that ‘unilateral action in respect of the Caspian Sea is unlawful and will not be recognised by the Russian Federation, which reserves the right to take such measures as it deems necessary and whenever it deems appropriate to restore the legal order and overcome the consequences of unilateral actions’.17 This was in accordance with the earlier recommendations of the report by the Russian Institute of Defence Studies on ‘Countering Major Threats to the Security of the Russian Federation’. The report called, inter alia, for ‘the use of force in order to stop any activity of foreign companies in the former Soviet part of the Caspian until its legal status is defined’.18 In December 1996, however, Russia declared, that as a ‘compromise’, it was ready to recognise a 45-mile ‘near-shore zone, and the littoral states’ jurisdiction over the oil fields whose development has already started or is about to start’. Still, the navigation rights, management of fisheries, and environmental protection were to be jointly exercised and an interstate committee of all boundary states was to license exploration in a joint-use zone in the centre of the Caspian beyond the 45-mile exclusive national zone.19 Russia’s position regarding the legal status of the Caspian has further fluctuated with the passage of time, and there have been conflicting signals from different government agencies.20 Notably, the position of the Foreign Ministry contradicts the position of the Ministry of Fuel and Energy. The latter supports contracts guaranteeing the participation of Russian oil companies. The Foreign Ministry on the other hand regards Russia as the regional superpower and the Caspian as a ‘Russian lake’. It is also alarmed by the projects to circumvent Russia in energy transportation from the region. The Russian Foreign Ministry has, therefore, worked for a legal status that would assure that any project for developing Caspian resources could only proceed with the participation and control of Russia. In other words, it has tried to guarantee Russia an effective ‘veto power’. Apparently, ‘expanding Russia’s influence in the area of energy production’ and transportation was seen as an ‘important tool for re-establishing Russia’s predominant role in the former Soviet geopolitical space’.21 However, despite the Russian Foreign Ministry’s condemnation of 10

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the ‘unilateral seizure of oil and gas fields’, the Ministry of Fuels and Energy announced in 1997 a tender for the exploration of the shelf in the northern section of the Caspian Sea. This was interpreted by the international community at large as Russian acceptance of a sectors division. In the same way, while President Yeltsin warned in February 1998 that his country would not tolerate the attempts of its neighbours, with the support of Western companies, to marginalise Russia in the Caspian and to impose upon it an unfavourable partition into sectors, experts from Russia were discussing with their counterparts from Kazakhstan the division of the Kazakh–Russian part of the Caspian seabed on the basis of the principle of equal distance.22 Indeed, in July 1998, during the official visit of President Yeltsin to Kazakhstan, an agreement between the two countries was signed stipulating the median line principle for the seabed but preserving the water surface under joint ownership, for the Northern part of the Caspian Sea.23 Although not ratified yet by either parliament, this agreement signalled a change in the Russian Foreign Ministry’s position regarding the ways to control the Caspian Sea. The catch in the Kazakh–Russian agreement is that putting the water and sea surface under joint ownership gives a say, in fact a veto power, to Russia in any project to lay pipelines across the Caspian. Moreover, this kind of agreement, if accepted by all the littoral states, would give Russia free navigation rights in the Caspian, arising fears of an increase in Russian naval presence. In contrast to the original Russian position, the Azeri position was described as a ‘border lake’ concept with sectors formed by central median lines and internal boundaries, which correspond to international borders of the Caspian states. Accordingly, each riparian state in its own sector would have exclusive sovereignty over biological resources, water surface, navigation, and exploitation of the seabed. At times, Azerbaijan also aired an ‘open sea’ concept with 12-mile territorial waters and adjoining exclusive economic zones not exceeding 200 miles, in agreement with a central line principle.24 Azerbaijan’s position is generally supported by Kazakhstan, with a variation regarding the exclusive economic zones formed by a central line equidistant from points on the coastline. Accordingly, Azerbaijan and Kazakhstan in a unilateral manner have already divided the Caspian to suit their own designs, though Iran, Russia and Turkmenistan object to such moves. Recent negotiations between the RF and Azerbaijan have indicated that, perhaps as a result of pressure from Lukoil, there is a possibility that the previous stance taken by Russia on the common ownership issue may become less rigid, adjusting towards the Azeri position 11

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of the ‘border lake’ concept, even though ‘the joint operation of an exploitation project in the central part of the Caspian is still, in essence, a projection of the common usage approach’.25 The Russian approach to Azerbaijan could further be modified if the negotiations involving Russian oil companies in the exploration and exploitation of the central part of the Caspian Sea proceed favourably to Russian interests. Although Turkmenistan had earlier supported the Russian position on the Caspian, its position remained somewhat ambiguous since February 1997, when President Niyazov of Turkmenistan announced that the Azeri and Chirag oil deposits, which had been exploited unilaterally by Azerbaijan, were actually situated on Turkmenistan’s territory. A fierce disagreement ensued between the two countries, and since then Turkmenistan has claimed full rights to Azeri and Kyapaz oil deposits and partial rights to the Chirag oil deposits.26 However, the lack of real Russian support for Turkmenistan has led the latter to search for a deal with Azerbaijan, which now seems quite possible.27 They issued a statement in February 1998 to the effect that both countries agreed that the Caspian Sea between Azerbaijan and Turkmenistan would be divided along the median line, but disagreements over where to draw that line continue. If a de facto deal is finally agreed upon between Azerbaijan and Turkmenistan, the implementation of the sectors principle of delimitation of national jurisdiction in the Caspian Sea will become almost inevitable, and this will leave no room for any ‘condominium’ arrangement. In fact, in October 1998, President Niyazov agreed publicly to a division of the Caspian into national sectors, although no specific proposals were given and no further developments took place on this ground. Iran continues to insist on a condominium solution, to protest against the plans to construct underwater pipelines across the Caspian, and favours the transportation of oil by the existing pipelines through the territory of Iran and Russia. Nevertheless, it is clear that Iran can accept a sectors principle of the Caspian Sea division if its interests are taken into account, primarily in the Azerbaijan– Turkmenistan deal concerning the partition of the southern Caspian. Indeed, Tehran has already somewhat softened its attitude towards Azerbaijan after the latter awarded Iran exploration rights in ShahDeniz. Nevertheless, Iranian Foreign Minister Kamal Kharrazi declared in April 1998 that Iran would agree to sectoral partition of the Caspian only if it was divided into ‘equal shares’.28 Behind all these controversies lies the fact that the size of the yields from exploitation rights for individual states depends on the status of the Caspian. If the Caspian is divided among the littoral states, Azerbaijan and Kazakhstan will have the largest share of proven oil 12

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deposits and exploitation rights. Under the ‘border lake’ concept in particular they will get more than double the amount that Russia will. Under the ‘enclosed sea’ concept, however, the gap will be somewhat reduced, while under the Russian 45-mile proposal, most of the Azeri offshore oil will be transferred to collective ownership.29 Moreover, underpinning the Russian position is the argument that it has certain ‘rights’ in the newly independent states, because their economies were developed with Russian financial support and expertise. Russia must have ‘access to the resources of the Commonwealth of Independent States’, declared in 1994 the then Russian Fuel and Energy Minister Iurii Shafrannik, because ‘we, by virtue of our labour, mind, [and] energy have created all this’.30 Other littoral states, however, are eager to realise their potential wealth from the Caspian in order both to stabilise their shaky economies and domestic politics and to distance themselves from the Russian sphere of influence. The latter endeavour is supported by the US. Washington continues to object strongly to the condominium approach because it will bring Iran into the picture. Given the fact that most of the oil companies operating in the region are American, and that the Iran–Libya Sanctions Act of 1996 blocks them from participating in any project for Caspian development involving Iran, the views of the US government assume greater importance. It is obvious that, in the final analysis, any Caspian compromise will require the agreement of the five littoral states and at least half a dozen other regional players with conflicting political and economic goals. In the absence of an agreement, however, a worst-case scenario might not exclude the possibility of a military confrontation between rival states.31 PIPELINE ROUTES AND REGIONAL RIVALRIES

One of the peculiar features of Caspian oil resources is the fact that the countries most interested in early exploration and transportation of oil and gas are landlocked and have to rely on the goodwill and cooperation of their neighbours to be able to do so. As each country has its preference regarding how the oil and gas should be transported to the markets, and as external powers are trying to ensure that the road selected best meets their needs, the issue assumes an importance quite separate from that of production. The transportation question manifests itself in both political and economic considerations because ‘the actual problems of the region involve factors that cannot be judged in terms of economic costs alone’. Therefore the region’s political and strategic conditions assume prominence in the discussion of 13

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which route should be chosen for transportation of hydrocarbon resources out of the region.32 The initial power vacuum created in the region by the collapse of the Soviet Union has pulled most of the regional states and external powers into a dangerous power/influence game in a rapidly changing Eurasian scenery, and the competition had earlier called to mind images of the ‘Great Game’.33 The RF, Turkey, Iran, Saudi Arabia, the US, the EU, Pakistan, China, Japan and Israel were among the countries envisioned at one time or another to be key players. Obviously, each country has specific objectives, and the competition has economic, political, ideological and religious dimensions. As such, there exist various potentials for conflict among regional rivals. While Russia welcomed initially, for the first time, Turkish influence in Central Asia and the Caucasus as a counterweight to Iranian dominated pan-Islamism, those views have by now shifted as Turkey moved more assertively than Iran to supplant Russian influence in the region. Accordingly, the fear that Turkey might have become an agent of the West in the region to dislodge and displace Russian influence took hold within various Russian circles.34 Thus Russia, getting increasingly edgy about Turkish intentions in the region, became itself more aggressive in asserting its ‘rights in its near abroad’.35 Hence, after a brief period of self-isolation, Russia eagerly moved to re-establish its place within the Caspian Region as a dominant actor. In this move political, economic and military pressures have been used extensively, and Russian pressures on the newly independent states went as far as to argue that stability in Central Asia and the Caucasus would be threatened without a Russian presence in the region.36 At the same time, Russian–Iranian relations have rapidly developed after an initial suspicion and reached an all-time high, with Iran becoming not only an important trading partner and profitable arms customer but also an important exponent of Moscow’s interests in the region. In return for Russian leniency towards Iranian moves in Central Asia and Afghanistan, as well as support in the Gulf, Iran pledged ‘not to do anything that could undermine Russia’s ability to maintain and strengthen the CIS and to pursue an active security role in Central Asia and the Caucasus’, as well as to refrain from fuelling Islamic radicalism in the region.37 Under the current geo-political calculations, Russia is keenly interested in retaining, or recovering, its political influence over the Caspian Region. In order to acquire this leverage, Russia has been insistent on the northern line Baku–Novorossiisk as the main transit route for the future oil from the Caspian Basin as this would ensure Moscow’s exclusive and strategic control over the region’s resources. 14

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However, the existing Russian pipeline system, though currently under-utilised, ‘do[es] not have the capacity to absorb all the oil and gas the Caspian region could produce’.38 They were originally designed to link the Soviet Union internally, not to perform as export outlets. An additional limitation is that the oil has to be transported by tankers from Novorossiisk through the congested and ecologically sensitive Bosphorus to get to the world market. Added to this are earlier Russian attempts to use its virtual monopoly on export routes as a means to control all regional issues, thus highlighting the fact that ‘the Moscow-centric pattern of post-Soviet infrastructure renders energy-rich states dependent on Russia despite their own reserves, leaving them especially vulnerable to Russian reprisals should their foreign policies stray too far from Russian interests’.39 The US and Turkey are opposed to the Russian northern route. These two, together with Georgia and Azerbaijan prefer the western route Baku–Ceyhan which will transport the oil and gas via Georgia directly to the Mediterranean. Other various projects notwithstanding, the main competition appears to be between the northern and the western routes.40 Thus, the rivalry between Russia and Turkey over pipeline routes is likely to intensify in the foreseeable future. What is at stake is not only oil and gas transit revenues, but, more importantly, securing and maintaining influence in the Caucasus and Central Asia, to which end the pipeline network is considered to be one of the key factors.41 Quite clearly, the western route would give Turkey greater influence than Russia, while the northern route could greatly benefit Moscow. Thus, there is an increasing scope for major clashes of interests in the region, particularly intensified after the arrival of other extra-regional players. The US support for the western route is firmly embedded in its wider Eurasian and Middle Eastern strategic priorities. One of them is to prop up the independence of the newly independent states of Central Asia and the Caucasus against the influence of Russia.42 To be able to do this, the US initially supported Turkey’s overtures toward Central Asia and the Caucasus. However, as it became increasingly clear that Turkey’s financial resources and political weight would not be enough to counter the Russian neo-hegemonic resurgence in its near abroad, and as American oil interests in the region became substantial, the US moved with more determination to undermine, and even replace, Russian influence. Another strategic goal of the US is to ‘exclude Iran from participation in the production of Caspian oil and gas, and to prevent the development of transportation routes or pipelines that would lead from the Caspian region to either the Persian Gulf or the Indian Ocean via Iran’. This objective is, on the one hand, closely intertwined with the 15

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ongoing dual containment policy of the US against Iran and Iraq, and, on the other, ‘connected with the fundamental US strategy in the Middle East of not permitting the emergence of any dominant regional power capable of influencing the oil market in the Gulf’.43 Therefore, although the US government has recently chosen to tolerate the smallscale oil-swap arrangement between Kazakhstan and Iran, the overall US opposition to any major Iranian involvement in Caspian oil development and transportation may remain unchanged despite signs of positive change in Iran.44 The direction to be chosen for oil and gas transportation from the Caspian region depends on a number of factors. Geo-political considerations of the major world powers and local security problems are as important as (if not more than) financial considerations, geographic location of the main consumers and the existing infrastructure to this decision. Obviously, local conflicts, political instability and lack of regional cooperation have slowed down the development of Caspian oil and gas resources and export routes. Many of the proposed routes pass through the Transcaucasus, where the war in Chechnya, and frozen conflicts within Georgia and between Armenia and Azerbaijan, have obstructed their development. The Afghan civil war and the instability in Tajikistan have likewise hindered exports south-eastwards.45 Moreover, there are intimate linkages between international economic and political rivalries to control oil and the seemingly endless conflicts and instability in the region, especially those in the Caucasus. This is not to suggest that the ethnic-based conflicts that have racked the Caucasus since the collapse of the Soviet Union were caused by the struggle to share the profit of the region’s hydrocarbon resources. Still, the latter certainly fuelled regional tensions and played its part in the manner Russia and other regional and extra-regional powers have been handling these conflicts. An analysis of Russia’s role, especially in Abkhazia, in Nagorno-Karabakh and Chechnya, clearly indicates that the Russian policy in this region has been motivated by its desire to prevent Western influence, and that it has been aimed at the disruption of signed or planned international projects for the development of the Caspian Basin, that excluded Russia. Obviously, ‘only the possibility of social, economic or political instability in these regions could have slow[ed] down the process’ of Western penetration.46 The gradual change in the major powers’ position towards the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan, clearly demonstrates the influence of Caspian oil and gas development on geo-political and strategic considerations and vice versa. Obviously the rekindling of the conflict or the continuing of the exist16

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ing uneasy ceasefire between Armenia and Azerbaijan helps Russia to prevent the construction of a pipeline from Azerbaijan to the Mediterranean.47 At the beginning of the conflict, wishing to preserve its influence with both sides, and ‘to demonstrate . . . its own ability to achieve the settlement of conflicts on the territory of the FSU’, Russia tried to keep external powers from playing a principal role in mediating a political solution to the conflict. It was reasoned that ‘under conditions of multilaterally negotiated accords’ Azerbaijan, and possibly Armenia, ‘would then elude exclusive Russian hegemony or control’. Moreover, since ‘Russian security policy’, following Soviet tradition, ‘regards the borderlands, if not under Russian control, as advanced bases for a Western threat to Russia’, Azerbaijan’s efforts under the leadership of anti-Russian Ebulfez Elchibey, in 1992–93, to establish extensive links with Turkey were regarded in Moscow with open suspicion.48 Russia was also concerned with the continuing Azeri indecision regarding its membership of the CIS. Fearing that Azerbaijan’s withdrawal from the CIS could start a chain reaction, Moscow decided to keep Azerbaijan weak and on the defensive. Discreetly diverting weapons and military expertise to the Armenians through Russiandominated CIS forces enabled them to score military victories. Azerbaijan’s poor performance on the front also provided Moscow with the means to exploit local instability for its own geo-political benefit. However, after Aliyev took Azerbaijan again into the CIS in 1993, Russia started to exert pressure on Armenia and created an uneasy ceasefire in May 1994, which still holds. Russia’s policy has undergone more changes since then. On the one hand Armenia and Russia signed a treaty of Friendship and Cooperation on 28 August 1997. This allowed for Russian military bases in Armenia and for Russian forces being stationed on its borders with Turkey and Iran. In addition a separate deal was concluded in July 1998, which created a joint venture with Gazprom of Russia to supply Armenia with natural gas.49 On the other hand, the Russian position towards Azerbaijan has also modified especially following Evgenii Primakov’s appointment as Minister of Foreign Affairs. He was appointed with the support of ‘pragmatists’ in Russian policy-making and various lobbies and interest groups, primarily linked with the oil and gas industry. As a result of the Caspian oil concessions awarded to Lukoil by President Aliyev of Azerbaijan throughout 1994, oil interests became influential in persuading the Ministry to look for the possibilities of ‘resolution of the NagornoKarabakh conflict on conditions and terms close to those of Azerbaijan’.50 The link between oil and Russian policy towards Nagorno-Karabakh was openly expressed by Iurii Shafrannik, the 17

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

Russian Minister for Fuel and Energy. After the signature of an agreement between his Ministry and the State Oil Company of Azerbaijan (SOCAR), securing participation of Russia in the development of oil and gas resources in the Caspian he stated: ‘The signing of the treaty between Moscow and Baku will have an effect on solving the Karabakh conflict.’51 Consequently, Russia did not object to the Azeri formula for the settlement of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict at the 1997 Lisbon meeting of the OSCE Minsk Group.52 Moreover, after the Lisbon meeting the Russian representatives in the negotiation process acted closely with the West and finally agreed on a settlement plan based on the principle of the status quo ante. This clearly indicated to Armenia’s isolation and the growing influence of the ‘oil and gas lobby’ in Moscow.53 It is important to note that, not only the Russian, but also the American position on the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict has changed as the Caspian oil resources gained importance. Following the Azeri decision to blockade Armenia from September 1992 onwards, the Armenian lobby in the US was able to push through section 907 of the Freedom Support Act in October 1992, which prohibited US assistance to Azerbaijan until it has taken ‘demonstrable steps to cease all blockades and other offensive uses of force against Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh’.54 However, as the American oil interests come to be of greater importance to their stakes in Azerbaijan, ‘pure economic and strategic interests gradually overweighed the pressure of the Armenian lobby and significant adjustments took place in the US policy regarding Armenia and Azerbaijan’.55 Already former National Security Advisor Zbigniev Brzezinski’s visit to Baku in October 1995 indicated a tilt in the US stance closer to Azerbaijan. Concurrently American think-tanks started to criticise the Armenian Government for its ‘increasingly authoritarian and despotic regime’ and the Armenian-American lobby for ‘poisoning the promising business environment for American firms’.56 In June 1997, after a number of contracts between American companies and SOCAR had been signed, Deputy Secretary of State Talbot visited Baku with a proposal for arbitration. The proposal called for, among other things, Armenian withdrawal from the occupied territories outside Nagorno-Karabakh. Finally, following Aliyev’s visit to Washington on 1–2 August 1997 and the Armenian refusal to accept the OSCE December 1997 proposal to settle the NagornoKarabakh dispute in phases, a US legislation was approved in October 1998 that permitted exemptions from the bans contained in section 907. It is obvious that the prospect of the development and exploitation of the oil and gas deposits of the Caspian Sea is beginning to change the context of the feud. 18

THE GEO-POLITICS OF THE CASPIAN REGION

The reasons for such changes in American attitudes, however, transcend purely economic interests. While Armenia has become a strategic ally of Russia granting Moscow military bases, Azerbaijan, with its ‘Western-oriented, secular’ government, has increasingly come to be considered as a ‘natural partner in the region’ that ‘has aligned itself with America’s interests’.57 Obviously that resurgence of Russian hegemony in the Caspian Basin is deemed as a threat to US strategic considerations. The shortest route for a pipeline from Azerbaijan to the Mediterranean is through Armenia and eastern Turkey. However, since the still unresolved Nagorno-Karabakh conflict makes this route impossible in the near future, and since the US opposes passing through Iran, Georgia has become the only possible route for the western line. But Georgia, too, is engulfed by a number of internal conflicts, a situation which is obviously in Russia’s favour if it remains so. Thus, the construction of a pipeline from Baku to Supsa for the ‘early oil’ was suspended briefly in October 1998 because of fighting between government forces and followers of the former president Gamsakhurdia.58 Georgian President Shevardnadze escaped assassination attempts in 1995 and 1998, and survived a short-lived military uprising in October 1998. All three were reported to have been linked to disputes over the construction of oil pipelines through Georgian territory. Shevardnadze himself blamed them on forces opposed to the construction of an oil pipeline across his country: ‘For five or six years we have been doing everything possible to solve the problems over the construction of the oil pipeline, and they [the Russians] are trying to interfere with that.’59 A new variable has recently been introduced to the ‘pipeline game’ by the chairman of the Georgian National Independence Party, Irakli Tsereteli, who, after the October 1998 uprising, called on NATO and/or the US to station a military contingent in Georgia to protect Caspian oil transport.60 Later, in December 1998, representatives from the GUAM Group held talks about setting up a special peacekeeping force to protect the oil export pipelines.61 They proposed to set this force up in cooperation with NATO, within the framework of the Partnership for Peace Programme.62 As the rivalry between the northern and the western routes heightened, the leaders of Turkey and Azerbaijan made several announcements to the effect that there would be no other options for transportation of oil, but through the territory of Turkey. Finally, on 29 October 1998, the presidents of Turkey, Azerbaijan, Georgia and Kazakhstan signed the Ankara Declaration, strongly confirming ‘the accomplishment of their determination in realising the Caspian– Mediterranean (Baku–Tbilisi–Ceyhan) Project as the main export pipeline project’.63 President Niyazov of Turkmenistan, who did not 19

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

wish to put his signature to the Declaration, signed a similar bilateral document with Turkey, endorsing plans for a pipeline under the Caspian Sea and on to Turkey via Azerbaijan and Georgia.64 The US government openly put its weight behind the Turkish option, both before and after the Ankara Declaration. In October 1998, when it became clear that the oil companies that made up Azerbaijan International Operating Company, which has the concession to export the Azeri oil, were unwilling to recommend the Baku–Ceyhan route as their final choice, US government officials insisted within days, that the Baku–Ceyhan line was the best choice and that despite its cost it ‘can provide a commercially viable way of carrying Caspian oil to the Mediterranean’.65 Moreover, in an unprecedented effort the US Trade and Development Agency announced in October 1998 a grant of $823.000 to BOTAS, the Turkish pipeline consortium, to allow it ‘to gain access to US expertise on technical, financial, environmental and legal matters associated with negotiation of the Baku–Ceyhan oil pipeline and the trans-Caspian gas pipeline’.66 A month later the US opened a Caspian Trade Investment and Finance Centre in Ankara, staffed by the representatives of the three US Government trade finance agencies: The Trade and Development Agency, the Overseas Private Investment Corporation and EximBank. The US favours this route because it passes through pro-American countries and would bind them closer to each other and to Western interests. Moreover, it would also secure Turkey’s role as a major player in the Caspian Region, which, in turn, ‘would boost the status of a loyal NATO ally whose secular, moderate government could’, after all, ‘serve as a model for post-Soviet states such as Georgia, Azerbaijan, and Turkmenistan’ and could check the influences of Iran and Russia in the region.67 If the Baku–Ceyhan pipeline is built and put into operation, its main effect will be the weakening or even the complete loss of economic and transportational dependence of the Central Asian and Caucasian states on Russia. Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan will emerge as new competitors to Russia in the export of oil and gas to the world market, and will use the money thus obtained to enhance their political independence from Russia. The role of the Western states, whose oil and gas companies will eventually provide necessary investments, will increase, as will the role of Turkey. On the other hand, the perceived decrease in Russian influence or outside attempts to isolate or eliminate Russia in the Caspian Region can easily become counterproductive, and may quickly encounter an asymmetric response potentially destructive to the stability of regional security. Finally, in addition to the bilateral rivalries between Russia, Turkey and Iran, on a more general level, we are witnessing the emer20

THE GEO-POLITICS OF THE CASPIAN REGION

gence of two rival groups or loosely defined political alliances in the region. These are the RF, Armenia and Iran on the one side, and the US, Azerbaijan and Turkey on the other, while Georgia, though leaning towards the second group, refrains from joining it openly fearing Russian reprimand. Together with the Turkish–Israeli military and security cooperation, and Iranian dislike for it, the long-term implication of this kind of confrontation might have extended affects throughout Eurasia and the Middle East. ENVIRONMENTAL AND ECOLOGICAL ISSUES

The world’s attention has been attracted to the Caspian Region mainly because of regional rivalries over highly explosive issues of oil extraction, transportation and profit sharing. However, there is another, equally important, danger about which politicians and oil interests generally keep silent, namely the ruin of the Caspian’s unique ecosystem accompanied by an irreversible environmental catastrophe. This is due to the total lack of respect for overall regional development and the long-term violation by the Soviet Union of the generally accepted environmental norms. The present rush of Western oil companies and the lack of control over oil exploration operations in most of the newly independent Caspian riparian states only help to exacerbate the situation. The general ecological situation throughout the region is already beyond recovery. In addition to the rising sea level and flooding of coastal areas, there is the problem of increasing saturation and greasiness of the soil.68 As a result of pollution and the upheaval caused by hasty exploration of the coastal shelf and development of offshore oilfields, various forms of aquatic life are facing extinction. Moreover, the Azerbaijani coastline has now been declared unsafe for humans because the concentration of hydrocarbon waste is three times more than the permitted norm. This is a result of the development works in the Azeri, Chirag and Guneshli oil fields. All of this large-scale environmental and ecological damage underlines the need for an international authority to enforce compliance with appropriate environmental norms in the Caspian Basin. However, the ongoing dispute over access to resources presents a major obstacle to effective management of such problems, particularly at the supranational level. Thus the negotiations on the legal status of the Caspian Sea are intertwined with environmental concerns. Both Iran and Russia have objected to oil and gas development projects in the Caspian and opposed the construction of trans-Caspian pipelines on environmental grounds. However, other countries have 21

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

harboured suspicion that both Iran and Russia were using environmental issues to block exploitation of the Caspian reaches by others. This is strengthened by the fact that Russia is still by far the largest polluter of the Caspian Sea. Following the agreement to divide the northern Caspian between Kazakhstan and Russia, Moscow has called for uniform environmental norms to be applied in the northern Caspian. However, the fact that its favoured regime for environmental protection would also yield Russia a greater proportion of oil reserves undermines its sincerity. Environmental questions surrounding the Black Sea in general, and the Bosphorus in particular, have also become a factor in the choice of export routes for Caspian oil. The ports of the Black and Baltic Seas were the principal outlets for the Soviet Union’s oil export. Following the collapse of the USSR, the Black Sea has remained the largest outlet for Russian oil exports. Exports through the Bosphorus have grown since 1991, and there is a rising concern that projected Caspian Sea export volumes will exceed the capacity of the Bosphorus to accommodate the tanker traffic.69 To solve the anticipated problems in the Bosphorus, Turkey has already issued new navigational rules in November 1998 that limit shipping in the Straits area. It also plans to install new radar and navigation systems to improve the safety and administration of navigation in the Straits. However, these precautions will not be sufficient to curtail the expected increase in tanker traffic through the Bosphorus because of international rules governing the right of passage in the Straits. The only way to avoid further congestion would be the development of alternative export routes that bypass the Straits.70 CONCLUDING REMARKS

In the Caspian Region, energy politics and security are closely linked with geo-political analysis of the regional and extra-regional powers, and this study attempts to expose that linkage. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Caspian Region has become the scene of a quadruple international struggle for control of the region’s energy resources. The parties to this struggle are: the Russian Federation, which aims at establishing its dominance over the region, other countries of the region that try to shun Russian domination, international oil companies backed by their governments, and neighbouring countries, such as Turkey and Iran, striving to enhance their regional influence and standing. The local struggle in which each country tries to prevail over the others as to who owns what and how much, presents rather bewil22

THE GEO-POLITICS OF THE CASPIAN REGION

dering conflict possibilities. Combined with the transportation of oil from the region – a significant issue in its own right – it is rapidly becoming a major international problem with alternative doomsday scenarios. None of the options is trouble-free as ‘they all either pass through politically unstable areas, involve high costs, or are politically risky because they offend the strategic sensibilities of one or another of the regional powers’.71 In the final analysis, the choice of routes will have major strategic, political and economic consequences not only for the countries of the Caspian Basin, but also for wider Eurasian and Middle Eastern geo-political calculations with global repercussions. Added to pipeline polarisation is a troubling tendency for investment and military involvement to take place side by side. Obviously, Western oil companies are only interested in the Caspian for profits, but at the same time, some form of alliance between Azerbaijan and the US looks likely as interests became entrenched. Similarly, Israel’s role in the trans-Caspian pipeline seems strictly business, at least for the time being. But Israel’s growing military alliance with Turkey is also becoming difficult to ignore as a factor in regional policy since it is perceived as a threat by Iran. The exploitation of the regional energy resources is crucial to the newly independent states of Central Asia and the Caucasus not only for economic development and integration into world economy – it may also be the only way of securing long-term political stability and increased independence. Undoubtedly, energy exports to the West remain the primary source for hard currency for post-Soviet Russia, the Caucasus and Central Asia, and are vital to economic reconstruction and regional development. Equally important is the critical role of energy exports to the West for the economic and political freedom of the non-Russian members of the CIS. The increasing economic and energy independence of the countries of the Caspian Region will result in the weakening of Russian power, making it difficult for Russia to reassert its hegemony over them. Moreover, the question of how growing oil and gas revenues will be put to use will have a significant effect on both domestic political stability of energy-rich countries and intra-regional relationships in the Caucasus and Central Asia, where there have traditionally been a number of unsettling factors including ethnic conflicts. The conflict between Azerbaijan and Armenia, as well as the Abkhaz and Ossetian secessionist movements in Georgia, for instance, will be influenced by the development of Caspian oil. The construction of pipelines will also influence the winding down process of the civil war in Afghanistan. In short, whoever controls the energy economy in the Caspian Region will determine in the mid- to long term the destiny of 23

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

the region, shaping its domestic and international linkages. Hence the stakes are high and vital for both regional states and their neighbours, as well as the wider international community. The real danger lies in the fact that the parties that are interested in Caspian energy politics are increasingly taking proto-ideological sides in the competition, thus increasing the possibility to turn the Caspian rivalry into a multi-sided conflict that cannot be stopped. It is clear by now that the struggle over Caspian energy resources and pipelines is not simply about economics, but has become a basic feature of international political rivalries of great scope and diversity, linking local antagonisms over land and ethnicity with control over energy. Accordingly, the competition is increasingly conducted in the context of a political struggle between two irreconcilable camps. On the one side are the Western countries, primarily the US, Turkey and Caspian littorals that wish to enhance their independence and sovereignty. They all aim at minimising Russian influence and control. On the other side are essentially the RF, which is trying to reassert its regional hegemony, and Iran and Armenia who are drawn ever closer to Russia because of their increasing regional and international isolation. In this context, from the American perspective, the development of the Caspian oil fields is also interlocked with the strategic objectives of halting the spread of Iranian Islamic influence to the Caspian region and of the policy of dual containment towards Iran and Iraq, which figures highly in its post-Cold War world strategy. In sum, the Caspian oil resources have become a determining factor in the regional and international geo-politics of the Caucasus and Central Asia, where energy politics, economic development, political ambitions, and military interests have become inextricable. Central Asia was considered the heartland of the ancient Asian world. Its pivotal geographical position allowed it to play a key role in the relations among the peoples of Eurasia. In the Middle Ages, it was the land bridge between China and Europe. In the modern world, the Caucasus’ importance grew from its role in the struggle between the Great Powers to create spheres of influence in the region. The seventy-odd years of Soviet rule closed both regions to outside influence and observation. With the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, both regions, connected by the Caspian Sea and its wealth, are rising again to claim their prominence in the world’s geo-political developments. One can only hope that this will proceed in a peaceful way.

24

THE GEO-POLITICS OF THE CASPIAN REGION Table 1.1

Existing and future pipelines in the Caspian Region

Name

Type Route

Capacity Length (1,000 b/d) (km)

Status

AIOC Early Oil (South–North)

Oil

Baku–Groznyi – Novorossiisk

120+

1,600

Russian part inoperative

AIOC Early Oil (East–West)

Oil

Baku–Tbilisi– Supsa

120+

885

Under construction

AIOC Main Export Pipeline

Oil

Undecided, preferable via Turkey

1,000

3,220+

Decision pending

Caspian Pipeline Consortium

Oil

Tengiz– Novorossiisk

1,340

2,415

Contracts signed

Turkmenistan– Afghanistan– Pakistan

Oil

Chardzou– Gwadar

1,000

1,290+

Situation in Afghanistan stalling construction

Turkmenistan– Afghanistan– Pakistan

Gas

Dauletabad– Central Pakistan

2bcm

1,405

Situation in Afghanistan stalling construction

Kazakhstan– China

Oil

Western Kazkhstan to China

TBA

Approx. Feasibility 6,000 study pending

Turkmenistan– China

Oil

Chardzou– China

TBA

Approx. Feasibility 6,000 study pending

Central Asia– Turkey

Gas

Kazakhstan– Turkmenistan– Azerbaijan

TBA

Approx. Pending 2,100 decision on status of Caspian Sea

Iran–Turkey

Gas

Northern Iran– eastern Turkey

10cbm/yr over 23 years

970

Contract signed; financing unclear

Source: US Department of State, Caspian Region Energy Development Report (as Required by HR3610), undated report attached to letter from Barbara Larkin, Assistant Secretary for Legislative Affairs to Senator Robert Byrd, 15 April 1997, p. 3.

25

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION Table 1.2

Estimates of recoverable oil and gas resources in the Caspian Region

Azerbaijan Kazakhstan Turkmenistan Uzbekistan Russia Iran** Total*

Proven oil

Possible oil

Total*

Proven gas

Possible gas

3.6 10.0 1.5 0.2 0.2 na 15.6

27.0 85.0 32.0 1.0 5.0 12.0 163.0

31.0 95.0 33.5 1.2 5.0 12.0 178.0

0.3 1.5 4.4 2.1 na 0.0 8.3

1.0 2.5 4.5 1.0 na 0.3 9.3

Notes: * Totals may not add up due to rounding. ** Only Caspian Region. Source: US Department of State, Caspian Region Energy Development Report (as Required by HR3610), undated report attached to letter from Barbara Larkin, Assistant Secretary for Legislative Affairs to Senator Robert Byrd, 15 April 1997, p. 3.

NOTES 1 Manaba Shimizu (ed.), IDE Spot Survey: The Caspian Basin Oil and its Impact on Eurasian Power Games (Tokyo: Institute of Developing Economies, 1998), p. 8; and Graham Fuller, ‘Geopolitical Dynamics of the Caspian Region’, Caspian Crossroads, Vol. 3, No. 2 (1997), p. 1, respectively. 2 Richard E. Friedman and S. Enders Wimbush, ‘Central Asia and the West’, 22 May 1998, p. 2 (http://www.mfa.gov.tr/grupf/percept/11/per1–7.htm). 3 Oumerserik Kasenov, ‘Russia and Transcaucasia: Oil, Pipelines, and Geopolitics’, in Roald Z. Sagdeev and Susan Eisenhower (eds.), Central Asia: Conflict, Resolution, and Change (Washington, DC: The Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1995) (http://www.cpss.org/casiabk/chap6.txt). 4 Gregory Gleason, The Central Asian States: Discovering Independence (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1999), p. 139. 5 Friedman and Wimbush, ‘Central Asia and the West’, p. 2. 6 Charles W. Blandy, The Caucasus Region and Caspian Basin: Change, Complication and Challenge (Sandhurst: The Royal Military Academy, 1998), p. 4; and Clive Schofield and Martin Pratt, ‘Claims to the Caspian Sea’, Jane’s Intelligence Review (February 1996), p. 75, respectively. 7 Ralph Clem, ‘The New Central Asia: Prospects for Development’, in Michael Bradshaw (ed.), Geography and Transition in the Post-Soviet Republics (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1997), p. 165. 8 Ibid., p. 167. 9 Shimizu, IDE Spot Survey, p. 13; and US Department of Energy, Energy Information Agency (EIA), Fact Sheet: Caspian Sea, December 1998, p. 1 (http://www.eia.doe.gov/emeu/cabs/caspfull.html). 10 US Department of State, Caspian Region Energy Development Report, 15 April 1997, p. 3. 11 This is comparable to the total North American reserves of 300 trillion cubic feet. See EIA Fact Sheet, pp. 1–2.

26

THE GEO-POLITICS OF THE CASPIAN REGION 12 See Chapter 2 in this volume. 13 Aleksandr Akimov, ‘Oil and Gas in the Caspian Sea Region: An Overview of Cooperation and Conflict’, Perspectives on Central Asia, Vol. 1, No. 5 (June 1996), p. 3 (http://www.cpss.org/casianw/akim.txt). 14 Ibid., pp. 2–3. 15 This analysis is, in part, based on my ‘Regional Security Issues and Conflicts in the Caucasus and the Caspian’, in Kurt R. Spillmann and Joachim Krause (eds), International Security Challenges in a Changing World, Studien zu Zeitgeschichte und Sicherheitpolilitik 2 (Bern and Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1999), pp. 126–9. 16 According to the Soviet–Iranian Treaties of 26 February 1921 and 25 March 1940, an exclusive 10-mile fishing zone was established, and the Caspian Sea was given the status of an enclosed sea, under joint sovereignty of the USSR and Iran. No particular attention was given to the use of underwater resources. In theory, the USSR and Iran observed the principle of joint exploration of Caspian biological resources, even though in practice nobody has tried to enforce a 50/50 approach to sharing. During the Cold War only the Soviet Union extracted some oil from the continental shelf near Baku, and Iran neither condemned it, nor claimed a share of the profits. 17 Quoted in Schofield and Pratt, ‘Claims to the Caspian Sea’, pp. 76–7. 18 Quoted by Yuri Fedorov, ‘Russia’s Policies Toward Caspian Region Oil: NeoImperial or Pragmatic?’, Perspectives on Central Asia, Vol. 1, No. 6 (September 1996), p. 1 (http://www.cpss.ord/casianw/septpers.html). 19 Shimizu, IDE Spot Survey, p. 11; and US Department of Energy, EIA, Country Analysis Briefs: Russia (http://www.eia.doe.gov/emeu/cabs/Russia.html), July 1998. 20 For differences between various interest groups in Russian foreign policy-making regarding the Caspian Region see Fedorov, ‘Russia’s Policies Toward Caspian Region Oil’. 21 Andrei Shoumikhin, ‘Economics and Politics of Developing Caspian Oil Resources’, Perspectives on Central Asia, Vol. 1, No. 8 (November 1996), p. 2. Posted at (http://www.cpss.or/casianw/novpers.html). 22 ‘Interview with Yeltsin’, Corrie della Sera, 8 February 1998. 23 EIA Fact Sheet, p. 6; and RFE/RL Newsline, 7 July 1998. 24 Shimizu, IDE Spot Survey, p. 11; Blandy, The Caucasus Region, p. 15. 25 Blandy, The Caucasus Region, p. 14. 26 See Charles W. Blandy, ‘The Caspian: A Sea of Troubles’, CSRC Report S31 (Sandhurst: The Royal Military Academy, September 1997). 27 Shimizu, IDE Spot Survey, p. 12. 28 In a speech delivered to the conference on ‘Central Asia and Caucasus; The Role of Regional Powers in Conflict Resolution and Economic Development’, Tehran, The Institute for Political and International Studies, 27–28 April 1998. This means Iran claims 20 per cent of the seabed, while the normal division according to international law would give it less than 10 per cent. 29 Calculations are based on the figures given by Blandy, The Caucasus Region, p. 16. 30 Schofield and Pratt, ‘Claims to the Caspian Sea’, p. 77; and Elaine Sciolino, New York Times, 21 June 1998. 31 Schofield and Pratt, ‘Claims to the Caspian Sea’, p. 79. 32 Shimizu, IDE Spot Survey, p. 30. The analysis in this section is based on my ‘Turkey and Central Asia: Challenges of Change’, Central Asian Survey, Vol. 15, No. 2 (1996), pp. 163–170; and ‘Ethnic Conflict and Security in Central Asia and Caucasus; The Role of Turkey’, Marco Polo Magazine, No. 3 (1998), pp. 23–5. 33 For a description of the new ‘Great Game’ and the policies and aims of its players

27

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

34 35 36 37 38 39 40

41

42

43 44

45

see M. E. Ahrari, ‘The Dynamics of the New Great Game in Muslim Central Asia’, Central Asian Survey, Vol. 13, No. 4 (1994), pp. 525–39. For an elaboration of this view see ibid., pp. 531–3. For an investigation into Russia’s newly asserted interests in its near abroad see Stephan Blank, ‘Russia, the Gulf and Central Asia in New Middle East’, Central Asian Survey, Vol. 13, No. 2 (1994), pp. 267–81. Statement by the Commander of the Russian Frontier Forces in August 1994, quoted by Carol Migdalowitz, ‘Armenia–Azerbaijan Conflict’, CRS Issue Brief (Washington, DC: Library of Congress, 1995), p. 13. Amin Saikal, ‘Russian Policy toward Central Asia and the Middle East’, in Peter Shearman (ed.), Russian Foreign Policy Since 1990 (Boulder and Oxford: Westview, 1995), pp. 272–4. Shimizu, IDE Spot Survey, p. 22. Henry E. Hale, ‘Independence and Integration in the Caspian Basin’, SAIS Review, Vol. 19, No. 1 (1999), p. 175. Hale (ibid., pp. 173–4) argues that ‘by far the most prominent alternative route would lead from Baku through Georgia ending up at Ceyhan’. Obviously, not only Azerbaijani but also Kazakh oil can be transported through the pipeline on Turkey’s territory. In an effort to turn the Baku–Ceyhan route into an alternative not only for Azerbaijan, but for Central Asia as well, the US began to push in 1997 the idea of an oil pipeline that would pass under the Caspian Sea, winning the backing of both Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan. Washington Post, 5 October 1998, p. A18 based on data from the US Information Agency, 19 November 1997. Also see Amoco web page, 29 June 1998 (http://www.amoco. com). On this subject see Charles W. Blandy, ‘Oil is Not the Only Stake’, CSRC Report S28 (Sandhurst: The Royal Military Academy, February 1997); and idem, ‘The Caspian: A Catastrophe in the Making’, CSRC Report S32 (Sandhurst: Royal Military Academy, September 1997). For a discussion of the American policy towards Central Asia and Caucasus, see US House of Representatives, Committee on International Relations, Staff Report, Major Setbacks Looming for American Interests in the Caucasus Region, 6 September 1996. Also see Ariel Cohen, ‘US Policy in the Caucasus and Central Asia: Building a New “Silk Road” to Economic Prosperity’, Heritage Foundation Backgrounder, 1132, 24 July 1997. Shimizu, IDE Spot Survey, p. 30. For example, the US Government ‘overlooked’ the participation of the American firm Chevron in oil swap projects with Iran ‘as a temporary measure pending the completion of the CPC pipeline via Russia’, Hale, ‘Independence and Integration’, p. 173. Nevertheless, in a report to Congress in July 1998 Jan Kalicki, US Ombudsman for Energy and Commercial Co-operation with the New Independent States, declared that although ‘the US Government welcomes signs of positive change in Iran, [. . .] we oppose the construction of pipelines from the region to or through Iran. Iran is a competitor, not a partner [. . .] when it comes to oil and gas exports. It is against our energy security interests for more oil and gas to go through the strait of Hormuz.’ For the full text of the report see BISNIS (Business Information Service for the Newly Independent States) home page (http://www.BISNIS.com). Turkmenistan, Pakistan and Afghanistan (Taliban) together with (the American firm) Unocol had signed an agreement to build a pipeline through war-torn Afghanistan to Pakistan. Although construction was due to start in 1998, after the US bombing of suspected terrorist sites within Taliban-controlled areas,

28

THE GEO-POLITICS OF THE CASPIAN REGION

46

47

48

49

50 51 52

53 54

Unocol pulled out of its participation, leaving the deal stranded. See RFE/RL Newsline, 27 October 1997, 8 June 1998 and 21 August 1998. For an analysis of the connection between development and transportation of Caspian oil and the Russian foreign policy towards regional conflicts see Andrei Shoumikhin, ‘The Chechen Crisis and the Future of Russia’, Comparative Strategy, No. 15 (1996), pp. 1–2; Fedorov, ‘Russia’s Policies’; Ariel Cohen, ‘The “New Great Game”: Pipeline Politics in Eurasia’, Heritage Foundation Backgrounder, No. 1065, 25 January 1996; Rosemarie Forsythe, The Politics of Oil in the Caucasus and Central Asia (London: IISS, 1996); Stephen Blank, Energy, Economics and Security in Central Asia: Russia and Its Rivals (Carlise, PA: US Army War College, 1995); Hale, ‘Independence and Integration’, pp. 163–89. Kasenov, ‘Russia and Transcaucasia’, p. 3. For a view that Russia is actively exploiting the turmoil in the Caucasus to undermine the construction of the Baku–Ceyhan pipeline see ‘Emboldened by Iraq “Victory”, Russia Intensifies Effort to Undermine Azerbaijan’, Caspian Watch, No. 9, 26 November 1997; and ‘Russia Makes its Move in Yeltsin’s Pipeline War’, Caspian Watch, No. 10, 12 February 1998. Blank, ‘Russia, the Gulf and Central Asia’, p. 7. Also see, Laura Le Cornu, ‘Azerbaijan’s September Crisis: An Analysis of the Causes and Implications’, FSS Project Briefing No. 1 (London: RIIA, January 1995). Many regional specialists and Caucasian officials believed that Russia was behind the coup that replaced President Elchibey of Azerbaijan because he adopted a strong pro-Turkish and anti-Russian stance. See Elizabeth Fuller, ‘Azerbaijan’s June Revolution’, RFE/RL Research Report, 13 August 1993, p. 27; Thomas Goltz, ‘Hidden Russian Hand’, Foreign Policy, No. 92 (autumn 1993), pp. 92–116; S. Rob Sobbani, ‘Russia Tests the US in Azerbaijan’, Wall Street Journal, 28 June 1994; Hale, ‘Independence and Integration’, pp. 165–6. Gazprom is the biggest natural gas production and exportation company in both Russia and the world. 30 per cent of the company is still owned by the Russian state and the rest was privatised after the collapse of the Soviet Union. With the July 1998 agreement, Armenia agreed to transfer the control of Armenia’s national gas distribution system to ArmRosGazprom, a joint venture owned by the Armenian state-owned gas enterprise Armgaz (45 per cent), Gazprom (45 per cent), and Italy’s Itera (10 per cent). In return the ArmRosGazprom agreed to facilitate Russian natural gas exports to and through Armenia. NG-Stsenarii, No. 9 (August 1994), pp. 4–5. Quoted in Blandy, The Caucasus Region, p. 9. Fedorov, ‘Russia’s Policies’, p. 4. The decision to create a contact group and to hold an international conference to facilitate solution for the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict was taken during the OSCE Foreign Ministers’ Meeting in March 1992. Later on, in July 1992, representatives of 11 countries (Armenia, Azerbaijan, USA, Russian Federation, Turkey, Germany, Italy, France, Sweden, Czech Republic and Belarus) met in Minsk to discuss the situation. During the meeting, the participants decided to establish a permanent initiative under the trilateral joint presidency of the US, Russia and France. The ascendancy of Caspian oil to the top of Russia’s foreign policy priorities is traced in Forsythe, The Politics of Oil, and Hale, ‘Independence and Integration’, pp. 175–7. Freedom Support Act, P.L. 102–511, Sec. 907, ‘Restriction on Assistance to Azerbaijan’, 102nd Congress, 2nd Session, 1992.

29

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION 55 Shimizu, IDE Spot Survey, p. 26. 56 ‘Redirection of US Policy in the Caspian Basin’, Casey Institute of the Center for Security Policy, Publication No. 96–C 94, 1 October 1996, p. 2; and ‘HouseSenate Conference Must Strike Proper Balance for American Interests’, Caspian Watch, No. 4, 17 September 1996, p. 1; ‘Congress Must Do the Right Thing by US Interests in the Caspian Basin’, Caspian Watch, No. 3, 1 August 1996, p. 1. 57 S. Rob Sobhani, ‘The Great Game in Play in Azerbaijan’, The Washington Times, 20 February 1997; and ‘Silk Road Legislation Opens New Opportunities for US Strategic, Commercial Interests in the Caspian Basin’, Caspian Watch, No. 8, 23 October 1997, p. 2. 58 The ‘early oil’ is a new terminology in the petroleum business, which came into existence in relation to Caspian oil. While the full oil production capacity of the Caspian Region would reach up to 40 billion ton over 30 years with 9 or 10 floating platforms over the sea, the only existing platform in the region at present could produce a maximum 4 million ton in total. As the region is a landlocked area, the operating companies in the region decided to utilise this oil, dubbed as ‘early oil’, in order to test the possible export options before going into full exploitation of the region’s reaches. 59 New York Times, 22 October 1998. Also see Caspian Watch, No. 10, p. 1. 60 EIA Fact Sheet, p. 7. 61 The GUAM Group was established during 1996–97 as an informal gathering between Georgia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan and Moldova, hence the name, to coordinate their policies regarding regional developments. The Group expanded to include Uzbekistan (becoming GUUAM) during meetings in Washington, held concurrently with NATO’s fiftieth anniversary summit in April 1999, simultaneously establishing a charter opting out of the Commonwealth of Independent States’ Collective Security Treaty and encompassing military cooperation with NATO. 62 Michael Lelyveld, ‘Caucasus: US Military Presence in Caspian Appears Inevitable’, RFE/RL Newsline, 4 February 1999. Already in December 1997, Georgia, the Ukraine and Azerbaijan announced their intention to create a joint battalion to protect the Transcaucasian transport corridor. See Liz Fuller, ‘Introducing the Other GUAM’, End Note in RFE/RL Newsline, 1 December 1997. 63 For the full text of the ‘Ankara Declaration’, see (httpl/www.mfa.gov.tr/default2. asp?param=/GRUPH/ Release/1998/Ankara.htm). 64 Milliyet, 2 November 1998. 65 See the text of the speech delivered by the Special Advisor to the President for Caspian Basin Energy Diplomacy, Ambassador Richard Morningstar, at the CERA Conference, Washington, DC, 7 December 1998, p 1. Also see remarks by Jan Kalicki, US Ombudsman for Energy and Commercial Co-operation with the Newly Independent States, at the Conference ‘Caspian Pipelines: Building Solutions’, Washington, DC, 9 December 1998, pp. 2–3. The main problem with the Baku–Ceyhan route is its estimated cost of $2.8 to $3.5 billion. While the US government is lobbying hard for the route because of political and strategic reasons, US firms are reluctant to follow because of financial considerations and Turkey’s offers of concessions on taxes and transit fees have so far not satisfied them. For disagreements between US government officials and oil companies see Michael Lelyveld, ‘Caucasus: Deadline Nears on Oil Transit Routes’, RFE/RL Newsline, 16 June 1998; Stephen Kinzer, ‘Caspian Oil Pipeline Suffers a Setback’, New York Times, 28 November 1998; Robert Lyle, ‘Caspian: Views Differ on Viability of Oil Pipelines’, RFE/RL Newsline, 4 March 1999.

30

THE GEO-POLITICS OF THE CASPIAN REGION 66 Stephen Kinzer, New York Times, 22 October 1998. 67 Tyler Marshall, ‘Route of Caspian Sea Oil Pipeline Debated’, Los Angeles Times, 3 December 1998. 68 In addition to actual flooding of arable land, an overall population of 700,000 people live in the danger zone and need to be evacuated. It is predicted that by the year 2010 the water level will rise by a further 25 metres. See Blandy, The Caucasus Region, p. 25. 69 Of about 50,000 ships per year that pass through the Straits, 60 per cent are already tankers. If Novorossiisk is chosen as the outlet for the main AIOC line, to which must be added the oil already coming from Kazakhstan by road, the projected CPC line between Tengiz and Novorossiisk, and the Baku–Supsa line, the number of tankers will increase sharply causing more risks and delays. See Patrick Crow, ‘Pipeline Politics’, Oil and Gas Journal, Vol. 96, No. 11, 16 March 1998. 70 One of the problems in the Bosphorus is that it is suitable only for ships of less then 150 metres in length, while the most used tankers for oil transportation nowadays is somewhere between 250 and 300 metres. If Turkey tries to decrease the number of ships passing through the Straits, then their size will increase, causing repeated closures to other traffic. See John Naegele, ‘Turkey: Caspian Oil Presents Challenge to the Straits’, RFE/RL Newsline, 23 June 1998. 71 Forsythe, The Politics of Oil, p. 47.

31

2

Oil and Gas in the Economies of the Caspian Region Paul Rivlin

This chapter examines the role of oil and gas in areas bordering on, or close to, the Caspian Sea. The countries concerned are (in alphabetical order) Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Russia, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. Armenia, Georgia, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan do not border the Caspian Sea but they share that region’s hydrocarbon basin, the routes through which its gas and oil may be exported, or both. In its International Energy Outlook 1998, the Energy Information Administration (EIA) of the US Department of Energy provided estimates of proven (actual) and potential (possible) oil reserves in the Caspian Sea region (see Table 2.1). These showed that the potential reserves were over five times the level of proven ones, and that over half of total oil reserves are in Kazakhstan. The total of proven reserves equalled 3.1 per cent of world proved reserves in 1997, similar in size to those of the North Sea or the US.1 Potential reserves, estimated at 171 bn barrels equalled about 25 per cent of proven reserves in the Middle East. Between 1993 and 1998, oil production in the main Caspian producers increased by nearly 20 per cent. In 1998 it equalled 1.3 per cent of world production while its share in world reserves equalled 6.1 per cent (see Table 2.2). In 1990, before the USSR broke up, Azerbaijan had the largest oil production in the region, but resources had been directed by the Soviet regime to other regions. As a result, much of the oil and gas in the Caspian Sea region has not been developed. Proven gas reserves in the region are much larger than those of oil. Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan each rank among the world’s 20 largest proven reserve holders. Proven reserves in the region 32

OIL AND GAS IN THE CASPIAN REGION

have been estimated by the EIA at between 236 and 337 trillion cubic feet (tcf), similar to those of North America. Possible gas reserves could be equal to 328 tcf, but these are located in more remote regions of Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. World proven reserves in 1997 were estimated at 5,112 tcf, of which 1,726 tcf (33.7 per cent) was in the Middle East and 349 tcf (6.8 per cent) was in North Africa. Between 1993 and 1998, gas production declined by 48 per cent, as a result of lower output in Turkmenistan (see Table 2.3). In 1998, Caspian gas production accounted for 2.7 per cent of world output, while reserves came to 5.1 per cent of world reserves.2 A number of problems exist in the exploitation of these resources. Firstly, the countries of the region have experienced severe economic difficulties since they gained their independence from the Soviet Union. Between 1989 and 1997, GDP fell in all of the countries in the Caspian Sea region. The fall ranged from almost 14 per cent in Uzbekistan to 71 per cent in Georgia. In the Russian Federation (RF) it declined by 42.5 per cent and in Kazakhstan by nearly 38 per cent.3 These large falls were due to military conflicts within and between some of the countries of the region and also to the immense difficulties that they had in restructuring following the collapse of the Soviet Union. As a result, demand for energy in the region fell and thus increased the amount available for export. Table 2.4 shows the annual rate of growth of GDP since 1992. Second, the region has experienced serious political instability. The armed conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan over NagornoKarabakh resulted in thousands of deaths and the displacement of more than one million people. The separatist struggles in Abkhazia and South Ossetia in Georgia resulted in massive population displacement. Russia has faced political and economic crises as well as two rounds of war in Chechnya. Tajikistan has gone through a civil war. Uzbekistan is concerned about the involvement of native Uzbeks in the conflict in Afghanistan. Kazakhstan faces tensions between its two almost equal major ethnic components – Russians and Kazakhs. In addition to these ethno-political conflicts, Russia considers that the Caspian should be developed under a common programme, rather than separately by each littoral state. Third, the region is dependent on its neighbours, Turkey, Iran, the RF, Afghanistan and China in order to export oil and gas. Pipelines have to cross the territory of some of these neighbours and this, in current geo-political circumstances presents a serious challenge. Existing routes go through Russian territory and had their origins in the Soviet period when links within the Soviet Union were the priority. Caspian Sea countries are linked to each other by pipelines, but only one route links the region with world markets (in Europe) and 33

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

that runs from Kazakhstan to Russia. Most of the existing pipelines terminate at Novorossiisk on the Russian Black Sea coast and oil is then transported by tanker through the Bosphorus before reaching the Mediterranean, which is ecologically and politically sensitive. Given that oil markets in Asia are forecast to grow faster than those in Europe, it may make sense to route the oil east rather than west. The options are therefore pipelines through Turkey, Russia, Iran or China. Each presents a different challenge. Fourth, the US is strongly opposed to the development of pipelines across Iranian territory. In 1996, the US enacted the Iran and Libya Sanctions Act which restricted the amount that a company could invest in either of those countries and makes those investing in Iranian or partIranian pipelines subject to US sanctions. Iran has a relatively welldeveloped oil and gas infrastructure, including sections of pipelines that could be used to transport Caspian oil to the Persian Gulf. Iran also has a role as a littoral state on the Caspian. It borders Azerbaijan and Turkmenistan and has extensive trading links with them.4 Countries in the region do not want to rely exclusively on the Russian route, for fear that it could be closed for political and or economic reasons. This is of particular significance given that they are potential competitors with Russia for oil and gas markets in Western Europe. Turkey has been in dispute with the oil companies British Petroleum (BP) and Amoco (which merged to form BP Amoco) because of their unwillingness to back the development of a pipeline between Baku in Azerbaijan and Ceyhan, on Turkey’s Mediterranean coast, north of Syria. BP stated that it did not want to rush a decision given the uncertainties in the region.5 An alternative route, shorter and cheaper, to Georgia’s Black Sea port of Supsa had been suggested. The chairman of Chevron, the US oil company, a leading participant in Caspian oil development said that because of recent uncertainty about the size of reserves in the region, the shorter and cheaper route was more desirable. Turkey pressed very hard for the pipeline to be built to Ceyhan and called on the US government to support it. The latter has announced tax incentives for companies investing in the Turkish route and the Turkish government stated that it would not allow the Bosphorus to become a pipeline for Caspian crude.6 Much of the oil and gas reserves in the region lie under the Caspian Sea. Although it has not yet slowed investment, the conflict over legal rights to drill for and exploit oil between the littoral states offshore presents serious problems. The rising water level of the Caspian Sea has flooded or threatened to flood coastal onshore oil fields many of which are surrounded by oil ‘lakes’ that resulted from inadequate environmental management in the past. On 29 October 1998 a 30-year agreement was signed between 34

OIL AND GAS IN THE CASPIAN REGION

Turkey and Turkmenistan for the construction of a gas pipeline from Baku to Ceyhan with an eventual capacity of 30 bcm. Turkey undertook to buy and transport to Europe 16 bcm of Turkmen gas. The deal was part of the US-sponsored East–West Energy Corridor and has been the subject of intense debate both in the US and in the Caspian Region. Commercial interests have tended to favour pipelines through Russia and/or Iran on the grounds that they were cheaper and therefore less risky, especially given the uncertainties associated with the Caspian fields. The US government has been accused of taking a political approach in favouring the pipeline through Turkey, favouring an ally for political rather than for economic reasons.7 The Turkish Straits also present problems. Oil sent by pipeline to the Russian Black Sea port of Novorossiisk is then shipped by tanker for the Mediterranean. The number of tankers passing through the Straits poses the danger of collisions, a threat to human and maritime life. Turkey is therefore opposed to increased use of the sea route and has been pressing for the construction of pipelines across its territory. The International Energy Agency (IEA) has estimated that it would cost up to $200 bn to develop and transport the region’s oil and gas. The governments of the region are looking to foreign companies to fund these developments. The international oil and gas companies have a wide range of choices as to where they can invest, both within the Caspian Region and elsewhere. Governments in the region are therefore in competition with each other and countries in other parts of the world for investment. By the beginning of 1999, cumulative direct foreign investment in the region totalled $5 bn, of which $1 bn took place in 1998. Future investment expectations from contracts already signed total over $60 bn.8 Most of the foreign investment that has been made since independence has gone to Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan. This is partly due to the fact that both countries have made progress in creating an environment that will encourage investment. Kazakhstan has developed laws covering all kinds of investments; Azerbaijan has concentrated on laws to encourage production sharing agreements. Nevertheless, much more needs to be done to develop the regulatory, fiscal and customs systems in all the countries of the region. In 1990 the European Union (EU) proposed the creation of a European Energy Charter in order to encourage investment and trade in the energy sector. In 1991, a political declaration was issued. In 1994 the Energy Charter Treaty was signed giving legal backbone to the political declaration. In 1998 the Treaty came into force with 49 member states, including Armenia, Azerbaijan, Russia, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan, as well as the EU Commission. The Treaty provides legal protection for energy investment, applies World Trade Organization (WTO) 35

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

rules to trade in energy products, materials and related equipment, and provides for legally binding conciliation procedures for conflicts relating to the transit of energy and energy products. COUNTRY BY COUNTRY SURVEY

Armenia Armenia is one of the smaller countries in the region in terms of population and the size of its economy (see Table 2.5). The latter is dominated by agriculture, which accounts for about 40 per cent of GDP, and industry, which takes about 30 per cent. Commerce and other services account for the remaining 30 per cent. Armenia has been one of the slowest economic reformers in the region partly because of the six-year long conflict in Nagoro-Karabakh. Since 1994, the government has started to reform the economy, introducing a foreign investment law, reducing restrictions on foreign trade and improving the infrastructure. The rate of economic growth increased in 1998 after a weak performance in 1997 and inflation declined. Armenia has virtually no oil or gas but is strategically located as a transit centre for the region. Oil exports from Azerbaijan and Kazakhstan could pass through Armenian territory on their way to Turkey and other countries in Europe. Azerbaijan In 1994 agriculture accounted for about 40 per cent of production and employment in Azerbaijan. Since 1992 agriculture has suffered from bad weather, the conflict in Nagoro-Karabakh, inefficient irrigation, and water pollution. About 55 per cent of the population live in urban areas and one million refugees from war zones have fled to the capital, almost doubling its population. Azerbaijan has been slow to introduce economic reforms because of the conflict in the Karabakh region and because of the lack of a stable government. The conflict resulted in the government losing control of over 20 per cent of the country’s territory and in the creation of a huge refugee problem. Between 1991 and 1997, GDP fell by 55 per cent. The economy only began to recover in 1996. Since then the rate of growth of GDP has been accelerating, but in the current account the balance has deteriorated. In December 1996, a three-year agreement was signed with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) for assistance in funding the transition to a market economy. Progress in privatising enterprises has been slow with the exception of small companies. 36

OIL AND GAS IN THE CASPIAN REGION

The economy is dominated by agriculture (20 per cent of GDP) and by traditional industries (25 per cent of GDP). Oil has played an increasingly important role since independence: according to EIA, in 1991 its share in national income was 2.6 per cent and in 1997, 13 per cent. In 1997, exports of oil came to $480 m, chemicals, petroleum and plastics to $60 m, cotton $123 m, food $55 m and machinery $37 m. Azerbaijan is the oldest producer of oil in the region, and during the Second World War, when it was part of the USSR, it produced 500,000 barrels a day. Azerbaijan’s main oil resources are offshore but it also has onshore fields. Production has fallen in recent years due to a lack of investment, antiquated technology and conflicts within the country and with its neighbours. Despite this, five foreign consortia are working on projects in the country, all with the state-owned oil company, SOCAR. Azerbaijan has done better than any other Caspian country in attracting foreign investment to its oil industry. This has resulted in a sharp increase in foreign investment from $13 m in 1993 to $546 m in 1996. Its legal and fiscal codes are attractive and it has managed to cope with the conflicting pressures of Russia, Iran, Turkey and the US. Oil output fell between 1994 and 1996 and has increased since then. In 1998, SOCAR suffered from the decline in international oil prices, from smuggling of petrol into the country from Georgia and Russia (where petrol prices were lower) and from payments arrears by its customers, which included the state electricity corporation. The major issue facing the future development of the oil and gas industry is the question of pipelines and export routes. The conflicts in Nagorno-Karabakh, Chechnya and Abkhazia, in Georgia, all affect decision-making about export routes. SOCAR has decided that in the short term, its oil will be exported first through the Russian Black Sea port of Novorossiisk and second through Georgia to its Black Sea port of Supsa. These routes are meant to provide for oil that will come onstream until 2003 or 2004. For oil coming onstream afterwards, the options are a pipeline from Baku to Ceyhan in Turkey, to Poti in Georgia and to Novorossiisk in Russia. There have been delays in reaching agreement on the route of the proposed ‘Main Export Pipeline’ to be built by a group made up of the Western consortium, the Azerbaijan International Operating Company (AIOC) and SOCAR. In December 1998, a committee made up of representatives of the two groups and the Azeri government postponed again a decision on the route. The companies involved were reluctant to commit themselves to invest large funds while international oil prices were low and while uncertainty prevailed regarding the scale of Caspian Sea reserves. The governments of Azerbaijan, Turkey and the US want the pipeline to be built between Baku and Ceyhan in Turkey. This view is essentially political, designed to limit 37

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

the number of pipelines crossing Russian territory but it does not have financial backing.9 In the early 1990s, 60 per cent of the country’s primary energy supply came from gas, making it one of the most intensive users of gas in the world. About 40 per cent of this gas was imported from Turkmenistan, but there was a fall as a result of payments difficulties. Gas production is forecast to increase after 2000, when large offshore oil projects will come onstream providing a supply of associated gas. In 1997 and 1998 investment in the energy sector was one of the main factors behind the rapid acceleration of economic growth. Georgia Georgia’s economy is dominated by agriculture (about 28 per cent of GDP), trade (22 per cent) and industry (10 per cent). There is a large hidden or black economy which is one reason why the share of national income taken in taxes is low and the government suffers fiscal problems. The problems of economic adjustment have been hampered by the reliance of large enterprises on cheap, imported energy and subsidies. Economic growth slowed in 1998 as a result of the acute economic crisis in Russia. Georgia has no oil and very small gas resources but is important as a transit route for oil and gas. An oil pipeline runs from the Azeri port and oil centre of Baku to Supsa on Georgia’s Black Sea coast. Georgia and Azerbaijan signed an agreement in 1996 to pump oil through the pipeline and to expand both pipeline and port facilities. Disputes with Armenia, and instability in Georgia are hindering these projects. Kazakhstan The economy of Kazakhstan, even more than that of the other republics of the USSR, was developed to serve the needs of the Union as a whole. Therefore, the break-up of the Soviet Union led to severe dislocation because it broke many backward and forward linkages between the economies of Kazakhstan and other republics in the former Soviet Union (FSU). As a result trade fell with consequent effects on orders of factories and levels of income and employment. There was a loss of transfer payments that had been in effect subsidies paid by the other republics to Kazakhstan. On the eve of independence, up to 90 per cent of Kazakhstan’s industry was operated by all-Union ministries in Moscow. Most were vertically integrated with industries in other republics which meant, for example, that Kazakhstani oil was refined in Russia.10 38

OIL AND GAS IN THE CASPIAN REGION

Since independence, links with countries outside the FSU have been gradually developing and, together with reforms inside the country, the economy has been stabilised and growth restarted. Annual rates of inflation of over 1,000 per cent a year prevailed between 1992 and 1994 as a result of monetary expansion in the ruble area dominated by Russia. With the introduction of economic reforms, inflation was rapidly reduced. In order to adjust to the ending of transfers from the USSR, Kazakhstan’s public spending was cut sharply between 1992 and 1995. In 1993, Kazakhstan issued its own currency breaking away from the inflationary ruble zone. In the same year Kazakhstan negotiated agreements with the International Monetary Fund which helped stabilise the economy. Kazakhstan was, in terms of territory, the second-largest republic in the Soviet Union. It has a huge amount of agricultural land and a large volume of natural resources including minerals and oil and gas. Very little progress has been made in the privatisation of 8,000 sovkhozes and kolkhozes (state and collective farms respectively) set up during the Soviet era. Agriculture also relied on the FSU republics as a market and as a source of vital imports. The dependence on trade with republics in the FSU has meant that the economy has been relatively open to foreign trade. Kazakhstan’s crude oil and natural gas resources are large but it only has a small refining capacity, which was especially serious given the low quality of Kazakhstan’s crude. This is also the result of the specialisation in the FSU, under which production was concentrated in the west of Kazakhstan, but two out of the three oil refineries in the country were in the east and these two are not connected by pipeline to the oilfields. This meant that most of the country’s oil output has been shipped to Russian refineries with Kazakhstan’s refineries receiving oil supplies from Russian oil fields in Siberia. Plans have been announced for an internal pipeline and to encourage Western investment in gas and oil producing and processing industries. The availability of hydrocarbons and phosphates have permitted the development of the chemical and petrochemical industry. Cumulative foreign investment in the hydrocarbon sector by early 1999 was $3 bn in 20 joint venture projects in 40 different fields.11 There is considerable uncertainty about the size of Kazakhstan’s oil reserves, with very different estimates available from government and oil company sources. The government claims that there are huge reserves – 73 bn barrels – but commercial sources are much more cautious. Kazakhstan is placing emphasis on developing its oil rather than gas resources: at present it is important as a transit country for Turkmenistan’s gas. The size of reserves is debatable and the size of the gas transmission pipeline network is small, at about 2,000 km.12 39

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

The main oil field is the Tengiz field, in the western part of the country, which is considered by many to be the most important discovery since Pruhoe Bay in Alaska in the 1970s. Tengiz’s reserves have been estimated at 10–20 bn barrels and it has been exploited by a consortium established by the former Soviet regime in the late 1980s, which includes the US oil company Chevron. Production began in 1993 and in 1997 output reached 140,000 mb/d. An eventual level of 750,000 mb/d is envisaged. The second is a condensates field located near Uralsk, close to the Russian border. It has 8–10 bn barrels of light gas liquid. In 1997, another international consortium, produced 50,000 b/d of condensates and crude. The third field is offshore in the Caspian Sea and six foreign companies have shares in it. The complicated geography of the Caspian and legal disputes with Russia are among the factors that have clouded its future. Kazakhstan’s oil industry suffers from a number of weaknesses. Firstly, the country’s administration is weak and corrupt. Secondly, the oil industry is short of skilled manpower following the exodus from the country of many ethnic Russians who provided skills and management. Finally, the country’s geo-political position has meant that it is dependent on its neighbours in order to export its oil and gas. Kazakhstan’s oil and gas resources will only be exploited when pipelines are available to move the product to market. The construction of the pipelines is a political as well as an economic issue. Russia, Turkey and Iran are all interested in Kazakh oil and gas pipelines crossing their territory. The routes chosen for them will largely determine the export destinations for Kazakh products. Russia includes Kazakhstan within its sphere of influence and has been pressing for pipelines from Tengiz and elsewhere to cross its territory. The Caspian Pipeline Consortium (CPC) was established in 1992 and has the following shareholders: the Russian government (24 per cent); the Kazakh government (19 per cent); the Kazakh state owned gas company (1.75 per cent); the Oman government (7 per cent); and the balance owned by western oil companies. It is building pipelines through Russia. The CPC project is the closest to fruition. Other plans – to build a pipeline through Iran to Kharg Island – are just that: plans because of US opposition. Coal still dominates the production and consumption of energy, accounting for about 50 per cent of primary energy consumption in 1996. Kyrgyzstan Kyrgyzstan has an ethnically divided population and has faced unrest as a result of harsh socio-economic conditions. It is also landlocked. 40

OIL AND GAS IN THE CASPIAN REGION

About 35 per cent of GDP originates in agriculture, even though the amount of arable land is limited. Kyrgyzstan has deposits of coal, tin and other metals including gold. As in other former republics of the Soviet Union, industries were developed to serve the interests of the USSR as a whole and so the Kyrgyz economy was very unintegrated, relying on imports from and exports to other Soviet republics. With the breakdown of the USSR these links were disrupted and the economy suffered accordingly. Another legacy of the Soviet Union was the underdevelopment of the transport system, especially railways. Efforts have been made since independence to improve the very poor telecommunication system. Kyrgyzstan experienced one of the fastest reforms in the region. Price liberalisation began in 1991 and was accelerated in 1992. In 1993, a stand-by agreement was negotiated with the IMF and in 1995 the Fund made $US88 m available in aid following the introduction of an economic stabilisation programme and a structural adjustment programme. The country has seven developed oil fields and two oil/gas fields but as a result of the complex geology, recovery rates are low. Gas production is also minimal and so it imports from neighbouring countries, but as a result of financial difficulties, it has failed to make payments on time and supplies have been interrupted. Tajikistan Tajikistan is the poorest country in the region. The economy is dominated by agriculture and about 70 per cent of the population is rural. It was transformed under the USSR from a rural and nomadic base to one based on mechanised agriculture and raw material processing. Despite large investments by the USSR, which involved transfers from other republics, Tajikistan remained poorer than many of the other states in the union. Another important feature was the relatively low reliance of the economy on trade with other republics of the USSR. Despite this, Tajikistan experienced large income losses when its foreign trade was affected by the collapse of the USSR. The 1992–93 civil war did enormous damage to the economy. The government raised wages and subsidies in order to protect the population from some of the economic effects of the war but this led to a loss of control over the budget and over monetary policy. Inflation accelerated from 350 per cent a year in 1994 to 609 per cent in 1995, despite the fact that in most of the FSU inflation was decelerating. Positive national income growth has only been recorded since 1997. Mining is also significant with gold being one of the main products. All metals mined in Tajikistan have been processed abroad and one of the government’s aims is to increase value added at home. 41

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

Tajikistan has negligible oil reserves and production, but has about one trillion cubic feet in natural gas reserves. Production is, however, minimal and gas is imported from Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. Hydroelectricity is the main source of power. A small number of large industrial plants dominate the manufacturing sector and attempts at privatisation have been limited. The transport and telecommunications systems are relatively backward and services, including banking, are underdeveloped. Turkmenistan Turkmenistan is the second largest Central Asian republic in terms of area. It suffers from extremes of temperature in summer and winter and receives little rainfall. About 55 per cent of the population is rural and agriculture accounts for about 40 per cent of the national income. As in other Central Asian republics, independence resulted in the exodus of thousands of ethnic Russians and thus a huge loss of technical and management skills which have been hard to replace. Turkmenistan was one of the main beneficiaries of transfers within the USSR prior to its independence in 1991. This was partly due to the weakness of its economy which ceased growing in 1989. A major weakness was the reliance on cotton production using poor cultivation methods and over irrigation. Another was its reliance on exports of gas to other Soviet republics only. With the introduction of world prices in the FSU gas trade in 1992, existing customers found themselves unable to pay. Alternative markets were hard to find and so export revenues fell. Turkmenistan was, on the eve of independence, one of the poorest economies in the USSR and remained so in 1997 (see Table 2.5). Although it has not been affected by internal conflict, it was one of the slow reformers. Prices were gradually reformed after 1991 but the lax monetary policies meant that inflation was faster than in any other member of the FSU. As late as 1996 inflation reached nearly 1,000 per cent a year and in 1997 it was estimated at 84 per cent – the fastest rate in the FSU except for Tajikistan.13 In 1998, the first year since independence with positive economic growth, the rate reached 18 per cent. Turkmenistan has the largest proven and potential gas reserves in the region. Before the break-up of the USSR it was the fourth largest gas exporter in the world after Russia, the US and Canada. In 1995, gas exports of 26.5 bcm accounted for about 80 per cent of its exports to other CIS states and 60 per cent of its exports outside the CIS, or about 75 per cent of its total exports. The economy is also very gas intensive: gas accounted for 75 per cent of total final energy use in 1993. Nearly all of the country’s electricity generation is gas powered. About 85–90 42

OIL AND GAS IN THE CASPIAN REGION

per cent of gas output has been exported, with 80–85 per cent of this going to FSU countries and the rest to European countries. Conflicts with Russia over the amount that could be transmitted through Russian pipelines and over payments systems have affected exports.14 Estimates of the reserve to production ratio for Turkmenistan gas vary from 20–40 years at one end and 300 years at the other. Turkmenistan’s hydrocarbon policies have been far from clear; its tax and legal systems are underdeveloped and this has led to contracts being cancelled. In 1997, there was some improvement with the announcement of a new legal and fiscal regime and opinion among oil and gas companies is optimistic. The development of the hydrocarbon sector is therefore dependent on the construction of pipelines through neighbouring countries. One plan is the Central Asian Oil Pipeline Project (CAOPP) which would run from the Turkmenistan–Uzbekistan border into Afghanistan and then to a Pakistani port on the Arabian Sea 1,667 km long. Among the problems facing CAOPP is the fact that Turkmen and Uzbek oil resources are not big enough to justify the project and that nearly 700 km would have to go through war-torn Afghanistan. Another possibility is that Turkmenistan be linked to the proposed Kazakhstan– Azerbaijan network. This would be much cheaper than CAOPP and Turkmenistan’s ultimate markets would be determined by the way in which the network developed. Turkmenistan is in dispute with Azerbaijan over offshore exploitation of the Caspian fields. It has reached compromises with Kazakhstan and Iran and may be willing to do so with Azerbaijan. There has been little foreign investment, mainly because the government has scared off potential investors with rather heavyhanded policies. Uzbekistan Under the Soviet Union, Uzbekistan was rapidly industrialised. After independence, in 1991, the industrial sector suffered from the loss of export markets, but a domestic recovery led by housing construction helped the economy grow. In 1993, after experiencing massive inflation within the ruble zone, Uzbekistan, like many other FSU states, created its own currency, something that helped it to sharply reduce inflation in 1995 and 1996. About 40 per cent of the workforce is in agriculture, producing about 30 per cent of the national income. Agriculture relies on irrigation using river water. Cotton is the main crop and export. Most manufacturing industry is based on processing agricultural raw materials. In 1997, Uzbekistan produced 185,000 and consumed 170,000 43

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

b/d of oil. In 1989 it signed its first joint venture with a foreign company. Discussions are going on with other foreign groups and a surplus for export of 60–70,000 b/d is likely. This would make it feasible for the country to be linked with CAOPP or another Central Asian export network. Gas is a much more important sector than oil. With the second largest gas reserves in the Caspian, Uzbekistan was one of the world’s largest exporters of gas. It is also the only country in the region that has increased gas production since independence and thus avoided the need for large-scale imports. Output rose from 1.5 tcf in 1992 to 1.7 tcf in 1996, making Uzbekistan the eighth largest producer in the world. Gas exports have been constrained by the success of programmes to increase domestic use of gas in order to reduce oil consumption. They have also been affected by the lack of alternatives to the Central Asia/Central Russia pipeline; as a result Uzbekistan does not have options for exports that are independent of Russia. Uzbekistan aims to become a net exporter of oil and gas in the long term. This will be done through joint ventures and production sharing agreements with foreign companies. A total of 32 new oil and gas fields have been identified for development, 18 for rehabilitation and 9 blocks for exploration. In 1995 a total of $385 m was invested in the energy sector by foreign companies and in 1996 the total came to $545 m.15 Gas exports are not expected to be large enough to justify a dedicated (Uzbekistan only) pipeline. Consideration has therefore been given to joining Kazakh and/or Turkmen projects. Uzbekistan has a relatively good infrastructure, a well-educated labour force and a relatively stable political system. Despite these factors, the investment regime has not encouraged foreign companies into the country. OIL AND GAS SUPPLY FORECASTS FOR THE CASPIAN SEA REGION

Oil Supply Forecasts The IEA (World Energy Outlook 1998) and EIA (International Energy Outlook 1998) are the two organisations that provide forecasts for the period up to 2020. These forecasts are by their very nature uncertain and much of this is due to the poor state of knowledge about the region’s energy resources. Furthermore, forecasts for the Caspian Sea region are included in those for transition economies that include also Albania, Bulgaria, Poland, Romania, the Slovak Republic and the states of former Yugoslavia. Both agencies forecast a surplus of supply over demand in the 44

OIL AND GAS IN THE CASPIAN REGION

region until the year 2020 (see Table 2.6). In both forecasts, the surplus available for export increases until the year 2010 and then falls. This is due to increasing demand and, from 2010, declining supply in the IEA. In the EIA forecast it is due to increasing demand and increasing supply, albeit at a slower rate than demand after 2010. The difference between the IEA and the EIA is that the latter is much more optimistic about supply in the region. This optimism, or relative optimism coincides with the strong political backing which the US has given to the development of pipelines in the region which would avoid Russian and Iranian territory. According to the IEA, the Caspian Sea region will account for between 3.3 per cent and 3.9 per cent of world supply in 2020, or between 2.8 per cent and 3.2 per cent if unidentified, unconventional sources of oil are added to supply.16 The IEA has made detailed forecasts for oil output in the region, which are given in Table 2.7. The table shows that in the ‘high case’, in which investment is encouraged by relatively high international oil prices, exports reach 177.9 m tons or 3.6 mb/d a year in 2020. In the ‘low case’, investments are limited by relatively low international prices and exports reach 148.2 m tons a year or almost 3 mb/d. The main difference between the two forecasts is that for Azerbaijan the high case forecast for exports is 38 per cent higher than the low case. In Kazakhstan, which is the largest producer the difference is only 3 per cent and is in the opposite direction, with exports being lower in the high case because domestic consumption grows very rapidly. Gas Supply Forecasts In 1998 the Caspian group produced 78.2 bcm of gas. The IEA forecasts, with a high degree of uncertainty, that gas production will reach between 102 and 112 bcm by 2000 and between 228 and 267 bcm in 2020.17 The difference in the level of exports between the high and low cases is small, at about 3.5 per cent in 2020 (see Table 2.8). The IEA is the only organisation to provide forecasts for gas demand and supply. These are done for the transition group of countries. In 1995, the transition group of countries played a much more important role in the international gas trade than it did in the international oil trade, accounting for 47.5 per cent of the world primary energy supply from gas. In 2010 it is forecast to supply 51 per cent and in 2020, 58.7 per cent. There are two main importing regions throughout the forecast period, OECD Europe and OECD Pacific. North America is self-sufficient and other areas, such as the Middle East and South America, are net exporters. The IEA assumed that during its forecast period there would be a substantial increase in gas45

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

fired electric power generation in Europe, based on increasing supplies from Russia and the Caspian, especially Turkmenistan.18 The IEA envisages a scenario in which Siberian gas exports to Europe face increasing competition from Caspian gas. At present, Caspian gas exports are expected to enter Europe via Turkey, rather than via Russia. The latter does not favour Caspian exports via its territory because this would compete with its own gas sales. As a result Turkmen gas is relatively expensive in Europe, but when Russian gas supplies begin to dwindle, Russia is likely to be attracted by the transit fees which they will be able to earn from Turkmen gas exports to Europe through pipelines passing through its territory. Table 2.1 Oil and gas reserves in the Caspian Sea region, 1997 (oil in bn barrels, gas in tcf) Proven oil

Potential oil

Total oil

Azerbaijan Kazakhstan Turkmenistan Uzbekistan

12.5 17.6 1.7 0.3

32 92 38 2

45 110 40 2

Russia* Total

0.3 32.4

7 171

7 204

Proven gas

Potential gas

Total gas

11 53–83 98–155 74–88

35 88 159 35

46 141–71 257–314 109–23

— 236–337

— 317

— 553–654

* Caspian Sea region only. Source: EIA, The Caspian Sea Region, October 1998 (www.eia.doe.gov/emeu/cabs/caspian.html).

Table 2.2 Oil production, 1993–98 (thousands of barrels a day) 1993

1994

1995

1996

1997

1998

Azerbaijan Kazakhstan Uzbekistan Sub-total

210 490 95 795

195 430 125 750

185 435 170 790

185 475 165 825

180 535 175 890

230 540 180 950

Russia Middle East World

7,175 19,580 66,040

6,420 19,900 66,960

6,290 20,130 68,000

6,115 20,620 69,900

6,225 21,580 72,100

6,170 22,718 73,105

Source: BP Amoco Statistical Review of World Energy 1999.

46

OIL AND GAS IN THE CASPIAN REGION Table 2.3 Gas production, 1993–98 (bcm) 1993 Azerbaijan Kazakhstan Turkmenistan Uzbekistan Sub-total Russia Middle East World

1994

1995

1996

1997

1998

6.3 6.2 60.9 42.0 115.4

6.0 4.2 33.3 44.0 87.5

6.2 5.5 30.1 45.3 87.1

5.9 6.1 32.8 45.7 90.5

5.6 7.6 16.1 47.8 78.0

5.2 7.6 11.7 51.1 60.4

576.5 118.8 2,068.7

566.4 129.7 2,090.6

555.4 143.3 2,132.1

561.1 158.3 2,228.2

532.6 172.8 2,222.9

551.3 181.0 2,271.8

Source: BP Amoco Statistical Review of World Energy 1999.

Table 2.4 GDP growth, 1992–98 (annual, per cent) 1992

1993

1994

Intermediate reformers: Kazakhstan ⫺5.3 Kyrgyzstan ⫺13.9 Russia ⫺14.5

⫺9.2 ⫺15.5 ⫺8.7

⫺12.6 ⫺20.1 ⫺12.6

Slow reformers: Turkmenistan ⫺5.3 Uzbekistan ⫺11.0

⫺10.0 ⫺2.3

Countries affected by conflict: Armenia ⫺52.3 ⫺14.8 Azerbaijan ⫺22.1 ⫺23.1 Georgia ⫺44.8 ⫺25.4 Tajikistan ⫺29.0 ⫺11.0

1995

1996

1997

1998

⫺8.2 ⫺5.4 ⫺4.0

0.5 7.1 ⫺3.5

1.7 9.9 0.8

⫺2.5 1.8 ⫺4.6

⫺19.0 ⫺4.2

⫺8.2 ⫺0.9

⫺7.7 1.6

⫺25.9 2.4

18.0 1.0

5.4 ⫺18.1 ⫺11.4 ⫺18.9

6.9 ⫺11.0 2.4 ⫺12.5

5.9 1.3 11.0 ⫺16.7

3.1 5.8 11.3 1.7

7.2 10.0 2.9 5.3

Sources: 1992–95: Luis M. Valdivieso, Macroeconomic Developments in the Baltics, Russia and Other Countries in the Former Soviet Union, 1992-97, Occasional Paper no. 175, IMF, 1998; UN Economic Commission for Europe, Economic Survey of Europe 1999, No. 1, New York and Geneva, UN, 1999, p. 50.

47

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION Table 2.5 Population and national income, 1997 Population (m)

GNP ($ bn)

GNP per head ($)

GNP per head (ppp*, $)

4 8 5 16 5 147 6 5 24

2.0 3.9 4.6 21.8 2.0 403.5 2.0 2.9 23.9

530 510 840 1,340 440 2,740 330 630 1,010

2,280 1,520 1,980 3,290 2,040 4,190 930 1,410 2,450

73

63.1

Armenia Azerbaijan Georgia Kazakhstan Kyrgyzstan Russia Tajikistan Turkmenistan Uzbekistan Total, excluding Russia * purchasing power parity.

Source: World Bank, World Development Report, 1998/99.

Table 2.6 The transition economies’ oil balance, 1996–2020 (mbd) 1996 IEA forecast Demand 5.5 Supply 7.3 Net Imports ⫺1.8 EIA forecast (reference case) Demand 5.7 Supply 7.4 Net Imports ⫺1.7

2010

2020

1996–2020 Annual growth rate (%)

7.2 10.2 ⫺3.0

8.5 9.4 ⫺0.9

1.8 1.1 ⫺2.8

7.8 12.5 ⫺4.7

10.1 13.6 ⫺3.5

2.4 2.6 ⫺3.1

Source: IEA, World Energy Outlook 1998, p. 270.

48

45.0 20.0 25.0

14.0 10.2 3.8

10.0 7.0 3.0

10.0 8.7 1.3

79.0 45.9 33.1

20.5 10.4 10.1

9.2 7.0 2.2

3.5 5.7 ⫺2.2

7.6 8.6 ⫺1.0

40.8 31.7 9.1

2000

122.0 65.6 56.4

11.0 9.0 2.0

11.0 7.0 4.0

30.0 13.0 17.0

70.0 33.7 36.3

2005

Source: Middle East Economic Survey, 27 July 1998, p. A.10.

Kazakhstan Production Consumption Net exports Azerbaijan Production Consumption Net exports Turkmenistan Production Consumption Net exports Uzbekistan Production Consumption Net exports Total Production Consumption Net exports

1995

The high case

194.0 77.5 116.5

12.0 10.0 2.0

12.0 7.0 5.0

70.0 15.0 55.0

100.0 45.5 54.5

2010

308.0 130.1 177.9

14.0 12.0 2.0

14.0 8.0 6.0

120.0 25.9 94.1

160.0 84.2 75.8

2020

40.8 31.7 9.1

7.6 8.6 ⫺1.0

3.5 5.7 ⫺2.2

9.2 7.0 2.2

20.5 10.4 10.1

1995

69.0 40.4 28.6

9.0 8.7 0.3

6.0 6.0 0.0

14.0 10.2 3.8

40.0 15.6 24.4

2000

96.5 52.8 43.7

10.0 9.0 1.0

6.5 6.5 0.0

25.0 12.9 12.1

55.0 24.4 30.6

2005

The low case

138.0 62.9 75.1

11.0 9.5 1.5

7.0 7.0 0.0

45.0 14.8 30.2

75.0 31.6 43.4

2010

Table 2.7 IEA forecasts: Caspian states’ oil production, domestic production and net exports, 1995–2020 (m tons)

241.0 92.8 148.2

13.0 11.0 2.0

8.0 8.0 0.0

120.0 21.9 68.1

130.0 52.9 78.1

2020

9.8 14.7 ⫺4.9

7.4 7.4 0.0

42.9 9.4 33.5

51.4 49.4 2.0

111.5 80.9 30.6

5.9 12.5 ⫺6.6

6.7 7.3 ⫺0.6

35.6 9.8 25.8

48.6 44.2 4.4

96.8 73.8 23.0

2000

149.5 95.2 54.3

56.3 55.9 0.4

61.2 11.3 50.0

17.3 9.7 7.6

14.7 18.4 ⫺3.7

2005

Source: Middle East Economic Survey, 27 July 1998, p. A.11.

Kazakhstan Production Consumption Net exports Azerbaijan Production Consumption Net exports Turkmenistan Production Consumption Net exports Uzbekistan Production Consumption Net exports Total Production Consumption Net exports

1995

The high case

201.0 117.1 84.0

62.5 61.6 0.8

85.7 13.8 71.9

23.5 12.1 11.4

29.4 29.4 0.0

2010

267.2 147.2 120.0

73.5 74.4 ⫺0.9

129.8 18.7 111.1

29.6 19.8 9.9

34.3 34.3 0.0

2020

96.8 73.8 23.0

48.6 44.2 4.4

35.6 9.8 25.8

6.7 7.3 ⫺0.6

5.9 12.5 ⫺6.6

1995

102.3 76.6 25.7

50.2 46.8 3.5

36.7 9.6 27.2

7.4 7.4 0.0

8.0 12.9 ⫺4.9

2000

126.2 85.7 40.6

53.9 50.9 3.0

49.0 10.2 38.8

11.1 8.6 2.5

12.2 15.9 ⫺3.7

2005

The low case

164.2 92.7 71.6

58.8 53.6 5.1

75.9 12.0 63.9

14.8 9.9 4.9

14.7 17.1 ⫺2.4

2010

Table 2.8 IEA forecasts: Caspian states’ gas production, domestic production and net exports, 1995–2020 (bcm)

228.0 112.1 115.9

67.4 61.0 6.3

117.6 15.4 102.2

23.5 16.0 7.4

19.6 19.6 0.0

2020

OIL AND GAS IN THE CASPIAN REGION NOTES 1 Calculated from BP Statistical Review of World Energy, 1998 (Internet version). 2 Calculated from BP Amoco Statistical Review of World Energy, 1999 (Internet version). 3 UN Economic Commission for Europe, Economic Survey of Europe 1998 (New York and Geneva: UN, 1998) No. 1, Appendix B.1. p. 199. 4 IEA, ‘Caspian Oil and Gas: 1999 Update’ (Internet version) p. 26. 5 Middle East Economic Survey, 23 November 1998. 6 If Supsa were chosen as the terminus, then oil would have to go by tanker through the Bosphorus to the Mediterranean. 7 See Chapter 1. 8 IEA, ‘Caspian Oil and Gas: 1999 Update’, p. 6. 9 The Economist Intelligence Unit, Azerbaijan, Country Report, 1st Quarter 1999, London: The Economist, 1998. 10 Felix Martin, Kazakhstan’s Caspian Wealth: Horn of Plenty or Poisoned Chalice? (Washington, DC: World Bank, 1998). 11 IEA, ‘Caspian Oil and Gas: 1999 Update’. 12 IEA, The IEA Natural Gas Security Study (Paris: OECD, 1995), pp. 389–96. 13 Luis M. Valdivieso, Macroeconomic Developments in the Baltics, Russia and Other Countries in the Former Soviet Union, 1992–97, Occasional Paper no. 175 (Washington, DC: IMF, 1998), p. 17. 14 IEA, The IEA Natural Gas Security Study, pp. 441–53. 15 EIA Uzbekistan Internet note, December 1997. 16 IEA, World Energy Outlook (Paris: IEA, 1998), Appendix 7.18, p. 117 and Table 2.7 here. 17 Robert Priddle, Caspian Oil and Gas: Challenges and Rewards (Paris: IEA, 1999) 18 IEA, World Energy Outlook 1998 (Paris: IEA, 1998), pp. 123–41, 262–7.

51

PART II A NEW ROUND IN AN OLD GAME? RUSSIA, IRAN AND TURKEY

3

Islam in Russian Security Concerns Flemming S. Hansen

Recent years have witnessed an increasing Russian interest in Islam, both the community falling within the Russian Federation as well as that of the surrounding Islamic world. Among the focal points of this attention has been the issue of security; that is, an attempt has been made to present an answer to the following, quite fundamental, questions: Does Islam constitute a threat to Russian national security interests? If yes, then how should this threat be counteracted? And alternatively, can Islam be used to advance Russian security interests? This development has been accompanied by a rise in the number of studies examining Russia’s relations with the Islamic world. While the reasons for this are numerous, it will suffice to note that Russia has a sizeable Muslim minority and that it is adjacent to the predominantly Muslim states of former Soviet Central Asia. This chapter, itself forming part of this wave of studies spurred by the break-up of the Soviet Union and the subsequent rise to sovereignty of the 15 former Union republics, will survey the Russian attitude to Islam within three geographical areas: first, that of Russia itself; second, the Islamic part of what the Russians call the ‘near abroad,’ that is, the other 14 former Soviet republics comprising Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, and Tajikistan as well as Azerbaijan; third, the Islamic world lying beyond the borders of what was once the Soviet Union. The three geographical areas mentioned above were listed in order of importance, with developments taking place within Russia itself of course being of primary relevance and importance to Russian national security. This chapter, however, will consider these areas in reverse order, thus gradually working itself through to the core area. The study will consider developments since mid-1996, a time marked by two events which, taken together, seemed to signal the beginning of a new phase in Russia’s relations with the Islamic world. In August 1996 Aleksandr Lebed, then presidential envoy and 55

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

secretary of the Security Council, brokered a ceasefire putting a stop to what was in all respects a nightmare for Russia – and especially so in its dealings with its own Muslim population – the first war in Chechnya. While signalling the end to almost two years of fighting, the Khasavyurt agreement signed by Lebed and the then Chechen Chief-of-Staff Aslan Maskhadov also marked the beginning of a painful process of nation-building and healing of the deep rifts characterising relations between Russia’s Muslim and non-Muslim populations; a process that has undoubtedly suffered a setback with the outbreak in October 1999 of the second Chechen war. In September 1996 the Taliban movement suddenly occupied Kabul in a dramatic offensive, leading Russian policy-makers, observers and scholars alike to address with stronger attention the issue of Islam, whatever its regional setting. Before doing this, however, two methodological problems need to be addressed briefly. Even though the 1993 Russian Constitution gave us ‘presidential domestic and foreign policy’, Russia should not be seen as a monolithic actor. Policies are the outcomes of intense political struggles among various groups within the political establishment,1 and are formed on the background of Russia’s wide range of policy opinions.2 Any analysis should, therefore, consider and incorporate these processes to the greatest extent possible. This exercise, a challenging task under any set of conditions, is made even more difficult in today’s Russia where hidden agendas and ulterior motives seem to proliferate throughout the political scene at an unprecedented rate. While some analysts take care to draw a distinction between different forms of religious activity,3 all too often designations such as ‘fundamentalism’, ‘extremism’ and ‘radicalism’ are used interchangeably. This defies the purpose of these various labels – to clarify and specify. Unfortunately, there is no escape from the resulting ambiguity and the only analytical tool available is to simply infer the meaning of the word from the context. Since, however, some political circles in Russia draw a distinction between ‘extremism’ and ‘fundamentalism’, their use of these terms has to be presented: according to Evgenii Primakov, then Foreign Minister of Russia, the term ‘Islamic extremism’ should be applied to those organisations only that ‘strive to export and enforce the Islamic way of life, the Islamic model, occasionally through the use of armed force’.4 A Foreign Ministry expert added that extremism is characterised by ‘aggressive messianism’, resulting in an intensification of religious conflicts, ‘especially between Islam and Christianity’.5 ‘Islamic fundamentalism’, on the other hand, rejects these aims and features, representing instead a more modest, considerate, peaceful and – at the end – truer interpretation of Islam.6 56

ISLAM IN RUSSIAN SECURITY CONCERNS THE SURROUNDING WORLD

The occupation by the Taliban of Kabul caused the political establishment in Moscow to ‘panic slightly’.7 Krasnaia zvezda, for example, warned that just as former Afghan President Mohammad Najibullah had been executed by the Taliban so there was a risk that gallows would be set up in Dushanbe, Bukhara and other cities of Central Asia, and that non-Muslim Russians would some day have to comply with Islamic law.8 While these warnings did clearly form part of a continuous effort to secure an increase in defence allocations, they also indicated the extent to which the Taliban were seen as a factor that could successfully help move public opinion – and thus the extent to which Islamic extremism was believed to be a cause for concern. Similarly Lebed, then still secretary of the Security Council, claimed that the Taliban were planning to ‘take parts of Uzbekistan and Tajikistan’, adding a call to support anti-Taliban forces inside Afghanistan.9 These first reactions to a political force that had until then remained largely unnoticed in wide Russian circles were later relaxed and somewhat modified. Their basic tenets, however, have remained the same. The Taliban are clearly seen as a potentially threatening and highly destabilising force that might in time prove capable of projecting its influence onto a greater part of the Central Asian theatre. It has, therefore, to be met with stern action. Thus, following the May 1997 campaign on Mazar-e Sharif and the northern provinces of Afghanistan, Primakov warned the Taliban that if they advanced further north, they should expect ‘immediate and determined’ action from the members of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS).10 Again, in August 1998 the consolidation of Taliban control over the northern part of Afghanistan caused the Russians to threaten to use ‘adequate military measures’ in response to a ‘very real threat’.11 On the other hand, there seems to be a growing understanding that the Taliban are clearly incapable of launching a military offensive into CIS territory, and that the Pushtun-dominated organisation enjoys little support among the peoples of former Soviet Central Asia. These points, first raised by Russian observers,12 also reached the Russian Foreign Ministry. Thus, it even expressed doubts as to the Taliban’s ability to find support among the national minorities of northern Afghanistan.13 As for their military capabilities, these are clearly seen as inadequate for an offensive against the far superior Russian military presence on the border.14 According to the Russian Foreign Ministry, it is only because of external support that the Taliban are in a position to demonstrate such self-confidence and aggressiveness.15 57

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

Dismissing both claims – that the Taliban are attractive to Central Asian populations and that they pose a military threat – the Russians obviously need another explanation for concern. Before turning to that, however, a more fundamental issue needs to be addressed: critics could argue – also in view of the above-mentioned statements – that Russia is, in fact, not disturbed by the Taliban and that the latter only serve as a very convenient excuse to advance other Russian interests, primarily continued CIS integration. Obviously there are grounds for such conclusions. After all, each warning by Moscow to the Taliban has been accompanied by calls to improve the defence mechanism of the CIS. For instance, following the September 1996 change of guard in Kabul, Russia played the ‘Taliban card’ with its Central Asian partners.16 In this particular case, however, the attempt to invigorate the largely defunct Collective Security Treaty of the CIS failed. Always on the lookout for Russian attempts to preserve and increase their dominance in the region,17 the Central Asian states accepted only ‘continued coordination’.18 The disappointed Russians were thus left with a defence arrangement which was static at best.19 Subsequent advances by the Taliban have made the Central Asian states more receptive to the Russian calls. Thus, in May 1998 Uzbekistan joined Russia and Tajikistan in a defence Troika.20 These limited successes in defence integration have clearly fallen short of Russian hopes and expectations. Nevertheless, Moscow’s pursuit of these aims suggests that it might have had, in fact, a hidden agenda unrelated to the Taliban. Closely linked to this point, Russia can hope that by stressing the need to cooperate militarily against the Taliban danger, it will be allowed to continue its use of military installations along the southern border of the former Soviet Union. This would allow Moscow to postpone the very costly enterprise of establishing military positions on the southern border of Russia itself.21 Two points, however, should be put forward in favour of Russian sincerity on the issue of the Taliban. First, following the events of September 1996 the Tajik peace talks, until then ‘dead in the water’,22 suddenly got under way with remarkable speed. Intense Russian pressure on Tajik President Imomali Rakhmonov made this sudden progress in the inter-Tajik negotiations possible. This strongly suggests that Moscow wanted to see an end to the Tajik conflict as it feared the spill-over effect of events in neighbouring Afghanistan. Second, while the continued military presence in Central Asia does present the Russian side with a number of advantages, it also has its costs, for instance in human losses.23 This fact seems to suggest that the persistent Russian calls for a reinforced military presence in 58

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Central Asia against the Taliban threat have been based on a bona fide evaluation of events. The first call was made almost immediately following the Chechen war, which claimed at least 3,000 Russian casualties.24 The issue therefore is obviously highly charged, making it potentially very costly, in political terms, for any Russian political leader to support a policy which could suddenly be regarded as inexcusable by the electorate. Returning to the various threats associated with the Taliban and legitimising – at least in the eyes of a broad spectrum of the Russian political scene – the implementation of a number of measures designed to contain the destabilising effect of the organisation, one finds a multi-faceted picture. The background to this is the overall importance attached to Afghanistan. It is, in the words of one observer, the ‘key to Central Asia’.25 Geographically it has a long border – almost 2,400 km long – with Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan.26 Also, major ethnic minority groups in northern Afghanistan, most importantly the Tajiks and the Uzbeks,27 are adjacent to sovereign states dominated by their ethnic brethren. Thus, the repercussions of any major change in Afghanistan might relatively easily be felt in the southern part of former Soviet Central Asia. This fact also serves to explain the alleged threats from the Taliban advances. These threats fall broadly into three categories. First, due to their extremist nature, it is feared that any future advance of the Taliban will be followed by streams of refugees escaping both the fighting and the Taliban regime. This potentially highly destabilising threat,28 could affect the southern part of the CIS as a whole – and already unstable Tajikistan in particular.29 Second, there is a fear in Moscow that this general unrest could be accompanied by an increase in international crime, especially the smuggling of weapons and narcotics, already a serious problem in Tajikistan.30 Third, the spread of Islamic extremism to the CIS – including Russia – is greatly feared; as Igor Ivanov, now Russian Foreign Minister, explained in mid-1997, a ‘domino effect in Central Asia must be avoided’.31 The seriousness of this alarm is emphasised by the contents of the Tajik peace agreement, which has brought into the coalition government the former Islamic opposition. Apparently this is seen by Moscow as the lesser evil and hopefully a bulwark against extremism. Implicit in Ivanov’s comments seems to be a belief in receptiveness to Islamic extremism throughout all five Central Asian CIS states. In response to this, and to the entire set of threats mentioned above, the Russians have formulated a policy on Afghanistan consisting of two parts. First, Moscow calls for strict non-interference in the internal affairs of Afghanistan.32 Although some reports have claimed that the 59

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Russians have actually provided support to anti-Taliban forces in the north,33 the background to the principle is clear: believing that the Taliban are heavily dependent on outside support, Moscow considers international acceptance of the principle of non-interference as a first step towards reducing the organisation’s regional impact. Second, Russian troops – totalling now about 16,000 men – are stationed on the Tajik–Afghan border.34 These were first deployed following the outbreak of the Tajik civil war. Then their primary mission was to prevent incursions into Tajikistan of armed Tajik opposition forces based in Afghanistan. Now their main effort is to seal the border to Afghan fighters and smugglers. This mission is likely to continue in the future, despite the costs,35 as the seemingly broad support surrounding it suggests. Thus, in mid-1998 Gennadii Seleznov, the powerful Communist speaker of the Duma, declared that only Russian troops were capable of holding ‘the position on the border’.36 Shortly afterwards Colonel-General Konstantin Totskii the head of the Russian border troops was dispatched by President Boris Yeltsin to Dushanbe, where he assured President Rakhmonov that Russian troops would stay on ‘Border No. 1’, thereby also protecting Russian national interests.37 Although Afghanistan figures prominently in Russian security concerns, other parts of the Islamic world are also of great importance, even if for very different reasons. A Western observer suggested in 1997, that under Primakov’s foreign policy leadership, Russia would take a ‘more sophisticated neo-Eurasianist view of Islam’, in which a clear distinction would be made between ‘fundamentalism’ and ‘extremism’.38 Indeed, while making clear that they will take active measures to protect themselves from the latter,39 the Russians indicated that ‘Islamic fundamentalism’ might be an ally in the international arena. The major partners to such a cooperation have primarily been the Iranians. According to the Russian ambassador to Tehran the Iranians offered a ‘peace-loving’ interpretation of Islam.40 This ‘more sophisticated’, if not flexible, view of Islam offers Moscow several advantages, all serving to improve its international position and increase its sense of security. First, within the particular Iranian context Russia has found an ally sharing its opposition to the Taliban41 and willing to cooperate with the Russians on bringing peace to Tajikistan.42 Second, the Muslim states, ‘mobilise against the West’, inter alia because of ‘dissatisfaction with the attempts of the West, and especially the United States, to dominate the world and . . . to exploit them’.43 Therefore, cooperation with the Islamic world obviously opens an array of opportunities for the Russians. Of course, this is primarily so in their direct dealings with the West, where the Russians 60

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could ask for concessions, for instance in return for putting pressure on one or more of their Islamic allies. Thus, Moscow cannot but be happy when Western commentators regret the fact that the West fails to draw on Russian support in the resolution of Third World conflicts,44 especially those involving Islamic ‘rogue’ states. After all such a line of thinking gives Russia more room for manoeuvring vis-à-vis the West. Consequently, close relationships have to be built with Islamic states such as Iran, Iraq, Syria and Libya, which in turn might be effectively used as leverages to gain concessions from the West – and ultimately to increase Russian national security.45 Third, the Russians go to great length not to be seen as taking part in a ‘crusade’ against Islam,46 especially because of the war in Chechnya, the involvement in Tajikistan and their opposition to the Taliban. This is more than just a necessary precondition for the materialisation of the second scenario. It also serves to help to solve problems closer to home. Indeed, within Russia a coherent policy on Islam could hardly be formulated and implemented were Russia seen as taking part in an international struggle against Islam (see below). Thus, cooperation with ‘fundamentalism’ serves not only to improve Russia’s international standing, but also to play an important role in the domestic scene – turning the traditional Soviet dichotomy of domestic-foreign Islam partly on its head.47 THE ‘NEAR ABROAD’

It is clear that Moscow attaches particular importance to the situation in Tajikistan, for which three main reasons should be singled out. First, there is a consensus in Russia that ‘whoever controls Tajikistan, holds the key to [former Soviet] Central Asia’.48 This feeling can be explained, among other things, by Tajikistan’s long and meandering borders with Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan, as well as by the complex ethnic patchwork of Tajikistan’s border regions.49 Second, just before the collapse of the Soviet Union a strong Islamic opposition emerged in the country. Until this very day Tajikistan is widely regarded as the CIS state ‘most vulnerable to Islamic extremism’.50 Third, in 1992 a savage civil war erupted, destabilised Tajikistan and brought it to the brink of disintegration.51 That very same Islamic opposition was one of the two main combatants in the war. These three points taken as a whole would seem to suggest a continued strong interest on Moscow’s part in post-Soviet Tajikistan. This has indeed been the case. In late 1992 the Russian military got involved in the Tajik civil war, attempting to overlay the conflict, that 61

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is, to suspend its dynamic.52 In early 1994 Russian-sponsored negotiations started between Rakhmonov and the Islamic opposition.53 These, however, had been unsuccessful until in late 1996 sudden progress was reported: in early December Rakhmonov and Said Abdullo Nuri, Head of the United Tajik Opposition (UTO), met in an ‘intermediate summit’ in northern Afghanistan. Two weeks later the warring parties met in Moscow to sign a ‘breakthrough agreement’, which stipulated the establishment of a transitional two-party National Reconciliation Council.54 All available evidence points to the fact that in late 1996 the Russian side made clear to Rakhmonov that a peaceful solution to the conflict had to be found. Russian First Deputy Foreign Minister, Boris Pastukhov, commented that Moscow ‘convinced the Tajik [government] delegation’ that it should sign the agreement (emphasis added),55 while Ahbar Turajonzoda, the former Qadi and one of the leading figures of the Islamic Renaissance Party, later explained that the Russian position on Tajikistan had turned ‘more realistic’ in mid1996.56 This does not, however, explain why Yeltsin and his government decided to push through an agreement which they must have known would be heavily criticised by the domestic opposition as allowing ‘creeping Islamisation’ of Tajikistan,57 and which – like most negotiated settlements of internal conflicts – stood the risk of collapsing in a short period of time.58 First, it could be argued that the Russians had few, if any, alternatives. After all, preserving an unstable status quo that had already taken its heavy toll on Russian troops and helped drain the Russian national budget was hardly a desirable option. Second, by allowing the conflict to go on, Moscow would run the risk of actually facilitating its eventual intensification. As one observer noted, generally ‘the more radical Islamic groups engaged on the battlefield, the larger is the human resource pool that they can count on in the future’.59 This is even more so if the economic costs of the Tajik fighting are taken into consideration too – costs which have only served to exacerbate what were already before 1992 extremely severe economic conditions.60 Third, a change in Russia’s priorities has been observed following the appointment of Primakov (and later of Ivanov) as Foreign Minister, which has affected relations with Tajikistan too.61 One of the characteristics of Primakov’s ‘neo-Eurasianism’ is the insistence that Russia’s influence in the ‘Near Abroad’ should be consolidated ‘by peaceful diplomatic means’.62 Such a policy towards the Islamic states of the CIS has its own aims. Still it can be used by Moscow in its dealings with the wider Islamic world as well as in its relations with its own Muslim population. 62

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Fourth, as argued above, the rise to power of the Taliban in Afghanistan greatly added to the urgency of reaching a settlement. Considering the Tajik population in general as receptive to Islamic extremism, Moscow had to forestall an almost inevitable worsening of the situation in Tajikistan in the face of possible Taliban advances. Hoping to accomplish it, the Russians chose the ‘lesser evil’: to partly accommodate the Islamic opposition, in the hope that the situation would not get further out of hand. While all four reasons serve to explain why Russia was adamant on a peace treaty, only the latter two seem to explain the timing of the agreement, and only the advent of the Taliban regime in Kabul the persistence of Russian diplomatic effort since late 1996. For instance, when following the signing of the December 1996 agreement the peace process stalled, Yeltsin emphasised to Rakhmonov the importance of ‘consistent progress’.63 The Tajik president, hardly in a position to resist Russian pressure, clearly understood Yeltsin’s message. Shortly afterwards, in June 1997, he announced the conclusion of a general treaty ‘to establish peace and national accord in Tajikistan’.64 When in August 1997 troops loyal to Rakhmonov protested against the peace agreement by fighting the presidential guard (thereby highlighting the fragility of the new modus vivendi), the Russians declared categorically that there was ‘no alternative’ to the peace agreement.65 The June 1997 treaty was welcomed enthusiastically by Yeltsin who declared that Russia would ‘use everything in its power to help Tajikistan’.66 This enthusiasm notwithstanding, the treaty was clearly regarded as falling short of the optimal. As part of the December 1996 agreement a coalition government had to be set up, in which the UTO would receive 30 per cent of the seats. While the final distribution of seats was to be negotiated between the two sides to the treaty, the Russians apparently insisted that the UTO received none of the ‘power ministries’, that is the Foreign, Defence, Interior and Security ministries.67 Moscow thereby demonstrated its general mistrust of the Islamists whom it had just helped restore to political prominence. Of course, all this should not be viewed in isolation. If Tajikistan’s importance primarily stems from its ‘key position’ in former Soviet Central Asia, then Russian involvement there forms part of a greater effort to prevent the spread of Islamic extremism throughout Central Asia, and ultimately into Russia itself. ‘The Islamic states of the CIS’, wrote Nezavisimaia gazeta, ‘are potential allies of the semi-separatist Muslim republics of the RF.’68 This view of the Islamic CIS states, and especially of Central Asia, is widespread in Russian political and academic circles. Ivanov’s warning of a possible ‘domino effect’69 was echoed by Vladimir Lukin, Chairman of the Duma’s Foreign Affairs Committee and co-founder of the liberal Iabloko party. In case of a 63

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Russian retreat from Tajikistan, he warned ‘Islamic extremists will be on our backs and will get to Orenburg’.70 Similarly, a senior Russian specialist on international relations, Sergey Mikoyan, warned on the pages of Survival that if Islamic extremism ‘triumphs in Tajikistan, it could sweep through Central Asia, hitting Russia’s borders’.71 Two points are striking in such statements: (1) their allegation of receptiveness to Islamic extremism in Central Asia; (2) the significance they attach to the continued deployment of Russian troops in Tajikistan. One also might argue that the statements are characterised by dissonance: if Islamic extremism is really such a powerful latent force in the five Central Asian CIS states, then to what extent does the Russian contingent in Tajikistan actually serve to contain it? While this question points at a deliberate exaggeration of the ‘Islamic threat’ by wide Russian circles, it should be noted that the importance of non-military means is also widely recognised. Before turning to these, however, the Russian military presence in Tajikistan should be discussed. As stated above, warnings of the Taliban seem to give Moscow an opportunity to advance a number of unrelated interests. The same can be said about the issue at hand: by calling for a continued Russian military involvement in Central Asia to meet the threat of Islamic extremism, the Russians are also demonstrating what they believe are the benefits to be gained from deeper CIS military integration and the unhindered access for Russian troops to military facilities in the CIS’s south. It is important to add, however, that Moscow keeps its troops in Tajikistan to deter Taliban fighters from crossing the border and to control the flow of refugees and illegal goods, including weapons. This is thus a preventive military operation and is seen as essential to the successful prevention of the spread of Islamic extremism throughout the Central Asian theatre. At the same time the importance of improving socio-economic conditions in Central Asia is recognised. These are believed to be the underlying causes that attract people to Islamic extremism. Commenting on this issue, a Russian Foreign Ministry official noted that the ‘religious renaissance’ in post-Soviet Central Asia could develop into tension in case of ‘an unfavourable development of the socio-economic processes [and] a rapid increase in population’.72 Similarly, the conservative newspaper Pravda noted that ‘the present deep systemic crisis’ was creating fertile ground for a ‘rapid, epidemic-like’ spread of Islamic extremism.73 Therefore, while the CIS economic cooperation is initiated by Moscow to bolster its dominant economic position,74 it is undoubtedly designed to also cushion the blow of economic transformation in the CIS’s south. This is especially so with regard to the Russian economic assistance, or subsidies, of an 64

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aggregate between $17 bn and $67 bn since 1992 to the other CIS partners.75 Moscow seems to believe and hope that this economic assistance, coming hand in hand with firmer military control on the Tajik–Afghan border, can help prevent the spread of extremism. RUSSIA

Estimates of the number of Muslims in the RF fluctuate between 12 m and 25 m.76 The figure most often quoted is 20 m, which means that the Muslims form about 13–14 per cent of the population. Russian experts predict a rise in politicised Islam, ranging from the unification of various Muslim organisations to secessionist movements based on religion in the Northern Caucasus.77 They also estimate that an increase in religious fervour is plausible, which might most likely lead to an increase – both absolutely and relatively – in fundamentalist and even extremist adherents.78 A higher degree of Muslim political activity per se does not create security problems for the Russian state. Neither should ‘Islamic fundamentalism’, as defined above, give cause for concern. However, Muslim secessionist movements and/or the spread of Islamic extremism, should – and indeed do – engender anxiety. While there is no clear precept of the link between these two types of threat, common sense suggests that a rise in extremism will lead not only to political instability and violence, but also, most probably, to a rise in the number and strength of Muslim secessionist organisations. Russian observers predict, not surprisingly, that Islamic extremism is most likely to emerge and grow in the Northern Caucasus, and especially in Chechnya and Daghestan.79 Such a development will threaten both the political institutions and parts of the population. By far more important, it will put into question the integrity of the Russian state, which according to Russian experts, is ‘weak’, or in other words suffers from a low degree of socio-political cohesion.80 This threat is by definition the determining feature of all Muslim secessionist movements, even if they are outside the extremist environment. Whatever their origins, there is – as will be recalled – a fear in Russia that these movements could find support and possibly inspiration in Central Asian CIS states turned extremist, thereby emphasising the importance of preventive measures in the latter region. The lack of socio-political cohesion within the RF is addressed as one of the main threats to national security in the recent Russian Security Doctrine, published in December 1997. The document identifies a number of threats, among them ‘ethnic egotism, ethnocentrism 65

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and chauvinism [serving to] increase national separatism and create favourable conditions for the emergence of conflicts’.81 While the Security Doctrine does not single out Muslim minority groups – it was phrased in a general manner – there can be little doubt that they did indeed figure prominently in the minds of the authors. Just before the adoption of the Security Doctrine, Igor Sergeev, the Minister of Defence warned that ‘the possible escalation of armed conflicts aimed at strengthening the position of Islamic extremism in the Caucasus . . . presents a threat to Russia’s security’.82 The Russians have, as their own experts noted, two principal options to pre-empt such a development.83 First, they can attempt to quell possible strengthening of Islamic religious activity and secessionist movements and enter into conflict with the Muslim minorities. The emergence of such a line was suggested by a Western observer, who correctly predicted the rise to prominence of Primakov’s ‘neoEurasianism’. According to this suggestion part of it might be formed by ‘a reinvention of the policy of double-standard towards external and internal Islam characteristic of the Soviet period’.84 This, however, has not happened. Indeed one could argue that such a double standard would hardly be feasible in post-Soviet Russia – Chechnya notwithstanding. Rather, as was suggested above, the former Soviet dichotomy has been turned on its head, making the ‘Islamic component’ of Russia’s foreign policy a tool in Moscow’s dealings with its own Muslim minorities. Such a policy would reflect not only the growing importance of the Muslim electorate, but also the need to prevent an exacerbation of undesirable, yet recognised, tensions within the RF. These latter would, however, almost inevitably be exacerbated by the ‘conflict option’ which would, therefore, be a recipe for the disintegration of the Russian state.85 The second option is to find a ‘common language with both Islam and the Islamic world’, that is, ‘search for a dialogue’.86 This policy of accommodation has been described as being ‘extraordinarily difficult’,87 partly because of popular Russian resistance. Surveys make clear that to a very high percentage of the Russians ‘Islamic fundamentalism’ is an enemy second only to the US.88 Indeed, government officials noted that a dangerous ‘coldness is shown towards our Muslim citizens’.89 Nevertheless, this option is apparently the policy adopted by Moscow. It consists of at least three main parts. The first, as phrased by the Security Doctrine, is that ‘the improvement and development of federalism and local government are most important tasks’.90 Part of it will obviously have to be the reconsideration and possibly redefinition of relations between Moscow and the Muslim subjects of the Federation. A possible indication of the extent to which Moscow will be willing to accommodate one or more 66

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of these autonomous republics was given by Yeltsin in late 1997. Commenting on public executions carried out in Chechnya, he declared that ‘such a shari‘a is unacceptable’ (emphasis added), leading observers to speculate whether other elements of Islamic law might be incorporated into local legislation in the autonomous republics dominated by Muslims.91 Second, the Muslims will have to be incorporated into the ‘Russian idea’, that is, into a new framework of values designed to increase the sense of loyalty felt by various groups towards the Russian state. While the contents of this ‘Russian idea’ has been debated for some years now, the Chechen war added a sense of urgency to this debate, demonstrating only too well the lack of socio-political cohesion within the RF. Though not yet completed, one of the main elements of the new idea will be a redefined concept of patriotism, designed to advance the interests of a multi-ethnic Russian state.92 Delegating religion to other elements,93 this new patriotism will focus on the historical tradition of Russia, its allegedly unique civilisation, its former superpower status and its being ‘predestined to greatness’.94 In this context, enhancing Russia’s role and place in the international arena as compatible with promoting the ‘Russian idea’ can be done only with certain limitations: active Russian participation in a Christian–Islamic ‘Clash of Civilisations’, noted a Russian observer, will ‘result in civil war’.95 This insight suggests not only that Russia will have to formulate its policies towards the states of the Islamic world with utmost care, but also that Russian foreign policy might be used to secure popular acceptance of the new Russian state ideology. Third, as is the case with the Islamic states of the CIS, there is a growing understanding that in order to prevent domestic Islam from developing towards extremism, the socio-economic conditions of the predominantly Muslim areas have to be improved.96 Writing on this issue, one observer noted how in Daghestan young people are attracted to Islamic extremism, among other things, because of massive unemployment and a still worsening economy.97 The Russian ambassador to Iran explained how, in his view, the spread of Islamic extremism in Russia could be prevented by ‘economic and political stability’.98 Some of the ‘problem areas’, however, remain at the bottom of the regional stratification index, with the gap between them and the rest of the Russian regions apparently widening.99 Thus it still remains to be seen whether Moscow can effectively redress this imbalance. While the current state of the Russian economy suggests that only little progress, if any at all, can be made, there is little doubt that the implementation of preventive political measures in Russia will take precedence over the cushioning of the impact of economic reform in the CIS’s south. 67

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION CONCLUSION

The developments surveyed in this chapter have all taken place within a relatively short time rendering any conclusion tentative. Still, a picture can be discerned of relatively great complexity and finely tuned balances. This is especially true with regard to the thin line drawn between ‘extremism’ and ‘fundamentalism,’ both domestically and internationally. In this context three processes should be emphasised. On the international level we might be witnessing the beginning of more extensive cooperation between Russia and a number of Islamic fundamentalist states. The Russians do strive to curb the influence of Islamic extremism. Fundamentalism, on the other hand, is seen as a force that could help to improve Russia’s international standing, and thus ultimately to increase its security. Also, it was suggested that cooperation with fundamentalist states can help increase the sociopolitical cohesion within Russia itself by bringing Muslim minority groups to identify with the Russian state. If implemented successfully, this policy might mark a complete reversal of Soviet-era policies characterised by a use of domestic Islam for international purposes. In Central Asia, the incorporation of the Islamic opposition into the Tajik government demonstrated Moscow’s apprehension of the possible repercussions of the Taliban’s victories in Afghanistan. At the same time, it marked the introduction of what could be a new phase in Russia’s dealings with Islam in the CIS’s south: by accepting and partly accommodating the Islamic opposition, Russia hopes to bring stability to Tajikistan and pre-empt the more extremist version of Islam. Within Russia a more accommodating line also appears to have been launched, aimed at preventing the spread of extremism and secessionism. It is characterised by a greater willingness by the federal centre (1) to grant concessions to the local areas, including Muslim autonomous republics, and (2) to incorporate into a new national ‘Russian idea’ the Muslim population too. One of the attributes of the new ‘Russian idea’ is an emphasis on patriotism. Russia’s dealings with the Islamic world can be used to win Muslim minority support for this idea. However, the new national idea may win general acceptance only if Moscow takes care not to be involved in what could be seen as a crusade against Islam.

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ISLAM IN RUSSIAN SECURITY CONCERNS NOTES 1 See, e.g., A. Kozyrev et al., ‘Consensus on Russia’s Foreign Policy?’, International Affairs, Vol. 42, No. 1 (1996), pp. 21–9; and V. Lukov et al., ‘Growing Support for New Foreign Policy in Russia’, International Affairs, Vol. 42, No. 5/6 (1996), pp. 15–31. 2 In late 1995 Russian Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev described the foreign policy debate as being ‘emotional, politicised, and [going] to extremes’. This, he said, had prompted him to search for a ‘stabiliser – that is . . . some minimal range of foreign policy standards that [will] provide stability for the “state ship” in deep waters’. Kozyrev et al., ‘Consensus on Russia’s Foreign Policy?’, p. 22. 3 A good example is I. Sevostianov, ‘Islamskii fundamentalizm i islamskii ekstremizm – eto s’ovsem ne odno i to zhe [Isamic Fundamentalism and Islamic Extremism are not the same]’, Mezhdunarodnaia Zhizn, No. 5 (1996), pp. 31–40. 4 Izvestiia, 6 March 1996, p. 3. 5 Sevostianov, ‘Islamic Fundamentalism’, p. 31. 6 Ibid., p. 33. As is also the general case, ‘fundamentalism’ is here mostly defined as a residual, by the extremist characteristics which it does not carry; thus Islamic fundamentalism is non-aggressive and does not seek to advance itself through messianism and the turmoil created by local conflicts. 7 Nezavisimaia gazeta, 25 June 1997, p. 3. 8 Krasnaia zvezda, 4 October 1996, p. 1. 9 Izvestiia, 3 October 1996, p. 1. 10 Pravda 5, 27 May 1997, p. 1. 11 Krasnaia zvezda, 13 August 1998, p. 3. 12 See, e.g., Nezavisimaia gazeta, 15 January 1997, p. 4. 13 Primakov in Izvestiia, 27 May 1997, p. 3. See also Nezavisimaia gazeta, 14 August 1998, p. 6. 14 See, e.g., Nezavisimaia gazeta, 29 May 1997, p. 3. 15 Krasnaia zvezda, 13 August 1998, p. 3. In early 1997 Igor Rodionov, then Minister of Defence, told journalists that the Taliban ‘are supported by Pakistan and the USA’; ITAR-TASS, 20 February 1997 [BBC-SWB-SU/2580, 22 February 1997, B/9]. 16 Izvestiia, 16 October 1996, p. 2. 17 Ibid., 16 October 1996, p. 2. 18 Izvestiia, 30 October 1996, p. 3. 19 Ibid., loc. cit. 20 Nezavisimaia gazeta, 7 May 1998, p. 1. 21 Krasnaia zvezda, 28 January 1998, p. 2. 22 Maksim Peshkov, in M. Peshkov et al., ‘Moscow’s Role in Tajikistan’, International Affairs, Vol. 43, No. 2 (1997), p. 79. 23 For the overall numbers, see Krasnaia zvezda, 2 October 1997, p. 2 and Pravda, 12 March 1998, p. 2. 24 See the list in Krasnaia zvezda, 12 October 1996, pp. 3–7. 25 I. Khan, ‘Afghanistan. A Geopolitical Study’, Central Asian Survey, Vol. 17, No. 2 (1998), p. 498. 26 Ibid., p. 490. 27 The Tajiks and the Uzbeks in Afghanistan number about 6 m and 1.4 m respectively. 28 ‘Refugees are’, wrote one Russian observer, ‘outstanding catalysts for instability.’ Igor Rotar in Nezavisimaia gazeta, 28 May 1997, p. 3. 29 See report of the October 1996 summit of the Heads of state of Russia,

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30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, in Krasnaia zvezda, 8 October 1996, p. 1. And cf. the comments by Igor Ivanov, Russian First Deputy Foreign Minister, Interfax, 26 May 1997[BBC-SWB-SU/2929, 27 May 1997, G/1]. See, e.g., Ivanov, Interfax, 26 May 1997 [BBC-SWB-SU/2929, 27 May 1997, G/1], as well as the comments in Nezavisimaia gazeta, 27 May 1997, p. 1. Pravda 5, 27 May 1997, p. 1. See, e.g., Viktor Posuvaliuk, Russian Deputy Foreign Minister, explaining the principles of Russia’s policy on Afghanistan. Interfax, 17 June 1997 [BBC-SWB5U/2949, 19 June 1997, B/10]. See, e.g., the allegations to this effect in the New York Times, and the subsequent rebuttal by the Russian Foreign Ministry, both in Izvestiia, 31 July 1998, p. 3. Izvestiia, 23 October 1998, p. 2. For the human casualties, see note 23 above. For the annual financial costs of all Russian border control operations, estimated at US$3 bn, see Izvestiia, 22 October 1996, p. 1. Nezavisimaia gazeta, 14 August 1998, p. 1. Izvestiia, 23 October 1998, p. 2. M. Mesbahi, ‘Tajikistan, Iran, and the International Politics of the “Islamic Factor”’, Central Asian Survey, Vol. 16, No. 2 (1997), p. 152f. See interview of Igor Sergeev, Russian Minister of Defence, with NTV, 11 November 1997 [BBC-SWB- 5U/3075, 13 November 1997, 51/1]. For Islamic extremism in the two innermost geographical areas, see below. Pravda, 26 December 1996, p. 3. R. Magnus et al., Afghanistan: Mullah, Marx and Mujahid (Boulder: Westview, 1998), p. 190. See A. Podsterov, ‘Islamskii mir [The Muslim World]’, Mezhdunarodnaia zhizn, No. 9 (1997), p. 29. Aleksandr Belchuk in ‘Rossiia i mir islama [Russia and the World of Islam]’ Nezavisimaia gazeta – stsenarii, No. 1 (1998), p. 7. See, e.g., Jack Mendelsohn in M. Mandelbaum et al., ‘The Case Against NATO Enlargement’, Current History, No. 97 (March 1998), p. 134. Sevostianov, ‘Islamic Fundamentalism’, p. 40. ‘The potential of these states’, he noted, ‘is obvious.’ Ibid., p. 39. On this issue see, e.g., Y. Ro’i, ‘The Impact of the Islamic Fundamentalist Revival of the Late 1970s on the Soviet View of Islam’, in Ro’i (ed.), The USSR and the Muslim World (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1984), pp. 150ff. Izvestiia, 19 September 1996, p. 4. For a graphic overview of this pattern, see A. Bennigsen et al., Muslims of the Soviet Empire (London: C. Hurst, 1985), p. ii. S. Solodovnik, ‘The Tajikistan Conflict as a Regional Security Dilemma’, in R. Allison et al. (eds.), Security Dilemmas in Russia and Eurasia (London: The Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1998), p. 231. Experts disagree on whether the Tajik opposition should be regarded as being primarily ‘Islamic’ or whether it is more correct to see it as being ‘regional’ or ‘clan-based’. A more accurate picture would probably emerge from meshing these various labels, since the Islamic opposition draws its strength to a very large extent from politically and economically deprived regions in the south of the country. Having noted this, some commentators still inform the reader that the conflict ‘began on political and religious grounds’ and that ‘the main fight can be portrayed as between the Communist[s] and the Islamists’ – S. Akhmedov,

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52 53

54 55 56 57 58

59 60

61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77

‘Konflikty v Tadzhikistane. Prichiny i posledstviia [The Conflicts in Tajikistan. Causes and Effects]’, in A. Malashenko et al. (eds), Tsentralnaya Aziya i Kavkaz (Central Asia and the Caucasus), (Moscow: Ves’ mir, 1997), p. 81; and H. Shirazi, ‘Political Forces and their Structures in Tajikistan’, Central Asian Survey, Vol. 16, No. 4 (1997), p. 618, respectively. On this point, see B. Buzan, People, States and Fear (London: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1991), pp. 198 and 219f. For accounts of the early stages of negotiations, see Peshkov et al., ‘Moscow’s Role in Tajikistan’; and D. Anarkulova ‘Diplomaticheskie usiliia po razresheniiu konflikta v Tadzhikistane (1991–1994 gg.) [Diplomatic Efforts to Solve the Conflict in Tajikistan]’, in Malashenko et al. (eds), Central Asia and the Caucasus, pp. 98ff. SIPRI Yearbook (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), p. 119. Nezavisimaia gazeta, 25 December 1996, p. 3. Nezavisimaia gazeta, 13 March 1997, p. 3. See, e.g., Pravda, 11 March 1997, p. 1. ‘While a negotiated settlement might produce a more equitable outcome than a victory by one side, it also seems likely to foster renewed violence in the short to medium term’, in C. King, Ending Civil Wars, Adelphi Paper, No. 308 (London: The International Institute for Strategic Studies,1997), p. 25. Solodovnik, ‘The Tajikistan Conflict as a Regional Security Dilemma’, p. 234. On the costs, see A. Niiazi, ‘Tadzhikistan. Regionalnie aspekty konflikta (1990e gg.) [Tajikistan. The Regional Aspects of the Conflict]’, in Malashenko et al., Central Asia and the Caucasus, p. 52. See also Mardanov, R., ‘Etnokonfessional’nie konflikty v regionakh Islama: Prichiny i osobennosti [EthnoConfessional Conflicts in Islamic Regions: Causes and Peculiarities]’, in ibid., pp. 35–50. Nezavisimaia gazeta, 12 March 1997, p. 3. S. Mikoyan, ‘Russia the US and Regional Conflict in Eurasia’, Survival, Vol. 40, No. 3 (1998), p. 115. ITAR-TASS, 24 April 1997 [BBC-SWB-SU/2902, 24 April 1997, B/8]. For the text of the agreement, see Khovar News Agency, 28 June 1997 [BBCSWB-SU/2958, 30 June 1997, G/2]. Pastukhov in Izvestiia, 14 August 1997, p. 2. Interfax, 27 June 1997 [BBC-SWB-SU/2957, 28 June 1997, G/1]. Pravda, 25 December 1996, p. 1. Nezavisimaia gazeta, 22 August 1997, p. 3. See note 31 above. Radio Ekho Moskvy, 11 August 1997 [BBC-SWB-SU/2996, 13 August 1997, B/6]. Mikoyan, ‘Russia the US and Regional Conflict in Eurasia’, p. 121. S. Razov, ‘V novoi Tsentralnoi Azii [In the New Central Asia]’, Mezhdunarodnaia zhizn, No. 3 (1997), p. 42. Pravda, 5 February 1998, p. 1. M. Webber, The International Politics of Russia and the Successor States (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996), p. 288 and A. Becker, ‘Russia and Economic Integration in the CIS’, Survival, Vol. 38, No. 4 (1996–97), pp. 29ff. Becker, ‘Russia and Economic Integration’, p. 130. See Anatolii Gromyko in ‘Rossiia i mir islama’, Nezavisimaia gazeta – stsenarii, No. 1 (1998), p. 6 and Podtserov, ‘The Muslim World’, p. 27. See Semen Bagdasarov in Nezavisimaia gazeta – Religii, 20 May 1998, p. 4; Denga Khalidov et al., in ibid., 24 July 1997, p. 4; and Sevostianov, ‘Islamic Fundamentalism’, p. 37.

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION 78 Pravda, 26 December 1996, p. 3 and Marat Razhbandinov in Nezavisimaia gazeta – Religii, 20 May 1998, p. 4. 79 See Pravda, 5 February 1998, p. 1; Nezavisimaia gazeta – Religii, 24 July 1997, p. 4, as well as ibid., 20 May 1998, p. 4. For an example of a Western study sharing the same predictions, see, S. Lehmann, ‘Islam and Ethnicity in the Republics of Russia’, Post-Soviet Affairs, Vol. 13, No. 1 (1997), pp. 78–103. 80 See Buzan, People, States and Fear, pp. 82ff, 96ff. This lack of socio-political cohesion is clearly indicated by the ongoing debate over a new all-embracing ‘Russian idea’. 81 Part III of the National Security Doctrine, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 26 December 1997 [BBC-SWB-SU/3114, 1 January 1998, 52/5]. 82 NTV, 11 November 1997 [BBC-SWB-SU/3075, 13 November 1997, 51/1]. 83 Nezavisimaia gazeta, 28 November 1996, p. 5 84 Mesbahi, ‘Tajikistan, Iran and International Politics of the “Islamic Factor”’, p. 153. 85 Nezavisimaia gazeta, 28 November 1996, p. 5. 86 Ibid., p. 5. 87 1bid., p. 5. 88 Nezavisimaia gazeta – Religii, 24 July 1997, p. 4. There is little doubt that as used in this survey, the term ‘fundamentalism’ is the equivalent of ‘extremism’ as this latter was defined above. 89 Sevostianov, ‘Islamic Fundamentalism’, p. 32. 90 Rossiiskaia gazeta, 26 December 1997 [BBC-SWB-SU/3114, 1 January 1998, 52/8]. 91 Nezavisimaia gazeta – Religii, 23 October 1997, p. 4. 92 The multi-ethnic character of the RF is repeatedly emphasised in the Security Doctrine. 93 T. Winderl, ‘Nationalstaat Rußland?’, Österreichische Zeitschrift für Politikwissenschaft, Vol. 26, No. 3 (1997), pp. 243–55. 94 G. Simon, ‘Rußland auf der Suche nach seiner politischen Identität’, Berichte des BIOst, No. 33 (Cologne, 1997), p. 10. See also G. Breslauer et al., ‘Boris Yeltsin and the Invention of a Russian Nation-state’, Post-Soviet Affairs, Vol. 13, No. 4 (1997), pp. 303–32. 95 Anatolii Gromyko in ‘Rossiia i mir islama’, Nezavisimaia gazeta – stsenarii, No. 1 (1998), p. 6. 96 A large number of these clearly fall far below average living standards in today’s Russia – see, e.g., H. Balzer, ‘Russia’s Middle Classes’, Post-Soviet Affairs, Vol. 14, No. 2 (1998), Tables 2 and 4, pp. 175 and 180. 97 Marat Razhbandinov in Nezavisimaia gazeta – Religii, 20 May 1998, p. 4. 98 Pravda, 26 December 1996, p. 3. 99 Balzer, ‘Russia’s Middle Classes’, Table 4, p. 180. This is in an economy still struggling to achieve real growth.

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4

Central Asia and Russia; Francophone Africa and France: Parallels and Differences Moshe Gammer

An established axiom among historians states that, to put it sharply, ‘There are neither similarities nor parallels in history’. Ergo: no comparison between different phenomena is legitimate, since any similarities can only be general, vague and superficial. Nevertheless, a comparison between historical situations, as long as it is not simplistic and mechanical and if taken cum grano salis, might be an additional useful tool for a better grasp of and a deeper insight into historical realities. This chapter attempts to add such a tool to understanding the post-Soviet Central Asian states by comparing their relationship with the Russian Federation to that of the post-colonial states of francophone Africa with France. It does not attempt to compare the states and societies of the two groups. The differences between, and indeed within, each of the two groups are too numerous and obvious. Nor does it attempt to enter the argument on whether the case of Russia and the Soviet Union is at all one of ‘Colonialism’ and ‘Imperialism’ as defined with regard to the maritime, West European Powers. Finally, this chapter does not overlook the variances in time between the two phenomena, both those related to chronology – three decades separate the two – and those related to the global environment. One can think of several obvious differences: the geographical setting – the French colonies were overseas, Central Asia is adjacent to Russia; the fact that, in comparison to the great ethnic, religious and cultural diversity of francophone Africa, Central Asia is relatively homogeneous; the specifics of the colonisation, colonial administration and de-colonisation; the great variation between the two Imperial powers, their political and administrative cultures and style. 73

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Furthermore, in the case of Russia there are basic differences between the Imperial (Tsarist) and the Soviet periods. One may even say that one deals with two different powers and claim, therefore, that Central Asia was colonised twice within several decades. To this one should add the widespread thesis, almost an axiom, in all parts of the exUSSR, that regards the Soviet Union as the colonial power and Russia – one of its colonies. Nevertheless, many apparent similarities, or in a more cautious expression associations, justify such an attempt. Before doing that, however, a clear definition is needed of the two groups of states to be dealt with in this article: the term ‘Central Asia’ covers the five Muslim ex-Soviet republics of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. Muslim Azerbaijan and Christian Armenia and Georgia are not included here. It is true that as far as their relationship with Russia is concerned they fall within a similar category to the Central Asian states; nevertheless, significant differences in history, geography and culture set them apart. The term ‘francophone Africa’ covers the 14 French ex-colonies in Western and Central Africa, namely: Benin, Burkina Faso, Cameroon, the Central African Republic, Chad, Congo, Gabon, Guinea, the Ivory Coast, Mali, Mauritania, Niger, Senegal and Togo. It does not include states not adjacent to those mentioned above, such as Madagascar. PARALLELS

The most striking likeness is the fact that both groups of states – or rather their leaders – did not on the whole ask for independence and tried to resist it. Having realised that separation was inevitable, they fought with their teeth to keep the strongest ties possible with the metropolitan power and to institutionalise them in an organisational structure. In francophone Africa of the late 1950s and early 1960s, Félix Houphouet-Boigny, ex-cabinet minister and Assemblée Nationale deputy in Paris and now (that is, in the late 1950s and early 1960s) president of the Ivory Coast, ‘rejected for Africans of French culture the political solution which Dr Nkrumah had won for the Gold Coast (Ghana) [i.e. complete independence]’, seeking instead ‘a community of peoples, equal and fraternal’.1 Léopold Sédar Senghor, now (again, in the late 1950s and early 1960s) president of Senegal, called for ‘European–African cooperation’ because it was ‘in the interests of these countries, once their nominal independence is achieved, not to separate from their former mother [sic], but to achieve new ties, based on liberty, equality and co-operation’.2 74

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More than thirty years later the leaders of the five Central Asian Republics – four of them ex-Secretaries-General of the Republican Central Committees of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) – tried to forestall by all possible means the dissolution of the USSR. Since the August 1991 coup attempt, the Central Asian leaders had backed Gorbachev in his demand for a strong centre. President Nursultan Nazarbayev of Kazakhstan was in the forefront of those arguing for a strong centre in order to keep the military, the nuclear arsenal, the currency and the economy under a single control. He was firmly backed by the other Central Asian leaders – except for the president of Kyrgyzstan.3 Once the fate of the Soviet Union had been decided, however, on 8 December at the Bela Vezha summit of the leaders of the three Slavic republics of the (then still existing) USSR – Russia, the Ukraine and Belarus – the leaders of the Central Asian republics applied enormous efforts to join the new structure, the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) established at that summit. On 12 December they convened an urgent summit in Ashkhabad. On the following day they sat down together at a press conference and declared . . . that they were willing to join the CIS, but on the basis of equality. They demanded that they too be made founder members of the CIS . . . A week later, on 21 December 1991 in Alma Ata, the Capital of Kazakhstan, the new CIS was formed.4

Several reasons drove the leaders of both the francophone states in Africa and the newly independent states of Central Asia to cling to their respective metropolitan power. Problems of State- and Nation-Building As in other parts of the Third World, most of the French colonies in Africa were created artificially by the colonial power. They therefore reflected French interests and priorities (and the strategic balance between France and other colonial powers), not local realities – geographical, ethnic, linguistic or other. In fact, each colony – later to become an independent state – encompassed different ethnic groups, while many ethnic groups were divided by the new borders between (or even among) different states and empires. Unexpectedly independent, the new states lacked almost completely the infrastructure needed for it. Furthermore, until then they were merely administrative divisions within a larger unit. To France they were not ‘Colonies’ but ‘France Overseas’. The French therefore 75

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‘adopted policies to integrate them into a single Greater France revolving about Paris’.5 Besides, almost all French colonies in subSaharan Africa were clustered in two ‘federations’: French West Africa and French Equatorial Africa. As independence approached there was much talk of either retaining these federations or, after France had dissolved them, creating alternative ones. The advantages were clear: Senghor, for example, has argued very strongly that a federal union with France could have real meaning only if each of the partners to it was strong and autonomous. He therefore demanded the maintenance and strengthening of the two federations of African colonies . . . as a prior condition of Franco-African community.6

These plans did not materialise for many reasons – competition among states, antagonism among groups, personal rivalries and, most important, economic realities (see below) and French discouragement.7 Most, if not all, of the newly independent states therefore lacked many of the required bureaucratic tools and much of the needed political and administrative experience. More importantly, most if not all of them lacked a clearly defined identity of their own, not to say a common ‘nationhood’ that could rally their population around the new state. They were, in fact, territories not corresponding to polities. They had, therefore, to begin the extremely difficult and complex process of nation- and state-building – nation-states being the international norm in the twentieth century – almost from scratch. Furthermore, they had to do it within their existing territorial confines, since the sanctity of colonial borders has become an axiom in post-colonial international relations. At first glance the newly independent states of Central Asia seem to be completely different from francophone Africa, since each of them has evolved around a specific titular nation. However, both the new nations and the states were to a large extent artificial creations. First, the five (or rather six, since the Karakalpaks were defined as a separate nationality and given an autonomous republic of their own within Uzbekistan) did not exist before the 1924 Soviet razmezhevanie (demarcation) of Central Asia.8 Thus, separate new literary languages, national histories and past, national cultures and traditions were invented where ‘there existed a steadily evolving consciousness’ of ‘belonging to a common culture and a more or less unified historical tradition based on Islam and a shared Irano-Turkic heritage’.9 Second, the boundaries between the newly created nations were artificial and blurred, not always unintentionally. Some nomadic 76

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tribes – for example the Mangyt, Kungrat, Kiyat, Ktay and Keneges – found themselves divided between two, or even among more ‘nations’. Amid the settled population ‘in some areas the lines separating Tajiks from Uzbeks are far more fluid than the mutually exclusive juridical categories of nationality would suggest’.10 Third, the creation of the new nations ‘was designed to replace the sub-national loyalties and awareness (such as those relating to the clan and tribe)’ and ‘supra-national consciousness (religion, panTurkism)’ with ‘allegiances to modern Soviet nations’. However, this ‘intended national consciousness was never intended to go beyond its role as a saboteur of other consciousnesses’. It ‘was never intended, especially, to develop and evolve into anything approximating a modern national consciousness’.11 Thus, as everywhere else in the USSR the process of nation-building was impeded by recurrent purges during the Stalinist period and by Soviet efforts to inculcate the populace with ‘Soviet patriotism’ and ‘proletarian internationalism’. Nevertheless, this experiment in nation-creating has proved more successful than the Soviet authorities had intended, and the new nations have become living entities ‘notable for their growing attachment to the more exclusive and proprietary notions of modern nationalism’.12 However, this new, modern nationalism has not replaced the older, traditional identities. It has, probably, been more successful in the case of supra-national identities, but failed with the sub-national ones. Among the historically settled population ‘region of residence’ (mahalla), which ‘has long been a principal axis of identity’,13 remained intact and has probably even been reinforced. It has played a major role in the internal politics of Uzbekistan,14 and in Tajikistan it even proved stronger then the Soviet-created national identity.15 Among the previously nomadic population – including nomadic Uzbeks – clan and tribe solidarity have remained strong and stay the basis for ‘national’ politics.16 Although in principle ‘national’ states, with their own political, administrative, economic and cultural institutions, the newly established Central Asian republics reflected the Soviet goal of impeding their nation-building. First, the political/administrative borders of none equalled the confines of its titular nation. In fact the boundaries were delineated in such a way as to leave sizeable groups of each titular nation as minorities within the neighbouring states.17 This naturally hampered national consolidation.18 Second, during most of the Soviet period, the massive immigration from other – mainly the European – parts of the USSR to these republics was encouraged and in some instances even forced. This resulted in the creation of a considerable ‘russophone population’ (russkoiazychnoe nasselenie), education in Russian being the only alternative 77

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to education in the titular language, in each. The purpose, quite successful in some cases, was to prevent the titular nationality from forming a solid majority in its own republic.19 Furthermore, to the Soviet leaders all the republics of the USSR were merely administrative units. The Central Asian republics were, therefore, never meant to exist on their own or designed to be viable units; they were parts of a larger body. This is clearly reflected in their borders, which do not correspond to geographical and economic (and ethnic, as mentioned above) realities. Thus, for example, within the present borders, travel during winter between the northern and southern parts of Kyrgyzstan and of Tajikistan can be done either by air or via Uzbekistan only. Similarly, travel overland from the southern and central part of Uzbekistan to Khiva can be done solely through Turkmenistan. Finally, like the francophone states, the central Asian states unexpectedly given independence lacked the bureaucratic tools and political and administrative experience to run an independent state. It is true that all the republics had their own governments, parliaments, bureaucracies and national cadres and leadership. But these were no more then figureheads. The real power was vested in Moscow and exercised through the CPSU, which was one and undivided. Many in the ‘ruling’ elites, who had never dealt with foreign relations, economic planning, or generally been in positions of real responsibility, found themselves overnight compelled to rule. Economic Dependence Most ex-French colonies in Africa have remained economically tied to, and dependent on, France. To start with, France’s policies . . . in her African colonies led to their complete dependence on her for their survival. The French parliament provided funds in colonial times to balance the budget of colonial territories and provide social services. France continued to play this role after independence, thus deepening their dependence on the former metropole for support and even survival.20

Even those states that could maintain themselves economically have been dependent on France as the trading partner and source of skilled manpower. The realities of world trade in the second half of the twentieth century have been such that while First World states overwhelmingly import from, and export to each other, the lion’s share of Third World countries’ trade is with the First World. Trapped in this situation, many francophone, indeed Third World, states 78

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found it more convenient (if not compelling) to follow the trodden path of economic interaction with the previous colonial power. This way, a market was assured without having to engage in too tough a competition, the economy was saved unnecessary upheavals, and the flow of financial and technical assistance was not interrupted. No less important, the movement of manpower from France was not hindered either. The import of skilled manpower is a substantial need of all developing economies until national personnel is trained. Thus, the faster a Third World economy grows, the greater the number of foreign nationals employed in it. Francophone states in Africa depended heavily on French skilled personnel and the stronger the economy the more French citizens one could have found residing in that country.21 All this meant that contrary to some Africans’ hopes for ‘une symbiose nouvelle’22 with the metropolitan power, French economic control continued and was cemented by the ‘Franc zone’ and the various bilateral agreements between the metropolitan power and the ex-colonies. This dominance of France was not affected by the creation of the European Economic Community (EEC) in 195723 and seems to have begun to weaken only in recent years under the pressure of American competition. These realities of world trade were also a major (though by far not the single) reason for the failure of the many efforts by Francophone states to establish viable regional structures of their own (that is without the participation of the ex-colonial power). Third World economies do not complement, but rather compete with, each other. This inability to form regional blocks strengthened further the dependence of each of the ex-colonies on France. The failure to create a block of their own left the francophone states more dependent on France and exposed to its dominance. It is true that the Soviet economy – in theory as well as in practice – is hardly comparable to Western ones and that the global economic environment of the early 1990s cannot be compared to that of the early 1960s. Nevertheless, it is not at all wrong to state that the Central Asian states were integrated into and dependent on the economy of Russia more than their francophone counterparts into and on that of France. This has been even more the case after the dissolution of the USSR and the following collapse of the Soviet economy. Soviet economic planning referred to the entire USSR as a single economic entity and ignored the existence of different republics. Moreover, contrary to Marxist theory, in Soviet reality political needs overruled economic considerations. This meant, inter alia, that, even if this was ‘un-economic’, the different parts of the USSR were tied down to each other by as many economic strings as possible, all 79

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passing via, and controlled by the Kremlin. Moscow was, thus, ‘an economic and financial spiderweb’ to which the Central Asian republics ‘were tied . . . by thousands of threads, from electricity grids to oil pipelines to telephone lines’ and ‘from which no leader . . . could ever see himself disentangled’.24 Furthermore, this economic integration of the different parts of the USSR was done on such a scale as to prevent regional economic blocs. A factory in Uzbekistan, for example, would operate machinery produced in Estonia on electricity from Kyrgyzstan, in order to assemble parts imported from Siberia and Georgia. The produce would then be sold in the Ukraine. All these activities would be planned and supervised by Moscow.25 With new political borders cutting off longestablished routes of supply and the need for cash in the so called ‘transformation to market economy’ replacing what used to be largely a barter market, all post-Soviet economies have been in decline for several years. Under these conditions the dependence of Central Asian states on Russia has grown.26 In addition, the Central Asian republics were dependent on russophone skilled manpower more than the francophone states of Africa were on French technical and professional personnel. Both the numbers of non-local staff and the fields in which they were involved were by far more numerous than in francophone Africa. In all five Central Asian republics russophone managers, accountants, engineers, technicians and skilled workers were vital to the running of the economy, and russophone professionals – doctors, nurses, teachers etc. – for maintaining the services provided by the state. The need to keep them added weight in favour of tight ties with Russia.27 The question whether Moscow economically exploited or subsidised the Central Asian republics is now at the centre of debate between the two, one that is clearly political. However, the economic realities of political independence – first and foremost the decline and the transformation to market economy – impose on the Central Asian republics the need for foreign aid. Russia, in the midst of similar economic trouble is not a source of aid, at least not in the foreseeable future. However, that does not mean that the Central Asian states are not at all dependent on Moscow on this issue. Russian goodwill is needed since a great deal of aid has been channelled, especially at the beginning, via Moscow and many of the joint development and economic projects with Western partners involve Russian participation. Furthermore, the future of international economic involvement in, and aid to, Central Asia depends on political stability and security in the area, both of which are to a large extent dependent on Russia’s attitudes. In view of these Soviet and post-Soviet economic realities and the 80

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balance of trade between the First and Third worlds it is little wonder that no one took seriously the possibility of a Central Asian bloc, least of all the Central Asian leaders themselves. It is true that in the Ashkhabad summit (12 December 1991) they ‘spoke bravely of how they would form a new Central Asian common market’, but everyone knew that for the time being these were merely words. Their faces showed their real fears. Since 1917 Central Asia has become little more than an economic colony for Moscow . . . When the powerhouse had seemed to be built on sand, Central Asia had nowhere else to turn.28

All they intended to do by raising the issue was only to add an extra device to pressure the three ‘Slavic’ presidents into letting the Central Asian republics into the newly formed CIS. Concerns of Security Meagre economic resources are a major reason for the modest size of the military forces of the francophone states. The fact that no regional power threatens these states has been an important factor in shaping the decision not to invest scarce resources in building large armed forces. After all, South Africa, Egypt and other African ‘superpowers’ are far away geographically and have been engaged in other directions. Thus, apart from being a necessary symbol of sovereignty, the armed forces of the francophone states are usually barely sufficient to provide internal security. They are too small and not properly equipped to counter foreign threats and in some cases even serious internal ones.29 To deal with such eventualities these states have to rely on the French umbrella. Furthermore, the small national armies, based on the French troupes coloniales,30 rely heavily, even exclusively, on French financing, equipment, logistics, personnel and training. This dependence on France is greater by far when it comes to security and intelligence agencies. These are practically intertwined with the French services. The meaning of these facts is that the military and security organisations of the francophone states are connected directly to France by multiple links – personal, professional, economic, institutional, historical – bypassing their official chain of command. France has thus had the ability to influence, even manipulate and use, them directly above the heads of their own governments. In other words, France has been in the position of final arbiter able to either stage, support, encourage, discourage, prevent and foil coups or, as a last resort, to intervene directly.31 81

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As in the case of francophone Africa, the armed forces of the Central Asian states are very small in size. They are barely sufficient for internal security and not at all corresponding to the external threats, existing or potential. Unlike francophone Africa, Central Asia is surrounded by regional (and even global) superpowers that are perceived as threats by its governments.32 Their need for a Russian security umbrella is, therefore, by far more acute. The Central Asian states inherited their national armed forces from their Soviet predecessors. Since, however, the Soviet armed forces remained in the main in the possession of Russia, the Central Asian states had to build their forces almost from scratch making use of whatever remnants they were left with from the Soviet armed forces. This has made them heavily dependent on Russian personnel, equipment and training and on operational cooperation with Russia’s armed forces. One can assume that this dependence on Russia is by far greater when one moves to security and intelligence services. Since in both Russia and the Central Asian states these are successors of the KGB, one can only wonder how far could, and do, Central Asian leaders rely on the unconditional obedience and loyalty of their own security services. Assimilated Elite France followed a policy of assimilation in her colonies. This policy was based on the assumption that Africans could be made to become French in all respects. Those Africans who became assimilated enjoyed the rights and privileges of French citizens [and] no avenue of advancement was closed to them . . . Such persons usually were recognised by French society as French citizens.33

Furthermore, French colonial administration ‘aimed at creating a capable elite, groomed and indoctrinated in French culture’34 and invested a great deal of effort and money to achieve this goal. The result was that the French African elite developed a special emotional tie with France and with everything French. Paris, the metropolitan capital, became a second home to these assimilated gentlemen. They developed French manners and tastes . . . While the African elite in British colonies was pressing for constitutional reforms which should grant them political concessions towards territorial self rule, the évolués in French Africa were demanding citizens’ rights within the framework of Greater France to which they were culturally and intellectually attached.35 82

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The independence offered by Charles de Gaulle was a tremendously shocking volte-face, which generated strong reactions and an intense debate in the French colonies.36 Considering itself part of the metropolitan establishment, the elite of francophone Africa felt betrayed and rejected by their ‘mother’ – to use Senghor’s metaphor. On a more personal level, leaders such as Senghor and HouphouetBoigny suddenly discovered that – to paraphrase a Mishna’ic coin – they had been turned into ‘heads of foxes’ instead of remaining ‘tails of lions’.37 In other words, they considered themselves to be demoted from the heights of Parisian politics to head new, obscure states. This shock, anger, disappointment, feeling of betrayal should suffice to supply psychological explanations to their vehement opposition to independence and their outstanding efforts to cement the strongest ties possible between the new independent states and France. But there were other, more ‘down to earth’ reasons: on the level of Realpolitik these leaders realised very clearly all the enormous difficulties ahead of their new states and the necessity to be supported by a great power. And if this was the case, it was preferable to remain within the orbit of France. According to Senghor, an underdeveloped country which has achieved nominal independence cannot acquire real independence if it remains underdeveloped. It must obtain external aid. The solution can be found in its entry into a larger ensemble, in the form of a confederacy . . . Long continued ties and economic relations, and a common language of an international character have created links which it would be catastrophic to break. Africa and Europe are genuinely complementary, in terms of politics, economics and culture.38

Furthermore, a wide social and cultural gap existed between the ‘modernised’, French educated and oriented elite, and the lower strata (the sujets of the colonial period) with their traditional culture, values and way of life. Perceiving itself as ‘Africa’s true representatives’39 the elite regarded its own culture, values and outlook as superior and as destined to replace eventually the traditional ones. However, this was a hope for the distant future. At the moment, with France leaving, it felt weak and exposed to a very substantial threat to its very survival and staying in power. Thus the need for French backing. Russia, like France, has had a strong sense of mission civilisatrice. Tsarist Russia was eager to spread Pravoslav, that is Russian Orthodox Christian civilisation. The USSR was no less eager to proselytise Soviet, that is Russian Marxist(-Leninist) culture. In both cases the universal ideology was wrapped in Russian colouring. This 83

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missionary urge led both to pursue policies of assimilation in their empires. Tsarist Russia made an effort, not always systematic, to coopt and assimilate the elites of the annexed territories. Indeed, some elements of the Central Asian elite were Russified, at least partially. They received education in Russian schools, made Russian one of their main vehicles, and were influenced by Russian literature, thought and politics. The Soviet regime attempted at first to create a new, Soviet, man and society. It tried, therefore, to reach and change each individual. Soon, however, Stalin gave up this task and concentrated on the Sovietisation of the elite only.40 In this task the Soviet success has been quite remarkable. The present national elites of Central Asia have been fully integrated into Soviet society and culture. Like the évolués, these Sovietised comrades have developed a special emotional tie with the metropolitan national culture. They have adopted Russian manners and tastes and feel at home in Moscow and Leningrad more than in their places of birth. Those coming from a tradition of resistance to Russian conquest and rule have developed a distinction between an abstract ‘Russia’ they hate and Russian culture which they adore. Educated in Russian-language schools – such an education opened more opportunities than learning in national-language institutions – members of this elite are in many cases fully proficient in Russian. Many of them can recite entire poems by Pushkin and Lermontov but are unable to utter a correct sentence in their own national language.41 But even those with full mastery of their own language prefer, or find it easier on many occasions, to use Russian.42 Politically and psychologically the Central Asian cadres of the nomenklatura formed an integral part of the Soviet state. The existence of their national republics was irrelevant in this context. The polity which they were part of was the Soviet Union. The top position to aim for was not the secretary-general of the Republican CC of the CPSU, but membership in the CC, or even the politburo in the Kremlin. Positions in the national republics were power bases to be used as springboards for a career in Moscow. That was the focus of Nazarbayev’s loyalties, not Kazakhstan – of which he was then the secretary-general of the party, and the future president. In 1991, before the coup, he published a book criticising Gorbachev’s priorities in his perestroika. Nazarbayev argued that Gorbachev’s strategy was a prescription for disaster and that it should be implemented in the opposite order, that is economic reforms should precede political liberalisation (in other words, that the USSR should follow the Chinese model).43 The aborted coup of August 1991 triggered a chain reaction that began with the banning of the Communist party and ended with the 84

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dissolution of the Soviet Union. For Nazarbayev and the other Central Asian leaders these were traumatic events: These heirs of Gengiz Khan’s warrior nomads and Stalin’s communist party machine had suddenly been orphaned; everything they had known for the past seventy four years was disappearing before their eyes.44

Especially shocking was Russia’s attempt to shake off the other, mainly non-Slavic, republics. Understandably, their reaction was reminiscent of that of francophone African leaders three decades earlier: they struggled with all their strength to cling to ‘mother Russia’. As in francophone Africa at the time of independence, a deep cultural and social gap divides the Central Asian elites from the lower strata of their societies.45 Yet there is one major difference that magnifies the Central Asian elites’ dependence on Russia: however threatened they felt, the elites of francophone Africa of the 1960s46 were convinced that theirs was the only culture, and as such was destined to supersede the traditional one among all layers of society. The Central Asian elites of the 1990s are vestiges of a defeated culture and a system challenged by alternatives – Western, Chinese and several Islamic. Each of these is a menace to the very existence of the Central Asian elites, not merely to their monopoly of power. The challenges emanating from the models of Turkey, Iran and Afghanistan seem to these elites particularly dangerous because of the shared Islamic and Turco-Iranian heritage common to those and the Central Asian societies. Russia is, thus, the only guarantor of their very survival as has been clearly demonstrated in Tajikistan.47 DIFFERENCES

If the parallels seem to draw more strongly the states of Central Asia to Russia than their francophone counterparts to France, the differences seem to fortify this tendency. Territorial Proximity to Russia Central Asia is thousands of kilometres removed from Moscow exactly as francophone Africa is thousands of kilometres away from Paris. Yet while seas and lands separate France and francophone Africa, Central Asia is adjacent to Russia. Two of the newly independent states – Kazkhstan and Kyrgyzstan – actually border on Russia and all the Central Asian capital cities are nearer than Moscow to that 85

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border. The consequences are fairly obvious. Territorial contiguity enables one, inter alia, to flex one’s muscles faster, on a more massive scale, with less expense and sometimes more efficiently.48 This is a fact no government in Central Asia can ignore.49 Proximity also allows for much more massive contacts between the populations of the involved states. After all, an overland journey is by far simpler and cheaper than sea or air travel. These massive contacts, in turn, not only augment the Central Asian states’ dependence on Russia, but provide Moscow with a lever – the threat to cut such contacts at will. Large Russophone Population As stated above, the numbers of russophones in the Central Asian republics are incomparable to those of the French residents of francophone Africa. While the French inhabitants in African countries have never surpassed a couple of dozen thousands in any of them and totalled in all of the area no more than 100,000 out of about 90 million inhabitants (i.e. about 0.1 per cent) the lowest number of russophones in any Central Asian republic was above 400,000 and their total number in the region almost 12.5 million out of a population of almost 50 million (that is c. 25 per cent).50 This is a clear case of quantity becoming quality. The sheer numbers of the russophones make them irreplaceably crucial in running the economies, services and bureaucracies of the new states of Central Asia, at least in the foreseeable future. Naturally these states are eager to reinsure the russophones and entice them to stay. They have gone to great lengths to do so, but to secure any measure of success they need Russia’s cooperation on this matter. Furthermore, if they want this large population to stay, they must enable it to maintain its vital cultural, social and other ties to the mother country. There is, however, another important reason for the need to keep close ties with Russia: in any possible conflict of interests between Moscow and the new independent states this population might react by emigration. Worse from the Central Asian states’ perspective, it might be used by Russia against them. The way to forestall both possibilities is to maintain tight cooperation with Moscow. In two Central Asian states the russophone population is by far more massive. In Kazakhstan they are about half the population and in Kyrgyzstan well over a quarter.51 In both a big part of it is rural and occupies large continuums of territory. To both, therefore, this is a further, primary incentive for close cooperation with Russia. To Kyrgyzstan the large russophone population is less of a problem than to Kazakhstan. It is less massive in both numbers and proportion, its 86

Map 3: Central Asia: Chinese Territorial Claims in the 1970s

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relationship with the local population is relatively free of friction and, most important, to the Kyrgyz Russia is the historical ally and protector against the traditional enemies China and Uzbekistan, a fact that influences the relationship between them and the Russians. To Kazakhstan this is far more than merely an important question. Apart from being half of the population and their vital role in running the state and its economy, the russophones form a solid majority in roughly the northern half of the country. Therefore, in case of dissatisfaction this population will not emigrate (emigration itself being bad enough) but rather secede, which is a sure prescription for civil war, (that is if Russia does not get dragged in). Assuring this large part of the population its proper share of the cake is further complicated by the traditional antagonism between it and the Kazakhs, to whom Russia is an historical enemy, and the ‘Russians’ – colonists who had grabbed Kazakh lands.52 All this dictates tight coordination with Russia as a precondition to Kazakhstan’s very survival. Proximity to Regional Superpowers Unlike the francophone states of Africa, the Central Asian countries are neighbouring on, and surrounded by strong regional superpowers. In fact, the proper analogy should probably be to Saudi Arabia and the other Gulf Arab states, not to francophone Africa. Like the Gulf states, most of the Central Asian republics are rich in resources and poor in population. Like the Gulf states their more powerful neighbours, who are also historical and traditional enemies, would not object to adding the much needed Central Asian resources to their economies and budgets. Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan have apprehensions with regard to China. Both ex-nomadic societies feel overshadowed by the giant to the east, who is also the historical enemy of all the nomads north and west of it. Many people in both states remember well the Chinese territorial claims against the USSR in the 1960s and 1970s, which cover about half the territory of Kyrgyzstan and great territorial chunks of Kazakhstan, including its former capital city, Almaty.53 Both states are aware that China has never officially renounced these claims even if it has not raised them in recent years. Therefore, recent immigration of Chinese has caused alarm in both.54 Uzbekistan also considers China as a menace. But the main threats in Tashkent’s eyes are Iran and Pakistan, both traditional rivals of any power centred on Transoxania. What makes both powers particularly dangerous is the potential use by each of Islam to extend their influence in Central Asia, as they have already done in Afghanistan.55 This perception of Islam in one form or another as a danger is shared by 88

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all other Central Asian states.56 Finally, Turkmenistan feels particularly threatened by neighbouring Iran, the traditional sedentary, Shi‘ite enemy of the nomad, Sunni Turkmen tribes. Russia is one of these neighbouring powers. With the exception of Kyrgyzstan, it is also one of their historical enemies. Nevertheless, all of them prefer to remain within Moscow’s fold over any other alternative. One can put forward several reasons for this choice – the survival of the present elites, the continuation of the present state of independence and others. Yet the two main reasons are most probably the fear common to all of them of becoming the battlefield of rival powers. It is clear to everyone that the involvement of the immediately neighbouring powers will invoke the intervention of others, whose interests will be affected. Remaining under the Russian umbrella is the only way to avoid it, since it is the only power with both the legitimisation and strength to keep the hands of others off. Also, as the saying goes, ‘Better the devil you know than a new one.’ Attaching oneself to another Power entails a great deal of changes, adjustment to a different culture, and the need to learn a new language (in the broadest meaning of the word), modus operandi and way of thinking. To remain within Russia’s fold, on the other hand, means to stay within a familiar environment in which the Central Asian elites feel at home and know which buttons to push. The choice of the Central Asian leadership is, therefore, obvious. Rivalries among Central Asian States As mentioned above, personal and state rivalries in francophone Africa enhanced dependence on France indirectly, by contributing to the inability to form regional blocs. In central Asia such personal and state/national antagonisms have been a major direct cause for the need to remain within Russia’s fold, inter alia, because behind them lie traditional rivalries with a long history. All of these rivalries focus on Uzbekistan. The strongest and most developed, having the largest population and apparently the most advanced in national consolidation, Uzbekistan regards itself the natural leader of a Central Asian bloc. But it is also among the poorest states in the region with regard to resources and the finances badly needed for development. The advantages to Uzbekistan – economic, political and strategic, regional as well as international – of being the leader of such a bloc are selfevident.57 However, Uzbekistan needs Russian backing to reach this goal. In no way can Tashkent accomplish it against Moscow’s wishes. Nor can Uzbekistan under present conditions seriously consider enlisting the support of another power. But Uzbekistan’s claim to regional leadership has created 89

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antagonism and revived old fears and feuds. A major traditional rivalry reborn now in a modern, national, form is that between settled and nomad societies. Uzbekistan covers the lion’s share of the traditional territory of the ancient settled civilisation in Central Asia, and is regarded by itself and others as its heir. The Kyrgyz, Kazakhs and Turkmen, although mostly settled now, are still considered by themselves and their neighbours as the heirs of the nomadic traditions and values. The memories of this old rivalry are still very much alive, though couched now in the new terminology. Thus, according to a young Kyrgyz scholar they [the Uzbeks] used to be confined to their settlements while we were wandering all over the countryside. We used to come into their settlements to the markets, where they used to cheat us. But we used to get even if any of them dared to get out of their settlements into the open: we would than decapitate him.58

This old rivalry has been revived due to the upsurge of nationalism and the fears of the use made of Islam by some Uzbek nationalists, who contrast ‘good’ Muslims (i.e. the Uzbeks) with ‘bad’ (i.e. the Kyrgyz, Kazakhs and Turkmen) with all the implied meanings and consequences of this terminology.59 The Kyrgyz and Turkmen feel particularly threatened, being the weakest of the Central Asian states but also among the richest in resources and in possession of facilities needed by Uzbekistan. To both, Russia is the only power they can turn to for protection, their other neighbouring powers – China and Iran respectively – posing a similar threat to their independence and even existence. Kazakhstan feels less threatened by Uzbekistan, but has been competing with it over the leadership of a Central Asian bloc.60 President Nursultan Nazarbayev has not concealed his ambition to lead such a bloc and to be the chief middleman between Russia and the Central Asian states. On the personal level, having been probably the most eminent Muslim in the Soviet hierarchy, he must have found the presidency of Kazakhstan severely restricting his talents, horizons and ambitions. As the leader of an independent Kazakhstan he has realised that such a leading role is not merely a bargaining chip or a matter of prestige to his country – it is vital to the very existence of Kazakhstan within its present borders, since if the Central Asian states and Russia pulled in different directions this would literally tear Kazakhstan, its population and territory, into two. Ergo the need to lead the Central Asian states and Russia to continued cooperation with each other, and the role played by Nazarbayev in the creation of the CIS. 90

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Independence aggravated another, by far more complicated rivalry, that between Uzbeks and Tajiks. Both nations are the outcome of Soviet demarcation. Until then they coexisted in a common bilingual culture. The separation created a strong rivalry over territory, population, resources and – most important – over their national definition and cultural heritage. In a way the two nations have been like Siamese twins unable to exist fully without each other and hating each other for this. The Uzbeks, having the advantage from the very beginning of Soviet rule, have done their best to dominate the Tajiks. Tajikistan was first created as an Autonomous Republic (ASSR) within the Uzbek SSR, and even after it had been raised to the status of a Union Republic (SSR) the Uzbeks continued to have great influence in its running. With the dissolution of the USSR the meaningless administrative demarcation line between the two republics had suddenly become an international border President Islam Karimov’s role in enlisting Russian and CIS intervention in the civil war in Tajikistan was more than merely part of Uzbekistan’s claim to leadership and an attempt to win points on the way to its realisation. In view of the entanglement between the two nations and the interdependence between the states, giving up influence in Tajikistan – and that is what the opposition’s coming to power in Dushanbe meant – was for Uzbekistan more than a strategic loss61 or a matter of prestige. To Karimov it meant a real possibility of changing the balance between the two, of allowing a foreign power (other than Russia) into the region and of a genuine threat to the existence of the regime and of Uzbekistan as it is now.62 All these considerations necessitate a tight relationship with Russia.63 THE METROPOLITAN POWERS

According to the popular phrase, ‘It takes two to tango.’ In both cases the dependence of the new independent states on, and their need to retain close ties with their respective metropolitan power were more than matched by the interests of the latter. France has considered her deep involvement with her ex-colonies as a vital interest. In decline since the end of the Napoleonic wars, though more explicitly since 1870, one of the avenues open to France to sustain its status as a major European and World Power was colonial expansion. This is clearly indicated by the fact that to France the territories acquired overseas were not ‘Colonies’ but ‘France Overseas’. Their acquisition was presented in ‘practical’ terms as aimed at strengthening France by the addition of territory, population and resources.64 Indeed, not only were colonial troops used on a 91

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massive scale to defend metropolitan France during the First World War, but in the Second World War the African territories of ‘France Overseas’ were perceived and used by de Gaulle as strategic depth to continue the struggle against Germany.65 De Gaulle attempted to restore, and his successors in the presidency of the Fifth Republic to maintain, France’s prestige and status as a major global power. Having realised the impossibility of keeping its colonial empire in the age of ‘de-colonisation’, de Gaulle aimed at retaining as much as possible of it as a French sphere of influence. This was not merely a question of prestige. It was one of the principal means to his primary goal – to reassert France’s status. De Gaulle and his successors have, therefore, been willing to pay a high price – economic, political, diplomatic and military – and to use almost every means to retain French influence (and to block that of any other power) in the newly independent francophone states in Africa.66 Like post-Second World War France, post-Soviet Russia needs to reassert itself as a major power. Unlike France, however, Russia cannot afford to pay any economic price at all. Furthermore, if to France the continued influence in her ex-empire has been an end to an aim, to Russia it has been a matter of crucial importance to her security and well-being. Post-Soviet Russia has been in the throes of a grave crisis – political, economic, social and psychological. Not the least among these has been Russia’s crisis of identity. Stripped of its sense of purpose and deprived of the esteem – at home and abroad – due to a superpower, Russia has been undergoing a most painful process of redetermining itself and redefining its interests.67 Russia’s impulse to keep the other parts of the ex-Soviet Union as its sphere of influence has partly been an old imperial reflex. But to a great extent it has also been an instinctive attempt to reassert Russia as the successor of the USSR – the superpower. But above all, Russia’s drive to continue her presence in Central Asia – indeed in all the parts of the USSR – was because of strategic and economic considerations. Russia’s southern border with Central Asia is artificial in any conceivable respect – geographical, ethnic, strategic, economic. Strategically it is Russia’s ‘soft underbelly’ to use a Churchillian phrase. A new defence line along it – one that Russia can hardly afford to build in the present and foreseeable future – will fall short of providing the minimal defence requirements. Holding on to Central Asia, therefore, provides Russia with an already existing defence line and a much needed buffer zone against neighbouring powers, almost all of which possess nuclear weapons. More important, it prevents the grave threats to Russia’s economy, internal security and even integrity potentially posed by a Central Asia controlled by unfriendly forces, whether external powers or hostile regimes.68 And of course one 92

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should not forget that such a presence in Central Asia gives Russia a better hand in the ongoing great game against the other powers.69 Furthermore, Central Asia possesses important strategic and economic resources. In the past cotton was a major incentive for Lenin’s decision to re-conquer Central Asia for the Soviet Union. At present oil plays a major (though not a single) role in Russia’s will to remain in the area.70 Most of the huge reserves of oil and gas in the Caspian basin belong to two or three Central Asian states71 and to Azerbaijan across the sea. None of these states has the financial and technical resources to develop these new fields into production. They need, therefore, foreign partnership and financial and technical assistance in this enterprise. Moscow has been eager to become a senior partner to any such venture, even though it is far from having the needed financial resources. Instead it has been dangling the carrot of passage routes via its own territory and waving the stick of potential disruption of alternative ones and of any such endeavour without Russian participation. In doing so it has several aims in mind: First, unable to render economic assistance itself, Russia is lacking an important tool of influence. Worse, it lays Central Asia open to the influence of other powers. Russia is, therefore, most interested in becoming the broker between Central Asia and the West. Such a position will supply Russia with leverage on both, which will enable it to (1) retain a measure of economic influence in Central Asia and keep tabs on the involvement of other powers there; (2) regulate at least part of the foreign assistance to, and investments in, that part of the world by redirecting it via Moscow;72 (3) enhance Russia’s share and position in the world oil market and economy; and (4) get Russia more economic assistance at better conditions from the West. A share in the production and control of the export of oil might secure Moscow this role. Second, Russia, in the midst of the crisis generated by the transfer to a market economy, badly needs the large sums in hard currency her share in such enterprises might yield. Third, even if at the moment Russia does not need these oil and gas reserves it might need them in the future. Another factor to be reckoned with is the existence of a large Russian, or russophone, population in the states of Central Asia. Even before the dissolution of the USSR there was a growing inclination of Russians to emigrate from Central Asia. This was the result of a general upsurge of nationalism in the Soviet Union, which drove minorities to ‘repatriate’ to their national homelands. Reaching a peak immediately following the disintegration of the Soviet Union, this process alarmed both Russia and the Central Asian states. The interests of the latter have been discussed above. Russia, in the grip of an intense economic crisis, has been unable to absorb the 93

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russophones of Central Asia the way France absorbed the pieds noirs, even if their number had not been triple that of the pieds noirs.73 But Moscow has also had a positive motivation to keep the russophone population in the Central Asian states. This population is a living bridge between Russia and these states and supplies Moscow with yet another lever for its involvement. To ensure the security and welfare of the russophones in their present places of residence is, therefore, a major Russian interest. Thus, two significant differences between the position of the two powers in their respected areas of influence have been pointed out, which make Russia more prone to use armed force to retain her influence: (1) Central Asia is incomparably more vital to Russia than francophone Africa has been to France, and (2) while affluent France, being a member of a prosperous alliance, has enjoyed the ability to assist economically its allies in Africa, Russia has, and will have in the foreseeable future, almost none. A third difference must be added that pushes Russia further in that direction: unlike France, which until recently has faced no serious challenge to her predominance in francophone Africa, Russia must take into account the real possibility of having to contest other regional or global powers over Central Asia. France’s de-colonisation took place in the midst of the Cold War. Its drive to retain influence in its former colonies was, therefore, backed by the US. America wanted to keep the USSR from gaining a foothold in that area but was unwilling to intervene there and be compromised as ‘neo-colonialist’. Washington preferred, therefore, to support French policy in francophone Africa politically, diplomatically, militarily – mainly logistically – and financially. Now that the Cold War is over there has been much talk of American–French competition and even confrontation in Africa.74 The dissolution of the USSR took place in the post-Vietnam War era, when the US and other powers became very well aware of the political, military and economic limitations to their strength and (even more) of their ability to use it. This and the willingness to uphold Yeltsin’s government have led them to acknowledge the exUSSR – with the exception of the Baltic republics and, perhaps the Ukraine – as Russia’s sphere of influence. However, with growing Western (and perhaps other) interest and involvement in the Central Asian economies, first and foremost the oil industry, this attitude might change.75 But even if the US and other powers continue to acknowledge Russian pre-eminence in Central Asia, Russia can count on no support other than political and diplomatic to her involvement there and definitely no financing would be forthcoming. Within the relatively limited range of means left at Moscow’s disposal the military ones have, thus, become of prime importance.76 94

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Three world empires survived the First World War. Two of them – the British and the French – disintegrated after the Second World War. Both tried to continue and to institutionalise special links between the metropolitan power and the ex-colonies.77 Only the latter, however, has proved successful, at least until the early 1990s. The reasons for that are outside the scope of this chapter.78 The Russian empire underwent a fundamental transformation which enabled it to endure until after the Cold War. As in the case of the other two, Russia and at least the new independent states of Central Asia have considered the continuation and institutionalisation of their special links a vital interest.79 Several parameters make post-Soviet realities closer to French than to British post-colonial ones. This does not mean necessarily that Russia’s relationship with the countries of the CIS will develop along lines reminiscent of that of France with its ex-colonies. The future of the relationship between the states of Central Asia and Russia depends on many factors: internal developments in the different states involved; the policies of neighbouring powers; the attitude of what is called ‘the international community’ – especially the US; and not least Russia’s success in redefining itself and its interests. Post Second World War France found in de Gaulle a leader who managed to adapt it to the new world order of the 1950s and 1960s. This adaptation included France’s relationship with its ex-colonial empire.80 It remains to be seen whether Russia finds in Putin a leader who will manage to do a parallel adaptation to the ‘new world disorder’ of the 1990s and 2000s. NOTES 1 Félix Houphouet-Boigny, ‘Black Africa and the French Union’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 35, No. 6 (July 1957), p. 597. 2 Léopold Sédar Senghor, ‘A Community of Free and Equal Peoples with the Mother Country’, Western World (Brussels), No. 18 (1958), pp. 41–2. 3 Ahmed Rashid, The Resurgence of Central Asia. Islam or Nationalism? (Karachi and London: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 3. For the events leading to the independence of the Central Asian states, see Jonathan Grant, ‘Decolonization by Default: Independence in Soviet Central Asia’, Central Asian Survey (CAS), Vol. 13, No. 1 (1984), pp. 51–8. 4 Rashid, The Resurgence of Central Asia, pp. 2–3. 5 Charles O. Chikeka. Britain, France and the New African States. A Study of Post Independence Relationships, 1960–1985 (Lewiston, NY: E. Meller Press, 1990), pp. 13, 12 respectively. 6 Ibid., p. 17. 7 For these rivalries, mainly between Houphouet-Boigny and Senghor, see Guy de Lousignan, French Speaking Africa since Independence (London: Pall Mall Press, 1969), pp. 59–75; Daniel Bech, ‘Francophone Regionalism or Franco-African Regionalism?’, in Anthony Kirk-Green and Daniel Bech (eds), State and Society

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in Francophone Africa since Independence (New York: Macmillan, 1995), pp. 200–12. The national redivision (razmezhevanie) of 1924 abolished the existing political units in Central Asia (the People’s Republics of Bukhara and Khorezm and the Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republics of Turkestan and Kirgizia (present-day Kazakhstan) and redivided the area along ‘national’ lines into the present six entities. For the entire process (lasting into the 1930s), see Hélène Carrèred’Encausse, ‘The National Republics Lose their Independence’, in Edward Allworth (ed.), Central Asia. 120 Years of Russian Rule (Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 1989), pp. 254–65. Alexandre Bennigsen and S. Enders Wimbush, Muslims of the Soviet Empire. A Guide (London: Christopher Hurst, 1985), pp. 33–4. And cf. William Fierman, Language Planning and National Development (Berlin: Mouton de Gruyer, 1991); Teresa Rakowska-Harmstone, Russia and Nationalism in Central Asia (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1970). Barnett R. Rubin, ‘The Fragmentation of Tajikistan’ (unpublished manuscript), p. 6 as quoted in Donald S. Carlisle, ‘Geopolitics and Ethnic Problems of Uzbekistan and Its Neighbours’, in Yaacov Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia: Conflicting Legacies (London: Frank Cass, 1995), p. 83. See also Chapter 8 of this volume. Bennigsen and Wimbush, Muslims of the Soviet Empire, p. 33. Ibid., p. 34. And cf. James Critchlow. Nationalism in Uzbekistan. A Soviet Republic’s Road to Independence (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1991); Shahram Akbarzadeh, ‘Nation-building in Uzbekistan’, CAS, Vol. 15, No. 1 (March 1996), pp. 23–32. Rubin, p. 6 as quoted by Carlisle, ‘Geopolitics and Ethnic Problems of Uzbekistan and Its Neighbours’, p. 83. See Chapter 11 of this volume. See also, for example, Donald S. Carlisle, ‘Uzbekistan and the Uzbeks’, Problems of Communism, September–October 1991, pp. 23–44; Demian Vaisman, ‘Regionalism and Clan Loyalty in the Political Life of Uzbekistan’, in Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia, pp. 105–22. And cf. Islam Karimov, Uzbekistan on the Threshold of the Twenty First Century (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 1996), pp. 59–66. According to Kobischanov in Chapter 8 of this volume, the major cause for the failure of Tajik nation-building has been the fact that only the peripheral parts of the Tajik nation were included in Tajikistan, while its centre – Bukhara and Samarkand – became part of Uzbekistan. For the process of Soviet nationbuilding in Tajikistan, see Rakowska-Harmstone, Russia and Nationalism in Central Asia; Guissou Jahangiri, ‘The Premises of the Construction of a Tajik National Identity’, in Mohammad-Reza Djalili, Frederic Grare and Shirin Akiner (eds), Tajikistan: The Trials of Independence (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 1998), pp. 14–41. For the developments in that country since the dissolution of the USSR and the civil war there, see Stephane A. Dudoignon, ‘Political Parties and Forces in Tajikistan, 1989–1993’, in Djalili, Grare and Akiner (eds.), Tajikistan: The Trials of Independence, pp. 52–85; Bess A. Brown, ‘The Civil War in Tajikistan, 1992–1993’, ibid., pp. 86–96; Michael Orr, ‘The Russian Army and the War in Tajikistan’, ibid., pp. 151–60; Irina Zviagelskaya, ‘The Tajik Conflict: Problems of Regulation’, ibid., pp. 161–79; V. I. Bushkov and D. V. Mikul’skii, Anatomiia grazhdanskoi voiny v Tadzhikistane. (Etno-sotsial’nye protsesy i politicheskaia bor’ba, 1992–1997) [An Anatomy of the Civil War in Tajikistan. (Ethno-Social Processes and Political Struggle, 1992 – 1997)], 2nd edn (Moscow: Institut Etnografii i Antropologii, 1997), pp. 44–52; Mehrad Haghayehgi, Islam

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16 17

18 19

and Politics in Central Asia (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1996), pp. 142–51; Muriel Atkin, ‘Tajiks and the Persian World’, in Beatrice F. Manz (ed.), Central Asia in Historical Perspective (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1994), pp. 127–43; Allen Hetmanek, ‘ Islamic Revolution and Jihad Come to the Former Soviet Central Asia: The Case of Tajikistan’, CAS, Vol. 12, No. 3 (1993), pp. 363–78; Sharbanou Tadjbakhsh, ‘National Reconciliation: The Imperfect Whim’, CAS, Vol. 15, Nos. 3–4 (December 1996), pp. 325–48; Grigorii G. Kosach, ‘Tajikistan: Political Parties in an Inchoate National Space’, in Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia, pp. 123–42; Hafizullah Emadi, ‘State, Ideology and Islamic Resurgence in Tajikistan’, CAS, Vol. 13, No. 4 (1994), pp. 565–74. For the UN involvement, see The United Nations and the Situation in Tajikistan. Reference Paper (New York: The UN Department of Public Information, 1995); Olivier A. J. Brenninkmeijer, ‘International Concerns for Tajikistan: UN and OSCE Efforts to Promote Peace-Building and Democratisation’, in Djalili, Grare and Akiner (eds), Tajikistan, pp. 180–215. See Chapters 9 and 10 of this volume. And cf. N. P. Komarskaia and S. A. Panarin (eds), Etnosotsial’nye protsessy v Kyrgyzstane [Ethno-Social Processes in Kyrgyzstan] (Moscow: Institut Vostokovedeniia RAN, 1994). Thus by 1989 about 81 per cent of all the Kazakhs living in the USSR were living in their titular republic, c. 89 per cent of the Kyrgyz, c. 76 per cent of the Tajiks, c. 94 per cent of the Turkmens and c. 85 per cent of the Uzbeks. They formed the following part of the population in their republics respectively: Kazakhs 39.7 per cent, Kyrgyz 52.4 per cent, Tajiks 62.3 per cent, Turkmens 72 per cent and Uzbeks 71.4 per cent. Karimov, Uzbekistan on the Threshold, pp. 41–50. And cf. Semen Gitlin, Natsional’nye otnosheniia v Uzbekistane. Iliuzii i real’nost’ [Inter-Ethnic Relations in Uzbekistan. Illusions and Reality] (Tel Aviv: [n.p.], 1998). Thus, in 1989 the russophones formed at least 50.7 per cent of the population in Kazakhstan, 26.8 per cent in Kyrgyzstan, 9.5 per cent in Tajikistan and Turkmenistan each and 10.2 per cent in Uzbekistan. For the various groups of russophones, see Chapter 8 of this volume. For national and ethnic problems, see A. M. Khazanov, ‘Underdevelopment and Ethnic Relations in Central Asia’, in Manz (ed.), Central Asia in Historical Perspective, pp. 144–63; Edward Allworth, ‘Commersants or Parasites? Russians, Kazakhs, Uzbeks and Others in Central Asia’, ibid., pp. 185–201; Edan Naby, ‘The Emergence of Central Asia: Ethnic and Religious Factions’, in Mohiaddin Mesbahi (ed.), Central Asia and the Caucasus after the Soviet Union. Domestic and International Dimensions (Gainesville, FL: University of Florida Press, 1998), pp. 34–55 [A previous version was published in CAS, Vol. 12, No. 2 (1993), pp. 131–68]; Leonid A. Fridman, ‘Economic Crisis as a Factor of Building Up Socio-Political and Ethnonational Tensions in the Countries of Central Asia and Transcaucasia’, in Vitaly Naumkin (ed.), Central Asia and Transcaucasia. Ethnicity and Conflict (Westpoint, CT: Greenwood Press, 1994), pp. 31–61; Yalman Onarcan, ‘Economics and Nationalism: The Case of Muslim Central Asia’, CAS, Vol. 13, No. 4 (1994), pp. 491–506; Michael Paul Sacks, ‘Roots of Diversity and Conflict: Ethnic and Gender Differences in the Work Force of the Fomer Republics of Soviet Central Asia’, in Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia, pp. 269–87; Anatoly M. Khazanov, ‘Ethnic Stratification and Ethnic Competition in Kazakhstan, idem, After the USSR: Ethnicity, Nationalism and Politics in the Commonwealth of Independent States (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1995), pp. 156–73; idem, ‘The Ethnic Problems of Contemporary Kazakhstan’, CAS, Vol. 14, No. 2 (1995), pp. 243–63; Jiger Ganabel, ‘When National Ambition Conflicts with

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20 21

22 23

24 25 26

27 28 29

Reality: Studies on Kazakhstan’s Ethnic Relations’, CAS, Vol. 15, No. 1 (March 1996), pp. 5–22; Bruno de Cordier, ‘Conflits ethniques et dégradation écologique en Asie Centrale: Les vallées de Ferghana et le nord du Kazakhstan’, CAS, Vol. 15, Nos. 3–4 (December 1996), pp. 399–412; N. A. Omuralieva and A. B. Elebeeva. Sovremennoe sostoianie mezhnatsional’nykh otnoshenii v Kyrgyzstane [The Current State of Inter-Ethnic Relations in Kyrgyzstan] (Bishkek: [n.p.], 1993). Chikeka, Britain, France and the New African States, p. 13. Generally speaking, there is a relationship, though no full correlation, between the development of an economy as indicated by the GNP per capita on the one hand, and the percentage of native French speakers in that country and the number of French nationals employed there on a regular basis. And see tables in Anton Andereggen, France’s Relationship with Sub-Saharan Africa (Westpoint, CT: Praeger, 1994), pp. 96, 107, 112. The title of the third chapter of Pierre Mousa. Les Chances économiques de la communauté Franco-Africaine (Paris: A. Colin, 1957). See Charles O. Chikeka, Africa and the European Economic Community, 1957–1992 (Leanston, NY: E. Meller Press, 1993), esp. pp. 197–206. For economic developments, see D. K. Fieldhouse, Black Africa, 1945–1980. Economic Decolonization & Arrested Development (London: Unwin Hyman, 1986); Philippe Hugon, ‘Models and Economic Performance’, in Kirk-Green and Bech (eds), State and Society in Francophone Africa, pp. 123–41; Jean Coussy, ‘The Franc Zone: Original Logic, Subsequent Evolution and Present Crisis’, ibid., pp. 160–80; Catherine Coque-Vidrovitch, ‘The Transfer of Economic Power in French Speaking West Africa’, in Prosser Gifford and W. M. Roger Louis (eds), Decolonization and African Independence. The Transfer of Power, 1960–1980 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1988), pp. 105–34. Rashid, The Resurgence of Central Asia, p. 4. And cf. Chapter 2 of this volume. For the economic background on and developments in Central Asia, see Alastair McAuley, ‘The Economies of Central Asia: The Socialist Legacy’, in Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia, pp. 255–68; Bakhtior A. Islamov, ‘Post Soviet Central Asia and the Commonwealth of Independent States: The Economic Background of Interdependence’, in Manz (ed.), Central Asia in Historical Perspective, pp. 202–38; Fridman, ‘Economic Crisis as a Factor of Building Up Socio-Political and Ethnic Tensions’, pp. 31–68; Michael Kaser and Santosh Mehrotra, The Central Asian Economies after Independence (London: RIIA, 1992); Michael Kaser, The Economies of Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan (London: RIIA, 1997); idem, ‘Economic Transition in Six Central Asian Economies’, CAS, Vol. 16, No. 1 (March 1997), pp. 5–26; Unal Cerikoz, ‘A Brief Account of the Economic Situation in the Former Soviet Republics of Central Asia’, CAS, Vol. 13, No. 1 (1994), pp. 7–18; Heribert Dieter, ‘Regional Integration in Central Asia: Current Economic Position and Prospects’, CAS, Vol. 15, No. 3–4 (December 1996), pp. 365–86. See also below, ‘Large Russophone Population’ and ‘The Metropolitan Powers’. Rashid, The Resurgence of Central Asia, p. 4. For further details see Dieter, ‘Regional Integration in Central Asia’. In order to see how inadequate they are for such purposes all one has to do is to compare the territory and population of the different francophone states to the order of battle of their respective armies at any specific year since independence. (Statistics of population and details of the sizes and order of battle of all the military forces in the world are published annually by the International Institute for Strategic Studies in London in its Military Balance.)

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CENTRAL ASIA AND RUSSIA; FRANCOPHONE AFRICA AND FRANCE 30 For the French colonial troops mobilised in Africa, see Myron Echenberg, Colonial Conscripts. The Tirailleurs Senegalais in French West Africa, 1857–1960 (Portsmouth, NH and London: Heinemann, 1982); Anthony Clayton, France, Soldiers and Africa (London: Brassey’s Defence Publications, 1985), pp. 333–64. 31 For French intervention see John Chipman, French Military Policy and African Security, IISS, Adelphi Paper No. 221 (London, 1985); Alain Rouvez, Disconsolate Empires. French, British and Belgian Involvement in Post-Colonial Sub-Saharan Africa (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1994), pp. 31–192; Michael Louis Martin, ‘Armies and Politics: The “Life-Cycle” of a Military Rule in Sub-Saharan Francophone Africa’, in Kirk-Green and Bech (eds.), State and Society in Francophone Africa, pp. 78–98; Robert Buijtenhuijs, ‘French Military Intervention: The Case of Chad’, ibid., pp. 213–27. A very interesting and informative source, which has, however, to be studied critically, is [Jacque Foccart] Foccart parle. Entretiens avec Philippe Gaillard (Paris: Fayard, 1995–97, 3 vols). 32 See below, ‘Proximity to Regional Super-Powers’. For the order of battle of the Central Asian states as well as that of their neighbours, see IISS, The Military Balance. For a study of the crystallisation of Central Asian defence policies, see Susan Clark, ‘The Central Asian States: Defining Security Priorities and Developing Military Forces’, in Michael Mandelbaum (ed.), Central Asia and the World (New York: Council for Foreign Affairs, 1994), pp. 177–207. 33 Chikeka, Britain, France and the New African States, p. 12. 34 Ibid., p. 16. And cf. Papa Ibrahima Seck, La stratégie culturel de la France en Afrique. L’enseignement colonial (1867–1960) (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1993). 35 Chikeka, Britain, France and the New African States, p. 16. 36 For these, see Andereggen, France’s Relationship with Sub-Saharan Africa, pp. 23–59; de Lousignan, French Speaking Africa, pp. 14–83; Yves Person, ‘French West Africa Decolonization’, in Prosser Gifford and W. M. Roger Louis (eds), Transfer of Power in Africa. Decolonization 1940–1960 (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 1982), pp. 141–72; Henri Brunschweg, ‘The Decolonization of French Black Africa’, ibid., pp. 211–24; Juane Suret-Caule, ‘From Colonization to independence in French Tropical Africa’, ibid., pp. 445–82. 37 The proverb is: ‘Be a tail to the lions and not a head to the foxes’ – Pirqey Avot, IV, 5. 38 Léopold Sédar Senghor, ‘A Community of Free and Equal Peoples with the Mother Country’, pp. 41–2. 39 Idem, ‘West Africa in Evolution’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 39 (1961), p. 7. 40 Donald S. Carlisle, ‘Uzbekistan and the Uzbeks’, Problems of Communism, September–October 1991, pp. 26–7. 41 In some of the non-Slavic post-Soviet states, for example, the laws proclaiming the national tongue an official language seem to be literal translations from Russian, including grammar, syntax and idioms. And cf. William Fierman, ‘Independence and the Declining Priority of Language Law Implementation in Uzbekistan’, in Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia, pp. 205–30. 42 In many cases people, even when exclusively in the company of native speakers of their own language, prefer to speak in Russian among themselves. 43 Nursultan Nazarbayev, Bez pravykh i levykh stranitsy atobiografii, razmyshleniia pozitsiia – otvety na voprosy izdatel’stva [Without Leftists and Rightists: Pages from Autobiography, Thoughts, Positions – Answers to the Publisher’s Questions] (Moscow: Molodaia gvardiia, 1991). For an English translation, see N. Nazarbaev, Without Right & Left (London: Class, 1992).

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION 44 Rashid, The Resurgence of Central Asia, p. 2. 45 For the traditional culture of the lower strata of society, see Sergei P. Poliakov, Everyday Islam. Religion and Tradition in Rural Central Asia (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharp, 1992). 46 Later changes are outside the scope of this article. 47 One might argue that the Russian intervention in Tajikistan was mainly (if not solely) because the ruling elite there had been toppled. And see Barnett R. Rubin, ‘Tajikistan: From Soviet Republic to Russian–Uzbek Protectorate’, in Mandelbaum (ed.), Central Asia and the World, pp. 207–24; Catherine Poujol, ‘Some Reflections on Russian Involvement in the Tajik Conflict, 1992–1993’, in Djalili, Grare and Akiner (eds), Tajikistan: The Trials of Independence, pp. 99–118. 48 How complicated, costly and lengthy a process the projection of military power overseas can be, has been demonstrated by the American build up of its forces in the Gulf following Saddam Husayn’s invasion of Kuwait in 1990. Only after six months were sufficient forces amassed to stage an offensive. 49 Karimov, Uzbekistan on the Threshold, pp. 29–40. 50 As stated above, in Kazakhstan the russophones formed in 1989 at least 50.7 per cent of the population (compared to 39.7 per cent of the titular nationality), in Kyrgyzstan 26.8 per cent (compared to 52.4 per cent), in Tajikistan 9.5 per cent (62.3 per cent), in Turkmenistan 11.9 per cent (72.0 per cent) and in Uzbekistan 10.2 per cent (71.4 per cent). For a review of their position, see Valery A. Tishkov, ‘The Russians in Central Asia and Kazakhstan’, in Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia, pp. 289–310. 51 V. G. Mitiaev and R. A. Shilova, ‘Problemy russkoiazychnogo nasseleniia v Kazakhstane [The Problem of the Russophone population in Kazakhstan]’, in E. M. Kochin (ed.), Novaia Evraziia. Otnosheniia Rossii so stranami blizhnego zarubezh’ia. Sbornik stat’ei [The New Eurasia. Russia’s relations with the Countries of the Near Abroad. A Collection of Articles], No. 5 (Moscow, 1996), pp. 5–52; G. Iu. Sitiianskii, ‘Tadzhikistan i Kirgiziia: Re-emigratsiia – real’nost’ ili fantaziia? [Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan – is Re-Emigration a reality or a Fantasy?]’, in V. Tishkov, ‘The Russians in Central Asia’, pp. 253–68; Omuralieva and Elebeeva, The Current State of Inter-Ethnic Relations in Kyrgyzstan. 52 The only example from the French colonial empire slightly reminiscent of the cases of Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan was Algeria, where a massive francophone population – the pieds noirs – lived. However, France and Algeria were not contingent. They were separated by a sea. More important, all the francophone settlers were ‘repatriated’ to France after Algeria gained its independence. 53 This may well be one of the undeclared reasons for moving the capital to Akmolla (renamed Astana). 54 For China’s relations with and policies towards the Central Asian states, see Yasmin Melet, ‘China’s Political and Economic Relations with Kazakhstan’, CAS, Vol. 17, No. 2 (June 1998), pp. 229–52; James P. Dorian, Brett Widgortz and Dru Gladney, ‘Central Asia and Xinjang, China: Emerging Energy, Economic and Ethnic Relations’, CAS, Vol. 16, No. 4 (December, 1997), pp. 461–86. 55 Karimov, Uzbekistan on the Threshold, pp. 19–28, 41–50. 56 See, e.g., Haghayeghi, Islam and Politics in Central Asia, pp. 71–91, 157–61; Alexei V. Malashenko, ‘Islam and Politics in the Southern Zone of the Former USSR’, in Naumkin (ed.), Central Asia and Transcaucasia, pp. 109–26; Mehrad Haghayeghi, ‘Islamic Revival in the Central Asian Republics’, CAS, Vol. 13, No. 2 (1994), pp. 249–66; Martha Brill Olcott, ‘Islam and Fundamentalism in Independent Central Asia’, in Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia, pp. 21–39; Reef

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57 58 59

60

61 62

63 64 65

66

67

68 69

Altoma, ‘The Influence of Islam in Post Soviet Kazakhstan’, in Manz (ed.), Central Asia, pp. 164–81; Hafizullah Emadi, ‘State, Ideology and Islamic Resurgence in Tajikistan’, CAS, Vol. 13, No. 4 (1994), pp. 565–74. Karimov, Uzbekistan on the Threshold, pp. 137–8, 186, 187–94. In a conversation in October 1994 in Bishkek. According to Kyrgyz sources this is precisely what happened in the disturbances in Osh in 1990 – Talant Razakov (ed.), Osh koogalan~y. KGBnyn maalymattary boiuncha/ Oshskie sobytiia na materialakh KGB [The Osh Events According to KGB Documents] (Bishkek: Renesans, 1993). And cf. Omuralieva and Elebeeva, The Current State of Inter-Ethnic Relations, pp. 107–8. For the interrelationship between Islam and nationalism in general, see Haghayeghi, Islam and Politics, pp. 162–201, especially pp. 192 onward; Nancy Lubin, ‘Islam and Ethnic Identity in Central Asia: A View from Below’, in Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia, pp. 53–70. Martha Brill Olcott, ‘Ceremony and Substance in Central Asia’, in Mandelbaum (ed.), Central Asia and the World, pp. 17–46; Donald S. Carlisle, ‘Geopolitics and Ethnic Problems of Uzbekistan and Its Neighbours’, in Ro’i (ed.), Muslim Eurasia, pp. 71–103. Inter alia the lion’s share of Uzbekistan’s water supply either originates or passes through Tajikistan. The rest originates in Kyrgyzstan. For foreign intervention and interests in Tajikistan, see Mohammad-Reza Djalili and Frederic Grare, ‘Regional Ambitions and Interests in Tajikistan: The Role of Afghanistan, Pakistan and Iran’, in Djelili, Grare and Akiner (eds), Tajikistan, pp. 119–31. Meryem Kirimli, ‘Uzbekistan in the New World Order’, CAS, Vol. 16, No. 1 (March 1997), pp. 53–64. Thus, the policy of assimilation – so deeply rooted in French ideology and selfperception – could be presented as having also a ‘practical’ aim. See, e.g., Charles de Gaulle, Memoirs de Guerre, Vol. I, L’Appel (Paris: Plan, 1954), passim. For the official history of the war effort of ‘Free France’ in Africa see Jean-Noel Vincent, Les forces francaises dans la lutte contre l’aix en Afrique, 1940–1943 (Chateau de Vencennes: Ministere de la defence, Etat-Major de l’armee de terre, 1982). And cf. Andereggen, France’s Relationship with SubSaharan Africa, pp. 21–3; de Lousignan, French Speaking Africa, pp. 3–12; Clayton, France, Soldiers and Africa, pp. 127–52. For example, see François G. Constantin, ‘The Foreign Policy of Francophone Africa: Clientalism and After’, in Kirk-Green and Bech (eds), State and Society, pp. 183–99; Keith Panter-Brick, ‘Independence French Style’, in Gifford and Louis (eds), Decolonization, pp. 73–106; Andereggen, France’s Relationship with Sub-Saharan Africa, pp. 61–97. See, e.g., Milan L. Hauner, ‘The Disintegration of the Soviet Eurasian Empire. An Ongoing Debate’, in Mesbahi (ed.), Central Asia and the Caucasus, pp. 202–33; Arthur Sagadaev, ‘Great Power Ideology and the Muslim Nations of the CIS’, ibid., pp. 234–47. [A previous version was published in CAS, Vol. 12, No. 2 (1993), pp. 169–180]; Mohiaddin Mesbahi, ‘Russian Foreign Policy and Security in Central Asia and the Caucasus’, CAS, Vol. 12, No. 2 (1993), pp. 181–215. At the moment (summer of 2000) the so called ‘fundamentalist Islam’ seems to be high on this list of perceived threats. For the new geo-political and geo-strategic importance of post-Soviet Central Asia, see Anthony Hyman, Power and Politics in Central Asia’s New Republics, Research Institute for the Study of Conflict and Terrorism, Conflict Studies No. 273 (London, August 1994); Irina D. Zviagelskaya, ‘Central Asia and

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70 71 72 73 74

75

76

Transcaucasia: New Geopolitics’, in Naumkin (ed.), Central Asia and Transcaucasia, pp. 127–56; Sergei A. Pamarin, ‘Political Dynamics of the “New” East (1985–1993)’, ibid., pp. 69–107; Graham F. Fuller, ‘Russia and Central Asia: Federation or Fault?’, in Mandelbaum (ed.), Central Asia and the World, pp. 94–129; Barnett R. Rubin, ibid., pp. 207–24; Mohiaddin Mesbahi, ‘Russia and the Geopolitics of the Muslim South’, in Mesbahi (ed.), Central Asia and the Caucasus, pp. 268–319; Mohammad-Reza Djelili, ‘Caucase et Asie Centrale: entrée en scène et recomposition géostratégique de l’espace’, CAS, Vol. 13, No. 1 (1994), pp. 7–18; M. E. Ahrari, ‘The Dynamics of the New Great Game in Muslim Central Asia’, CAS, Vol. 13, No. 4 (1994), pp. 491–506; Stephen Blank, ‘Energy, Economics and the Security of Central Asia: Russia and its Rivals’, CAS, Vol. 14, No. 3 (1995), pp. 373–406. Other strategically important minerals, such as uranium, are also to be found in Central Asia. See Chapter 2 of this volume. Moscow would thus simultaneously also enhance its economic influence there. For these problems, see Tishkov (ed.), The Russians in Central Asia. For French policies in Africa in the 1990s, see Chris Alden, ‘From Policy Autonomy to Policy Integration: The Evaluation of France’s Role in Africa’, in Chris Alden and Jean Pascal Dalor (eds), Paris, Pretoria and the African Continent. The International Relations of States and Societies in Transition (London and New York: Macmillan, 1996), pp. 11–25; Jean-Francois Bayart, ‘End Game South of the Sahara? France’s African Policy’, ibid., pp. 26–41. See Chapter 1 of this volume. For Russian perceptions of the policies of other powers in Central Asia, see, e.g., L. M. Vorob’eva, ‘Otnoshenie Zapada k politike Rossii v blizhnem zarubzh’e [The West’s Attitude to Russia’s Policy in the Near Abroad]’, in E. M. Kozhokhin (ed.), Novaia Evraziia: Otnosheniia Rossii so stranami blizhnego zarubezh’ia. Sbornik stat’ei, Vol. 4 (Moscow, 1995), pp. 91–118; N. I. Komissina, ‘Politika Iaponii v otnoshenii tsentral’noaziiatskikh gosudarstv SNG [Japan’s Policy towards the Central Asian States of the CIS]’, in E. M. Kozhokhin (ed.), Novaia Evraziia: Otnosheniia Rossii so stranami blizhnego zarubezh’ia. Sbornik stat’ei, Vol. 6 (Moscow, 1997), pp. 5–37. Indeed, since his inauguration, Russia’s new president Vladimir Putin has pursued an active policy in Central Asia. His first trip abroad as president was to Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan and following it Tashkent announced that it felt ‘confident that Russia will protect Central Asia from international terrorism’. Igor Rotar, ‘Putin ponimaet Karimova [Putin Understands Karimov]’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 22 May 2000, p. 1. On 21 June CIS defence ministers agreed on joint action ‘to cover “the Arc of Instability”’, – The Times of Central Asia, 22 June 2000. Military co-operation with Dushanbe and Tashkent has increased significantly. In April, Russian special forces, armoured units and fighter planes took part in joint military exercises in Tajikistan and south Uzbekistan. IWPR Report on Central Asia, No. 11 (14 July 2000). Finally, on 5 July the presidents of Russia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan, agreed in a summit in Dushanbe to create a joint anti-terrorist centre, to be based in Bishkek, to ‘fight cross-border incursions by Islamic extremists and drug traffickers’. Dawn, 15 July 2000. (The president of Uzbekistan attended the summit as an observer.) According to analysts, ‘behind Russia’s overtures is an implicit threat that countries unwilling to establish closer economic and military links will be cold-shouldered. Few Central Asian republics would risk annoying Moscow’. IWPR Report on Central Asia, No. 11 (14 July 2000). And cf. Chapter 3 of this volume.

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CENTRAL ASIA AND RUSSIA; FRANCOPHONE AFRICA AND FRANCE 77 For comparisons of French and British de-colonization, see Tony Smith, ‘Patterns of Transfer of Power: A Comparative Study of French and British Decolonization’, in Gifford and Louis (eds), Transfer, pp. 87–116; John Hargraves, ‘Decolonization French and British Styles’, in Kirk-Green and Bech (eds.), State and Society, pp. 3–15. For a recent comparative study of all three decolonisation processes, see Anthony Clayton, ‘The End of Empire: The Experience of Britain and France and the Soviet Union/Russia Compared’, to be published in the Occasional Papers series by the Strategic and Combat Studies Institute, Staff College, Camberley. 78 Many Britons find it annoying that the majority among the members of the British Commonwealth side with India rather than with the United Kingdom whenever there is a difference between the two. This, however, should not come as a surprise. After all India, not Britain, was to all purposes the heart and centre of the Empire that was built around India. Here lies the big difference: in the French Empire France – or rather Paris – was the undisputed centre. Furthermore, unlike the UK, France abandoned very quickly its attempt at an organisation of all its ex-colonies – the Communauté Française – in favour of bilateral agreements with each of them, which multiplied French dominance. 79 The latest call for the establishment of a tighter organisation than the CIS – ‘the Union of Fraternal Republics’ – was made in a ‘Congress of Central Asian Republics and Russia’ held on 28 May 2000 in Bishkek. The congress was attended by delegates from Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Russia, including Russian parliamentary deputies Egor Ligachev and Vladimir Romanov – Transition, 29 May–4 June 2000. 80 One might even suggest that under de Gaulle France finally learned the secret of indirect rule. As Andereggen wrote, ‘cooperation was intended to provide more than just assistance or aid; its real aim was to maintain [France’s] privileged links in spite of international sovereignty’. Thus, while officially acknowledging the sovereignty of its ex-colonies, France managed through a ‘complex network’ of about fifty bilateral agreements ‘to institutionalize its political, economic and cultural pre-eminence over its former African dependencies’, France’s Relationship with Sub-Saharan Africa, pp. 62–3.

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Dancing with Wolves: Turco-Iranian Relations in Perspective Anat Lapidot-Firilla

Scholars studying Turco-Iranian relations have attempted to understand the reasons behind their fluctuations over the last 20 years. Most of them have regarded the contrast between the secular nature of Kemalist Turkey and the Islamic revolutionary ideology that has characterised the Iranian regime since the revolution led by Ayatollah Khomeini in 1979, as the key to understanding these relations.1 Ideologies and political figures were emphasised in such studies at the expense of long-term geopolitical considerations. Unfortunately, this focus alone does not always explain the developments and nature of these ties. This article argues that ideological conflicts, while playing a certain role, are not the key determinants behind the relationship between Turkey and Iran in the 1980s and 1990s. Rather, Turkish foreign and security policy adjustments following the oil crisis in the 1970s, the end of the Cold War in the late 1980s and the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 dictated warming, not conflicting, trends in these relations. Tension in the relations between the two countries should be interpreted as a historical psycho-political heritage that leads the two states into friction. Thus, while causing domestic Turkish irritation and drawing international attention, these tensions were temporary and limited. Turkish stability and economic wellbeing have increasingly become dependent on friendly relations and closer cooperation with Iran. In order to understand Turco-Iranian relations one must approach the analysis of their respective historical foreign policies within regional and international contexts. Indeed, in the past as in the present, the relations between these two neighbours have been determined by their respective outlooks on the region as a whole, and with attention to their position vis-à-vis Western Europe, the United States and Russia. 104

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The relationship between the predominantly nomadic Turkmen and the urban-centred Iranian (or Iranian-speaking) civilisation goes back to before both were Islamised. It occurred mainly in Central Asia between the sixth and eleventh centuries ad, and has been described by some scholars as a symbiosis between nomads and sedentary populations.2 However, this relationship was far from trouble-free, and tensions have echoed for centuries since. The traditional image of the ignorant Turkmen nomadic warrior, contemptuous of urban civilisation, stood in contrast to the image of the refined Iranian.3 The contempt of the Iranian sedentary population to the Turkmen served to fuel the desire of Ottoman and Turkish historiographies to minimise the memory of the nomadic Turkic heritage.4 This was not merely an emotional need. Rather, it was motivated by political necessity. The Ottomans needed to legitimise their authority over varied urban Muslim and non-Muslim populations, where their past record as nomadic conquerors was not necessarily admired.5 Similarly, after the establishment of the Turkish Republic, Turkish historiography felt the need to emphasise the positive contribution made by the Turks to Europe. Efforts were, thus, intensified to blur the nomadic conquerors’ past. Accordingly, it was argued that the Turkmen contributed to the creation of peaceful trade routes across Anatolia, thus catering for the expansion of civilisation in urban centres. The Turks could point to the eleventh to sixteenth centuries during which most of the Anatolian Turkmen had been sedentarised and argue that following the conquest of Constantinople, in 1453, the Ottomans became the inheritors of a glorious urban civilisation. In other words, the Turks were not a force of instability but rather one that created stability. Towards this purpose, the perceived non-militant Hanefi Sunni tradition of Turkish Islam was occasionally contrasted to what was presented as the radical nature of Shi‘i Iranian culture. In the sixteenth century the Ottoman Empire, an already established and dominant power, clashed with the newly formed Iranian-Safavid State (1502–1737). Although of Turkic origin, the Safavids were often presented in scholarly literature as the unifiers of Iranian peoples, since they successfully brought the entire Iranian plateau under their control. The ambitious Safavid leadership’s use of strong religious ideological propaganda; its alleged support for minorities in Ottoman territory; and certain international political conditions, such as the Portuguese pressure in the Red Sea and the Mamluk decline, brought the Ottoman and the Safavid Empires, under Selim I (1512–20) and Shah Isma‘il (1487–1524) respectively, into armed conflict that changed the political map of the Middle East.6 105

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However, once the Safavids were finally checked, and the borders between the two empires formalised – in the 1638 Qasr-e Shirin agreement – they remained almost without change and served as the basis for the current borders between the two countries. One of the main reasons for this is the fact that there was no significant conflict of interest between the Safavids and the Ottomans. The former mainly sought access to the Shi‘i holy sites in Iraq while the Ottomans were traditionally interested in the Caucasus and Azerbaijan. This contrasts with the official historiography of the Ottomans and the Turks who, for various purposes, greatly emphasised the conflict between the two empires, especially the war-torn sixteenth century. However, once political needs during the Abdühamid II, Atatürk or Turgut Özal periods dictated different historical narratives, these focused on the fact that both countries ‘are cradles of old civilisations’ and that they have more in common than not. In reality, the Turko-Persian culture was regarded by the Ottomans as an undivided unit. While the Ottoman territories had only few Farsi-speaking communities, a significant part of the Iranian population had a Turkic ethnic background, mainly the Azeris. During the most extreme periods of sixteenth-century conflicts, Iranian ‘ulema moved between the Safavid and Ottoman courts and had a significant impact on the crystallisation of a common religious-cultural identity. Iranian subjects never ceased to reside in the Ottoman Empire which catered to their wish to be near the Shi‘i holy places, chiefly Najaf and Karbala. Ottoman-controlled areas attracted not only students and scholars of religion but also artists, doctors, pilgrims and merchants. Similarly, in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries Iranian decisionmakers often saw Ottoman attempts at reform as models to copy and implement, the religious difference and the alleged hostility between the Sunni and Shi‘i courts notwithstanding.7 In the nineteenth century, after a long period of disintegration and growing European pressure, Ottoman bureaucrats and Sultans initiated reforms aiming to secure Ottoman territorial integrity. To the east of the Ottoman Empire this period was dominated by a growing conflict between Russia and Britain. Russia hoped to reach the Persian Gulf and the Indian Ocean via Iran. Britain wanted to protect its sea and land routes to India and to contain Russian expansion. Both powers obtained concessions from Iranian governments under Naser ad-Din Shah (1848–96) and his successor, Muzaffer ad-Din Shah (1896–1907). This was reflected in Iran, now ruled by the Qajar Dynasty (1794–1925), pursuing an official policy of neutrality in both the Crimean (1853–56) and the Russo-Ottoman (1877–78) wars. In both cases this neutrality was rewarded by Russia.8 Sultan Abdülhamid II (1876–1908) pursued a pan-Islamic policy. 106

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Internally this policy intended to use religion as ideological cement and a bonding power to consolidate the empire.9 In foreign policy it was a tool for augmenting his influence in neighbouring countries. His policy of ideological ‘export’ was mainly aimed at Iran, where many supporters proved to be willing to accept the claim for Shi‘i/Sunni unity. Indeed, during the 1877–78 war many Iranian ‘ulema were called to support Abdülhamid. The Sultan’s policy of exporting pan-Islamic ideology stopped after the Shah, in retaliation, offered support to Armenian revolutionary societies in Eastern Anatolia, who during the 1870s and the 1880s sprang up and formed guerrilla bands, hoping to bring about foreign intervention and the establishment of an independent Armenian republic. In many ways this interval exemplified and further crystallised the model of behaviour of the two states toward each other until this very day. The long history of suspicions, lack of respect and even contempt, has played a role in the relationship between Turkey and Iran ever since. While the immediate cause for tension differed from one period to another, this model of behaviour in time of conflict has not changed. They have both used expansionist ideologies and each other’s minorities as tools in the international power games in the region, aiming to gain more influence and/or territories at the expense of each other. At the same time the dependence of each of them on the other has become more obvious. At the beginning of the twentieth century a new factor entered the Turko-Iranian scene. A new ideology – pan-Turanism – slowly replaced Abdülhamid II’s pan-Islam. In many ways the promoters of both aimed at a similar target: to strengthen the disintegrating Ottoman Empire. To Iran, however, this ideological change was significant: the adoption of a pan-Turanian ideology meant irredentist Turkish claims to Iranian territories settled by the Turkic Azeris and Turkmens. In the First World War Ottoman troops entered Iranian territory. After the collapse of the Russian front, following the October 1917 Bolshevik revolution, Enver Pasha (1881–1922), the minister of war during the First World War and a member of the Committee of Union and Progress (popularly known as the ‘Young Turks’) triumvirate ruling the Ottoman Empire after 1913, ordered his forces to march on Tehran. They occupied Tabriz in June 1918, but withdrew when British forces moved against them from Iraq.10 The Ottomans argued that this was done in order to maintain Iran’s territorial integrity from greedy European Powers. The Iranian authorities thought otherwise. Immediately after the war, in the Paris Peace Conference, Iran made an unsuccessful claim to Turkish territories. The establishment of new regimes in both Turkey (1923) and Iran (1926), with similar ideologies and worldviews, opened an 107

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opportunity for cooperation between the two. On the Soviet front stability was guaranteed when both countries signed Treaties of Friendship and Neutrality with the Soviet Union.11 The territorially based nationalist states led by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk and Riza Shah promised definite borders and a policy of non-aggression towards neighbouring countries. The Turkish Republic officially abandoned any pan-Turanian claims. This new approach was in many ways the result of a realistic reading of the new political, international and regional maps. The nationalist factor, however, also meant the increase in tensions between the Turkish state and its minorities, who sought support from Iran. This is the reason why only in January 1932 did the two countries reach an agreement over their borders.12 The fate of the two countries in the Second World War was opposite. Turkey remained neutral and kept its independence. Iran was occupied by and divided between the USSR and Britain. Soviet support for Armenian and Kurdish revolutionaries in occupied Iranian Azerbaijan was one of the reasons for the rise of extreme nationalism in Turkey.13 The war thus ignited old tensions in the region, which were felt in the post-war period. Thus, although both countries were under Soviet threat and both chose to tighten their ties with the US, the relations between them were cautious and progressed slowly. Past experience and fear of future territorial claims clearly showed their impact. The Turkish authorities suspected that the new Shah continued to support minorities in Turkey and monitored carefully the perceived Iranian attempt to gain hegemony in the region. The two countries joined Western-led regional defensive alliances – the Baghdad Pact (1955) and its heir the Central Treaty Organisation (CENTO) in 1957 which also included Pakistan – as well as the Regional Co-operation for Development (1964), designed to contain the expansion of the Soviet Union.14 Nevertheless, Turkey showed little interest in developing better ties with Iran. TURKISH POLICY IN THE COLD WAR ERA

Turkish foreign policy’s two main objectives – security, both internal and external, and economic development, which would enable continued modernisation – crystallised between the end of the Second World War and the 1960s.15 Stalin’s post-war territorial claims drove Turkey closer to the West. At the same time Ankara lost interest in the Middle East.16 This was partly because of historical hostility to the Arabs, who were seen as betrayers of the Ottoman state in the First World War. More importantly, economic development and modernisation efforts demanded increasing relations with industrial, not 108

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‘developing’ states.17 Last but by far not least, the Kemalist elite’s worldview, which exclusively shaped foreign policy until the 1980s, considered Turkey to be part of the Western world. True, American policy caused on some occasions anger and dismay in Turkey. One such case was President John F. Kennedy’s readyness during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962–63 to withdraw the Jupiter nuclear missile system based in Turkey without consultation. Another was the American stand during the 1963–64 Cyprus crisis. Nevertheless, Ankara felt a full member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO, created in 1949), which it joined in 1952, and wished to join the European Economic Community (EEC). The 1970s were fundamentally different, mainly because of upheavals within Turkey. The rise of the Islamic-oriented party – the National Salvation Party (NSP) – to power in the mid-1970s and its alliance with the left-wing Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi (CHP; Republican People’s Party), who objected to the ‘pro-American’ line and proclaimed a shared distrust of Western influence on Turkey, led to an overall positive image of Iran in Turkey. The oil crisis of 1973 severely affected the economy, which went through a serious slump. Turkish economy badly needed financial assistance, and since the West stopped financial aid because of the Turkish occupation of Northern Cyprus,18 relations with Muslim states came to be viewed as an alternative source for such assistance. Turkey’s reaction to the Islamic revolution in Iran in 1979 was completely different from that of the Western world, and on 13 February 1979 the Turkish government recognised the Khomeini regime. The West was anxious that neighbouring countries with unstable regimes such as Turkey would, in a snowball effect, fall into Islamic hands. Their worry was that the Soviets might use domestic Iranian upheaval to enter Iranian territory, an act allowed by article VI of the 1921 treaty between Iran and the Soviet Union.19 Once again Turkey’s main concern was to preserve Iranian territorial integrity. The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in December 1979, justified Turkish concerns in Ankara’s eyes. It is often stated in the literature that the demonstration of religious supporters in Konya, on 6 September 1980, in which Islamic flags and pro-Iranian placards proclaiming: ‘Today Iran – Tomorrow Turkey’ were displayed, was one of the reasons for the military takeover a week later (12 September).20 The decision to carry out the coup, however, was taken before the demonstration and for different reasons21 – mainly serious, widespread economic and social problems, as well as political instability and street violence. Moreover, the ideological enemy defined by the authorities at the time were the leftists, not supporters of the Islamic revolution. This is why the state 109

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invested great efforts to adopt a national religious narrative known as the Türk-I˙slam Sentezi and implement it in the educational system, occasionally with the help of Saudi money.22 Iranian attempts to export the revolution caused tensions and semi crises between the two countries. It was also the first time since the sixteenth century that Iran used an expansionist religious ideology against Turkey and not vice versa. These attempts did not, however, alter the directions and the general policies of both countries, who needed – each for its own reasons – continued stable relations. Moreover, the Shi‘i (Alevi) minority in Turkey, the most likely target for Iranian religious propaganda, tended to follow secular leftist rather than religion-oriented ideologies.23 In the 1980s relations between the two countries stayed stable. The Generals, headed by Kenan Evren, were cautious but remained friendly to Iran. President Evren’s election at the fourth conference of ISEDAK (Islamic Conference Organization, Economic and Trade Cooperation Standing Committee) as the chairman of the ‘Islamic Standing Committee for Economic and Commercial Cooperation’ in 1981 allowed for closer financial cooperation with Muslim countries, including Iran.24 But it was the civil government of Turgut Özal, after 1984, that made a substantial push toward Iran. Özal’s government strongly believed that good relations with Muslim countries would help improve the economic and security concerns of Turkey. In fact, Turkey saw in Iran an important trade partner, and Anatolia became the major transit route for goods travelling by truck and rail between Iran and Europe.25 The Iranian official approach was that the increased volume of trade with Turkey had been facilitated by its geographical location and by Tehran’s ideology of ‘neither east nor west’, which advocates reducing imports from the industrialised nations in favour of importing more from Muslim and Third World countries. During the Iran–Iraq war, Turkey maintained a neutral policy, thus enjoying the economic benefits created by the isolation faced by these two war-torn countries, particularly Iran. Both Iran and Iraq were forced to rely on Turkey for supplying their basic commodities.26 Since the mid-1980s, Turkish foreign policy has moved away from its traditional conservative guidelines. According to a leading Turkish scholar, this is due to the direct intervention of politicians in the various Motherland Party (Anavatan Partisi, ANAP) governments in foreign affairs (until then a monopoly of Foreign Office professionals).27 This reflected the opening of the decision-makers’ circle to groups and individuals that had never before been able to shape Turkish foreign policy perceptions and worldviews. Also, Özal himself promoted a more active foreign policy, in different directions, 110

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even though Turkey continued to officially deny that it had territorial claims beyond its borders. In spite of this denial, Turkey had some aspirations, mainly in the trans-Caucasian region. Although many researchers anticipated that pan-Turanian ideas and feelings would disappear with the reemergence of religious education and its reinstatement in political and cultural life Turkic nationalism became part of the mainstream political scene during the 1980s. Even before the collapse of the USSR the connections of the Turkish people with their neighbouring Turkic ‘brothers’ were emphasised in various Turkish political and cultural circles. Pan-Turanian clubs that had been closed by the Kemalists in the 1930s were now reopened, like the Türk Oçagı (reopened in 1987).28 It is true that even before, in the 1960s and 1970s, many clubs of ‘outside Turks’ and Turkish pan-Turkists, such as the Türkçüler Derneg˘i (Association of Pan-Turkists) were established.29 But glasnost and the ensuing collapse of the Soviet empire opened the door for the pan-Turanists and their claims. Mass demonstrations in Turkey on the Armenian–Azerbaijani clash over Nagorno-Karabakh and the ongoing declarations of politicians regarding this issue, as well as on the poor economic situation of the Turkic peoples of the Muslim Republics of the USSR, indicated the popularity of panTuranian ideology. Cultural centres and language schools to advance relations with the Turks of the (ex-)USSR have been built both in Turkey and in the republics of Central Asia. These cultural relations were motivated not only by ideological and nationalist reasons; economic factors also played a role. Turkey, in Özal’s vision, was the leader of the Middle East in economic terms and ‘of the Turkic people in a Soviet Union which is now in disintegration’.30 The ANAP policy of improving relations with regional Muslim states, was motivated first by Turkey’s financial trade and commercial position, and second by its efforts to gain support in the international arena over such issues as Cyprus and relations with Greece. Gestures such as Turkey’s recognition of the state of Palestine in October 1989 were intended to help achieve this goal.31 Özal also placed greater emphasis on the religious factor than previous governments.32 He was the first Turkish prime minister who openly attended Friday prayers and performed the haj (pilgrimage to Mecca). Özal’s policies paid financially and economically: the flow of Islamic funds to Turkey – mainly from Saudi Arabia but from Iran also – increased dramatically. The number of Iranian firms operating in Turkey, for example, rose from 1 in 1984 to 22 in 1986.33 Nevertheless, to the economy of Turkey, heavily dependent on Western investments, the effect of investments from the Muslim world was marginal. 111

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION AFTER THE END OF THE COLD WAR

A question of great importance to the study of foreign policy is that of identifying the influencing forces that shape foreign policy and political behaviour in the international arena.34 Is a country’s international political agenda influenced by a political figure, interest group, or ideological circles, or by long-term considerations connected to geo-politics. Dessouki and Korany’s book, which deals with the foreign policy of the Arab states, raised the importance of the elite’s perceptions of the world and their country’s role in it, in shaping the state’s foreign policy.35 Indeed, in the period under review, the face of the Turkish political elite has changed. This change allowed the entry of new perceptions and perspectives into political life, including foreign policy. While this should not be ignored, an examination of the relations between Turkey and Iran since the 1979 revolution illustrates the importance of long-term geo-political and economic considerations and plays down the significance of ideologies and their carriers. Such an investigation indicates that neither of the two most dramatic events of the last two decades of the twentieth century – Khomeini’s revolution and the collapse of the Soviet Union – have altered the original objectives of Turkish foreign policy. On the contrary, the deteriorating condition of Turkey’s economy and its seeming inability to solve any of its security concerns add an air of urgency to their attainment. However, while Turkish foreign policy goals and the difficulties have remained unchanged, its foreign policy strategy has had to evolve in order to move closer to its objectives. The fact that the electorate indicated repeatedly in the 1990 elections, by voting for the anti-Western Islamic oriented Refah Partisi (the Welfare Party), that an exclusive pro-American line is no longer sufficient or wanted, fits perfectly to the new tactics of the regime, and suits the ‘new world order’ which demands increased attention to regionalism.36 The Cold War was of great benefit to Turkey, whose geo-strategic position made it very important for both sides. To the US Turkey was a key element in its policy of containment. To the USSR Turkey’s Black Sea shores were its southern border. Its internal stability, thus, became an aim of both. The end of the Cold War signalled an end to the gains which Turkey reaped from the conflict between the two opposing blocs. At the same time it offered new opportunities, and Turkey remained an important security asset for the West – the principal source of economic assistance. One more important factor is that with the Cold War officially terminated, Russia was not willing and/or able to sustain its support of Turkish hostile neighbours such as Syria and Iraq. At the same time, Russia has remained the most powerful player in the region.37 112

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As part of its adjustment to its new international position, Turkey sought to present itself, at least until the first half of 1992, as the leader of a broader, regional new world order. Exploiting the breakup of the Soviet Union, Turkey embarked on a campaign to attract the former Soviet republics of Central Asia on the basis of ethnic, religious, cultural and historical links. In other words, Ankara attempted to lead a ‘Turkic front’, the other members of which were Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan. As such, Turkey could be presented to the West as a regional power, perhaps the only friendly alternative to the vacuum, and as such an invaluable asset in an unstable region. As a broker for Western interests Ankara hoped it would enjoy more financial and political support from the West.38 As a leading actor in the Caucasus and southern Central Asia, Ankara wishes to control the transport bridge between those fossil-fuel rich states and Europe, which would turn Turkey into a vital strategic and economic asset once again. Thus the cooperation schemes with Western oil firms such as BP-Amoco and Pennzoil, who invested billions of US dollars in these joint ventures.39 Connected to this bid is Turkey’s exaggerated advertising of its competition with Iran over influence in the new Muslim states of the ex-USSR. Clearly aiming to gain support from a West obsessed with the fear of ‘Islamic fundamentalism’ and the spread of the Islamic revolution, Turkey tried to establish a clear dichotomy between itself and Iran. Also, emphasising the Islamic nature of the Iranian regime, Turkey intended to establish its own image as a ‘stable state’.40 This strategy was successful enough to attract a great deal of attention in the West and to generate a huge volume of research by academic, financial and governmental institutions alike. In reality, Iran has never seriously attempted to export Islam to the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS). Its only operative bid there was the creation of a cultural association of Persian-speaking peoples in 1992.41 Furthermore, ‘anti-Western’ and ‘anti-Christian’ Iran was the first Muslim country outside the CIS to recognise Armenia, and it also offered mediation in the Nagorno-Karabakh issue.42 Paradoxically, it was Turkey that provided religious guidance and support for the CIS, by government-sponsored national-religious propaganda. A right-wing Islamic newspaper, Zaman, was distributed in central Asia in several local languages as well as Turkish. Turkish cultural centres and language schools were built there and students from the CIS received state scholarships to study in Turkey.43 Some of these activities were organised by tarikats and pan-Turanian organisations that invested private funds in their efforts. Pan Turanian and national-religious narratives were popular in the 1980s and the 1990s 113

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inside Turkey, but were controlled by the state, and used by it as a political tool when needed.44 It is true that the Iranian regime caused some concern to Turkey’s decision-makers and that the relationship between the two has not been problem- and tension-free.45 Nevertheless, Iran has never been regarded as a serious threat in Ankara. Turkey’s real concern was over the post-Soviet Russian policy in the region. This was clearly reflected in the fact that while preaching the dangers of Iranian-exported Islamic radicalism, Turkey sought to simultaneously improve its relations with Iran.46 Thus, when the US Congress passed in 1995 the D’Amato bill prohibiting investments of more than $40 m in Iran,47 Turkey refused to join the sanctions, arguing that it was in no economic position to do so. A week after the US Congress approved the legislation that promised to punish foreigners who invested in Iran, Turkey’s Islamist-led government agreed to buy $US23 billion-worth of natural gas from Iran.48 On 24 May 1999 Turkey signed in Ashkhabad a gas deal with Turkmenistan, according to which Turkmenistan would supply Turkey with up to 16 bcm of natural gas per annum, and ship 14 bcm more through Turkey to Europe. The Turkish section of the pipeline would also carry Iranian gas. One of the reasons for this policy was another result of the new situation in the region following the collapse of the Soviet Union – the return of Europe as a central player onto the international stage. Initially it seemed as if the nineteenth-century ‘Great Game’ in the area would be repeated. However, the last few decades of the twentieth century had significantly altered international relations. Emphasis is now laid chiefly on trade and monetary issues, and thus on regional and international cooperation and multinational diplomacy. Turkey and Iran have both had no choice but to operate within this trend and to cooperate. Iran participated with Russia, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan in the Caspian Sea Cooperation Scheme (CSCS). Turkey became active in the Black Sea Economic Cooperation Zone (BSECZ) that was established in December 1990 (that is, long before anyone could have foreseen the collapse of the USSR). Both states are partners in the Turkmen Natural Gas Project and the Azerbaijan Oil pipeline plans. Both are partners in the Economic Cooperation Organisation (ECO, formed in the mid-1980s by Iran, Pakistan and Turkey) which has been enlarged to include the Central Asian republics. It was clear to both that from an economic point of view stable relations and cooperation were needed and tensions in bilateral relations were disruptive and not profitable. In this respect Turkey showed great consistency in its relation to Iran, regardless of the persons in power or the official ideology of their party. Çiller, Demirel and Erbakan have differed in their rhetoric, but 114

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their foreign policy objectives have remained the same: becoming of crucial importance to the West as its main, if not only, access point to the Turkic CIS states. That policy required cooperation with Iran. As Mahmud Kashghari, quoted by Subtelny, wrote (in the eleventh century): ‘Just as there is no cap without a head, there is no Turk without a Tat [an Iranian].’49

NOTES 1 For example, Yasemin Celik, Contemporary Turkish Foreign Policy (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1999), p. 142. 2 Maria Eva Subtelny, ‘The Symbiosis of Turk and Tajik’, in Beatrice F. Manz (ed.), Central Asia in Historical Perspective (Denver: Westview Press, 1994), pp. 45–61. 3 Ibid., p. 47. 4 See Paul Wittek, The Rise of the Ottoman Empire (London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1938). 5 See Ulrich W. Haarman, ‘Ideology and History, Identity and Alterity: The Arab Image of the Turk from the “Abassid to Modern Egypt”, IJMES, Vol. 20, No. 2 (May 1988), pp. 175–96. 6 For the reasons behind the conflicts between the two empires that resulted in the Ottoman conquest of the Arab area and the abolition of the Mamluk Empire, see P. M. Holt, Egypt and the Fertile Crescent, 1516-1922 (Ithaca, NY, 1966), pp. 33–57; A. C. Hess, ‘The Ottoman Conquest of Egypt (1517) and the Beginning of the 16th Century World War’, IJMES, Vol. 4 (1973), pp. 55–76. 7 See the chapter on ‘The Intelligentsia’, in Ervand Abrahamian, Iran Between Two Revolutions (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), pp. 61–8. 8 In article 60 of the treaty, the Russians gave Kotur to the Iranians. For text, see Cetinsaya Gökhan, ‘The Historic Roots of Turkish–Iranian Relations’, Middle East Review of International Affairs, Vol. 7, No. 3 (September 2003), p. 3 and p. 19 fn. 5. 9 Serif Mardin, ‘Religion and Politics in Modern Turkey’, in James Piscatori (ed.), Islam in the Political Process (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press: Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1983), pp. 138–59. 10 Bruce Kuniholm, The Origins of the Cold War in the Near East (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1944), p. 145. 11 Turkey signed the agreement on 17 December 1925 and Iran in 1926. See Kuniholm, The Origins of the Cold War in the Near East, p. 16. For text, see Hurewitz, Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East, pp. 142–6. 12 Kotur was given to the Iranians and Mount Ararat to the Turks. Several agreements on trade and tariff were signed between 1926 and 1937. 13 On Turkish policy at that period see Selim Deringil, Turkish Foreign Policy during the Second World War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). 14 Which also included Britain and the US as an observer. Tschanguiz H. Pahlavan, ‘Turkish–Iranian Relations: An Iranian View’, in Henri Barkey (ed.), Turkey’s Role in the Middle East (Washington, DC: Unites States Institute of Peace Press, 1996), p. 71. For more information, see Kuniholm, The Origins of the Cold War, p. 425. 15 See Kemal Karpat (ed.), Turkey’s Foreign Policy in Transition (1950–1974) (Leiden: Brill, 1975); Robert S. Eaton, Soviet Relations with Greece and Turkey (Athens: Hellenic Foundation for Defence and Foreign Policy, 1987).

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION 16 Alan Makovsky, ‘The New Activism in Turkish Foreign Policy’, SAIS Review, (Winter–Spring 1999) pp. 93–113. 17 Philip Robins, Turkey and the Middle East (London: the Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1991). 18 This was temporary. In 1978 the US ended its weapons embargo. 19 On the 26 February treaty, see Helen Miller Davis, Constitutions, Electoral Laws, Treaties of State in the Near and Middle East, 2nd rev. edn (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1953), p. 133. 20 Mehmet Ali Birand, The Generals’ Coup in Turkey: An Inside Story of 12 September 1980 (London: Brassey’s Defence Publishers, 1987); Lucille W. Pevsner, Turkey’s Political Crisis, Background, Perspectives, Prospects, The Washington Papers No. 110, Vol. XII: Washington, DC (1984), p. 82. 21 The danger of Islamic irtica (reaction) has been presented by the commanders as one of the main reasons for the coup. However, Birand’s analysis and Evren’s memoirs would seem to reinforce the idea that the decision to take over was taken much before the Konya rally, and for different reasons, mainly political violence. 22 On this issue, see Ugur Mumcu, Rabita (Ankara: Tekin Yayinevi, 1987); Ali Birol Yesilada, ‘Islamic Fundamentalism in Turkey and the Saudi Connection’, Africa/Middle East, No. 8 (1988–89). 23 Alevis live mainly in central and eastern Anatolia. One must distinguish between their beliefs and practices and those of the Iranian Shi‘is, which are markedly different. 24 Turkey’s motivation for encouraging Iranian and other foreign investment was purely economic. However, as Yesilada suggests, the Saudis also had an ideological motivation; they sought to strengthen relations among Islamic countries through the Saudi-based Muslim League (Rabitat al-‘Alam al Islami). Yesilada, ‘Islamic Fundamentalism’, p. 2. Also see David Baldwin, ‘Islamic Banking in a Secularist Context’, in Malcolm Wagstaff, Aspects of Religion in Secular Turkey, University of Durham, Centre for Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 40 (1990), pp. 22–39. 25 According to the Turkish government statistics in 1984 only one Iranian firm was operating in Turkey. In 1986 there were 22 Iranian companies that were permitted to operate inside Turkey. 26 Pahlavan, ‘Turkish–Iranian Relations’, p. 76 27 Selim Deringil, ‘Introduction: Turkish Foreign Policy Since Ataturk’, in Clement Dodd (ed.), Turkish Foreign Policy, New Prospects, Modern Turkish Studies Programme, School of Oriental and African Studies, Occasional Papers No. 2 (Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire GB: Eothen Press, 1992), p. 5. 28 It was reopened once before in 1947. 29 The name of the club was changed on 26 August 1964 to Türkiye Milliyetçiler Birligˇi (Union of Nationalists of Turkey). It was established in 1962, and branches were soon opened in 11 major cities all over the country. 30 Deringil, Turkish Foreign Policy, p. 6. 31 Andrew Mango, ‘Turkish Foreign Policy in the M.E.: Turning Danger to Profit’, in Dodd, Turkish Foreign Policy, New Prospects, p. 66. 32 See Feroz Ahmad, ‘Islamic Reassertion in Turkey’, Third World Quarterly, Vol. 10, No. 2 (April 1988), pp. 750–69. 33 Turkish State Planning Organisation Statistics, Ankara, 1989. 34 See James N. Rosenau, ‘Introduction: New Directions and Recurrent Questions in the Comparative Study of Foreign Policy’, in Charles F. Hermann, Charles W. Kegley, Jr and James N. Rosenau (eds), New Directions in the Study of Foreign Policy (Boston: Allen and Unwin, 1987), pp. 1–12.

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TURCO-IRANIAN RELATIONS 35 Ali Hillal Dessouki and Bahgat Korany, The Foreign Policies of Arab States, 2nd edn (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1991), p. 17. 36 On the emergence of a new elite that emphasised economics and traditionalism during Özal’s period, see Nilufer Gole, ‘Engineers and Technicist Ideology’, paper presented to the International Conference on Turkey and the West: Encounter, Images and Praxis, Ebenhausen, 11–13 November 1990. 37 Celik, Contemporary Turkish Foreign Policy, p. 143. 38 Atila Eralp, ‘Facing the Challenge: Post-Revolutionary Relations with Iran’, in Henry Barkey (ed.), Reluctant Neighbor: Turkey’s Role in the Middle East (Washington, DC: Unites States Institute of Peace Press, 1996), p. 98. 39 See Chapters 1 and 2 of this volume. 40 This policy, argued Pahlavan, ‘Turkish–Iranian Relations’, pp. 75–6, ‘has an ulterior motive: it seeks not only to coalesce the country’s secular forces but to demonstrate to the West that Turkey plays an active role in blocking Iranian influence’. 41 Gareth Winrow, Turkey in Central Asia (London: Royal Institute of International Affairs/Russia and CIS Programme, 1995), p. 47. 42 For Iran’s position on the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, see Chapter 6 of this volume. 43 State-sponsored TV programmes and Turkish satellite channels are received in Azerbaijan. See Yilmaz Bingol, ‘Turkey’s Policy Towards Post-Soviet Central Asia: Opportunities and Challenges’, Eurasian Studies, No. 14 (Summer–Autumn 1998), pp. 2–19. 44 Binnaz Toprak, ‘Religion as State Ideology in a Secular Setting: The Turkish–Islamic Synthesis’, in Malcolm Wagstaff (ed.), Aspects of Religion in Secular Turkey, University of Durham, Centre for Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 40 (1990), pp. 10–15. 45 There are standing problems between the two states that cannot be ignored: the minorities, mainly the Kurdish problem, border claims, etc. Iran, being the only country with a recognised Kurdish province, gave asylum to Kurdish leaders from Turkey. In the past, Iran deliberately ignored the use of KDP (Kurdish Democratic Party) camps in Iran by Turkish PKK (Partiya Karkaran Kurdistan, Kurdish Worker’s Party) activists. Turkish officials argued that Iran was supplying the PKK with weapons and ammunition, safe housing and hospital treatment. In addition, it was argued that Iran gave ideological and military training to radical Islamists. For that reason Turkey confiscated the Iran-bound cargo ship Cape Maleas in the Bosphorus, in October 1991, which it suspected of carrying arms for pro-Iranian terrorist organisations. The ship was finally released in 1993. (William Hale, ‘The Turkish Republic’, in Middle East Contemporary Survey (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1992), p. 435.) Iran, on its part, demanded that Turkey cease its support of opponents of the regime that found refuge in Turkey. Tehran protested of instances when Turkey refused to extend residence permits to Iranian diplomats and of Turkish TV programmes that offended the Iranian clergy. It also arrested Turkish soldiers who crossed the borders in ‘hot pursuit’ of PKK warriors for violating Iranian sovereignty. Both Iran and Turkey have blamed each other for the tensions, arguing that trouble was artificially created in order to cover up domestic turmoil. 46 According to Pahlavan, ‘Turkish–Iranian Relations’, p. 72, Iran generally viewed Ankara’s promotion of Turkish nationalism as a method of withstanding the Russian threat. 47 On 27 March 1995 Senator D’Amato introduced bill S.630, which penalised foreign companies that did business with Iran. A companion House measure,

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H.R. 1541, was introduced in May 1995 – US Congressional Research Service, Iran–US Trade Regulation and Legislation (Report 95–419). 48 Philip Robins, ‘Turkish Foreign Policy Under Erbakan’, Survival, Vol. 39, No. 2 (Summer 1997), p. 90 49 Mahmud Kashghari’, Divan lughat al-turk, quoted by Subtelny, ‘The Symbiosis of Turk and Tajik’, p. 48.

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6

Iran’s Internal Azerbaijani Challenge: Implications for Policy in the Caucasus Brenda Shaffer

After the collapse of the Soviet Union and the establishment of the six independent Muslim states, many asserted that the new republics were vulnerable to ideological influences from the Middle East and were especially fertile ground for Iranian activity. Experts discussed the potential for Iranian ‘export of revolution’ into the new Muslim republics and assessed that Iran would succeed in creating significant inroads into the area, especially in the Republic of Azerbaijan, where most of the population is Shi‘i. Only few reckoned that the impact could be two-way and that Iran itself was susceptible to influence from the newly independent Muslim republics. Yet, strong indications are emerging that the establishment of the Republic of Azerbaijan on Iran’s northern border and the ensuing renewal of ties between the Azerbaijanis on both sides of the frontier has had a profound impact on internal stability in Iran, and consequently on Tehran’s policy in the Caucasus. Iran is a multi-ethnic state, with approximately 50 per cent of its citizens non-Persian.1 The largest minority group is the Azerbaijanis, which comprise close to a third of the population of Iran. Other major groups include the Kurds, the Arabs, the Baluchis and the Turkmen. Many of these groups are concentrated in Iran’s frontier areas, and most have ties to co-ethnics in adjoining states, such as Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Pakistan and Turkey. Thus, Iran’s ethnic groups are especially subject to influence by events taking place in these bordering states, and the ethnic question is not merely a domestic matter. Approximately 7 million Azerbaijanis live in the Republic of Azerbaijan, whereas an overwhelming majority of Azerbaijanis live in neighbouring Iran, many of them in three provinces which are 119

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Azeri-populated area in Iran

Map 4: Azerbaijan and Iran

predominately populated by Azerbaijanis: East Azerbaijan, West Azerbaijan and Ardabil.2 Many Azerbaijanis consider most of northwest Iran as ‘South Azerbaijan’. This chapter will discuss the impact of the establishment of the Republic of Azerbaijan on the Azerbaijanis in Iran and its implications for the regime’s stability there. In light of this factor, Iran’s activities in the Caucasus, its bilateral relations with the Republic of Azerbaijan and its policy towards the NagornoKarabakh conflict will be explored. THE INTERNAL SITUATION IN IRAN

The Republic of Azerbaijan became independent during a period of relative political relaxation in Iran that tolerated expression of many responses to this event. The establishment of the Republic of Azerbaijan 120

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challenged the national identity of co-ethnics beyond the borders of the new state and served as a stimulant for many Azerbaijanis in Iran to identify with the Azerbaijani ethnic group though not necessarily with the new state itself. In the early 1990s, a significant rise in expressions of Azerbaijani ethnic identity in Iran has been observed, as well as important political manifestations of that identity. This rising Azerbaijani identity has generated few calls for the Azerbaijani provinces to secede from Iran and join the new republic, but rather has led to demands for increased cultural rights within Iran. One of the first manifestations of rising identity as Azerbaijanis was their tendency to refer to themselves as ‘Azerbaijanis’ or ‘Azeris’. Previously, most had called themselves ‘Turks’. This term, almost universally used up to the early 1990s, had a negative connotation for some, since it had been employed by the Shah’s regime and because Turks have been the brunt of so many jokes in Iran. In literature as well, Azerbaijanis in Iran began to refer to their language as ‘Azerbaijani’, ‘Azeri’, ‘Language of Azerbaijan’ or ‘Turki-Azerbaijani’, in contrast to ‘Turki’, as had been customary in the past, reflecting influence of the establishment of the Republic of Azerbaijan on their self-reference. The period following the independence of the Republic of Azerbaijan is marked by the emergence of open, coordinated political activities and the founding of organisations that brought together Azerbaijanis from all over Iran. Majles members of Azerbaijani origin, for example, formed a caucus to promote Azerbaijani interests in the parliament, while some student groups sought fundamental change in the government’s relationship toward the country’s ethnic minorities. Some of the new Azerbaijani political organisations that were formed in the early 1990s point to the break-up of the Soviet Union and the establishment of the independent Republic of Azerbaijan as having influenced their political course of action. In its founding statement, GAMIC – Güney Azerbaycan Milli I˙stiqlal Jäbhäsi (the South Azerbaijani National Front for Independence) – spoke of the ‘formation of a number of independent nation states from the ruins of Soviet imperialism’ as one of the main events of this era and as having influenced their course of action.3 The right to use the Azerbaijani language in Iran was a major subject of the political activity that emerged in this period. In an open letter to the Iranian leadership, Azerbaijani students wrote: It is time to pay attention to such important items as the realisation of a bilingual educational system on the basis of clause fifteen of the Iranian constitution. This does not contradict our unity, because we are united by Iranian Muslim duties, but not by the Persian language. We must take into consideration that if we do not realise necessary issues 121

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in the sphere of native language, cultural and other demands, some undesirable phenomena may occur.4

In the spring of 1998, a group of over sixty leading Azerbaijani intellectuals sent an open letter to President Khatami. In it they called for expanded rights, especially in the cultural and language fields. The activists pointed out that their language was the same as that spoken in the Republic of Azerbaijan, and there, in contrast to Iran, numerous works were published in that language. In calling for rights to use Azerbaijani in local media in Iran, the authors pointed out that in broadcasts of ‘foreign radio stations’ (a reference to Baku) their language was spoken more accurately than in the Azerbaijani transmissions in Iran.5 In the first half of the 1990s, a major Azerbaijani literary revival emerged in Iran. Exemplifying their interest in the development and dissemination of the written Azerbaijani language, many authors modified the Arabic script used for writing Azerbaijani with vowel markings in order to help the readers and expand their number. Many new Azerbaijani dictionaries and grammars produced in Iran in the early 1990s contained tables for translating Azerbaijani in Cyrillic into Arabic script, illustrating an interest in texts printed in the Republic of Azerbaijan.6 From 1991 to 1992 many of the major Iranian newspapers, such as Keyhan, Ettela’at and Jomhuri-ye Islami, included an Azerbaijani language page. At this time advertisements in Azerbaijani, placed by Azerbaijanis on both sides of the border in search of relatives with whom they had lost contact during the Soviet period, appeared in these and in Baku newspapers. In the early 1990s, a marked change occurred in the way in which many Azerbaijanis responded to jokes about their ethnic origin. Contrary to the past, derogatory remarks against Azerbaijanis provoked extreme reactions. Many of the statements issued by Azerbaijanis in this period not only demanded the expansion of their language and cultural rights, but also addressed what they termed cultural ‘humiliation’. They asserted their refusal to tolerate further slurs and the subjection to what they termed dishonourable treatment. The feeling of being humiliated by the regime, and especially its media organs, is expressed in the Open Letter of the Azerbaijani Students Studying in the Tehran Universities to the Azerbaijani Deputies of the Iranian Majles. The authors of the letter described the Iranian media’s policy as being to ‘mimic and defame the culture and language of the Azerbaijan Shi‘i,’ and asked, ‘When will it be possible to give an effective answer to all these humiliations and mockeries?’7 This shift may have occurred partly as a result of the ethnic selfconfidence that emerged in response to the establishment of an 122

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Azerbaijani republic. The introduction of wide-scale viewing of television from the Republic of Turkey in 1992 gave further impetus to this trend, as Turkic-speaking Azerbaijanis became exposed to a positive image of the Turk as presented in the broadcasts. The need to address the intangible and not only the concrete demands for expanded cultural rights, illustrates a sense of heightened ethnic awareness. CROSS-BORDER TIES

Dramatic changes took place in the nature of the contacts and relations between the Azerbaijanis on both sides of the border. On the eve of independence and after the establishment of the state these loose ties were transformed into intensive interaction. Continuing the trend that began before independence, many visits took place; according to the Governor of Astara, Hasan Reza’i, at the Astara border crossing alone, an average of 400 families a week from Iran and the Republic of Azerbaijan visited each other in 1992.8 Improvements also took place in communications and transportation links between the Azerbaijani provinces in Iran and the Republic of Azerbaijan. On 11 July 1993 direct flights were inaugurated between Tabriz and Baku. In addition a regular daily bus service was established between the various cities in the Azerbaijani provinces in Iran and the Republic of Azerbaijan. One of the most momentous developments was the establishment of formal, direct cooperation and interchange between the local administration of the Azerbaijani provinces in Iran and the Republic of Azerbaijan, circumventing Tehran. Delegations from all three Azerbaijani provinces visited Baku and established formal direct cooperation in many fields, including trade, education and scientific research. For instance, representatives of the Iranian Azerbaijani provinces and the republic, signed protocols and agreements for direct bilateral technical and economic cooperation.9 Initially Tehran welcomed the development of contacts between the Azerbaijanis on both sides of the border as a means to spread its influence into the new-born Republic of Azerbaijan as well as to other Muslim groups in the Caucasus. However, it soon came to view this influence as potentially two-way. Thus, by late 1992 Tehran started to set up obstacles to these ties and to recentralise many of them, in order to minimise them. Thus, in contrast to its policy towards refugees from Afghanistan and Iraq, Iran has refused to accept Azerbaijani refugees fleeing the areas of hostilities with Armenia, evidently fearing intense interaction between them and its own Azerbaijanis. In an attempt to combat deepening ties between Azerbaijanis astride the border, the 123

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Iranian authorities made it mandatory on anyone wishing to marry citizens of the Republic of Azerbaijan to apply for a special permit. All marriages without this permit were declared illegal and invalid under the laws of the Islamic Republic.10 Finally, throughout the early 1990s, the Iranian authorities repeatedly hassled – and even detained – Azerbaijan’s diplomatic staff in Iran, including ambassadors. Furthermore, beginning late 1992 Iran started to bar official visits to Tabriz and other cities in the Azerbaijani provinces. High-level officials were prevented from visiting Tabriz, while former Ambassador Nasib Nasibzade was not allowed to travel there in the embassy car displaying the Azerbaijani flag.11 In March 1994, on the eve of a planned visit to Iran, Aliyev stated that he planned to go to Tabriz and other cities in the Azerbaijani provinces. The visit was delayed a number of times due to the Iranian refusal to allow Aliyev to visit Tabriz, despite the fact that he had been invited to do so by the governor of East Azerbaijan Province.12 The visit was eventually held in a very tense atmosphere in July 1994, and did not include Tabriz. (In contrast, top Armenian officials visiting Iran were allowed to visit regularly the major Armenian communities in Iran, especially that of Isfahan.) Finally, apparently fearing a permanent Azerbaijani presence in the centre of Iranian Azerbaijan, Tehran did not allow the Republic of Azerbaijan to open a consulate in Tabriz.13 Baku has often used the internal Azerbaijani card at peaks of tension with Iran. For example, in 1994–96 Iran closed its border with Azerbaijan a number of times, often simultaneously with Russia. In response, in many of the instances Baku broadcast a television show named ‘Shahriyar’, which dealt with the culture of Iran’s Azerbaijanis and was received in Iran. Evidently Baku was signalling Tehran that, despite its strategic inferiority at that point, it still had means to strike back if the border remained closed. Under Aliyev, the south Azerbaijan issue has negatively affected the bilateral relations between the Republic of Azerbaijan and Iran, albeit in a much more subtle manner than during the Elchibey period. For example, at a reception in the Iranian Embassy in Baku in honour of the anniversary of the Islamic Revolution, Aliyev emphasised that his country supports the territorial integrity of Iran, just after condemning Armenia’s violation of Azerbaijan’s territorial integrity, subtly hinting to Tehran the consequences of assisting Yerevan.14 Despite the troublesome political relations between Iran and Azerbaijan, trade relations between the sides have been very good, and they are among each other’s major trade partners. This policy, however, has hampered regional development.

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IRAN’S INTERNAL AZERBAIJANI CHALLENGE TEHRAN AND THE NAGORNO-KARABAKH CONFLICT

Prior to the break-up of the USSR, Iran took a slightly more ideological approach to the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict and leaned in its rhetoric toward Muslim-populated Azerbaijan.15 Since the independence of Azerbaijan and Armenia, Iran’s policy and stance toward the conflict have been dictated by its geo-political interests. Tehran’s chief goal has been to prevent destabilisation in Iranian Azerbaijan and a rise in ethnic-based activity among its Azerbaijanis. Other important factors influencing Iran’s policy toward Nagorno-Karabakh have been Tehran’s relations with Russia,16 the extent of Baku’s irredentist activity and its position on Iranian participation in oil exploration in the Caspian Sea, and a desire to project an image of a competent sponsor of negotiations. As a state bordering both Armenia and Azerbaijan, it is clear that Iran would take a stand and attempt to be involved in the negotiation process connected to the Karabakh conflict. Iran’s specific positions on various proposals during the negotiation process between Azerbaijan and Armenia were often dictated by its internal Azerbaijani consideration. For instance, Tehran was vehement in its opposition to the American-led proposition for the sides to trade corridors linking Armenia to Nagorno-Karabakh and Azerbaijan to Nakhchivan, since the endeavour could have resulted in a significant extension of the border between the Republic of Azerbaijan and Iran. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Iran grasped that its once stable northern border had been replaced by a conflict-ridden zone and that influences from the new states could permeate the internal Iranian arena. From the inception of their independence, Tehran took a very sober attitude toward the establishment of the new Muslim republics, seeing in this development the dangers that emanate from the internal ethnic factor in addition to the opportunities for expanded influence: The first ground for concern from the point of view in Tehran is the lack of political stability in the newly independent republics. The unstable conditions in those republics could be serious causes of insecurity along the lengthy borders (over 2000 kilometres) Iran shares with those countries. Already foreign hands can be felt at work in those republics, especially in Azerbaijan and Turkmenistan republics, with the ultimate objective of brewing discord among the Iranian Azeris and Turkmen by instigating ethnic and nationalistic sentiments.17

Soon after the break-up of the USSR, hard-liners in Tehran accurately recognised that Azerbaijan’s independence had practically created no 125

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opportunity for Iranian influence because of Baku’s Western and specifically Turkish orientation.18 Tehran has shown that it is sensitive to assertions of Azerbaijani ethnic identity and that it fears Baku as a potential source of attraction for the Azerbaijanis in Iran. The emergence in the early 1990s of coordinated Azerbaijani political activity in Iran rang alarm bells for Tehran and this greatly affected its policies toward the Caucasus. Iran’s Deputy Foreign Minister, Mahmud Va’ezi, pointed to internal considerations as one of Iran’s major factors in its policy toward the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict.19 Despite its rhetoric of neutrality in the conflict – in itself inconsistent with the official ideology of a state that portrays itself as the protector and champion of the Shi‘is – throughout most of the period, Iran cooperated with Armenia. Evidently it preferred that the Republic of Azerbaijan remained involved in a conflict, making it less attractive to Iran’s Azerbaijanis and unable to allocate resources to stir up ‘South Azerbaijan’. Tehran adopted anti-Armenian rhetoric only at times when the conflict directly threatened Iranian state interests. Up until early 1992, Tehran attempted to contribute to the defusing of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. In this period, Iran was interested in containing the conflict and preventing its spillover and the creation of new refugees that might come knocking on its door. Yet, even then, Iran maintained markedly good relations with Armenia and developed mutual cooperation. In the initial period after the independence of the new republics and throughout most of President Elchibey’s tenure (June 1992–June 1993), Iran’s officials and mainstream media rarely criticised Armenia. They generally called on both sides to resolve the conflict peacefully, and were seemingly content that Baku was bogged-down in a war. Considering that the Armenians were the force struggling for a change in the status quo, and that they occupied a significant amount of territory within the internationally recognised borders of Azerbaijan, the lack of Iranian criticism and the adoption of a ‘balanced’ approach has in actuality favoured Armenia. Even when Armenian forces captured the strategic city of Shusha on 9 May 1992 during Iranian-sponsored peace talks held in Tehran, Iranian reference to the attack did not go beyond expression of ‘concern over the recent developments in Nagorno-Karabakh’.20 Even in all-Muslim fora, such as the Economic Cooperation Council,21 Tehran refrained from criticising Armenia.22 In relating to the causes of the conflict, Iranian representatives and official media reserved criticism for ‘colonial powers’ and other external agents, such as Russia, Turkey, the US and occasionally the ‘Zionists’. They even blamed Azerbaijani President Elchibey for the conflict, while seldom pointing at Yerevan.23 Tehran’s lack of action on behalf of 126

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Azerbaijan in this period was so pronounced that hard-liners in Iran criticised the official policy, as not a proper reflection of Iran’s ‘religious and ideological responsibilities’.24 The more Baku stepped-up its articulation of desire for ties with Iran’s Azerbaijanis, the more Tehran expanded its cooperation with Armenia. On the eve of his election as president, in spring 1992, Elchibey augmented the rhetoric calling for expansion of contacts with the Azerbaijanis in Iran and for an increase of their rights in what he referred to as ‘South Azerbaijan’. At the same time, Tehran began to extend its ties with Armenia. In February 1992 Iran established diplomatic relations with Armenia. In the spring of 1992, during one of the heights in the battles between Azerbaijan and Armenia, Tehran signed a number of economic agreements with Yerevan. At times Iran served as Armenia’s main route for supplies and energy and provided an outlet for its trade. In April 1992, at one of the most crucial points in the escalation of the conflict between Azerbaijan and Armenia, Iran agreed to supply natural gas and fuel to and improved transportation links with Armenia.25 Moreover, fuel from Russia was often delivered to Armenia by way of Iran.26 Iran thus shattered Baku’s blockade against Armenia.27 Without this vent from the Azerbaijani blockade and Turkish embargo, Armenia’s war effort could hardly have been sustained, not to say escalated. Armenian Prime Minister and Vice President Gagik Arutyunyan pointed at Tehran’s role in helping Armenia to circumvent Baku’s blockade. At a ceremony commemorating the opening of a bridge over the Araz River linking Armenia and Iran, he stated that the bridge would contribute to stabilising the economic situation in the republic created by the blockade.28 On 9 May 1992 Armenian combatants captured Shusha, which was one of the turning points in the military confrontation. It was also a major embarrassment for Iran since it took place during a summit of Azerbaijani and Armenian representatives in Tehran. Nonetheless, official statements of the Iranian Foreign Ministry continued to reflect a balanced approach. Following a series of further significant Armenian conquests in Azerbaijan and the creation of thousands of new refugees, Iran stated: The Islamic Republic believes that the continuation of these clashes is not in the interest of either of the warring parties and will only inflict further losses and casualties on both nations and states . . . The Islamic Republic, in accordance with its heartfelt desire to restore peace and tranquillity to the region, taking into account the interests of both Azerbaijan and Armenia, and in view of the formal request of the governments of these states for mediation, deems it a duty to continue 127

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its serious efforts to restore stability and tranquillity to the region and to halt the war and bloodshed.29

Indeed, following major Armenian successes in the battlefield, Tehran negotiated a ceasefire between Armenia and Azerbaijan that went into effect on 21 March 1992. The ceasefire institutionalised a situation that was unfavourable to Azerbaijan. Perhaps the best indication of Iran’s leaning towards Armenia was the fact that Yerevan and the Nagorno-Karabakh Armenians repeatedly praised Iran’s role in the negotiation process and expressed their preference for Tehran over many other foreign mediators.30 They also called for the deployment of Iranian observers at the border between Azerbaijan and Armenia and in the Nakhchivan area.31 According to Armenia’s President Levon Ter-Petrossian, ‘the Iranians have proved their complete impartiality in this issue, respecting the rights of both sides and striving for a just solution, and therefore the sides trust Iran’.32 And in April 1992, the Press Centre of the ‘Nagorno-Karabakh Republic’ released a report stating that, The Nagorno-Karabakh Republic leadership is currently discussing rejecting Russia’s mediation role because the mediation conditions proposed by Iran are preferable. The Iranians are proposing that direct talks be held between the leaders of Azerbaijan and the NKR without the socalled participation of Nagorno-Karabakh Republic’s Azerbaijani community. Russia, on the other hand insists on the participation of the Azerbaijan community.33

In contrast, prominent Azerbaijanis were critical of Iran’s role in the negotiations. Both official and opposition press have consistently attacked Tehran’s assistance to Yerevan.34 The opposition press even attributed the fall of the city of Shusha and other major strategic losses to Iran’s mediation mission.35 Abulfez Elchibey was of a similar opinion: Unfortunately, there was no benefit from the activity of Iran’s peacemaking mission, for example, Khojali fell after their first visit to Nagorno-Karabakh, and Shusha fell after their second visit, and the fall of Lachin is the sequel to this.36

Elchibey went on to threaten that ‘Iran will get an appropriate reply from us. It will pay for its hostile attitude.’37 Toward the end of Elchibey’s term in office, in April 1993, a significant shift emerged in Iran’s rhetoric toward the conflict: reproach of Armenia was aired. In the spring of 1993 the fighting escalated 128

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and Armenia occupied large parts of Azerbaijani territory outside the Nagorno-Karabakh province, and expanded the de facto border between Iran and the Armenian-held zone in and around NagornoKarabakh. This created a stream of refugees, many of which attempted to flee to Iran. The extreme escalation of the conflict created direct threats to Iranian interests. Tehran’s state interests as it saw them had been served by the perpetuation of the conflict on a low level; Tehran was interested in Baku being preoccupied with the struggle in NagornoKarabakh so that it did not have the resources to promote the ‘South Azerbaijan’ issue. However, the intensification of the war endangered other primary interests. Western states and Turkey began to extend their involvement in the area carrying with it the hazard of increased presence on Iran’s northern border. Turkey, for instance, issued on the eve of the Iranian shift a number of statements indicating readiness to intervene in the conflict. Iran explicitly stated that the escalation in the conflict increased the risk of Turkish intervention: the fighting has extended to areas near the borders of the Islamic Republic of Iran. The Turkish Government has reacted sharply and now there are implicit or explicit talks about Turkey’s military intervention to end the offensives.38

Moreover, the Armenian successes were so extensive that Tehran’s lack of reprimanding was conspicuous. In addition, many Iranian Azerbaijani activists were actively pressuring at this time for a change in Tehran’s policy (see below). Finally, Baku started to air a more deferential stance regarding Iranian participation in energy development in the Caucasus.39 Despite the discernible change in Iran’s rhetoric, no significant modifications of its relationship with Armenia took place in 1993. Iran continued to circumvent the Azerbaijani blockade and to provide Armenia with energy and other supplies. High-level and cordial exchanges with Armenian officials were conducted regularly, and in July 1993 direct flights between Tehran and Yerevan were inaugurated.40 The gap between the formal Iranian statements and the continued cooperation with Yerevan was attacked on the pages of Jomhuri-ye Islami.41 A commentary article criticised the holding of an Armenian trade exhibition in Tehran, despite a recent Foreign Ministry statement condemning Armenian aggression in the conflict.42 Armenian President Levon TerPetrossian dismissed the Iranian declarations and denied that they reflected any concrete changes in the relations between the two states: 129

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The Armenian president informed the Iranian president that Armenia understands the sensitive approach of the Iranian public, press, and parliament toward developments in Azerbaijan and does not regard the occasional sharp reactions as a hostile disposition.43

Thus Iranian diplomacy succeeded in retaining Tehran’s position as a leading sponsor of negotiations and to prevent alienating Baku, while preventing any significant damage in its relations with Yerevan. There is some indication that Tehran may have contributed to the coup against Elchibey in June 1993, that led to the return to power of Heydar Aliyev. In March, just before the shift in Iran’s formal position on the conflict, Aliyev officially visited Iran. It is possible that Tehran started to change its rhetoric in anticipation of a new government in Baku. Moreover, Iran openly called for a change in government in Azerbaijan, implying that relations with Tehran would improve if this took place.44 After the fall of Elchibey’s Popular Frontled government and the return of Heydar Aliyev to power, Tehran amplified its criticism of Armenia in the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. The complete turn around in Tehran’s public declarations on the conflict after the fall of the nationalist Azerbaijani government, indicates the impact on Tehran’s policy toward Nagorno-Karabakh of its perception of Baku’s irredentism. Nevertheless, tension over Iran’s assistance to Armenia has continued to affect relations with Azerbaijan during the presidency of Aliyev as well. It reached a head during Foreign Minister Velayati’s visit to Baku in March 1996. At a press conference concluding the visit, Azerbaijani Foreign Minister Hasanov blatantly attacked Velayati for condemning Israel’s policies: You should be concerned more than anybody else over occupation by Armenia of Azerbaijan’s lands. It is not Israel, but Armenia that has seized Azerbaijan’s lands, and it’s the Armenians’ arms that have forced one million of your brothers to flee their places.45

IRANIAN AZERBAIJANIS AND THE NAGORNO-KARABAKH CONFLICT

Many Azerbaijanis in Iran have been exerting pressure on Tehran to change its position toward the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict and to adopt a more pro-Azerbaijani stance. This internal activity seems to have influenced the shift in rhetoric in spring 1993. Officials of Azerbaijani origin were the most vocal in expressing sympathy with Azerbaijan’s predicament with Armenia as they did after ‘Black January’ of 1990.46 Ayatollah Musavi-Ardabeli, himself an Azerbaijani, often mentioned 130

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the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict in his Friday sermons, and was more assertive than other non-Azerbaijani clerics in supporting the Republic of Azerbaijan. In the Majles, members from the Azerbaijani provinces openly called for Tehran’s assistance to Azerbaijan,47 and participated in demonstrations against Armenia.48 They succeeded in attaining the signatures of the majority of the Majles members on a petition calling for a change in Tehran’s stance on the conflict. On 13 April 1993, Kamel Abedinzadeh, Azerbaijani deputy from Kho’i, even spoke in Azerbaijani in the Majles when he condemned Armenian actions against Azerbaijan. In addition, he issued press releases for publication in the Iranian newspaper Hamshahri and other journals on this issue.49 On 6 April 1993 Mohammed ‘Ali Nejad-Sarkhani, a deputy from Tabriz, read a resolution in the name of the Assembly of Azerbaijan Majles Deputies condemning Armenia’s attacks on Azerbaijan and calling for Iran to support the Republic of Azerbaijan. In this statement, which illustrated his knowledge of the history of the Azerbaijanis in the north, he drew a parallel between the ‘Russianassisted Armenian attack on Azerbaijan’ and the ‘crimes committed in 1920 by the Ninth Regiment of the Red Army during its conquest of Azerbaijan’.50 Ahmad Hemmeti, deputy from Meshkinshahr,51 stated: ‘It is the duty of the government and the nation of Iran not to leave the people of Azerbaijan alone, to rush to their aid in every sense and punish the aggressor government of Armenia.’52 Mohammad ‘Abbaspur, Majles deputy from the Azerbaijani-populated city of Maku, reminded Yerevan that Nagorno-Karabakh was once a part of Iran, and was separated from it under the terms of the ‘annulled’ Gulistan and Turkmenchay Treaties.53 On the grassroots level, many Azerbaijanis in Iran expressed their solidarity with the Republic of Azerbaijan in its struggle with Armenia, and criticised Tehran’s support. On 25 May 1992, 200 students demonstrated at Tabriz University and chanted ‘Death to Armenia.’ Alluding to Tehran, they called the ‘silence of the Muslims,’ in the face of the Armenian ‘criminal activities’ ‘treason to the Qora’n’.54 The demonstrators urged Tehran to support the Republic of Azerbaijan in this struggle. According to the Iranian newspaper Salam,55 the demonstration was held ‘despite the opposition of the authorities’ and was marked by ‘nationalist fervour and slogans’.56 On 13 April 1993, Tehran University students held a demonstration in front of the Armenian Embassy in support of the Republic of Azerbaijan.57 During the demonstration, the embassy was stoned and some of its windows were broken.58 131

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Azerbaijani-language publications in Iran showed a special interest in the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict and carried many expressions of solidarity with the plight of the Azerbaijanis there. In the spring of 1994, an impassioned article by Javad Heyat appeared in Varliq59 addressed to the president of Turkey, Süleyman Demirel, and pleaded with Turkey to assist Azerbaijan in the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict.60 Varliq frequently carried articles about Azerbaijani victims of this conflict, as well as poems written in memory of the fallen Azerbaijani ‘shahids’.61 Iranian Azerbaijanis have also been involved in providing aid to their co-ethnics in the Republic of Azerbaijan. A great deal of the humanitarian and refugee assistance from Iran to the Republic of Azerbaijan in 1992–93 was organised directly from the Azerbaijani provinces.62 Commencing in the summer of 1992, many Azerbaijanis wounded in the war with Armenia were treated in the hospitals of Tabriz. Convoys of supplies and other aid, were sent directly from the Azerbaijani provinces to the refugees and other needy in the republic. Initially these convoys had been coordinated by representatives from the Azerbaijani Iranian provinces.63 In June 1992, for example, a delegation from Urmiya set up a refugee centre in Nakhchivan. In September 1993 the Province of East Azerbaijan opened a refugee camp within the territory of the republic.64 While this humanitarian assistance may have fostered direct ties, it apparently did not advance a very positive image of the new republic or make it attractive to the Azerbaijanis in Iran, since they had been exposed to the harsh conditions produced by the protracted war. The gap between Tehran’s position and that of many of the Azerbaijanis in Iran on the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict may have added to the tension between members of this ethnic group and the regime in Iran, and may have alienated some Azerbaijanis from the regime. Iran’s Armenians, like their Azerbaijani counterparts, have also shown solidarity with Armenia and sent assistance. In April 1992, two cargo planes with aid arrived in Yerevan funded by Armenians in Iran.65 The planes were dispatched to Armenia through the Iranian Red Crescent, illustrating Tehran’s support for Yerevan at a crucial point when assistance was critical to Armenia. Iranian Armenians also contributed funds to the construction of a bridge over the Araz River linking the two countries. The bridge was inaugurated in May 1992.66 Iran’s Armenians were also instrumental in developing the official ties between Tehran and Yerevan. For instance, Vartan Vartanian, a Majles deputy of Armenian origin, led one of Tehran’s first parliamentary delegations to Armenia, in April 1992. The delegation visited the genocide memorial in Yerevan. 132

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Since the early 1990s, many Azerbaijanis in Iran have often pointed to the fact that the Armenians have more cultural rights than they. Classified as a religious minority, the Armenians, unlike the Azerbaijanis, are allowed to operate their own school system in their language. To illustrate the extent of the anomaly of the Azerbaijani situation in Iran the authors of the open letter to Khatami wrote that while the Azerbaijanis did not have the right to establish schools or university classes in their own language, religious minorities, such as the Armenian community, have programmes in two universities – Isfahan and Tehran – where the Armenian language and literature are taught. In addition, their children are allowed to study in Armenian schools in their own language. Furthermore, community discourse is generally conducted in a language other than our mother tongue. Our media (radio, television, and press), our commercial signs, wedding and funeral announcements and even our grave markers are in a language other than our mother tongue.67

Some Azerbaijanis in Iran, prompted by the conflict in NagornoKarabakh, have reportedly made threats against Armenians there,68 and potential exists for spillover of the conflict into inter-communal relations in many places where both Azerbaijanis and Armenians live in Iran. CONCLUSIONS

Iran and Azerbaijan have serious disagreements over a great many topics. The proper rules of demarcation of energy exploration rights in the shared Caspian Sea is just one. Baku is vexed by Iran’s attempts, albeit limited, at disseminating Islamic activity within Azerbaijan. Tehran is annoyed by the Azerbaijan decision of April 1995 to bar its participation in the consortium developing oil in the Republic. By far more important, Tehran is disturbed by the existence of an overwhelmingly secular Shi‘i population on its northern border and a secular state, which, although short of full democracy is pluralistic and may serve as an example for some of the political opposition in Iran.69 However, one of the most important factors affecting the relations between Baku and Tehran is the existence of a major Azerbaijani population in Iran, in territories contiguous to the new Republic. The status and rights of the Azerbaijanis in Iran have become an important issue in the internal politics in Baku and the relationship with this 133

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population is a major part of the new state’s identity. Many Azerbaijanis attempted to foster ethnic-based nationalism among their co-ethnics in Iran and many more see unity with their co-ethnics in ‘South Azerbaijan’ as a way to build a strong and independent Azerbaijan. Naturally, Tehran perceives this as a major threat. Thus, Baku’s often irredentist activities have served as a major factor of tension in the bilateral relations, which has adversely affected wider regional cooperation. This led Iran to follow a policy in the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict that preferred to support Christian Armenia rather than Muslim, Shi‘i Azerbaijan. Iran’s failure to support the Muslim Azerbaijanis is a further illustration the lack of importance of religion in this conflict and clearly refutes the widespread view that it is an ‘OrthodoxMuslim fault line war’.70 Tehran’s conduct in the conflict with Azerbaijan illustrates that Iran’s geo-political interests often take priority over its ideological concerns. In this case it is obvious that a wartrodden Azerbaijan to its north is a less dangerous neighbour than one on the path to economic prosperity, since it will not be a source of attraction and ethnic emulation for its own Azerbaijani community. Moreover, the ethnic factor seems to be a more important component than the religious factor in Iran’s relations with the Muslims in Central Asia and the Caucasus generally. Summing up Tehran’s scoreboard in the region, Iran has the closest relations with the Tajiks with whom they share linguistic and ethnic affinity, in contrast to the most tense relations with the Azerbaijanis, with which they share Shi’i identity, overwhelmingly due to the Azerbaijani ethnic factor which serves as a source of tension in the relations between Azerbaijan and Iran. Tehran’s policy toward the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict is a good example of the diversity of opinions and, in contrast to its monolithic image, the moderate pluralism evident in the foreign policy decisionmaking process in Iran. The prevailing official Iranian foreign-policy establishment promoted tacit support for Armenia. This policy was reflected in journals such as Tehran Times. This policy, set by overriding state interests, encountered open opposition from ideological steadfasts, who advocated adopting Islamic solidarity toward the Azerbaijanis in articles in Jomhuri-ye Islami. Even within the Iranian Foreign Ministry, there seemed to be diverging opinions. Some actors, such as Deputy Foreign Minister Va’ezi, seemed to have an institutional interest in Iran serving as a successful sponsor of the negotiation process between Armenia and Azerbaijan and seemed to play a candid role in conducting them in the early 1990s. That may not have reflected the prevailing Iranian policy. Moreover, members of Iran’s minorities – both Azerbaijanis and Armenians – lobbied and pressed for policies that favoured their respective co-ethnics beyond Iran’s 134

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borders and directly organised aid to their corresponding groups. This in itself reflects that significant numbers of Azerbaijanis and Armenians in Iran identify with their co-ethnics in the newly established republics, many evidently parallel to identifying as Iranians. The different viewpoints of various policy-making factors in Iran toward the conflict and relations with Azerbaijan and Armenia, can partially explain some policy inconsistency and shifts in relation to Nagorno-Karabakh. The constant tension in relations between Baku and Tehran and Azerbaijan’s sense of regional isolation, has increased its drive to seek affiliation with security arrangements. In January 1999, Azerbaijan’s top presidential policy adviser, Vafa Quluzade, invited NATO to establish a military base on Azerbaijani soil. Baku also sent troops to the NATO contingent in Kosovo. At the same time, Azerbaijan’s foreign minister, Tofiq Zulfugarov, alluded to Baku’s threat to leave the CIS military framework stating that ‘integration into European and transatlantic institutions is Azerbaijan’s undisputed priority’.71 Furthermore, in March 1999 Baku began openly threatening to stop leasing to Russia the Qabala ballistic missile monitoring station, attempting to further distance itself from security cooperation with Moscow. Baku’s invitation to a Western military presence provoked Iran’s indignation and Tehran has openly threatened Azerbaijan that it will not allow US military bases in an area close to its borders. The tension between Iran and Azerbaijan has thus opened the door to projecting Iranian–US contention into the Caucasus. Baku’s quest for association with Western security alliances and its cooperation with Western oil companies to develop its oil resources, have brought permanent American, Turkish and even ‘Zionist’ presence close to Iran’s northern border, much to its displeasure. The establishment of the Republic of Azerbaijan challenged the identity of the Azerbaijanis in Iran, and caused many of them to redefine it, either reaffirming their identity as Iranians, or augmenting their self-perception as Azerbaijanis, and this development has significantly affected the political arena in Iran. Each time in the twentieth century that a major erosion in the central power in Iran occurred, many of the ethnic groups have seized the opportunity to assert ethnic-based demands and to call for self-rule of different forms. The regime in Iran is entering a period of relative instability and this could foster again rising ethnic demands. Azerbaijani identity is on the rise in Iran. While this increased consciousness does not seem to be leading at this stage to massive all out calls for separation from Iran, it has created additional appeals for greater liberalisation and reduced centralisation which is adding to the demands on the regime. 135

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Some of the political forces, such as President Khatami, are reacting to these demands and politically capitalising on them. Unprecedented events have taken place in Iran in the sphere of ethnic identity and relations that would have been unthinkable 20 years ago. For example, in the 1997 presidential elections in Iran, supporters of Mohammad Khatami distributed election materials in the Azerbaijani and Kurdish languages, exemplifying his recognition of the multi-ethnic composition of Iran and the importance the non-Persian groups attach to the status of their mother tongues. The rise in Azerbaijani identity occurring in Iran and its challenge to both centre–periphery relations and to official Persian-linguistic and cultural dominance may become an important issue in the political arena of Iran, and can affect the stability of the regime there and potentially in adjoining regions. Khatami’s lead in the 1999 elections to local government indicates his willingness to tap into the ethnic minority groups and Iran’s periphery. This policy of a limited appeal to ethnic sentiments in Iran, and to provincial sources of power, may have long-term consequences in Iran. While this policy is useful in building his base of support, once these groups are empowered, they may not acquiesce to accepting again their secondary status at Khatami’s command, and, like his application of students as part of the struggle for reform in Iran, it could lead to the escalation of contention in Iran. A major alteration in ethnic relations and divisions in Iran will impact on regional arrangements and stability among Iran’s neighbours. Rising ethnic demands could also renew inter-ethnic strife within Iran if the varying groups confront each other over the demarcation of borders and resources within the state. A future adoption of some kind of confederate or federative relationship between Tehran and the ethnic minorities in Iran may provoke conflicts between the various minority groups. Clashes of this type are most likely to emerge between Azerbaijanis and Kurds, who throughout the century have violently engaged each other in West Azerbaijan over disputed lands and leadership in the area and this could impact on other regional actors.72

NOTES 1 Many major researchers on Iran claim that the Persian-speaking population is approximately 50 per cent of the total population of Iran. See Patricia Higgins, ‘Minority-State Relations in Contemporary Iran’, Iranian Studies, Vol. 17, No. 1 (Winter 1984), p. 47. Some chief researchers on Iran have even estimated the Persian population of Iran as comprising less than 50 per cent of the general population. For instance, Ervand Abrahamian has claimed that the Persians are only 45 per cent of the population of Iran (‘Communism and Communalism in Iran:

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2

3 4

5 6 7 8 9

the Tudah and the Firqah-i Dimukrat’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 1, No. 4 (1970), p. 292). See also S. Aliyev, ‘The Problem of Nationalities in Contemporary Iran’, English summary of the Russian text in The Central Asian Review, Vol. 16 (1966), p. 64. There is a wide range of opinions as to the breakdown of the percentages of the non-Persian population. Shahrzad Mojab and Amir Hassanpour claim in ‘The Politics of Nationality and Ethnic Diversity’ that the size of the ethnic groups in Iran is: Azerbaijanis (24 per cent), Kurds (9 per cent), Baluchis (3 per cent), Arabs (2.5 per cent), and Turkmen (1.5 per cent) (in Saeed Rahnema and Sorab Behdad (eds), Iran after the Revolution: Crises of an Islamic State (London: I.B.Tauris, 1996), pp. 229–30). There is considerable lack of consensus regarding the number of Azerbaijanis in Iran. Official Iranian sources tend to deflate the number of Azerbaijanis in order to project a clear Persian majority in Iran, whereas Azerbaijani political groups, especially in the Republic of Azerbaijan, tend to inflate the numbers in order to project the image of a large people and reinforce their claims for Azerbaijani rights in Iran. Most mainstream estimates on the number of ethnic minorities in Iran claim that the Persians account for approximately 50 per cent of the country’s population. Most conventional estimates on the Azerbaijani population range between one-fifth to one-third. Azerbaijani groups in Iran have published higher estimates of the number of Azerbaijanis living in Iran. Azerbaijan student groups in Iran claim that there are 27 million Azerbaijanis residing in Iran. The editor of Varliq, Javad Heyat, claims that one-third of Iran’s populace is Turkic. Taking into account the significant Azerbaijani population that lives outside the Azerbaijani provinces, especially in Tehran, as well as the tribal Turkic population, it seems that the Azerbaijanis comprise between one-third and one-fourth of the population of Iran, or approximately 20 million. This estimate is reinforced by the fact that most pre-Pahlavi surveys that related to the ethnic makeup of Iran estimated that the Turkic groups comprised at least one-third of Iran’s population. Güney Azärbaycan Milli Istiqlal Jäbhäsi (The South Azerbaijan National Front for Independence), 1995 (Azerbaijani, unpublished). Danishjuyan-e Azarbayjani Danishghahayi Teheran [Letter of the Azerbaijani Students Studying in Tehran Universities to the Azerbaijani Deputies of the Iranian Majles], June 1994. Article 15 of the Constitution states: ‘The official language and script of Iran, the lingua franca of its people, is Persian. Official documents, correspondence, and texts, as well as textbooks, must be in this language and script. However, the use of regional and tribal languages in the press and mass media, as well as for teaching of their literature in schools, is allowed in addition to Persian.’ Article 19 of the Constitution also refers to language rights: ‘All people of Iran, whatever the ethnic group or tribe to which they belong, enjoy equal rights; and colour, race, language, and the like, do not bestow any privilege.’ Letter to President Khatami of Iran, 5 May 1998, printed in Qurtulush, spring 1999 (Persian), p. 54, printed in English in Azerbaijan International (winter 1998). For instance, ‘Abed Alkarim Manzuri Khamena, Mukalemat-e Ruzmarah-e Turki-Farsi (Türkche-Farsche Me’amuli Danishiqlar) [Turkish–Persian Phrase Guide], Tehran, 1993. Letter of the Azerbaijani Students Studying in Tehran Universities to the Azerbaijani Deputies of the Iranian Majles. IRNA (in English), 26 February 1993. See, for instance, IRNA (in English), 22 February 1993.

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION 10 Jomhuri-ye Islami quoted by Keyhan (London, 24 December 1992), p. 1 (FBISNES-93-007). 11 Interview with Ambassador Nasib Nasibzade. 12 Tehran Times, 28 June 1994, and interview with Ambassador Nasibzade. 13 Despite the fact that the two countries signed an agreement in August 1992 permitting each of them to open a consulate, and in spite of its own opening of a consulate in Nakhchivan. 14 Heydar Aliyev, quoted in Khalg Gazeti, February 1999, as reported in BBC, Summary of World Broadcasts, 13 February 1999. 15 For Iranian viewpoints on the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict prior to the break-up of the Soviet Union, see IRNA (in English), 24 January 1990. 16 Iran has come to share an interest with Russia in protracting the strife, thus this factor has cemented Russian–Iranian cooperation in the Caucasus, additionally complicating conflict resolution here. 17 Tehran Times, 30 December 1991, p. 2. 18 Jomhuri-ye Islami, 4 March 1992, p. 4. 19 Va’ezi in Interfax (in English), 25 March 1992 (FBIS-SOV-92-059). See also Tehran Times, 10 March 1992, p. 2 for reference to the internal Azerbaijani and Armenian factor as affecting its suitability to mediate in the conflict. 20 IRNA (in English), 13 May 1992. 21 The Economic Cooperation Organisation (ECO) was re-established in 1985 (its predecessor organisation was the Regional Cooperation for Development, which was connected to CENTO, and had a very different mission from ECO). In 1992, at Iranian initiative, the ECO expanded membership to Afghanistan and the Muslim republics of the former Soviet Union. The focus of this group is promotion of economic cooperation. It has not succeeded in fostering substantial multilateral cooperation among the group’s members. Iran placed considerable emphasis on this forum and its activities as a vehicle to project in the international arena its lack of isolation. 22 For example, the communiqué issued at the end of the first ECO summit in Tehran (16–17 February 1992), does not even mention the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. In contrast, it makes a clear statement supporting the ‘restoration of the inalienable rights’ of the Palestinian people and respecting the rights of the people of Kashmir. See IRNA in English, 17 February 1992. 23 For an example of ascribing the blame to ‘foreign powers’ and the Popular Front of Azerbaijan leadership, see IRNA (in English), 19 August 1992. 24 Jomhuri-ye Islami, 2 March 1992, p. 2. 25 Interfax (in English), 15 April 1992. 26 Snark in (English), 29 January 1993 (FBIS-SOV-93-020). 27 Interfax (in English), 15 April 1992. 28 Interfax (in English), 7 May 1992. 29 Tehran Voice of the Islamic Republic of Iran First Programme Network, 10 March 1992 (FBIS-NES-92-107). 30 See, for instance, TASS, 28 February 1992 (FBIS-SOV-92-040). 31 Moscow Programma Radio Odin, 31 May 1992 (FBIS-SOV-92-105); Yerevan Armenia’s Radio First Programme, 20 May 1992 (FBIS-SOV-92-099). 32 ITAR-TASS, 1 May 1992 (FBIS-SOV-92-086). 33 Armenia’s First Programme Network, 22 April 1992 (FBIS-SOV-92-079). 34 See, for instance, Zerkalo (Baku), 15 August 1998, pp. 4–5. 35 Azerbaijan–Iranian Relations (Baku: FAR Centre for Economic and Political Research, May 1996), p. 8. 36 Komsomol’skaia Pravda, 20 May 1992, p. 1.

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IRAN’S INTERNAL AZERBAIJANI CHALLENGE 37 Türkiye, 28 May 1992, p. 13. 38 Voice of the Islamic Republic of Iran First Programme Network, 7 April 1993 (FBIS-NES-93-065). 39 Turan, 22 April 1993 (FBIS-SOV-93-077). 40 See, for instance, Yerevan Armenia’s Radio First Programme Network, 23 December 1993 (FBIS-SOV-93-246) on contacts on the agreement for construction of a gas pipeline between Iran and Armenia. On coal deliveries from Iran to Armenia, see ITAR-TASS, 23 October 1993 (FBIS-SOV-93-204). 41 Jomhuri-ye Islami reflects the views of the hard-line Islamic adherents in Iran. 42 Jomhuri-ye Islami, 23 August 1993, p. 2. 43 Armenpres International Service, 8 September 1993 (FBIS-SOV-93-173). 44 For instance, IRNA (in English), 12 April 1993. 45 Azerbayjan, No. 44 (1313), 5 March 1995, p. 2. 46 Resalat, 31 January 1990, p. 10. As part of Moscow’s attempts to crack down on rebellious republics toward the end of the Soviet period, a large amount of troops were deployed in Baku in January 1990. During the introduction of the troops, 134 residents of Azerbaijan were killed, most of them bystanders to the events. This massacre by Soviet troops became knows as ‘Black January’ and was a watershed in the Azerbaijani drive for independence from the Soviet Union. 47 Resalat, 19 April 1993, p. 5. 48 IRNA (in English), 13 April 1993. 49 Resalat, 14 April 1993, p. 5. 50 Resalat, 7 April 1993, p. 3. 51 Meshkinshahr is part of Ardabil Province. It is inhabited overwhelmingly by Azerbaijanis. 52 Resalat, 19 April 1993, p. 5. 53 Resalat, 19 May 1993 p. 5. The Gulistan (1813) and the Turkmenchay (1828) Treaties were signed between Imperial Russia and Iran. They each redelineated the borders between the two empires as part of the terms of ending each of the successive wars between them. Under the Gulistan Treaty, Iran lost most of Azerbaijan to Russia. In the Treaty of Turkmenchay it lost the rest of the Caucasus, including Armenia and all of Azerbaijan north of the Araz River. 54 Salam, quoted by Reuters, 25 May 1992. 55 Since Iranian President Khatami’s election in 1997, Salam has emerged as the prominent mouthpiece of the reformers. The newspaper has been banned since July 1999, due to this activity. 56 Salam, as quoted by Agence France Presse, 25 May 1992. 57 IRNA, 13 April 1993. 58 Subsequently the Iranian ambassador in Yerevan was summoned by the Armenian Foreign Minister to present an explanation of the incident – Armenia’s Radio First Programme, 14 April 1993 (FBIS-SOV-93-071). 59 Varliq is a bilingual Azerbaijani-Persian publication produced in Tehran. It began publication in 1979 and it is the only publication of Azerbaijani in Iran that has been allowed to continue operation since this period. 60 Javad Heyat, Varliq (April–June 1994), pp. 25–30. 61 ‘Khujali’, ibid., pp. 31–3; ‘Shahidlar’, ibid., pp. 135–6. 62 See, for instance, IRNA (in English), 31 August 1993. 63 Tehran Voice of the Islamic Republic of Iran First Programme Network in Persian, 11 June 1992 (FBIS-NES-92-114), and IRNA (in English), 22 April 1993. 64 IRNA (in English), 7 September 1993. 65 Yerevan Armenia’s Radio International Service in Armenian, 25 April 1992 (FBIS-SOV-92-081). In Iran, there are approximately 200,000 Armenians.

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION 66 Interfax (in English), 7 May 1992. See also note 21 above. 67 Letter to President Khatami of Iran, 5 May 1998, p. 54. 68 In the Azerbaijani provinces of Iran there are approximately five to six thousand Armenians, concentrated mostly in Tabriz, Salmas, Urmiya and the surrounding villages. 69 See, for instance, Ayatollah Ahmad Jannati, Tehran Voice of the Islamic Republic of Iran Provincial Network in Persian, 17 November 1995 (FBIS-NES-95-223). 70 Samuel Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations: Remaking of World Order (New York: Touchstone, 1996), p. 278. Moreover, Tehran has promoted trilateral and multi-lateral regional cooperation and coalition-building together with Armenia, predominately with other Christian-populated countries such as Greece and excluding Baku. 71 Monitor, 8 February 1999. 72 For instance, in April 1979 violence erupted between Kurds and Azerbaijanis in the area of Naqadeh in West Azerbaijan province, evidently over land allocation.

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PART III BIRDS OF A FEATHER? CENTRAL ASIAN REGIONAL CONCERNS

7

Negotiating the Waters: TransBoundary Resource Management in the Aral Sea Basin Elisa A. Chait

Since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the five successor states in Central Asia – Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyz Republic, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan – have been in negotiation over the use and development of the trans-boundary waters in the Aral Sea basin. This chapter focuses principally on the international level of water politics in Central Asia and examines the course that management discussions have taken and the effectiveness of results in establishing regional institutions and cooperative practices over the nine-year period since independence. INTRODUCTION

Covering an area of approximately 1.8 million sq km, the Aral Sea basin lies in the heart of Eurasia. Over 80 per cent of it is within the territory of the five Central Asian republics.1 Approximately 12 per cent of the basin is in northern Afghanistan and a small portion in north-eastern Iran.2 The Aral Sea, a terminal saline lake bordered by the Karakum and Kyzylkum deserts, and the region’s two principal rivers – the Amudarya and the Syrdarya – constitute the basin proper. Rising in the Pamir mountain range, the Amudarya is formed by the confluence of the Pyanj and the Vakhsh rivers in Tajikistan and Afghanistan. Flowing westward, the Amudarya forms part of the border between Uzbekistan and Afghanistan and continues through to the desert region in eastern Turkmenistan. It turns to the northwest and enters Karakalpakstan, onto its final destination of the Aral Sea and its southern shores. 143

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The Tien Shan Mountains in Kyrgyzstan provide most of the water to the Syrdarya through its main tributaries, the Naryn River and the Karadarya. After the merging of these two rivers, the Syrdarya travels westward through the Ferghana Valley in Uzbekistan, crosses into northern Tajikistan and then returns to Uzbekistan in its mid-reach where it flows in a north-westerly direction across southern Kazakhstan to the northern part of the Aral Sea.3 Though the Syrdarya is the longer of the two, it carries approximately half the capacity of the Amudarya which has an annual water flow of 70–80 cb km.4 An important consideration for the Aral Sea basin’s economic geography and demography is that only by diverting most of the surface waters of the Amudarya and the Syrdarya is enough water available for use in the agricultural, industrial and domestic sectors in the Central Asian countries. Irrigated agriculture is the principal consumer of these surface water withdrawals with 90 per cent of the annual flow of the Amudarya and the Syrdarya used to irrigate about three-quarters of Central Asian agriculture. Of the 8 million hectares of irrigated lands in the basin over half are located in Uzbekistan. Turkmenistan possesses just less than a quarter and the other three Central Asian countries combined hold the remaining portion of the irrigated hectares.5 Agriculture dominates the economic activity of the basin where the majority of the population is rural. Over 38 million people live in the basin area and the number is projected to increase to 59 million by 2010.6 The highest population densities occur in the irrigated areas where the average is 45 inhabitants/sq km but may go as high as 400 and 450 people/sq km (Khorezm and the Ferghana Valley respectively).7 Similar to other regions with international basins such as the Jordan basin in the Middle East or the Plata basin in South America, Central Asia contends with the colonial legacy of political demarcations which paid insufficient attention to the basin’s physical geography. When Soviet officials constructed the Central Asian republics in the mid1920s their overriding concern was to create ‘nationality categories’ that would contribute to consolidation of the Soviet state, rapid modernisation and socialism.8 They used ethnographic, economic and administrative criteria with varying degrees of emphasis in making national-territorial units.9 In such discussions, water and land issues were linked, but more often than not subordinated to these political and economic priorities. The by-product was a political division of the Aral Sea basin among five territories that did not match the physical geography of the rivers. The subsequent construction of the reservoir, dam, and canal network along the Amudarya and the Syrdarya in the 1950s to 1980s for multipurpose use, such as irrigation, hydropower and flood control, reinforced the interdependency of the republics.10 144

Map 5: The Sea of Aral Water Basin

International border Basin boundary River Irrigation canal Sea/lake (1990 level) Sea of Aral (1960 level)

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No republic was self-contained in terms of water resource need. Some water facilities straddled nominal republic borders (e.g. the Andijan Reservoir between Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan) and others were built in one republic with principal benefits to another (e.g. the Toktogul Reservoir in Kyrgyzstan for Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan). In essence, the Soviet delimitation of borders, the construction of the hydrotechnical infrastructure along the rivers, and the economic specialisation of the republics’ economies towards a cotton monoculture served to politicise the water issue in Central Asia along national lines; to cause the Aral Sea crisis; and finally to create the water quantity and water quality problems with which the new states of the region now must contend. What was a centrally planned water management scheme designed to operate within a single national economy became, after the collapse of the USSR, a water regime under the jurisdiction of five sovereign states each with their own national interests and development priorities. The water problems in Central Asia are directly related and indeed caused by the management of water resources by past and present governments whose policies and agreements support the primacy of irrigated agriculture and maximum water utilisation in the Aral Sea basin. The problems, defined here as the Aral Sea crisis, of water quantity (including supply, distribution, allocation and inefficiency) and water quality, interrelate and affect differently each riparian state. THE ARAL SEA CRISIS

The Aral Sea crisis refers to a multitude of problems afflicting the basin – environmental degradation, deterioration of the health of the population, socio-economic collapse in the region, and desiccation of the sea itself. Over the past forty years, the Aral Sea has declined drastically in area, volume and level due to substantial upstream withdrawals from the Amudarya and the Syrdarya for agricultural consumption.11 The environmental disaster caused by Soviet expansion of the irrigated area, primarily for cotton growing, has had a staggering impact on the land and people of Central Asia. The natural ecosystem of the sea has been destroyed. Lack of crop rotation has degraded the soil. Over irrigation and poor drainage has increased river, sea and soil salinity. Pesticides and fertilisers have contaminated the water supply. Desertification of the rivers’ deltas and the exposed area of the former seabed have contributed to air pollution as salt-laden dust storms carry sand and contaminants far and wide. Moreover, the climate of Central Asia itself has been affected with hotter and shorter summers 146

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and longer and colder winters. Devastating health effects, such as high infant mortality, increased incidence of throat cancer, decreased life expectancy and anaemia are but a few of the staggering problems produced by the cotton monoculture in the region. Inhabitants living around the Aral Sea in southern Kazakhstan (Aralsk and Kazalinsk), western Uzbekistan (Karakalpakstan and Khorezm) and northeastern Turkmenistan (Dashauz) suffer the brunt of ill health and economic decline. The fishing communities around the sea have lost their original means of livelihood as industries on the sea’s shores have closed with the ebbing away of fish stock by the early 1980s.12 WATER QUANTITY

Supply and Distribution On average, the annual amount of water available for use in the Aral Sea basin is approximately 117cb km.13 But this supply is unevenly distributed across the Central Asian region, and is severely affected by consumptive use whereby the water withdrawn does not return to the river system. The upstream mountainous countries of Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan generate the majority of the basin waters though the downstream states possess the greater basin area and use significantly more of the resource.14 The downstream countries depend heavily on these external sources of water, as there are only limited indigenous water supplies in the lower reaches of the Amudarya and Syrdarya river basins.15 Closely connected with supply and distribution issues is the fact that water use has changed drastically over the past half-century. Increased cotton production and demographic pressure has altered demand on a supply that not so long ago was sufficient.16 Before the expansion of agricultural lands and robust population growth in the latter half of the twentieth century, water supply in Central Asia met adequately the demands placed on it. Economic production and human consumption used just over half of the total flows of the Amudarya and the Syrdarya while the rest travelled into the Aral Sea. But as a direct result of increased irrigation of lands and the cultivation of highly water consumptive crops, such as cotton and rice, the amount of water available to replenish the Aral Sea was severely reduced. By the 1990s, despite high water flow years in the first part of the decade, the Aral Sea received less than 13 per cent of the rivers’ flow (between 11 and 15cb km/year) each year.17 Today, the debate continues in Central Asia as to how to improve conditions in and around the Aral Sea.18 147

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This inverse portion of where water is formed and where water is consumed – due to irrigated land needs, population pressures, and lack of indigenous water resources – is further complicated by the variability of water flows in the basin’s rivers from year to year and from season to season. These uncertainties of nature make the substantial network of reservoirs, dams and canals along the main watercourses crucial in resource management.19 Allocation At present, the Central Asian states are running the hydro-infrastructure based on water allocations set during the Soviet period that gave priority to irrigated agriculture requirements. The problem is that the justifications on which the allocations were first made have changed significantly. No longer part of a unitary political-economic system, the independent states do not have guaranteed inter-republic transfers of water and energy resources nor all-union funds to complete the construction of upstream infrastructure that would have provided greater hydropower capabilities without hindering irrigation needs. As a result of these new realities, the water use demands of the upstream countries are now in competition with the water use demands of the downstream states. Today, both the timing and the amount of water releases from the storage facilities are critical issues for interstate negotiation. Inefficiency Compounding the supply, distribution, and allocation problems in the Aral Sea basin is the fact that much water is lost through gross inefficiency in the network and irrational use of the resources. Throughout the region, between 35 and 50 per cent of the water used in irrigation does not reach the intended crops. (In efficient systems, the figure is between 10 and 15 per cent.)20 Deterioration of canal infrastructure, unlined channels, uneven field levels, ineffective water pricing policies, and confusion surrounding maintenance responsibility of secondary and tertiary canals are a few of the contributing factors to the inefficiency of the entire water network. Since there is little pressure, incentive or funds coming from the national governments that would enable changes or encourage conservation at the local farm level, much water continues to be lost from the system.

148

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Poor quality in the Aral Sea basin’s ground and surface waters harms the population in all five Central Asian states. Intensive use of pesticides and fertilisers on the land, untreated irrigation water high in salt and agricultural chemicals re-entering the system, and industrial waste dumped directly into the rivers all serve to pollute drinking waters. The people in the geographically (and politically) remote areas of Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan suffer the greatest effects of these contaminated waters.21 Compounding the water quality problems in the region is the lack of working treatment facilities due in part to inadequate funds and the governments’ priorities placed elsewhere. In sum, though water has been a limited resource in this region for many centuries, the ‘water crisis’ came to Central Asia during the last half of the twentieth century. The crisis is man-made, full of socioeconomic, environmental and political complexities that took less than forty years to create. There is not enough water in the system to maintain irrigated agriculture (leaving aside expansion of irrigated lands), to generate hydroelectric power, to develop industry, to revitalise the Aral Sea region, and to sustain the increasing number of people with quality water without substantial changes in how interstate water is used in the basin. The task before the Central Asian states is to manage themselves out of this water crisis and down a more sustainable path of water resource development in the interest of regional stability and of benefit to the population, land and environment. MANAGEMENT OF TRANS-BOUNDARY WATER RESOURCES: AGREEMENTS AND INSTITUTIONS

‘Political boundaries present real obstacles to efficient use and are more difficult to overcome than physical ones.’22 The present situation in the Aral Sea basin accurately reflects this statement. Politically independent, but made interdependent because of the basin’s physical geography and the hydro-facilities along the rivers, the Central Asian states are in the process of negotiating the shared water supply in the Aral Sea basin. From the outset of state independence, the Central Asian leaders have recognised the integrated nature of their water system and the necessity for cooperation over the shared natural resource. They consider water a strategic resource vital to domestic security, and thus the failure to manage the limited supply in a way acceptable to all states 149

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is a threat to regional stability.23 But this recognition has not guaranteed a smooth or direct path to a comprehensive, multilateral water agreement and its implementation. In a sense, the pursuit of a regional water management arrangement follows the general political climate in Central Asia where regional cooperation is frequently touted in rhetoric, but in reality is hindered by measures that protect national positions.24 With regard to the water crisis, each country has sought to redefine the region’s water problems and to support solutions based on its own perceived needs, rights and sufferings.25 This revision is a dynamic process, changing as states configure national development strategies and calculate to what extent water will feature in this development. Also, the international donor community involved in discussions on Aral Sea basin water management has helped shape problem definition and priorities in the region. Efforts to manage trans-boundary water resources can be loosely grouped into three periods. 1991–1994: Status Quo in Resource Allocation and Creation of Regional Water Management Institutions Following their declarations of independence, the Central Asian states moved quickly to replace Moscow’s central authority on water management as it was key to the political and economic stability in the region. In October 1991, the Central Asian water ministers met in Tashkent and issued a statement that recognised the interdependence of the Aral Sea basin states and their common interest in their limited waters.26 State plans of the Soviet era remained in effect with their emphasis on maximum use of the waters for irrigation.27 In February 1992, the five nascent states of Central Asia signed an agreement of cooperation in the use, management and protection of interstate resources.28 The states accepted the ‘community and unity’ of water resources in the region and their equal right to the use of these waters and to the responsibilities in caring for these resources (Article 1). They agreed not to undertake action within their internal borders that would adversely affect the interests of other riparians, in terms of water quantity or quality (Article 3). Among other cooperative commitments, they acknowledged the necessity for joint action to improve the Aral Sea situation and the need for an exchange of information between states (Articles 4–5). In recognition of the new international status of the trans-boundary waters, the Central Asian states began to construct institutions for regional water management. The 1992 Agreement created the Interstate Commission for Water Coordination (ICWC). This commission sets (and if needed revises) annual water withdrawal allocations for each country based on river flow estimates and the scheduling 150

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of reservoir operations (Articles 7–8). Its members (the heads of state water ministries or committees) gather several times a year to discuss issues affecting regional water management policy and to make judgements in this regard. Its decisions must be unanimous and are legally binding for all the Central Asian states.29 If an interstate water management dispute arises, then it is the responsibility of the ICWC to settle the claim or to involve a neutral third party. Further dispute resolution procedures are not detailed. The river basin commissions, or BVOs (from the Russian acronym basseinovye vodokhoziaistvennye ob’edineniia), carry out the ICWC’s decisions.30 Inherited from the Soviet Union, the BVO-Amudarya and the BVO-Syrdarya have the tasks of managing and monitoring major river and canal withdrawals.31 Further statutes signed in 1992 set up regulations for the ICWC and the BVOs. A Secretariat in Tajikistan and a Scientific Information Centre (SIC) in Uzbekistan also support the ICWC and its basin-wide management efforts. Since 1992, the ICWC’s annual allocations of interstate waters have upheld more or less the Soviet patterns and principles for resource distribution. Reflecting irrigation priorities, the downstream states continue to receive the majority of withdrawals from the two principal rivers. In 1992, both Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan were allocated 43 per cent of the total water withdrawals from the Amudarya basin. From the Syrdarya basin, Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan were given 52 per cent and 38 per cent respectively. The upstream countries of Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan were allotted comparatively small percentages from both river basins.32 In recent years, however, there has been an effort, at least on paper, to factor the Aral Sea into the allocation equation; where the sea as the ‘sixth state’ is guaranteed a percentage of the rivers’ flow. (In 1996, the ICWC allocated approximately 16 per cent of the total withdrawals from the Aral basin to the sea and its deltas.)33 As there are few means to monitor inflow to the Aral, it is difficult to measure the actual amount that reaches the sea itself. Following on from the water allocation issue and the 1992 Agreement, the Central Asian states signed an interstate accord in March 1993 that addressed the Aral Sea crisis.34 The states agreed to work towards a more rational use of limited land and water resources, towards water quality initiatives, towards the preservation of part of the Aral Sea by ensuring a certain level of water inflow, and towards the creation of interstate regulations and laws for water utilisation. This 1993 Agreement and its statutes contributed to further establishment of regional institutions. At this time the emphasis was to form administrative structures that would support regional efforts to address the Aral Sea crisis, including crucial aid and assistance from 151

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international donors. The 1993 Agreement created the Interstate Council for the Aral Sea (ICAS), the Executive Committee (EC) of ICAS, a Secretariat for ICAS, and an International Fund for the Aral Sea (IFAS). ICAS was to be the ‘principal regional organisation responsible for formulating policies and preparing and implementing programmes for addressing the crisis’.35 As it would be difficult for its 25 person membership (equal representation from each state) to meet regularly, ICAS had a permanent EC in Tashkent to carry out its decisions, to develop programmes, to implement approved projects, and to coordinate with international agencies. At this time, the ICWC was brought under ICAS. Another institution, IFAS, based in Almaty, Kazakhstan, was given the remit to collect and coordinate contributions from its member states and the international donor community in order to provide funds to ICAS projects. A subsequent 1994 statute set up the Sustainable Development Commission (SDC) in Ashkhabad.36 It too was placed under ICAS and was to provide this main body with proposals for environmental protection and socioeconomic development for the Aral Sea basin. Accompanying the establishment of regional water management institutions in 1992–94, a general strategy to address the problems of the Aral Sea basin was formulated by the Central Asian states, the World Bank (WB), the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) and other international agencies.37 In January 1994, the Central Asian leaders approved the Aral Sea Basin Programme (ASBP). The states agreed to prepare a broad plan of water distribution, rational utilisation, and the protection of the water resources in the Aral Sea basin. Moreover, they agreed to draft interstate laws and normative acts to ensure implementation of the plans. Water quality issues, such as pollution control and water treatment, were given consideration in the strategy to an extent that previously had been afforded only to water quantity issues. In June 1994, the ASBP was presented to the international donor and NGO community for support.38 In short, it was an ambitious large-scale, three-phase, nineteen-project programme scheduled through 2015. In 1996, the implementation costs for the ASBP were estimated at US$ 470 million.39 1995–1998: Evolution of Regional Water Management Institutions and Policies Whereas the first period had been one of grand plans for cooperative basin-wide water management and for solutions to the Aral Sea crisis, the second period assessed progress towards these goals and the functioning of the newly established regional institutions. Of important consideration at this time was the fact that the independent states of Central Asia were constructing their own indig152

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enous water management institutions and policies alongside those of the regional (interstate) management. These domestic structures and strategies affected the capacity of the new regional institutions to regulate interstate water use and to implement the ASBP, in part because the institutional capabilities within each country influenced what could be done at the national and provincial levels. In some cases, these national strategies complemented what was being encouraged at the regional water management level, while other plans were incompatible and presented challenges (e.g. further expansion of irrigated lands; increased hydropower production).40 During this period, both the Central Asian states and the international organisations that supported the Aral Sea basin projects became increasingly aware of the slow pace of programme implementation. (The first phase of the ASPB ran a year and a half behind schedule.) Moreover, the local governments and people in the immediate vicinity of the Aral Sea grew weary of waiting for promised aid and water quality and quantity improvements. There was little action on the ground to match the words of help that had been offered to them. In July 1996, the WB sponsored a review of the ASBP and its regional management structure. The results were clear. The capability and capacity of the regional institutions had to be strengthened if the objectives of the ASBP were to be accomplished in a more timely and fiscally responsible way. Firstly, the Central Asian states needed to support these institutions both politically and financially to a degree that showed stronger backing to regional goals.41 Secondly, the institutions (e.g. IFAS, ICAS, ICWC, SDC) needed their roles clarified to avoid duplication of effort and confusion of programme mandates both within and between these management bodies. Thirdly, a ‘clearer priority setting between national and regional tasks’ needed to be set with a greater ‘focus on quickly implementable activities’.42 The time between conducting feasibility studies and undertaking projects had to be reduced so that the population of the Aral Sea basin could benefit more quickly from donor assistance. In addition, the international agencies including the World Bank were to scale back on their technical assistance by foreign consultants allowing the regional institutions and personnel to come to the fore in project design. At this time it was more than just problems of institutional structure that contributed to the difficulties in implementing the Aral Sea projects. The working relationship between the international agencies and the regional management institutions affected progress towards stated goals. Sharing information proved to be a sticking point, despite cooperative declarations in support of such exchange. Often, one organisation would withhold or treat as suspicious the reports 153

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and figures of another organisation. The existence of separate databases concerning the Aral Sea led to duplication of effort and differences in findings. Also strong personalities in national institutes tended to dominate in and over the newly established regional water management institutions, as well as in national ministries concerned with water management. In certain instances, this domination hindered alternative viewpoints from being expressed at the state and international level. It was felt by some that the ‘uniqueness’ of the region made the water situation best understood by established Central Asian experts and institutes, and that the international agencies could best serve the situation by providing funds, rather than expertise. Often in an effort to secure greater support, the international agencies were played off against one another.43 Complicating the relations between regional institutions and international agencies was the relationship among the international agencies themselves. These organisations – the WB, the United Nations, the United States (USAID: Agency for International Development) and the European Union (TACIS: Technical Assistance to the Commonwealth of Independent States) – had different approaches and emphases in addressing the problems of trans-national water management and the Aral Sea crisis. Their varied institutional agendas increased the complexity of regional water management structures and contributed to a degree of rivalry and competition between the international agencies themselves.44 In a sense, the creation and functioning of regional water management institutions had come to overshadow the problems they had been set up to address. The emphasis on finding a ‘complete solution’ to the Aral Sea crisis, while each state altered little in their existing national water management strategies, had cost much time and money and led to increased frustration at all levels involved in water management in the Aral Sea basin. At a meeting in Almaty, in February 1997, the Central Asian leaders renewed their pledge for joint action on the ecological crisis of the Aral Sea basin and cooperation in management of trans-boundary rivers. They decided to make changes to the ASBP and to streamline the regional water management structure. ICAS and IFAS were merged. EC-IFAS became the principal body for the ASBP. Now it has the responsibilities for financing, facilitating programme formulation and implementation, and coordinating relations between the Central Asian states and the donor community. The ICWC, its SIC, and the BVOs are to provide IFAS with information on which to base decisions on water management, while the SDC is to serve that role for environmental issues. The institutional restructuring in the spring of 1997 attempted to get the ASBP back on track and to prioritise action on key projects. 154

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The second phase of the ASBP, called the Water and Environmental Management Project, began in mid-1998. It is scheduled to run for four and a half years at a total cost of approximately US$22 million. Its primary objectives are to stabilise the environment by addressing ‘the root causes of the overuse and degradation of the international waters’; and to improve the management of these interstate waters.45 An action strategy with a coordinated policy for water and salt management in the Central Asian states is to be prepared. The projects focus on greater public awareness of water conservation and costs of water use; on enhanced trans-boundary water monitoring; on improved water facility management and investment; on restoration of wetlands near the delta of the Amudarya; and on continued support for project management and capacity building efforts. It remains to be seen whether the second phase of ASPB is affected to the same degree as in the first phase by implementation and enforcement problems, project overlaps, competition between institutions, and strained relations with international donor agencies. In addition to the ASBP, the Central Asian states were participating in other regional resource initiatives during this second period. These talks had a specific water-energy focus because by the mid-1990s, market forces and privatisation activities were straining the integrated nature of the gas, electricity and water supply network in the region, and creating economic competition among the states to a degree that they had not before experienced. In particular the problem of dual-use operation (hydropower/irrigation) of the Toktogul Reservoir, the facility with the greatest storage capacity in the Syrdarya basin, arose as a contentious issue from 1995 onward. Kyrgyzstan’s development interests for hydropower generation had begun to clash with the irrigation needs of downstream Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan.46 It was a question of finding a proper operating regime that regulated the timing and amount of water releases, coupled with guaranteed energy exchanges between the states.47 To this end Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan turned their attention to the upstream management in the Syrdarya basin, while still supporting regional water management institutions and agreements that considered the Aral Sea basin in its entirety. Figuring it was in their best interest to work out specific water use for the Syrdarya, these states met several times to discuss resource utilisation in the Syrdarya basin and signed a few non-binding protocols of intention – to cooperate and to improve interstate deliveries of water and energy – during this period. Finally in March 1998, the governments of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan reached an agreement on water and energy resources of the Syrdarya basin.48 It was a culmination of years of effort by the Interstate Council for Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan 155

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(ICKKU) with assistance by the Environmental Policy and Technology Project of USAID.49 More economic in character than preceding regional accords, this agreement considered water and energy needs together and set up a framework for regulation and joint operation of the reservoirs on the upper Syrdarya, referred to as the Naryn-Syrdarya Cascade. It addressed key issues for new interstate relations and realities, such as use of water for hydropower generation as well as for irrigation (Preamble); the compensation for energy losses (Article IV); a waiver of custom duties on energy deliveries (Article V); shared costs of operation and maintenance of the hydro-technical infrastructure (Article VII); and a schedule for water releases and energy exchanges to be administered by a new regional institution, the International Water and Energy Consortium (Article VIII). As in previous agreements, the dispute resolution mechanism was not clearly defined nor was a means for implementation or enforcement established. The states accepted the water and energy agreement as a framework for cooperation, but the details were left for a later date. This strategy appears to have met with little success as disputes over deliveries and payments for gas, coal, electricity and water supply between the ICKKU member states continued unabated in the winter of 1998–99 and beyond.50 1999 – Shift to Bilateral Negotiations During this third period of resource negotiations, the Central Asian states continue to profess support for regional management of trans-national waters. Since the adoption of the ASBP in 1994, the Central Asian leaders have met at least once a year to express approval and support for the projects.51 Seen in a positive light, this regular forum for discussion may contribute to conflict prevention and/or resolution as it provides a means of airing grievances. Taken another way, the repeated declarations that acknowledge the problems of water sharing and the Aral Sea crisis give the appearance that much is happening to improve the situation, when in reality the states have not changed their water utilisation patterns significantly or altered their national funding priorities.52 This contradiction between what is said at the international level and what is done at the national level has contributed to a lost sense of urgency in dealing with the Aral Sea crisis, though the scope of human and environmental problems in the basin continue to worsen. Regional water management institutions with assistance from the international donor community still press ahead with attempts at implementing the ASBP and with drafting a trans-national water use agreement based on international legal principles (e.g. right to equitable and reasonable resource utilisation; obligation not to cause appreciable harm to other riparian states). But the political will of the Central Asian 156

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leaders to negotiate multilateral accords over resource management seems to have swung in favour of bilateral arrangements at the present time. Diverging development priorities and heightened security concerns in the region have contributed to an atmosphere where states are finding it easier to pursue their national interests by bilateral means rather than by multi-state agreements and institutions. To a considerable extent, the problems of the Aral Sea basin and trans-boundary resource management have been overtaken by the threat of terrorism by ‘religious extremists’ in the region. Particularly after the Tashkent bombings in February 1999 and the Batken hostage crisis in southern Kyrgyzstan in the autumn of 1999, the Central Asian leaders have perceived this issue to be more immediate and destabilising than discord over limited water resources. Unilateral state actions, such as construction of border posts and the restrictions placed on cross border transit, to protect against infiltration by ‘Islamic fundamentalists’ have brought to the fore issues of boundary delimitation and demarcation. Since 1999 the Central Asian countries have been in serious negotiation over the specifics of their shared borders. These attempts at frontier resolution have fostered bilateral discussions on land and water use in cases where farms and/or hydro-facilities cross international borders or are situated wholly in one country with benefit to another. For example, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan are demarcating their borders in the Ferghana Valley through lands that were leased or exchanged across republic boundaries during the Soviet era, and are discussing utilisation regimes for shared reservoirs in this territory, such as the Andijan Reservoir.53 In short, the Central Asian states are using bilateral negotiations and agreements as a means to address water use and management issues that specifically affect their particular territories.54 It is too early to tell whether these bilateral arrangements will be more effective at trans-boundary resource management than multilateral ones. CONCLUSION

Since 1991, the Central Asian states have recognised the need for cooperation over trans-boundary resources and action on the problems of the Aral Sea crisis. For the better part of this nine-year period, they have focused on creating regional management institutions, but have not, as yet, relinquished the necessary degree of sovereignty over their resources to ensure that these administrative bodies have effective jurisdiction over trans-national water utilisation to implement and enforce policies. In essence, there has not been enough political will in the upper echelons of power in Central Asia to follow through on the 157

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intentions of the agreements. There are powerful constraints acting against implementation of a regional resource regime which would be based on optimum water utilisation, rather than its maximum use.55 In Central Asia where an already overtaxed water system must provide for a rapidly increasing population, a tremendous need exists to have trans-boundary water management structures in place and imbued with legitimacy and authority to resolve resource issues and disputes should they occur. If resource conflict were to happen before there is an effective system in place for regional management and resolution, not only might the Central Asian states find it more difficult to build upon their ‘brotherly’ relations to reach cooperation over the resource, but, importantly for stability concerns, conflict over water may become more entangled in emotive issues such as ethnicity. A well-established and effective management system for water resources in the Aral Sea basin with emphasis on efficient use and pragmatic development would make the individual states stronger and the region as a whole more stable. It remains to be seen whether the leaders in the Aral Sea basin states will carry through on their expressed intention to cooperate by empowering regional water management institutions with adequate financial support and acceptance of their jurisdiction over trans-national resources. NOTES 1 Sergei Vinogradov, ‘Transboundary Water Resources in the Former Soviet Union: Between Conflict and Cooperation’, Natural Resources Journal, No. 36 (spring 1996), p. 399. 2 Afghanistan has not been involved in recent interstate negotiations on water use for the Aral Sea basin. Though there are significant reasons for Afghanistan’s absence over the past several years, its lack of involvement leaves unanswered questions in regional water management discussions. Will Afghanistan accept the new regional management institutions formed in its absence? How much water does Afghanistan need or perceive as its need to rebuild its agriculture, industry, and domestic infrastructure? Does it have the state capacity to implement new water management arrangements? These unknowns present substantial midterm concerns for the Central Asian states. Given Afghanistan’s upstream position in the Amudarya basin – its tributaries contribute 8 per cent of the flow to the Amudarya – any unilateral development of waters presents a potential destabilising factor in the region. Off-take of the waters upstream will affect the populations, economies and the environment of the downstream states that at present rely so heavily on the current distribution of the waters. 3 The Aral Sea depends upon the inflow of the Amudarya and the Syrdarya to keep its water balance because there are low precipitation and high evaporation rates in this lowland desert region. In 1987 the Aral Sea split into two parts due to decades of reduced flows of these main rivers. At present, the Amudarya flows

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4

5

6

7

8

9 10

11

12

13 14

into the southern portion of the Sea, known as the Large Aral, and the Syrdarya replenishes the northern part, known as the Small Aral. The estimated length of the Syrdarya is 3,020 km, and 2,540 km for the Amudarya – Peter H. Gleick (ed.), Water in Crisis: A Guide to the World’s Fresh Water Resources (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 151; Vadim I. Sokolov, ‘Integrated Water Resources Management in the Republic of Uzbekistan’, Water International, Vol. 24, No. 2 (June 1999), pp. 104–15. Although irrigated agriculture existed in the Aral Sea basin for thousands of years, it was first the Tsarist government and then the Soviets who greatly expanded irrigation and cotton cultivation in the region. The amount of irrigated land in the Aral Sea basin went from 4.5 million hectares in 1960 to 8 million hectares in 1996 (1 hectare = 2.471 acres; 1 hectare = 0.01sq km). The figure of 38 million is an estimate for 1995. The projection of 59 million for 2010 is given in project documents of the International Fund for the Aral Sea based on information available in 1997. J. Kindler, V. A. Dukhovny, V. A. Antonov and V. I. Sokolov, Main Provisions of Regional Water Strategy for the Aral Sea Basin – Executive Summary (Almaty: International Fund for Aral Sea, 1997), p. 3. For points of reference, the average population density in the basin is 17 inhabitants/sq km – World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme (Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan): Water and Environmental Management Project, Washington, DC, May 1998, p. 1; Nancy Lubin and Barnett R. Rubin, Calming the Ferghana Valley: Development and Dialogue in the Heart of Central Asia (New York: Century Foundation Press, 1999), p. 60. For an intriguing discussion on the national-territorial delimitation of Central Asia in the 1920s that challenges the traditional ‘divide and rule’ argument, see Francine Hirsch, ‘Toward an Empire of Nations: Border-Making and the Formation of Soviet National Identities’, The Russian Review, No. 59 (April 2000), p. 201–26. Ibid., p. 211. Kyrgyzstan holds 58 per cent of the total storage capacity of the Syrdarya while Tajikistan holds 9 per cent of the Syrdarya and 58 per cent of the storage capacity of the Amudarya. Sarah L. O’Hara, ‘Water and Conflict in Central Asia’, Contemporary Political Studies, No. 1 (1998), p. 177. In 1960, the surface area of the Aral Sea was approximately 66,000 sq km, making it the fourth largest inland body of water in the world. Only the Caspian Sea, Lake Superior and Lake Victoria measured greater. By the 1990s, the area had decreased by 50 per cent and the volume by 75 per cent. The salinity in the sea had more than tripled during this time. World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme, pp. 3–6; Vinogradov, ‘Transboundary Water Resources’, p. 400. For further detail on many aspects of the Aral Sea crisis, see I. Kobori and M. H. Glantz (eds), Central Eurasian Water Crisis: Caspian, Aral and Dead Seas (Tokyo: United Nations University Press, 1998); Robert C. Anderson, ‘Environmental Damage Assessment of the Aral Sea Disaster’, issue paper prepared for Central Asian Mission, U.S. Agency for International Development, No. 1 (January 1997); Patricia M. Carley, ‘The Price of the Plan: Perceptions of Cotton and Health in Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan’, Central Asian Survey, Vol. 8, No. 4 (1989), pp. 1–37. Gregory Gleason, The Central Asian States: Discovering Independence (Boulder: Westview Press, 1997), p. 161. Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan constitute just 13 per cent of the basin area but generate approximately 80 per cent of the river flow. Uzbekistan has approximately

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double that percentage of basin area, though it contributes just 8 per cent of the flow and uses just over half of the total water available in the basin. D. C. McKinney and S. Akhmansoy, ‘What are the Competing Water Needs and Uses in the Aral Region?’, paper given at Social Science Research Council Aral Sea Basin Workshop, Tashkent, May 1998. More than 90 per cent of the surface water on which Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan depend originates outside their boundaries. Sandra Postel, Pillar of Sand (New York: W.W.Norton, 1999), p. 136. In approximately forty years, the amount of irrigated lands in the Aral Sea basin has almost doubled, making the irrigation network in Central Asia one of the world’s largest by 1991. The population has more than doubled during the same period, increasing from about 14.2 million before 1960 to 38 million by the mid1990s. WARMAP Project, Formulation and Analysis of Regional Strategies on Land and Water Resources (July 1997), p. 9; World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme, pp. 2–3. As a matter for note, the 1980s were low water years in the basin. The Aral Sea received as little as 5 per cent of the rivers’ flow during this time. WARMAP Project, p. 9. The rhetoric of the late 1980s and early 1990s about ‘saving the Aral Sea’ has been mitigated from complete restoration of the sea to emphasis on better and more effective management of the waters upstream so that improvements and partial rehabilitation of the sea, deltas and ecosystem can take place. At present, however, continued heavy socio-economic demands and consumptive use of the water supply in the Aral Sea basin makes the sea in effect the last consideration and final user in the basin. According to a 1998 World Bank report, over 80 storage reservoirs with a capacity of 10 million cubic metres or more and a total storage capacity of over 60 cb km operate in the Aral Sea basin, changing the natural flows of the rivers. World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme, p. 3. World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme, p. 7. Even the mountainous upstream countries of Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan have their share of water quality problems as industrial and agricultural pollutants (e.g. nitrates, sulphates, oil products) are discharged into the river system with little or no treatment. One of the most potentially dangerous situations is uranium leakage from nuclear waste containers in Mayli-Suu (Jalalabad province, Kyrgyzstan) close to the border with Uzbekistan. Mudslides and flooding are disturbing the uranium dumps and in the absence of working drainage systems are threatening to carry the toxic pollutant into the region’s waters. Kulubek Bokonbaev, ‘Ecological Security is Republic-Wide Problem’, Central Asian Post, 19 January 1998, p. 5; Lubin and Rubin, Calming the Ferghana Valley, p. 76. David Le Marquand, International Rivers: the Politics of Cooperation (Vancouver, BC: Westwater Research Centre, 1977), p. 1. In February 2000 in a speech to the OSCE in Vienna, President Nazarbayev of Kazakhstan discussed the potential threat that the shortage of water in the region posed to regional stability. Alongside the need to combat drug trafficking and terrorism, he stated that international regulation of shared water resources was a priority for conflict prevention – Reuters, 25 February 2000. An example of the discrepancy between rhetoric and deed can be found with the Central Asian Union (CAU). In 1994, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan created the CAU to establish a ‘common economic space’ and promote further economic integration among its member states. (Tajikistan joined the CAU in

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26 27

28

29 30 31

32 33 34

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1998.) Despite several meetings of the CAU that stressed cooperative efforts, progress has been slow. Over the years, it has been hampered by disputes over boundary delimitation, erection of border crossing barriers, tariff wars, and the breakdown in energy exchanges between the member states. For instance, Kyrgyzstan does not define the desiccation of the Aral Sea as its number one water concern, though it fully recognizes that it is a great problem. Kyrgyzstan does not border the sea, its population does not suffer the extent of health damage that its neighbours do, nor does it believe its actions cause the disaster, rather it points to the downstream states which have considerably more irrigated lands and consume most of the water flow. The basis for this information comes from several interviews with government officials and institute specialists in Kyrgyzstan that this author conducted in 1997 and 1998. Statement of the Heads of Water Economy Organizations of the Central Asian Republics and Kazakhstan, adopted at 10–12 October 1991 meeting in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. Soviet master plans for resource development set out how the waters of the Amudarya (1987) and Syrdarya (1984) would be shared. FAO AQUASTAT, Water Report, No. 15 (Uzbekistan, January 1998), p. 5 (http://www.fao.org/ docrep/w6240e). The Agreement on Cooperation in the Management, Utilization and Protection of Interstate Water Resources (between the Republic of Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyz Republic, the Republic of Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and the Republic of Uzbekistan) was signed on 18 February 1992 in Almaty. (Hereafter 1992 Agreement.) World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme, p. 8. 1992 Agreement, Article 9. In practice, the BVOs’ powers to control and monitor interstate waters are more limited than their mandate suggests. The lack of appropriate funding and legal authority hampers their effective functioning as regional management institutions. D. P. Bedford, ‘International Water Management in the Aral Sea Basin’, Water International, Vol. 21, No. 2 (June 1996), p. 66; Scientist at BVOSyrdarya, interview by author, Tashkent, Uzbekistan, 1 June 1998. For a listing of ICWC water withdrawal allocations in 1992–93, see D. P. Bedford, ‘International Water Management in the Aral Sea Basin’, p. 67. For a listing of ICWC water withdrawal allocations in 1996–97, see Philip Micklin, Managing Water in Central Asia (London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, 2000), p. 44. The Agreement on Joint Activities for Addressing the Crisis of the Aral Sea and the Zone around the Sea, Improving the Environment and Ensuring the Social and Economic Development of the Aral Sea Region was signed by the Republic of Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyz Republic, the Republic of Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and the Republic of Uzbekistan on 26 March 1993 in Kyzyl-Orda. (Hereafter 1993 Agreement.) Vinogradov, ‘Transboundary Water Resources, p. 409. The Statute of the Interstate Commission for Socio-Economic Development and Scientific, Technical and Ecological Cooperation was signed by the Republic of Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyz Republic, the Republic of Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and the Republic of Uzbekistan on 19 July 1994 in Ashkhabad. The name of this commission was later changed to the SDC. The roles that international organisations have played in the area of regional water management in Central Asia are significant. For a more detailed discussion, see Philip P. Micklin, ‘Regional and International Responses to the Aral

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38

39 40

41

42 43

44

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Crisis’, Post-Soviet Geography and Economics, Vol. 39, No. 7 (September 1998), pp. 399–417. The four long-term aims of the ASBP are: 1) ‘to stabilize the environment of the Aral Sea Basin’; 2) ‘to rehabilitate the disaster zone around the Sea’; 3) ‘to improve the management of the international waters of the Aral Sea Basin’; and 4) ‘to build the capacity of the regional institutions to plan and implement the above programmes’. The World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme Phase 1, progress report, no. 3, (Washington, DC, February 1996), p. 1. The World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme Phase 1, p. 7 and Annex 2. Part of Turkmenistan’s development plans included the extension of the Karakum Canal, a major consumptive user of water from the Amudarya, to allow for additional irrigation of its desert lands. Concerning the Syrdarya, the government of Kyrgyzstan during this period became more vocal in its demands to gain more control over the waters that flowed through the country. There were heated debates in the Kyrgyz parliament over what constituted a fair water allocation, over the right to use the waters in Toktogul Reservoir for Kyrgyzstan’s own benefit, and over the necessity for other states to contribute to the operation and maintenance of the water facilities that helped all riparian states – ‘Kogda voda dorozhe zlata . . . [When water is worth more than gold . . .]’, Slovo kyrgystana, 17–18 June 1997. Based on the 1993 Agreement, the Central Asian states were to contribute annually 1 per cent of their budget revenues to IFAS. At the time of the ASBP review in 1996–97, the money had yet to be paid. Changes in 1997 reduced the states’ annual obligation to 0.3 per cent for Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan and 0.1 per cent for Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. D. P. Bedford, ‘International Water Management in the Aral Sea Basin’, p. 67; RFE/RL Newsline, Vol. 1, No. 116, part 1, 12 September 1997. The World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme, p. 8. Portions of this analysis are based on interviews this author conducted with representatives of international donor organisations and their contractors in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan in autumn 1997. Also see O. I. Tsaruk, ‘Reply to Paper: International and Regional Responses to the Aral Crisis: An Overview of Efforts and Accomplishments’ and S. S. Mirzaev, ‘Primary Institutions Concerned with Management of the Aral Sea Basin’s Water Resources’, papers given at Social Science Research Council Aral Sea Basin Workshop, Tashkent, May 1998. During this period, USAID’s efforts with the Interstate Council for Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan (ICKKU) water and energy issues specifically for the Naryn-Syrdarya basin met with a certain level of disapproval, albeit unofficial, from the World Bank and EU-TACIS. They had been working on a comprehensive legal water sharing and management agreement for the whole of the Aral Sea basin with ICAS/IFAS. The World Bank, Aral Sea Basin Programme, pp. 19–25. By 1995 the effects of economic and political transformation were taking its toll on interstate water and energy exchanges. Kyrgyzstan could not afford the gas imports from Uzbekistan on which it had so long relied. Beginning in the winter of 1995–96, Kyrgyzstan began to release significant quantities of water from the Toktogul Reservoir to generate hydropower to meet its heating needs. These unscheduled releases caused flooding damage to downstream areas as the riverbed and other reservoirs were not able to handle such wintertime amounts. Moreover, these releases drew down the total water volume in the Toktogul to dangerously low levels and jeopardised the amount of water available for spring-

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48

49 50

51

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53 54

time and summertime irrigation for Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. The waterenergy situation in Central Asia is made more complex by the regional electricity grid that binds these states together and by the fact that the USSR did not complete its plan for dam and reservoir construction in the upper Syrdarya basin that would have allowed greater hydropower capability. In December 1997, the government of Kyrgyzstan put out international tenders to construct or finish work on three hydropower stations on the Naryn River, but in 1998 postponed them. Hydroelectric power is an instream user of water, not a consumptive user. But given the large quantities of water needed to generate electricity, hydropower schemes affect the natural flow regime of the river. The consequence of this change is passed to downstream users who may have their options for water use constrained. The Agreement Between the Governments of the Republic of Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyz Republic, and the Republic of Uzbekistan on the Use of Water and Energy Resources of the Syrdarya Basin was signed on 17 March 1998 in Bishkek, A separate document that laid out the specifics of timing and amounts of water releases from the reservoirs of Naryn-Syrdarya Cascade for 1998 was signed by the Council of Prime Ministers at the same time as the framework agreement. Tajikistan had observer status in these negotiations and joined the ICKKU later in 1998. Arkady Gladilov, ‘Will Kyrgyzstan Lose in Water-Energy Disputes in Central Asia?’, The Times of Central Asia, 13 May 1999, p. 1, 11; Bruce Pannier and Naryn Idinov, ‘Kyrgyzstan/Kazakhstan: Water Used as Leverage in Dispute’, RFE/RL, 1 June 1999 (http://euro.rferl.org/nca/features/1999/05/F.RU.990601135240.html) In April 1999 in Ashkhabad, the Central Asian leaders signed a declaration that recognised the latest ASBP water and environmental management projects and pledged their assistance and support to programme implementation. Again, they acknowledged the necessity for a regional strategy on rational utilisation of the regional water resources and the necessity for cooperation in water management and environmental protection. Prevention of trans-boundary water pollution, rehabilitation of delta ecosystems, social protection of the people living in the Aral Sea basin, and attention to mountain areas where river flow is formed also received mention. The words of the declaration stressed concrete action. There is a danger that the international donor agencies are coming to be viewed collectively as a ‘cash cow’ in terms of their funding for regional programmes and institutions. A commonly heard refrain in Central Asia (based on this author’s research in the region in 1997 and 1998) is that the Aral Sea crisis is a global disaster inflicted upon the region, and thus it is the duty of the world community to help and to solve. By shifting much of this responsibility the Central Asian governments have been able to find a scapegoat for their citizens’ frustration and have been able to allot their national funds to other projects they deem more worthy, such as construction of new buildings and monuments. Bruce Pannier, ‘Central Asia: Border Dispute between Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan Risks Triggering Conflict’, RFE/RL, 8 March 1999 (http://euro.rferl. org/nca/features/1999/03/F.RU.990308134050.html). For example, in March 2000 the vice-prime ministers of Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan signed a treaty of commercial and economic cooperation which includes an agreement over land and water infrastructure. Uzbekistan will pay Turkmenistan US$11.4 million in 2000 for the lease of land on which some of its hydro-facilities on the Amudarya sit. Also, in further discussions over border

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION demarcation Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan agreed to terms of shared water use from the Amudarya. In January 2000, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan signed an agreement of cooperation on water and energy resource use, and Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan worked towards a draft agreement on joint use of hydroelectric power stations. Turkistan Economy Bulletin 101, No. 21, 10 March 2000; RFE/RL Newsline , Vol. 4, No. 66, part 1, 3 April, No. 12, part 1, 18 January, No. 17, part 1, 25 January 2000. 55 These constraints – economic, political, socio-demographic and ideological – act as powerful inhibitors to change in current water utilisation practices, especially with regard to irrigated agriculture. For example, the actions of Uzbekistan are constrained as its government depends heavily upon budget revenue from cotton export, as its political elite obtain power and wealth from cotton, as population growth especially in the rural areas necessitates employment for the young work force, and as the Soviet legacy of resource use (to be used in full for the national economy) still predominates.

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The Region of Earthquakes in the Centre of the World: The Ethnic Problems of the New Independent States of Central Asia Yuri Kobishchanov

The ethnic situation in Middle or Central Asia,1 although typical of new independent states in general, has its own peculiarities. Some of these place the new independent states of this region closer to the European republics of the former USSR, while others place them among the countries of the Middle East,2 lying to the south of Central Asia and to the Xin-jiang Uyghur Autonomous Region of China. The complexity of the international borders of the new states, which have changed numerous times during the Tsarist and the Soviet periods, is extraordinary. Thus, in order to get in the winter from northern to southern Tajikistan, from northern Kyrgyzstan to its southern part, or from the Tashauz oblast (district) to the main part of Turkmenistan one has to travel either by air or through the territory of Uzbekistan. All the railroads and highways open throughout the entire year uniting these areas of neighbouring countries cross Uzbekistan. Otherwise one has to use roads passing through the mountain ranges or the desert of Karakum. Also the main part of Uzbekistan is connected to its Khorezm district by a railway passing through the territory of Turkmenistan. The Eastern characteristic of Central Asia is the ecological settlement of the peoples, the connection of each of them with a specific landscape. As in other countries of the Middle East, the entire native population (apart from the Bukharan Jews) is Muslim. There is, however, an original twist to this part of the world: with the exception of the Tajiks, all the major peoples of Central Asia are speakers of Turkic languages. Also a considerable part of them live outside the 165

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borders of their states, mostly in adjacent districts of Iran, Afghanistan and China. The geographic and historic heart of the entire region of Central Asia is the Mesopotamia of the Amudarya and the Syrdarya rivers, surrounded by mountains and deserts. The lion’s share of this territory is now within the borders of Uzbekistan. Minor parts belong to the adjacent provinces of Turkmenistan (in the mid-Amudarya valley and in Khorezm), to Kazakhstan (the Chimkent district), to Kyrgyzstan (Osh and Jelalabad), to Tajikistan (part of the Ferghana valley, Hojant and Hisor as well as the upper Amudarya valley) and to Afghanistan (the left bank of the Amudarya). This heartland includes all the fertile lands of the region, almost all its ancient cities and the major archaeological, historical architectural and religious monuments as well as the majority of the population of Central Asia. Almost all the Uzbeks and the central Tajiks, as well as up to 3 million people belonging to other nationalities, live in this heartland. As already stated, Uzbekistan occupies the major part, but not the entire territory of the geographic and historical heart of the region. Nevertheless, this outlines the importance of the Uzbeks and the central Tajiks of Central Asia in general and of the Uzbek minorities in the adjacent provinces of the new states. The Uzbeks are the largest nation in Central Asia. They number some 18 million, out of which 1 million live in Tajikistan, 600,000 in Kyrgyzstan and similar numbers in Kazakhstan and in Turkmenistan. The central Tajiks are the aborigines of Uzbekistan and number about 1 million. They are the people with the strongest cultural Persian tradition in the Middle East. The other ethnic groups surround these: the Turkmen in the west; the Kazakhs and the Karakalpaks in the north; and the Kyrgyz in the east. Like the Tajiks, the Uzbeks are divided into central and peripheral.3 The central Uzbeks are the overwhelming majority of the country’s population. Sedenterised a long time ago, they have by now forgotten their previous tribes and clans as well as the countries of their origin. In the past these Uzbeks were called ‘Sarts’. Their neighbours say that they are a mixture of all the peoples. The peripheral Uzbeks incorporate various groups strongly different from the main mass of the Uzbeks-Sarts by language, lifestyle and often also by external looks and physical type. The bulk of them are divided into tribes and clans and until fairly recently they still have been nomads or semi-nomads. Among these one could count the Kongrad, the Kypchak, the Myngit, the Katagan, the Lokay, the Kurama and others, who remember – and are proud of – the fact that their forefathers had arrived from Kazakhstan in the sixteenth century and even later. Indeed outwardly they resemble the Kazakhs 166

Map 6: Central Asia: Ethnic Division (%)

Kazakh 2.0

German 4.7

German 2.4

THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION

more than the settled Uzbeks. These tribes live along the northern, north-eastern and southern borders of Uzbekistan as well as on the plains of southern Tajikistan and northern Afghanistan. In these two countries, between the mountain Tajiks and the nomad Uzbeks, live also several remnants of more ancient Turkic arrivals to Central Asia – groups of Turks, Karluks, Chagatay and others. They speak archaic dialects and are also divided into tribes and clans. In the Ferghana valley live isolated groups of Turkmen and Karakalpaks. All these, as well as the assimilated Bukharan Arabs, are now defined as Uzbeks. Finally, the Khorezm Uzbeks differ markedly from their co-ethnics in central and southern Uzbekistan. Following the ‘national re-division of Central Asia’ by the Soviets,4 most of the central Tajiks found themselves in the territory of Uzbekistan, though also the original inhabitants of the parts of the Ferghana, Zarafshan and Hisar valleys included in Tajikistan belong to this group. They are the townspeople and the villagers of the plains who have been speakers of the Tajik language since the Middle Ages. The native city-dwellers of Samarkand, Bukhara, Shahri-sabz and Urgut (in Uzbekistan) and of Khojant, Penjkert, Hisor and Isfara (in Tajikistan) are also central Tajiks. More than 1 million central Tajiks live in Uzbekistan, with only about a quarter of that number in Tajikistan. The overwhelming majority of Tajiks in Tajikistan are peripheral ones, mountain villagers or their immediate descendants, i.e., the original population of Central Asia’s southern periphery. Several centuries ago they were still speakers of various Iranian languages – such as Yaghnobi and Pamiri – not of Tajik. Some peculiarities of these languages can still be heard in their (Tajik) speech. The Central Tajiks hardly differ from the Central Uzbeks, by appearance or culture. Usually they are bi-, or even tri-lingual: apart from Tajik they also know Uzbek, and in the cities, Russian. The mountain dwellers are a different story. They speak only their own dialects, or minor Iranian languages and literary Tajik. The mountain villagers of Tajikistan differ markedly from the Turkic peoples of the region. The Turkmen and the Kyrgyz are also divided into central and peripheral. Unlike the central Turkmen, the Turkmen tribes in the Amudarya valley differ little from their Uzbek neighbours in language and culture. The Kyrgyz have two centres of city civilisation. The one – in the Ferghana valley in the south – has been for centuries under the influence of the Uzbek–Tajik culture. The other – in the Chuy-Talas-Issyk Kul valley in the north – has been more recently affected by Russian and Ukrainian culture. These two are vying for influence over the large mountain periphery, which has better preserved the peculiarity 168

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of the ancient Kyrgyz civilisation (which was born in the Middle Ages in the south of Siberia and moved at the beginning of the Modern Era into the Tien-Shan and Pamir mountains). The centre–periphery problem is also reflected in the ratio between the titular people of each new state and the national minorities. The Uzbeks and the Turkmen each form a solid majority in their state as a whole and in each of its provinces separately. Only in the autonomous Karakalpakstan are the Uzbeks the third national group, the Kazakhs being first and the Karakalpaks second. In Tajikistan and in Kyrgyzstan the titular nations formed until 1989 a bit more than half of the population. The minorities included, apart from the Uzbeks, large numbers of russophones. In Kazakhstan the Uzbeks and the Uighurs (closely related to the Uzbeks)5 are concentrated in the Chimkent province and east of Almaty respectively.6 The problem of national minorities is interconnected with that of tribal affiliation. For most of the Uzbeks, and for all the Tajiks, there is no such problem, although to some peripheral Uzbeks – the relatively recent sedenterised ones – it has a certain meaning. For the Uzbek tribesmen of Southern Tajikistan tribal affiliation is not meaningless, but it is not really significant any more. To the central Uzbeks and Tajiks, just like all the peoples of the Middle East, what is socially important is to belong to the Islamic nobility – to seyids,7 Hojas8 and others. They are the real aristocracy – not the descendants of the Khans and Beks. In the mountains of Tajikistan local Shas (Shahs) are given respect also as the descendants of eminent princes. The Kyrgyz have not yet completely forgotten their tribal divisions, but these have no practical meaning any more. The Kazakhs – even the Russified city-dwellers – have, on the other hand, preserved them. Among them the descendants of Genghis-Khan form the upper stratum. Together with members of the Islamic aristocracy – the Hojas – they are to be found among the intelligentsia The most peculiar castal-tribal structure is that of the Turkmen. At the top of the pyramid is the most powerful tribe – the Tekke – followed by other tribes of central and southern Turkmenistan. The Yumad and several other tribes are reckoned to be at the bottom. This structure is so strong that it has survived attempts to destroy it by both the colonial Tsarist regime and the Soviet rule. In the civil war of 1917 the Yumads fought for the Soviet government against the Tekke, who showed the strongest resistance to the Tsarist generals in the nineteenth century as well as to the Soviet internationalists. However, after the Soviet authorities subjugated Turkmenistan, the secret police destroyed its local allies and in due time the Tekke emerged again at the top of the Soviet pyramid. By the 1970s, the traditional castaltribal system was at work again. The Tekke tribesmen were, as before, 169

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the dominating nucleus of the central Turkmen. They occupied all the prestigious and income-generating positions in the republic. At present other tribes have got key positions in their areas in the north, the east and the south-east of Turkmenistan. In the capital, Yumad and members of other peripheral tribes have been allotted positions as deputy ministers under Tekke ministers. For example, the Yumad Nazar Suyunov was nominated to the important position of director-general of ‘Turkmenneftgaz’ (though, only for a short while).9 Inter-tribal marriages in Turkmenistan remain an extraordinarily rare phenomenon.10 However, in the present-day reality of all the Central Asian societies, tribal or social affiliation is not the most important issue of identity any more. Rather it is the affiliation to a clan of a new type in the city.11 The nucleus of such a clan is made up of a group of relatives by blood and marriage and the clan may include childhood and other personal friends of the leader – their tribal or even national identity of no importance. After all, in the domain of semi-feudal clans no native-born particularities are important.12 A centre–periphery relationship can also be discerned in the ethnoconfessional system of Central Asia. Historically this region is one of the cradles of the Islamic religion and civilisation. The central Tajiks and Uzbeks are among the most orthodox Sunni Hanafi Muslims of the Islamic world and their culture is deeply Islamised. So are the Turkmen. Among the Karakalpaks, parts of the peripheral Uzbeks and Tajiks, and especially among the Kyrgyz and the Kazakhs, Islam co-exists in syncretism with pre-Islamic beliefs. This is why the populace of Central Asia’s heartland regard the steppe nomads and the mountain dwellers as semi-pagans. This antagonism between the orthodox Muslims of the Uzbek heart and the syncretistic Muslims of the periphery, intensified by the fact that the Kazakhs and the Kyrgyz preferred to entrust their children’s education to Tatars rather than to Uzbek and Tajik mullas,13 is extremely significant. It is not a coincidence that the bloody Uzbek–Kyrgyz clashes in Osh, strongly connected to matters of land ownership, started over the ownership of local Islamic holy sites and occurred on the background of the advancing Islamic revival all over Central Asia.14 In comparison to the syncretistic and popular (Sufi) Islam, the nonSunni forms of this religion are confined to the fringes. Several small groups of Shi‘ites – usually Turkmen, but also Kurds, as in Firuz near Ashkhabad – have survived in Turkmenistan.15 In Badakhshan the local Pamiris and Tajiks are Isma‘ilis, a Shi‘ite sect.16 The Badakhshanis had played an important role in the cultural and economic life of Dushanbe comparable to that of the Jews in Europe.17 Nowadays, there are almost no Badakhshanis left there. 170

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Thus a super-ethnic system is in evidence in central Asia, the centre of which belongs to the Central Uzbeks and Tajiks, both concentrated mainly in Uzbekistan. The Uzbek nation occupies the historical heartland and is the largest in the entire region. In fact it is larger than all the others put together. The cities of Uzbekistan – especially Tashkent and Samarkand – attract immigrants from neighbouring new states, both Uzbeks and members of other ethnic groups, mostly Tajiks and Kazakhs. All this explains partly – but only partly – the special position of Uzbekistan in Central Asia. Among other reasons one can count first, the fertility of the Uzbeks which is above that of the Kazakhs, the Tatars and several other ethnic groups in the region. Second, the population of Uzbekistan is the densest in Central Asia. Finally, the central Uzbeks assimilate not only their peripheral co-ethnics, but also Kazakhs, Tajiks, Turkmen, Uighurs and other Central Asians. Once assimilated these become simply Uzbeks, which is not the case among the other nationalities in Central Asia. One cannot be a Kazakh, a Kyrgyz or a Turkmen without belonging to a specific tribe and clan. An Uzbek can also be a member of a tribe and a clan, a Mangyt, a Kungrat or a descendent of a Turkmen or a Kazakh tribe, for example, but he is also an Uzbek. These circumstances explain also the special position held by the Uzbek (and Uighur) minorities in all the new states of Central Asia. After all the Uzbeks are in each of them one of the native peoples.18 With all the new states of Central Asia having sizeable national minorities, this region is a real ethnological museum: Arabs, Koreans, Dungans speaking a dialect of Chinese,19 small ethnic groups in the south of Uzbekistan speaking Indian languages, Volga Tatars and Crimean Tatars, Ukrainians, Germans, Armenians, Greeks, dozens of North Caucasian ethnic groups and, of course, Russians. They are all united by two facts: they are all foreigners to the region; and with the exception of the Russians, their languages, cultures and religions have been discriminated against for decades. This is not the place to elaborate about the historical fate of each of them. However, they may be divided into several categories: Muslim Central Asians, Muslim Tatars (there are also Christian Tatars), Muslim Caucasians, Armenians, Ossets, Greeks, russophone Europeans, Koreans and others. As already stated, the Uzbeks are the largest of the Central Asian Muslim minorities (of course, outside Uzbekistan). The second largest minority (with the exception of Tajikistan) are the Kazakhs. These are, not by chance, also the two largest peoples of the region. Uzbekistan has the largest number of minorities. These are first of all Tajiks and Kazakhs. As already stated above, the original population of the cities of Bukhara, Urgut, Shahri-Sabz and half of the 171

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population of Samarkand speak Tajik. In Karakalpakstan the Kazakhs are the largest ethnic group. In Tashkent and north of it the Kazakhs are the second ethnic group after the Uzbeks. The third largest ethnic group in Uzbekistan are the Karakalpaks (who have their own autonomous republic). All the non-native national minorities belong to other civilisations or to dissimilar branches of the Islamic civilisation. They are, therefore, in a state of latent conflict with the Central Asian Muslims. An inter-ethnic conflict is not necessarily an armed one, a bloody one, or one that entails fighting. Luckily, most inter-ethnic conflicts do not move on to pogroms and armed clashes. Also, as a rule, most interethnic conflicts remain relatively soft. An inter-ethnic conflict can become stronger or weaker, more or less intensive. A conflict is often caused by extensive differences in culture; differences which are not acceptable to one community or another. For example, many people find Central Asian (Uzbek–Tajik–Turkmen) cuisine tasty, but Central Asian Muslims do not eat other people’s food. Furthermore, in too many cases the favourable food of one community is a taboo to another. Thus, Muslims and Jews have centuries-old taboos on pork, which is the most favoured meat of the Ukrainians, the Czechs, the Germans and the Chinese. The Russians prefer beef (pork comes second with them), which is forbidden to the Hindus. The Kazakhs, the Kyrgyz and the Tatars prefer horse meat – an abomination to Christians. And all these confessions have a taboo on dog meat – the Koreans’ favourite. Eating in public, or – worse – offering someone such forbidden food (not to say forcing them to eat it, as was done in the Soviet army where Muslims were served pork) might cause an inter-ethnic conflict.20 Another example, the consumption of alcoholic drinks, is a taboo among Central Asian Muslims, but is acceptable in the popular cultures of the Tatars and the Caucasian Muslims. However, all these groups condemn being drunk in public, as is common among the Russians. Also the meaning of personal hygiene to Central Asian Muslims is diametrically opposed to its meaning to Europeans. Most frequently, however, conflicts are provoked by sexual misbehaviour. The relations within the family and between the sexes outside the family among Muslims on the one hand and Europeans on the other are extremely divergent. Here the differences give birth to mutual disrespect and judgement. However, an inter-ethnic conflict can also break out among different groups of Muslims because of differences in culture. The Tatars and the Caucasians are the largest non-local Muslim communities in Central Asia. And although most of the Caucasians living in Central 172

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Asia – Azerbaijanis, Meskhetian Turks, Karachay, Balkars, Kumyks, as well as of the Crimean and Volga Tatars – are Turkic speaking Muslims, they have not been accepted as brethren by the Turkic Muslims of Central Asia. Obviously, the differences of the regional cultures within the Islamic civilisation are too wide. The Uzbeks and the Tajiks consider the Caucasians to be brave, proud, handsome people, but bad Muslims. On the other hand there is evidence of the defying behaviour of the deported Chechens towards Central Asians. The Karachay and Balkars returning home from Kyrgyzstan and the Chimkent province of Kazakhstan in the 1960s, told about brawls they had had with Kyrgyz or Uzbeks after sport competitions in which the Caucasians had won. Finally, the pogroms against the Meskhetian Turks in Ferghana21 and the riots in the bazaars of Kazakhstan (where the Kazakhs beat up Caucasian peddlers),22 both during Gorbachev’s perestroika, disclosed to the entire world the intensities of inter-ethnic conflicts.23 The Caucasian immigrants have already started to leave Central Asia. At the head of this exodus are the Meskhetian Turks. In the 1970s–1980s a great number of Ossets, whose language is close to Tajik, used to live in Tajikistan and Uzbekistan.24 Nowadays, most of them have left for North Ossetia. The Armenians maintain a special position in Central Asia. Before the 1917 Bolshevik revolution Armenian merchants had acquired important positions in Russian Turkestan and in the Bukharan Emirate. They owned houses and land and purchased crops, usually nuts. During the Civil War the Armenians formed, together with the Russians, the nucleus of the Red Guard. While establishing Soviet rule they very enthusiasticaly took their revenge on Muslim merchants. This has not been forgotten here. In the Soviet period the Armenians were a major part of the population in the capitals of the Central Asian republics. Their level of education was almost the highest in the region, much higher than that of the local population and even of that of the Russians and the Tatars. After the collapse of the USSR they did not think of returning to Armenia. Furthermore, in 1991 Armenian refugees from Azerbaijan arrived in Dushanbe. This numerically insignificant immigration provoked a loud protest by the Tajiks. Yet the russophones – the nucleus of which are the Russians – are the largest non-native population in the new states. This community has been growing for well over a century and in the northern and western parts of Kazakhstan for over three centuries. The majority of the engineers, the qualified workers, the economists, the health services, sciences and the armed forces specialists come from among the non-native population – Russians, Ukrainians, 173

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Tatars and others. Such a situation is characteristic of colonial and post-colonial societies, like those of the new states which have been created following the collapse of the British, French and Portuguese colonial empires. There are, however, local peculiarities in Central Asia. In the heartland, cities with Muslim and Jewish quarters had existed long before the Russian conquest. In the periphery, on the other hand, the cities were established by the Russians. Among these one can count Ashkhabad, Krasnovodsk, Bishkek, Przhelovsk and all the cities of Kazakhstan with the exception of the Uzbek-populated Chimkent and Turkestan. Dushanbe has become a major city only in the Soviet period. New cities – such as Suliukta, Angren, Navoi, Nurek and others – have been erected during the Soviet period in places where minerals are extracted or hydroelectric stations built. From the very beginning the majority of the population in these cities was non-native and until very recently Central Asian Muslims have been reluctant to migrate to these russophone cities. Now the situation has changed. First of all, the migration of nonnatives into Central Asia has practically stopped. Only members of the titular nationalities, Tajik refugees and ‘transit migrants’ (that is, people striving to get to the West via the ex-USSR) are migrating now to the new states of Central Asia. Second, the largest non-native national minorities have started to leave this region: Jews, Germans, Greeks, Crimean Tatars, Meskhetian Turks, Latvians, have been migrating in growing numbers to their historical homelands. At the end of the 1980s more than 1 million Ukrainians and half a million Germans lived in Central Asia. How many are left now? The Russians started to leave later than the others. However, after the civil war in Tajikistan no more than 5 per cent of the previous European civil population remained there (the military servicemen and their families excluded). The Russians and other non-Muslims have also been leaving the other countries of Central Asia – even Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan where they are a formidable part of the population and until the 1980s had not felt part of a national minority. Between 1989 and 1994 almost 1.5 million people emigrated from Kazakhstan to Russia. Unlike in Tajikistan, in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan there is no civil war, no terror against the Russians. Still the Russians are leaving these new states because they ‘can’t see a future for their children here’ (as someone responded to a poll). If in 1981 the Kazakhs were far from a majority of their country’s population, they might reach 51 per cent by 1996–97 and by the year 2000 their part in the population will be even greater.25 This process contains both demographic and socio-political aspects. Kazakh repatriation to Kazakhstan from Russia, China and Uzbekistan 174

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is also in force. In addition, the fertility and rate of population growth of the Central Asian Muslims is by far higher than that of the Russians and other Europeans. In Kazakhstan, for example, the highest rate of birth is that of the Uzbeks and the Uighurs, the lowest that of the Russians. However, the demographic factors of the changing ethnic situation explain least of all the decline of the European population in Central Asia in general, and the Russian one in particular. Simply, the imperial nation – including the ethnic groups integrated into it – started to feel the loss of its previous status, and other alternatives are not satisfactory. Still, not all the Russians want to go to Russia. The example of Tajikistan shows that only an intense deterioration of the political situation can cause an exodus en masse of the non-native population. Among the local Russians and russophones one can discern several ethnic sub-groups with daily and political behaviour particular to each. The first group are the Cossacks living in the strip adjacent to Russia. They do not regard themselves as immigrants, and are ready to fight for their rights and ancestral lands. Unlike other russophones, the Cossacks refuse to work as waiters in restaurants, but are willing to serve in the army. However, after all the ordeals of the Soviet rule, the Cossacks are now a minority within the Russian population of the provinces established in the former lands of their voiska.26 The second group are the descendants of Ukrainians settled at the turn of the twentieth century and in later years. They produce a large part of Kazakhstan’s wheat, coal and oil. In other words, they produce export products. Those of them who live in villages founded by their ancestors have deep roots in Kazakhstan’s steppe lands. Most persons of Ukrainian ancestry in Kazakhstan and the other Central Asian republics have lost their native language and the culture of their fathers. They have a very vague and falsified idea of their national history, and are not familiar at all with Ukrainian literature and art. These people have been Russified but have not become true Russians. They do not see Russia as their motherland. This is why they prefer to immigrate to Russia’s northern and eastern periphery or to the Kuban and Stavropol krais, where the population is of a similar ethno-cultural make-up. A third group consists of natives of Russia who have migrated to the big cities and the new industrial towns in Central Asia. They are the most prone to leave and at the present constitute the main part of the emigrants. The massive emigration of Europeans from the new states of Central Asia threatens them with an economic disaster. In order to avoid it the governments of the new states have been trying various 175

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means to stop this emigration, at least until local replacements are found for those strangers. However, the speed of emigration exceeds by far the training of native experts. This is a situation typical of the new states of the Afro-Asian world. How many of the 2.5 million French, Italians, Spaniards, Jews, Maltese, Portuguese and other nonMuslims living in North Africa in colonial times, have remained there now? Where now are the European and Indian colonists of the countries of Tropical Africa and South East Asia? They have been replaced partly by aborigines, partly by foreigners on special contracts, partly by migrants from neighbouring countries. Possibly the same fate awaits the new states of Central Asia.27 Finally, there is another category of russophones – city dwellers, members of the titular nation educated in Russian schools who know Russian better than their native language. They use it even in their daily life at home. Such a situation is typical of the new states of the Afro-Asian world (as well as of the Ukraine and Belorussia). The role of the language of the former metropolitan power can either decline (especially if it is not English), remain intact or even grow, depending on the socio-cultural development of each country. At the same time the importance of English as an international language is growing everywhere. Also some regional languages and cultures experience a revival (for example, Arabic). One can safely presume that in the future the role of the local languages in the new states of Central Asia will expand. Still Russian will not be forgotten, even if English, Farsi and Uzbek do squeeze it a bit out of the role as vehicle of inter-ethnic communication, and (together with Turkish, but without Uzbek) out of the role of the lingua franca of science, technology, the humanities, the arts and literature. Also the significance of Arabic – the main language of Islamic religion and civilisation – is growing. Mastery of these languages will define the cultural level of each resident of Central Asia, including the russophones.

NOTES 1 The region known as ‘Central Asia’ in Western languages has been called in Russian (both Soviet and post-Soviet) ‘Middle Asia and Kazakhstan’ (Sredniaia Aziia i Kazakhstan). Recently a new term has been introduced (Tsentral’naia Aziia) which is a translation of the Western term. 2 In Russian usage the term ‘Middle East’ (‘Srednii Vostok’) denotes the area south of (ex-)Soviet Central Asia and usually includes Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan. The area usually known as the Middle East in Western (and Middle Eastern) languages is called in Russian the ‘Near East’ (Blizhnii Vostok). 3 This is not my definition. Other scholars may use different terms. 4 The national redivision (razmezhevanie) of 1924 abolished the existing political

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5

6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

16

17 18 19 20

21 22

23 24

units in Central Asia (the People’s Republics of Bukhara and Khorezm and the Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republics of Turkestan and Kirgizia (present-day Kazakhstan) and re-divided the area along ‘national’ lines into the present six entities. The Uighurs are the titular nation in the Xin-jiang Uyghur Autonomous Region of the People’s Republic of China, where they number between 7 and 12 million. According to the 1989 census some 256,000 Uighurs lived in the USSR, about 70 per cent of them in Kazakhstan. As late as 1989 the Kazakhs were not the majority in their republic, but rather the largest minority – about 40 per cent in 1989. Descendants of the Prophet Muhammad. Descendants of al-Khulafa al-Rashidun – the the first four ‘righteous’ Caliphs after Muhammad. Here, one must add, that the Turkmen in Iran and Afghanistan belong to middle and low-status tribes. See Chapter 10 of this volume. See Chapter 9 of this volume. To my view this feudal formation is the outcome of the neo-feudal character of the Soviet social structure. These Tatars developed a chain of ‘new method’ Muslim schools before the 1917 Bolshevik revolution (what is known in scholarly literature as ‘Jadidsm’). For the clashes in Osh see Chapter 4 of this volume, note 58. Twelver Shi‘ites – so called because they believe in a line of 12 imams, the last of whom has not died and will return to Earth as the Messiah. This is the mainstream Shi‘i denomination and the dominant religion in Iran. Twelver Shi‘ites also form the majority of the population of Azerbaijan, Iraq and Lebanon. Isma‘ilis are the smallest and the most extreme sect among the Shi‘is. They believe in an allegorical interpretation of the Qur’an, which should be known only to a few religious leaders of the community. The Isma‘ilis are divided into those who believe that the seventh imam has not died and will return to Earth as the Messiah and those who believe in a line of living imams, the latest of whom is the Agha Khan. As late as the 1970s and 1980s I witnessed the traditional negative attitude of the Tajiks and Uzbeks to the Badakhshanis. This is disputed by the Tajiks, but their voice is not heard outside Tajikistan. Dungans are Muslim Chinese. In the USSR they were recognised as a separate nationality. Under Khrushchev a sausage by the name of ‘friendship’ was produced in Central Asia, made from a mixture of pork and horse meat. It did not enjoy great popularity! The Muslims did not like to eat pork, or the Christians horse meat. Nowhere in the world has such a sausage ever been produced. For the Meskhetian problem in Georgia, see Chapter 2 in Moshe Gammer (ed.), The Caucasus: Post-Soviet Conflicts (London: Frank Cass, 2004), pp. 23–38. In December 1986 riots broke out in Alma-Ata (now Almaty), when Kazakhs protested against the replacement of the republic’s First Secretary Kunayev by an outside Russian apparatchik. The riots deteriorated into pogroms against nonKazakhs. With all this I find it hard to believe that the Ferghana pogroms were the result of outbursts of hatred and had not been planned and organised by the authorities. I used to meet many of them: among them were engineers, drivers, watchmakers and a woman married to a Tajik.

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION 25 This has not happened yet, and cf. Chapter 10 of this volume. 26 A voisko (host; pl. voiska) was a Cossack unit. 27 While writing this I remember how thousands of Chinese came to build the railroad from Zambia to Tanzania. Having completed it, they returned to China.

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PART IV BETWEEN DEMOCRACY AND AUTHORITARIANISM? THE STATES OF CENTRAL ASIA

9

Clientelism, Corruption and Struggle for Power in Central Asia: The Case of Kyrgyzstan Vladimir (Ze’ev) Khanin

INTRODUCTION

The breakdown of the USSR and the collapse of the Eastern bloc was undoubtedly one of the most dramatic events of the late twentieth century. The concrete mechanism, as well as the regional and global consequences of this phenomenon are far from being studied in depth, and are likely to remain for quite a long time a focus of interest of both the academic and the political communities. Though most post-Soviet states have declared that they adhere to Western economic, social and political values, the transformation of their societies in that direction has in most cases been far from successful. The years since 1991 have witnessed crises in the post-perestroika semi-liberal transformation and the establishment of authoritarian ‘post-democratic’ regimes in most successor states of the USSR. One might add to this the failure of economic modernisation; financial crises; the dominant role of raw natural resources in the GNP and the considerable drop in other spheres of economic production; the marked decrease of living standards of the majority of the population;1 and the growing dependence on world financial centres. Finally, there are the crises of the post-Soviet state – internal instability, retraditionalisation of the political structures, growth in ethnic and religious tensions, the rapid development of non-formal structures of power, the visible criminal transformation of the administrative institutions and widespread corruption. All this is even more accurate with regard to the post-Soviet states of Central Asia. Practically all the regimes of these countries are characterised by the personal power of their political leader and more or 181

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less strictly centralised patterns of control over social and economic life. To simply explain this phenomenon as resulting from ‘the difficulties of transition from Soviet Communist to liberal-democratic models’ is clearly insufficient. It might be more useful to look at this phenomenon also through the prism of traditional non-Western civilisation. In this context attention should be paid to a trend characteristic not only of Central Asian, but Asian and African countries in general – the absorption of state institutes by a complicated network of traditional and neo-traditional structures. It is the overlap between social and state structures that affects the behaviour of various social groups and forms the real political mechanism of power, its main base and actual political relations. A close interaction, or symbiosis, between borrowed (i.e., modern) and local (i.e., traditional) forms of political organisation could be seen already in the Soviet period. Independence seems to have accelerated the creation in all the states of ex-Soviet Central Asia of complex symbiotic social and political structures that are local versions of both political pluralism and authoritarianism. Contemporary Kyrgyzstan is a most convenient subject for a study of these processes. On the one hand, it has the most dynamic political system in the region, which has been actively adopting Westernstyle attributes of modern civil society. Among these one may count a multi-party system, wide autonomy to the regions, constitutional guarantees of civil rights, numerous non-governmental human rights organisations and a relatively wide freedom of the mass media. On the other hand the above only serves to emphasise the elites’ manipulation of these institutions of liberal democracy, the preservation in actual reality of a highly centralised method of distribution of public wealth, and, subsequently, just a slightly ‘modernised’ traditional mechanism of converting power to profits, the concentration of power in the inner circle of President Akayev, and widespread corruption. If these are the main features and directions of development for modern Kyrgyzstan’s political structure, what is the social essence of this process? And if, in its turn, this process also provides the character of social and political conflicts in the country, what is their mechanism? ETHNICITY, CLIENTELISM AND POWER STRUCTURES IN MODERN KYRGYZSTAN

Even at first glance it is pretty clear that the real political process in the country carries a complicated multi-level system of traditional, 182

Map 7: Kyrgyzstan: Administrative Division

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neo-traditional and modern conflicts and relations. At the grassroots level lies political competition among the leadership of family and lineage groups in the ails (villages) and provincial towns. The following level is that of the traditional disputes among the major territorial and tribal entities of the Kyrgyz people – Salto, Sajak, Bugu, Sarybagysh, Kushchu and other, smaller tribes. Next, these disputes are amalgamated into the historical friction between the northern aristocratic and the southern subordinated Kyrgyz sub-ethnic entities. At the macro-ethnic level is the antagonism between the Kyrgyz and the ethnic minorities, mainly the Slavs (especially in the almost totally secularised northern cities) and the Uzbeks (mainly in the agrarian regions of the south). It should also be noted, that the modern political strifes often add a new dimension to traditional ones. For example, in the Soviet period the local nomenklatura cadres were recruited primarily from the ‘oppressed south’, while the ‘feudal-aristocratic’ elite of the northern tribes was driven out of power in the republic. In the post-Soviet period the opposite has happened: the more modernised, urbanised and secularised northern elite has returned to power using new democratic slogans. Coming mainly from the traditional Kyrgyz aristocracy, the ‘new liberal-democratic elite’ has succesfully marginalised the ‘old Communist nomenklatura’. Thus, the ‘transition from a Communist to a liberal-democratic regime’ has in fact been yet another round of redistribution of power between sub-ethnic elites and regional political centres. This process has been concurrent with the legalisation of traditional political norms and institutions. Thus, members of old Manap (traditional aristocracy) families have again become important in present-day national politics. On the local level the weight of aksakals, traditional heads of extended family groups, and ail elders has been constantly growing. Their new status was formalised in Clause 85 of the current constitution, which gives to local communities a right to establish ‘Aksakal Courts’. These Aksakal Courts have the authority to make decisions on local matters, and on some occasions even death sentences, which were immediately carried out. Strong criticism from international and local human rights organisations notwithstanding, President Askar Akayev stated that the Aksakal Courts played an ‘important role in the judicial system of the country’ and called on them to ‘expand their activities beyond the resolution of local issues to strengthening public order’.2 This combination of traditional, neo-traditional and modern elements in Kyrgyzstan’s politics is reflected in the formation of nonformal regional-tribal groups of political elites – what is often referred to as ‘political clans’. The leading nuclei of these non-formal neo184

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traditional structures of power are usually relatively small groups of political activists and managers of national and regional calibre strongly centralised around their leader (usually a high-ranking bureaucrat or politician). Relations between the leader (‘patron’) and members (‘clients’) in such groups are usually based on personal loyalty, swap of services and mutual assistance. The members of a political clan usually come from the same area – Issyk-Kul’, Chui, Talass, Osh, Naryn and some other districts – and the clan enjoys an almost total monopoly of power in its area. These non-formal structures of power are integrated into wider ‘macroclans’ which coincide with the historical political division between north and south.3 In Kyrgyzstan, as in so many other countries, the political clans are based on patron–client relations, which are one of the most important factors of the local system of social ties. These relations have various social functions. First, they are an important tool for the political mobilisation of the population in the struggle for power and resources (material and social), as well as one of the key elements of their redistribution in the interests of individuals and/or groups. Second, they advance an effective integration of various public elites and ruling groups within the ethnic and regional factions of the ruling strata. Thus, bureaucratic, law enforcement, state enterprise, information and traditional (family clan) elites combine with members of cultural, academic, business and criminal groups. Third, they are based on (sub-)ethnic and tribal regional loyalty, and thus link the elite with the ‘masses’. Consequently, the elite is guaranteed political support, while the masses get a limited access to power-property resources (investments, subsidies, job opportunities, infrastructure development, and so on). As a result, leaders of clan structures on the mass level become what one might call ‘ethnic patrons’. They personalise the whole range of ethnic social values and interests and attract most of the official and informal social and political connections. This sort of ethnic clientelism can also transform social conflicts from intra-ethnic ‘class’ controversies to ethnic-regional and tribal ones. The history of Kyrgyzstan since perestroika offers quite a few examples of this: the spring 1989 ethnic violence events in Frunze (as Bishkek, the capital, was then called) and the bloody clashes in Osh in June 1990 are the two most outstanding. Both events were initially social movements, which the local political elites managed to turn into anti-Russian and anti-Uzbek riots respectively.4 (Sub)ethnic and regional factors played a major role also in the 1995 presidential elections. Thus, the ‘democrat’ Akayev being a ‘northerner’ (aristocrat) won massive support in the north while his main rival, the ‘Communist’ 185

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A. Masaliyev (leader of the Kirghizian Communist party in both the late Soviet times and after independence) ‘swept the ballot boxes’ in his native south.5 Originating in the symbiosis between the traditional-feudal relations and the Soviet nomenklatura system, the ethnic-political clans have demonstrated their flexibility and vitality also in the post-Soviet period. By the later half of the 1990s they have gained almost full monopoly over political and economic power each in its own region. The clan leaders – among them Akims (oblast or district governors) – assemble in their hands every conceivable category of power, from the informal mechanism of mobilisation of ethnic and tribal loyalty to the control of the local administration and of the electoral process. The strength of these groups was manifested in the course of the 1995 presidential and parliamentary elections and the 1998 local government elections. It seems that personal and group clientele of the political clans also controlled the 2000 parliamentary and presidential elections. According to Kyrgyzstan’s media, only 30 per cent of the members of the district electoral committees in Bishkek approved by the Central Election Commission (CEC) were representatives of political parties and non-governmental organisations (NGOs). All the others were ‘good old [representatives] of trade unions, neighborhood committees, working collectives (trudovye kollektivy) who had proven [their loyalty] in previous cases’.6 It is not surprising, therefore, that observers reported numerous irregularities in favour of officially supported candidates in the February 2000 elections.7 Recent years have also witnessed the concentration of power, both official and informal, in the hands of President Akayev and his inner circle, which has, in fact, become the strongest political centre of ruling northern macroclans. At the end of 1999 several measures were taken to augment the presidential administration’s control over local governments, administrative appointments and the mass media.8 These were obviously intended both to strengthen the positions of Akayev’s personal clan in Bishkek and to provide it with bases for a breakthrough into the sphere of regional power. The activities of Akayev’s ‘administrative political clientele’ were especially visible on the eve of the 2000 elections, when the CEC aquired a new function – to deter rivals from running for parliament. Thus both Feliks Kulov, who shortly before had been dismissed as the Mayor of Bishkek, and his party list were denied registration on technicalities. (Kulov tried to run for parliament from the Kara-Buura single-mandate constituency in the Talas region. Later he became the No. 1 candidate of a joint list of the Ar-Namys [Dignity] Party and the Party of Democratic Movement of Kyrgyzstan. Both parties united politicians staying in ideological or personal opposition to Akayev’s 186

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group, and enjoyed support in the home areas of the former.)9 Pressures from the government organs were also applied on other opposition figures, like Masaliev, Zhekeshev and Ismankulov.10 CLIENTELISM, ‘NOMENKLATURA CAPITALISM’ AND CORRUPTION

So, unofficial structures of power are an important element of the very intense political struggle in Kyrgyzstan (over access to the appropriation and redistribution of public resources). From the Western normative point of view such informal relations should be (and usually are) regarded as corruption. Indeed, this approach is dominant among experts and officials of international organisations. Thus, for instance, ‘Transparency International’, a leading international corruption watch organisation, listed Kyrgyzstan in its 1999 Corruption Index 87 out of 99 investigated states, and one of the three most corrupt post-Soviet nations (remaining just behind Uzbekistan and Azerbaijan).11 Yet efforts to fight corruption in the country with Western remedies have evidently been unsuccessful. Kyrgyzstan, it seems, has not become an exception among the post-colonial and post-Soviet states, where ‘non-normative’ social relations appear to be a social norm. The problem of bureaucratic and economic corruption has been high on the public agenda of the country’s leadership since independence. Already in December 1992 the President issued a decree ‘On Measures to Organise the Struggle Against Corruption in the Civil Service of Kyrgyzstan’, followed in 1993 by another, ‘On Additional Measures to Intensify the Struggle Against Economic Crimes, Illegal Trafficking and Corruption’. In 1993 Akayev declared that ‘the economic crimes and corruption of public officials, as well as their problematic relations with black marketers and Mafia organizations’ and the ‘misappropriation of resources, allocated for the reconstruction of Kyrgyz economy are growing’.12 Since then the government has dealt with this issue time and again. In September 1996 a special session of the State Security Council discussed it and in 1998 a ‘Coordinating Council to Struggle against Corruption’ was established. The outcome of this war against corruption was next to nothing – the expulsion of a few bureaucrats, mainly of lower and middle rank. The reason for this, in all likelihood, is that corruption has an important role in the satisfaction of economic interests of both the ruling groups and the wider social strata connected to them by a system of patron–client relations. This socio-economic role of clientalistic and corrupt relations, is legitimate in local society and effectively adapted 187

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to modern political standards. In Kyrgyzstan, as in many other postSoviet societies, the economic component of clan patron–client relations has undergone some changes. In the first years of independence more traditional forms of direct administrative command-regulation and bureaucratic favouritism prevailed. These were first applied on a massive scale in the course of land privatisation in 1991–92. The Akims had almost full freedom to decide which kolkhozes and sovkhozes (collective and state farms) should be dissolved as unprofitable, and to whom land should be given and how much. Within a few months, when the negative results of those activities had become clear, the very same officials started to ‘reconstruct’ recently broken down collective farms, stifling in the course profitable individual farms.13 Another facet of this process was the development of ‘nomenklatural-bureaucratic’ capitalism, including a massive privatisation (in fact, plundering) of public assets. Already during the first stage of privatisation, in 1992–94, many leading former Communists ‘became overnight millionaires’. According to the economist Sapar Orosbakov, these Communists-turned-businessmen used their government ties to obtain generous loans to purchase new businesses and refurbish existing enterprises. At the time inflation was running at an annual rate of 1,300 percent, but the loans were offered with interest rates of as low as 50 percent. It doesn’t take much arithmetic to see how these wellconnected businessmen soon became rich. But even under such generous terms, few bothered to repay the loans at all, opting instead to gut the purchased enterprises and line their pockets with the extra proceeds.14

The usual routine was ‘restructuring,’ or ‘financial rationalisation’ – to stage the ‘bankruptcy’ of profitable state enterprises and then sell them to ‘interested groups’ (the enterprise managers and their political and bureaucratic patrons) using so called ‘method of net assets’ (metod chistikh aktivov)15 applied by the joint government/World Bank ‘State Agency for the Reorganisation and Liquidation of Enterprises’ to evaluate state enterprises. Huge deficits were produced by simultaneously selling products at artifically low prices and paying at once a large amount of debts (including salaries and social security payments). The enterprise was than officially declared bankrupt and its management was allowed to buy it out for a symbolic price. For example, the government share in the State stock company ‘Mayluu-Suuyi Electric Lamp Factory’, with an annual profit of 33 m–56 m Soms (US$1 m to 1.5 m) was evaluated at 1,780 Soms 188

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(about US$50). The estimated market cost of ‘restructuralised’ textile, mercury and other government companies was not much higher.16 According to Sultan Mederov, then deputy chairman of the Kyrgyzstan State Property Foundation, 47.8 per cent of the enterprises privatised between 1992 and 1997 were in one way or another ceded to either their management, or to ‘labour collectives’ of the employees (in fact to the management too). Of the others, 26.5 per cent were privatised by official tenders and 21.2 per cent sold to private owners. (It is not too difficult to conclude that such a procedure created plenty of opportunities to transfer to ‘the economic and administrative nomenclatura’ the real control of the privatised properties.)17 A symbiosis of bureaucratic power, ‘nomenclatural capital’ and criminality is another source for the profits of the non-formal power structures. ‘Traditional’ bribery, tax evasion, smuggling, and other illegal activities have grown to pandemic dimensions. According to a newspaper report, nobody in Kyrgyzstan ‘is surprised any more by a high-ranking state bureaucrat, who in spite of an official salary equivalent to US$100 to US$150 a month has in a short period of time built a private house worth $150,000–200,000, or by a customs officer with a monthly salary of 700–800 Soms (about US$20), who owns a luxurious car, buys real estate and does not save on expenses’.18 Generally, according to Akayev, a powerful shadow economy, based on the cooperation between organised crime structures and corrupt government officials, has emerged and seriously competed with the official one. In the years 1993–95 several thousands of major economic crimes were exposed, amounting to an estimated 20 per cent of their actual number. The losses from the activities of economic criminals in those years were believed to be close to 10 per cent of the country’s GNP.19 The number of these offences doubled in 1998 as compared to the previous year. According to the Kyrgyz Minister of the Interior the 33 m sum (US$1 m) which the law enforcement agencies succeeded in recovering in 1998 was but a drop in the sea of the public money that had been either embezzled or misappropriated.20 The drug trade has become another source of profit for the ruling elites. In 1992–94, for instance, large quantities of opium were smuggled from Afghanistan and Pakistan to Gorno-Badakhshan, then by the mountainous Khorog-Osh road to the Ferghana valley and, via the territories of Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan to Russia and the Baltic states. According to the State Customs Committee of the Russian Federation some 80 per cent of the heroin, 84 per cent of the hashish, 60 per cent of the opium and 53 per cent of the marijuana confiscated in 1998 were caught at this section of Russia’s borders.21 However, the drugs caught by the law enforcement 189

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agencies of Russia and the Central Asian states is but a fraction of the entire volume of this trade: 5–7 per cent according to the Ministry of the Interior of Kyrgyzstan.22 It also should be mentioned, that drugbusiness has become part of the local ‘black’ economy. Many people are involved in it and for some of them it is the only source of income for survival.23 The second stage in the redivision of power and property started after the presidential elections of 1995. It was connected with the rise of a new generation of clan politicians-businessmen. A majority among these are connected to the modernised northern clans, and usually employ less direct (or more ‘technocratic’) methods to translate power into profits. These include more flexible informal mechanisms of regulation of financial and economic relations; the manipulation of state contracts, privatisation auctions, licences, and so on; and brokerage between foreign and local economic interests.24 These politicians, whose upper echelon created a closed ‘oligarchic’ corporation (if one may use the Russian analogy) warmly welcomed the demands of the international banks, which conditioned further economic assistance on government efforts to balance the budget, to modernise the credit and the finance systems, and to ensure the legal and physical security of local and foreign investors. These demands were incorporated in the ‘structural adjustment programme’, and in conjunction with a virtual monopoly of economic information, of administrative decision-making and of devising the ‘rules of the economic game’, enabled them to get rid of any competition. ‘Now that inflation is running at 20 percent a year,’ commented a local expert, they offer loans at minimum annual rates of 60 to 70 percent, making it next to impossible for legitimate businesses to take out loans to purchase new equipment or modernize their assembly lines. The Communists-turned-democrats, meanwhile, have established themselves as the new captains of industry.25

One of the earliest examples of such activities – even before the 1995 elections – was the Kumtor concession scandal. The rights to excavate gold in Kumtor, which contains the world’s seventh-largest proven gold reserves (some 700 tons) were given to the Canadian based CAMECO company. This company was believed by some observers to be closely connected to the Siabeco company, whose owner, Boris Bernstein, was known for his ties with corrupt circles in the Russian government.26 The value of the gold complex at Kumtor was estimated at US$277 m–350 m. According to the 1992 agreement 70 per cent of the profits were to go to the government and 30 per 190

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cent to CAMECO. But, according to the opposition ‘so far, the company – not the country – has profited’.27 Implicated in this embezzlement of Kyrgyzstan’s gold reserves were noted members of the northern clans, such as the then-Prime Minister Tursunbek Changyshev, the president of the National Bank, Kemelbek Nanayev, the chairman of the State Investment Committee, Askar Sarygulov, and Akayev himself.28 Another recent example was the so called ‘petrol affair’, connected to the ‘Vostok’ Kyrgyz–American Joint Venture company. Among those implicated in it were two former prime ministers – Apas Jumagulov (December 1993–March 1998, now ambassador to Germany) and Kubanychbek Jumaliyev (March–December 1998, now Akim of the Jalalabad oblast) – the finance minister, Talaibek Kouchumanov; the National Bank chairman, president’s adviser and chairman of the Directorate of the State Oil and Gas Corporation, Marat Sultanov; the former head of Kyrgyzgasmunaizat, Shalkar Jaisanbaev; and other senior officials. ‘Vostok’ was established in early 1996 with the aim of constructing an oil factory in Kant and to create a network of oil and petroleum-trading firms. Contrary to the agreement, the factory was financed not by private investments but by the assets of state enterprises, such as Kyrgyzgazmunzait (national gas providing company), Oshgazmunzait (gas providing company of the Osh area) and others. These companies provided ‘Vostok’ with some 275,375,000 Soms (about US$14 m) between 1996 and 1998. In late 1999 the factory was still not running because of lack of raw materials. At the same time several bogus firms established under the umbrella of this deal were engaging in various illegal operations with imported Russian oil, in money laundering, in the smuggling of hard currency abroad, and in attempts to avoid paying taxes. One of the results of the affair was the bankruptcy of the State stock company ‘Kyrgyzgazmunaizat’, after it had covered a ‘debt’ of 4.4 m Soms (about US$200,000) to one of the above bogus companies, by transferring to it the stateowned Tokmak oil storage and several petroleum stations.29 The affair cost Kyrgyzstan’s treasury about 4.8 bn Soms (then worth approximately US$200 m).30 The ‘mass voucher privatisation’ and the de-nationalisation of state assets currently under way in Kyrgyzstan have caused a visible acceleration in the process of redivision of properties. The privatisation of profitable state enterprises for symbolic prices by ‘favourite companies’, usually related to members or groups of the political and bureaucratic elite, has again become an important issue. According to a parliamentary committee of enquiry, the silk factory in Osh, worth 666 m Soms (about US$20 m), was sold for 1.9 m Soms (US$50,000) 191

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only. The state’s shares in the sugar refinery in Kaindy (60.9 per cent) were sold for 28 m Soms (about US$800,000),while the profits for 1998 only stood at 50 m Soms (more then US$1.5 m). Furthermore, according to Parliament’s spokesman, only two companies took part in a tender and both were owned by one and the same person – a citizen of Kazakhstan. In another case the state’s shares (26.2 per cent) in the biggest department store in the country, Ai-Churek, were sold for ‘next to nothing’ – 3.9 m Soms (about US$110,000).31 A bit earlier some hardly known foreign companies, registered off-shore, acquired highly profitable state stock societies – Kandy-Kant and Kant Cement venture. In both cases privatisation auctions were badly organised. Everything was prearranged by the authorities.32

The extent of such activities became clear at the December 1999 session of Jogorku Kenesh (the Parliament). It was announced then that the state planned to sell its shares in Kyrgyztelekom, Kyrgyzenergo, Kyrgyz aba zholdoru and in many other enterprises, as well as in the recreation centres along the northern coast of the Issyk-Kul lake, independently evaluated at about US$1 bn, for prices ranging from a mere 1 per cent to 10 per cent of their real worth. Finally, the appropriation and distribution of foreign economic aid has also become an important aspect of the elites’ economic interests. The democratic image of Kyrgyzstan helped it to obtain per capita threefold the amount of foreign financial credits and subsidies, than any other post-Soviet state in Central Asia.33 According to the report of Urkalyi Isayev, Chairman of the Government Investment Committee, to the Jogorku Kenesh session of 10 November 1999, Kyrgyzstan received between 1992 and 1998 about US$1.3 bn in foreign loans and donations.34 Some US$33.4 m of humanitarian and technical aid were received in the first ten months of 199935 comprising 8 per cent of the import. It should be noted, however, that Isayev’s office has more than once been criticised for condoning the abuse of borrowed and granted resources. As Vechernii Bishkek (usually very careful in its estimates) put it, ‘experience teaches that both grants and humanitarian help are successfully snatched here [in Kyrgyzstan], regardless of how much was [actually] given’.36

192

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Thus, one can see as logical that in Kyrgyzstan, as in the other postSoviet states of Central Asia, corruption has become a factor in the political cleavages as well as a convenient symbol of mobilisation in intra- and inter-clan power struggles. The case of Uzbekistan, where President Karimov has eliminated the internal opposition in the first few years of independence and has been steadily destroying the power of regional clans through aggressive anti-corruption drives,37 may be regarded as a classical one. The issue of corruption has also often been raised in Kyrgyzstan in the regular increases in the conflicts between the ‘progressive’ president and the ‘backward’ Parliament. While the Jogorku Kenesh is dominated by provincial ethnic and regional groups, and thus the ‘old nomenclatura’ still enjoy their influence, the ‘liberal-democratic’ allies of Akayev, as well as members of his native Sary-bagysh tribe are concentrated in the presidential administration and the government.38 As a result, it isn’t hard to recognize the people who call themselves democrats in Kyrgyzstan. They work in the ministries or are involved in business. They travel abroad, sport well-tailored suits and have impeccable manners. Indeed, many of the very top democrats are former physicists, graduates of the same institute as President Askar Akayev. They drive, or are driven, in government Volgas or BMWs, while their offspring favour off-road Jeeps and Range Rovers.39

Consequently, anti-corruption activities regularly become an arena of confrontation between the leaders of the modernised and the traditional nomenclatural elites, as well as between the presidential and the peripheral clans. Such a conflict occurred in the autumn of 1994 about the committee of inquiry that studied corruption in the legislative and executive branches. It resulted in the dissolution of the Supreme Council of Kyrgyzstan, and a referendum which authorised Akayev to carry out a constitutional reform. According to the report of the Commission on Security and Cooperation in Europe, opposition movements and parties, as well as many Western diplomats, believed that President Akayev had engineered the dissolution of the parliament in September–October 1994 because legislative commissions investigating the government’s gold deal with foreign firms were preparing to release information about official malfeasance and other corruption.40 193

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Another reflection of this aspect was the banishment of Akayev’s close client, Prime Minister Apas Jumagulov. Many officials in Kyrgyzstan believed that the former prime minister was forced to resign to prevent a possible scandal: he was a founding member of the MTAK, a firm that was registered in Austria in February 1997 to handle Kyrgyzstan’s gold sales and stands to make profits of up to US$100 m over the next three years. Rather than face an investigation in Parliament Jumagulov preferred a ‘respectable’ resignation.41 It is symbolic that the head of the Communist Party, Absamat Masaliyev, has become at the moment a leading critic of corruption, regularly blaming the government for ‘selling off state property for next to nothing’.42 In its turn, the ‘anti-corruption struggle’ has become an effective weapon of the presidential administration in its battle against opposition clans represented in Parliament. Thus, about 30 per cent of Jogorku Kenesh deputies elected in 1995, were at the moment of their inauguration under criminal investigation for financial crimes.43 That enabled Akayev to introduce, in October 1998, amendments to the Constitution of Kyrgyzstan that substantially decreased the deputies’ immunity. Consequently, soon after these amendments were approved by a referendum, three deputies of the Assembly of People’s Representatives of the Jogorku Kenesh – Boris Vorobev, Jalgap Kazakbayev and Marat Kalmurzayev – were arrested, and criminal charges of large-scale misappropriation of state funds were brought against 12 others.44 The anti-corruption campaigns of recent years have also been external evidence, testifying to a substantial regrouping of forces in the upper political echelons of Kyrgyzstan. One of the most important trends, as it was noted, has been the consolidation of Akayev’s personal power structure. This structure (often called the ‘Kemin clan’ after the president’s native district) includes, apart from Akayev himself, his close clients, as well as patrons of some peripheral regional clans. Kyrgyzstan’s media have identified the following persons as belonging to this group: Misir Ashikulov (former minister of national security and now state secretary), Asatbek Abdurashitov (former head of the Department for the Administrative and Organisational Affairs under the Cabinet), Bolot Januzakov (secretary of the Security Council), Kanybek Imanaliyev (the president’s press secretary), Temirbek Akmataliyev (Akim of the Osh oblast), K. Jumaliyev (Akim of the Jalalabad oblast) and Toychubek Kasymov (Akim of the Issyk-Kul oblast).45 The personal power structures, which make Akayev relatively independent of the northern macroclan leaders, have also become an element of great importance in the new distribution of political forces and political conflicts on both the inter-clan and the intra-clan levels. 194

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The growing influence of the presidential clan has dealt a ‘severe blow’ at the former Akayev allies – the Talas clan, which has thus lost a great deal of its influence.46 The former mayor of Bishkek, Felix Kulov, became one of the victims of this struggle. Some observers believe that he had to resign due to Akayev’s son-in-law Adil Toygonbayev’s pressure. Not surprisingly, the CEC applied massive pressure on Kulov, who has become one of the leaders of the Talas clan’s struggle to regain their positions in Bishkek.47 This was but one step in an extensive campaign aimed at extinguishing opposition centres of power and the ‘redirecting’ to the president of the patron–client networks of his political rivals. For example, the list of the second largest opposition in Kyrgyzstan, the El (Bei-Bechara) Party, was disqualified by the CEC. On the other hand, Akayev offered some leaders of the party senior government positions.48 The criminal case suspended several years earlier against Usen Sydykov, the leader of another opposition party – the Agrarian Labour party – was reopened.49 According to Ramazan Dyryldayev of the Kyrgyz Committee for Human Rights, Sydykov was offered a carrot – the position of vice-prime minister if he did not run for Parliament. He had no choice but to agree.50 Although formally fitting the definition of political corruption, these activities should, however, be discussed in the wider context of the traditional norms of political struggle. The steps of the presidential circle on the eve of the 2000 elections have not transgressed on these traditions, aiming at the destruction of the political bases of both the leading southern centres and the anti-Akayev opposition in his northern macro-clan. Akayev’s appointment of his close northern clients Zhenish Rustenbekov, and then Temirbek Akmataliyev, the former governor of the Talas oblast, to the position of governor of Osh, a traditional ‘stronghold’ of the southern macro-clan, was an obvious success. (The former governor of Osh, the southerner Amangeldi Muraliyev, was appointed at the completely ceremonial position of acting prime minister.)51 In turn, Ismail Masaitov, the former head of state administration of Tash-Kumyr in the south-west Jalalabad oblast, was appointed governor of the Talas oblast.52 Evidently, these relocations had a twofold aim: to destroy the upper strata of the clientelistic pyramids of opposition clans and to convert the regional governors, this way lacking close relations to local patron–client network, into personal clients of Akayev. As an observer stated, we have a state, which is under the complete control of a single person – President Akayev. This control is not excercised by way of a political party, the bureaucracy, the army or a specific social sector and even not 195

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through the Kemin or the Talas clans. The president reigns by cadres appointed, dismissed and transferred by himself. The president’s people are totally dependent upon him, devoted to him and are not disconnected from each other.53

The reaction of the southerners’ leaders has been to regroup their political forces, including the rise of the political importance of the Batken clan. This group, which obviously enjoys a monopoly in the Batken oblast,54 includes Apsamat Masaliyev, the leader of the Kyrgyz Communist Party; Mamat Aybalayev, the former head of the Kadamjay antimony plant and the present governor of the Batken oblast; and Rahat Achilova and Dosbol Nur Uulu, both parliamentary deputies.55 The rise of this group was promoted by an armed conflict in the spring and summer of 1999 in the Batken area.56 According to Kyrgyzian human rights sources, during the war malcontent with Akayev was considerably on the rise, particularly in the south. So was the southerners’ distrust of northerners. Many southerners now claim that their enemies are neither the rebels, nor even Uzbekistan, but President Akayev.57 These events have naturally increased the political importance of the military’s high command.58 This compelled Akayev to take a few logical steps to strengthen his personal standing among the military elite of the country. Thus, in September 1999 the president appointed General Bolot Januzakov – an ex-Komsomol leader, and recently a member of the presidential administration, who has actually never commanded military troops and is widely believed to have received his rank by way of favouritism – Secretary of the Security Council.59 These are the main features of the process of regrouping of political forces and redeployment of power and property among major players in the political process in Kyrgyzstan. This process is affected by the results of the parliamentary elections in February 2000, and further developments are expected due to the presidential elections scheduled for end of October 2000. CONCLUSION

Thus, what is Kyrgyzstan? Is it the ‘island of democracy’ in postSoviet Central Asia, which despite difficulties and shortcomings marches towards a modern liberal society? Or is it an authoritarian regime, the evolution of which into an oriental despotism – whether in its ‘classical’ (Turkmenistan) or ‘soft’ (Uzbekistan) versions – is 196

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only a matter of time? The facts presented in this chapter may lead to both conclusions or to neither. If one starts from an assumption that traditional and modern social and political institutions and relations in Kyrgyzstan (and in the other post-Soviet states of Central Asia) are parallel or incompatible, one faces a chaotic and contradicting picture of liberal reforms and authoritarian counter-reforms; of attempts to develop a market economy and to preserve non-economic models of transforming power into profits; of the existence of a full range of attributes of liberal democracy and a Western-style legal system, and the dominance of neo-traditional models of political behaviour, of the development of ethnic clientelism and of widespread bureaucratic, political and economic corruption. All these seemingly contradicting facts fit into the puzzle, however, if one adopts the idea of organic symbiosis of local (traditional) and borrowed (Western) social and political structures. Clearly, the process of ‘modernisation’ (i.e., the implementation of the institutes of civil society) and ‘re-traditionalisation’ (i.e., the legitimisation of traditional relations) are two sides of the same process – the evolution of the real social and political structure of the country. The local component of this structure is the cornerstone which transforms implemented Western institutions, causes them to follow the traditional rules of the game and enriches them with neo-traditional essence. The examples of the workings of this mechanism are numerous. Besides the facts mentioned in this chapter, one can also point to a specific example of the adaptation of the institute of family and clan elders to the modern political process in the form of the widespread practice of the voting of a family head on behalf of all its members. This phenomenon was visible in the parliamentary elections of both 1995 and 2000.60 It is also symptomatic that this practice is embraced by some Kyrgyz intellectuals. One of them presented his opinion to the official Slovo Kyrgyzstana: Why . . . is it not allowed for some member of the family to go and vote on behalf of the entire family? . . . And the international monitors are scrupulously fixing the infringements. In this situation, if some candidate, a loser approaches the OSCE with a complaint while the state is trying to persue its own independent policy, could one rule out obstruction of that state? Such a situation cannot be regarded as exclusive. Is it a rare case that we see democracy used as a means to gain someone’s ends?61

It is precisely from this point of view that one should discuss such social institutions as clientelism and corruption. On the one hand, 197

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these social institutions are part of a socially important mechanism which helps society to defend itself from and adapt to the growing pressure of the modern state bureaucracy. According to this line of interpretation, a neo-traditional society which produces and legitimises such phenomena should also posses the means to limit them and render them positive. On the other hand, it is impossible to ignore the negative outcome of the domination of clan-style patron–client relations and corruption, which in post-Soviet Central Asia have exceeded not only formal, but informal norms and margins as well. Thus, a negativist approach would call for the suppression of the unofficial political structures and social relations, which, as already noted, is far from being practical. A positivist view would regard the present reverie of informal economic and political relations as a kind of primitive accumulation of capital, comparable with the wild capitalism of sixteenth- to seventeenth-century Europe and nineteenthcentury US. According to this point, what is happening in the post-Soviet space is merely an unavoidable prelude to a normal market economy, civil society and liberal welfare state. However, the realisation of this scenario is far from being obvious. On the contrary, a decade of independent development of the former republics of the USSR seems to place them much closer to postcolonial societies in Asia and more so in Africa, with evident differences between the industrialised post-Soviet states (including the semi-industrial Central Asian ones) and the pre-industrial African societies. Many things appear to be almost similar, among them the freezing in one way or another of accumulated resources (including those accumulated through the manipulation of power and the privatisation of state property) at the stage of primitive accumulation. Both the African and post-Soviet cases show that accumulated resources are almost never invested in the economy. Rather, they turn into a sort of ‘capitalised treasure’62 which is often quickly rebureaucratised or transferred abroad. Investment in politics (to serve patron–client connections, ‘dirty political technologies’, etc.) exceeds by far that in the economy, and if money is invested in the economy, it is never in the productive branches, but rather in luxurious consumption, financial pyramids, real estate, etc. or even in openly criminal spheres, such as drug trafficking. Thus, both the negativist and positivist attempts to comprehend the nature and prospects of clientelism and corruption in Central Asia are counterproductive and will always remain such, because both are setting the institutions, standards and values of Western liberal society as an absolute normative political aim, and because they overestimate the unifying impact of world social systems. At the same time, the potential consequences of some traditionalist alternative, for 198

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example their fundamentalist Islamic version as demonstrated in Tajikistan and the Northern Caucasus, can be even more tragic. The problem, it seems, lies in the inability to recognise that traditional and modern relations and structures form organic syntheses, and in the insistance of regarding them as opposed to each other. Such an approach, it seems, prevents both the international community and the local reformers from developing adequate polices which might contribute to solving, or at least easing, the present crises of quasiliberal post-Soviet, post-Communist and post-colonial transformations in Asia and Africa. NOTES 1 For example, during seven years of independence, the Ukraine’s gross domestic product (GDP) has fallen by two-thirds, and the average monthly wage in 1998 was US$50 (Financial Times, 27 November 1998). The situation in the Central Asian states is even more difficult. The per capita income in the region declined from an average of US$3,133 in 1991 to about US$2,000 in 1995. Jim Nichol, Central Asia’s New States: Political Developments and Implications for U.S. Interests, Report No. 93108, Washington: Dept. of State (Foreign Affairs and National Defense Division), Updated 19 December 1996, p. 15. The domestic production of Kyrgyzstan between 1991 and 1997 had been falling by approximately 15–20 per cent each year – Christian Boehm, ‘Democracy in Kyrgyzstan – Reforms, Rethoric and Realities’, paper presented at conference ‘Postkommunismens Antropologi’, 12–14 April 1996, Department of Anthropology, University of Copenhagen, p. 2. Only recently has the economy of Kyrgyzstan started to show signs of recovery, rising by 2.1 per cent in 1998 and 3.6 per cent in 1999 – Interfax, 27 January 2000. The overall decline of Kazakhstan’s GDP in the mid-1990s was one of the highest in the CIS – Roald Sagdeev, ‘The Rocky Road to Democracy in CA’, Focus (March 1995). 2 The president of Kyrgyzstan promised a meeting of the heads of the Aksakal Courts in May 1999 to initiate a new package of legislation on local governments and Aksakal Courts – ‘Meetings of the Aksakal Courts’, Radio Free Europe/ Radio Liberty (RFE/RL), Kyrgyz Service, 8 May 1999. 3 The structure and function of the political clans in Kyrgyzstan are discussed by this author in ‘Political Clans and Political Conflicts in Contemporary Kyrgyzstan’, in Yaacov Ro’i (ed.), Democracy and Pluralism in the Muslim Areas of the Former Soviet Union (London: Frank Cass, forthcoming). 4 See, for example, Irina Kostyukova, ‘The Towns of Kyrgyzstan Change their Faces: Rural–Urban Migrants in Bishkek’, Central Asian Survey, Vol. 13, No. 3 (September 1994), p. 428; A.G. Zdravomyslov, Mezhnatsional’nyye konflikty v post-sovetskom prostranstve [Inter-Ethnic Conflicts in the Post-Soviet Space] (Moscow: Aspect, 1997), pp. 29–30. 5 Reuter Information Service, 23 December 1995. 6 S. Lokteva, ‘Gde konchayetsya vlast? [Where Does the Rule End?]’, Vechernii Bishkek, 1 December 1999. 7 A. Otobaeva, ‘Novyi parlament: siurprizov ne budet [The New Parliament: There Will Be No Surprises]’, Vechernii Bishkek, 25 February 2000. 8 Bishkek, 11 November 1999; ‘New State TV and Radio Organization is Set Up’, RFE/RL, Kyrgyz Service, 27 April 1999.

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION 9 Kabar News Agency, 5 January 2000; Interfax, 1 July 1999. See also Bruce Pannier, ‘Kyrgyzstan: Banned Parties Work To Compete In Elections’, RFE/RL (Weekday Magazine – Kyrgyzstan), 19 January 2000. 10 RFE/RL, Kyrgyz Service, 15 January 2000; S. Lokteva, ‘Pretendenty-narushiteli [Claimants-Infringers (on the Law)]’, Vechernii Bishkek, 1 December 1999. 11 See the 1999 Transparency International Corruption Perceptions Index (CPI) (Berlin: Transparency International, 1999), pp. 4–5. 12 Quoted in Viacheslav Timirbayev, ‘Sprut po imeni korruptziya [Octopus Named Corruption]’, Vechernii Bishkek, 19 November 1999. 13 N. Volgina and M. Gafarly, ‘Kirgizia: Slozhnosti i ptotivorechya perekhoda k sovremennoi rynochnoi ekonimike [Kirghizia: The Difficulties and the Contradictions of the Transition to a Contemporary Market Economy]’, in Aleksei Vasilev and Igor Sledzevsky (eds), Postsovetskaia Sredniaia Aziia: Obreteniia i poteri [Post-Soviet Central Asia: Gains and Losses] (Moscow: Vostochnaia Literatura, 1998), pp. 326–7. 14 Quoted in Jeremy Bransten, ‘Kyrgyzstan: A Democracy Only For The Rich’, RFE/RL, 14 October 1997. 15 Calculating the difference between the debts of and to an enterprise. 16 T. Dubanaev, ‘Prednamerennoe bankrotstvo [A Premeditated Bankrupcy], Vechernii Bishkek, 4 January 2000. 17 Sultan Mederov, ‘Analyses of Privatization in Kyrgyz Republic, its Main Results and Further Strategies’, Journal of Economic Cooperation Among Islamic Countries, Vol. 18, Nos. 1–2 (1997), p. 35. 18 Timirbayev, ‘Sprut’. 19 Tolkun Namatbayeva, ‘Democratic Kyrgyzstan: What Lies Ahead?’, in Roald Z. Sagdeev, Susan Eisenhower et al. (eds), Central Asia: Conflict, Resolution, and Change (Washington, DC: Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1995) (online version). 20 ‘Economic Crime on Increase in Kyrgyzstan’, RFE/RL, 22 January 1999. 21 Alexander Zelitchenko, ‘Drug Trafficking in Central Asia’, The Times of Central Asia, 12 December 1999. 22 Vechernii Bishkek, 18 November 1999. 23 Alexander Zelitchenko, ‘Narkosituatsiia v zone deistviia mezhdunarodnogo anti-narkotikovogo proekta OON “Oshskyi uzel” [The Drug Situation in the Zone of Action of the UN International Anti-Drug Project “The Osh Knot”]’, Central Asia and Caucasus, No. 5, Vol. 6 (1999), pp. 170–7. 24 A typical representative of this group is according to Moskovskii Komsomolets Akayev’s son-in-law, Adil Toygonbayev, who is believed to control leading energy, transport, communications, alcohol production and air service enterprises, as well as the privatisation of the sugar and cotton industries of Kyrgyzstan. Moskovskii Komsomolets, 9 December 1999. 25 Quoted in Bransten, ‘Kyrgyzstan: A Democracy Only For The Rich’. 26 Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 7 May 1994. 27 Narynbek Idinov, ‘Kyrgyzstan: Politicians Wrangle Over Gold Production’, RFE/RL, 6 February 1998. 28 Neil Melvin, ‘Conflict and the State in the Caucasus and Central Asia’, Perspectives on Central Asia, Vol. II, No. 15 (June 1998). 29 G. Kuz’min, ‘Komissiya proverila. Zabud’te? [The Committee Had Checked. Forget It?]’, Vechernii Bishkek, 19 November 1999. 30 Justin Burke, ‘Top Officials Face Corruption Charges’, RFE/RL, 17 December 1999. See also ‘Dva vzgliada na khishchenie veka’ [Two Views on the Plunder of the Century]’, Vechernii Bishkek, 29 December 1999.

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CLIENTELISM, CORRUPTION AND POWER IN KYRGYZSTAN 31 RFE/RL, Kyrgyz Service, 27 April 1999. 32 T. Dubanayev, ‘Deshevaia sviaz’: Kyztelekom mozhet byt’ privatizirovan za beztsenok [Cheap Connection: Kyztelecom Might Be Privatised for Nothing]’, Vechernii Bishkek, 15 December 1999. 33 Christian Boehm, ‘Democracy in Kyrgyzstan: Reforms, Rhetorics and Realities’, paper presented at conference ‘Postkommunismens Antropologi’, 12–14 April 1996, University of Copenhagen, pp. 5, 8. 34 Vechernii Bishkek, 11 November 1999. 35 These included US$26.1 m from the USA and US$2.9 m from Germany. 36 G. Kuzmin, ‘Otritsatel’ny oborot: na sferu vneshnei torgovli respubliki poveialo kholodom [A Negative Turn: Cold Wind is Blowing on the Republic’s Foreign Trade]’, Vechernii Bishkek, 20 November 1999. 37 Melvin, ‘Conflict and the State in the Caucasus and Central Asia’, p. 4. 38 See Vladimir Khanin, ‘Kyrgyzstan: Ethnic Political Pluralism and Political Conflicts’, Central Asia and Caucasus, Vol. 2, No. 2 (9) (March–April 2000), pp. 123–30. 39 Bransten, ‘Kyrgyzstan: A Democracy Only For The Rich’. 40 See Report on the Parliamentary Elections in Kyrgyzstan, February 5, 1995, Bishkek. Prepared by the Staff of the Commission on Security and Cooperation in Europe, April 1995. 41 Narynbek Idinov, ‘Kyrgyzstan: New Prime Minister Appointed’, RFE/RL, 26 March 1998. 42 RFE/RL, Kyrgyz Service, 27 April 1999. 43 Ian Pryde, ‘Kyrgyzstan’s Slow Progress to Reform’, The World Today, Vol. 51, No. 6 (June 1995), p. 115. 44 Kabar News Agency (Bishkek) in Russian, 24 June 1999. Another change approved in the referendum strips parliament of its right to discuss budget spending without government consent. The reason for bringing this amendment, according to Akayev, was the fact that ‘the legislature was interfering too much in the economy’ – quoted in Dmitry Solovyov, ‘Kyrgyzstan Voters Back Constitutional Change’, The Indian Express, 18 October 1998. 45 ‘Igra: vlast’, klany i plany [A game: Power, Clans and Plans]’, Kyrgyz Rukhu, 5 November 1999, p. 1. 46 It includes such notable people as the famous writer Chingiz Aytmatov, Dastan Sarygulov (the sacked chairman of the Kyrgyzaltyn state gold concern), Kemelbek Nanayev (former finance minister), Murzakan Subanov (sacked defence minister) and others. 47 See above and note 14. 48 See ‘Government Seeking to Co-opt Opposition?’, RFE/RL, 20 January 2000. 49 MP, in the past Communist Party functionary and currently president of the jointstock ‘Kyrgyz Dan-Azyk’ company. 50 Kyrgyzstan Committee for Human Rights, 24 January 2000 (http://www.soros. org/kyrgycep/kyrgrigh.html). 51 Katya Nadirova, ‘New governor appointed in southern Kyrgyz Osh Region’, text of report by Kyrgyz radio, 13 April – SWB, 14 April 1999. 52 ‘New Governor Appointed in Northwest Kyrgyz Region’, Kyrgyz Radio first programme, 14 April 1999 – SWB, 15 April 1999. 53 ‘Two Motives to Remain the President’, Aki-Press, No. 6, Vol. 156 (April 1998). 54 This fact is obviously seen through the results of the 20 February 2000 parliamentary elections in the area (see ‘Official Results of the elections to Jogorky Kenesh, 20 February 2000’, Kabar Information Agency, 28 February 2000. See also RFE/RL, Kyrgyz Service, Saturday 26 February 2000). The Batken oblast

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55 56

57 58 59 60 61 62

was created in 1998 as part of the territory of southern Osh oblast in the course of the official policy of ‘decentralisation’ and ‘liberalising’ state power. According to some observers, however, a real aim of the central administration was to dilute the ethnic Kyrgyz majority in Osh oblast, where the bulk of the Uzbek population lives in and around the regional capital of Osh, and thus, through ethnic misbalance, to damage the stronghold of power of the southern leaders. See Nick Megoran, ‘Elections and Ethnicity in the South of Kyrgyzstan’, Eurasia Insight, 29 March 2000. BBC, 15 November 1999. It was fought between Kyrgyzstan’s army and revolting Islamic units, both local and from nearby Tajik areas, that tried to get to Uzbekistan. One of the events that took world-wide publicity that summer was the Kyrgyz government’s army operation aiming at the liberation of hostages taken by rebels in the Batken area. The crisis also involved Uzbekistani troops (on the side of the government of Kyrgyzstan) and Afghan Islamists (in support of the rebels). The Kyrgyzstan Committee for Human Rights Update: The Situation in the South, 15 September 1999. (http://www.soros.org/kyrgycep/kyrgrigh.html). Former Defence Minister Felix Kulov, known as the ‘people’s general’, a former ally and currently an opponent of the president, must also be closely connected to this military elite. See note 58. Associated Press, 19 February 1995; The Times of Central Asia, 5 March 2000. Slovo Kyrgyzstana – v Kontse Nedeli, 7 January 2000. The concept of ‘capitalised treasure’ was suggested and discussed in the Nigerian context by Igor Sledzevsky in his Formirovani’e sotzial’no – ekonomicheskoi struktury sovremennoi Nigerii [The Forming of the Socio-Economic Structure of Contemporary Nigeria] (Moscow: Nauka, 1988).

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10

The Problem of Political Order in Contemporary Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan1 Paul Georg Geiss

INTRODUCTION

Western studies of post-Soviet Central Asian politics often start from problematic assumptions which impede both sound evaluations of the current political situation and reasonable prognoses. One of these implicit assumptions is the belief that the Sovietisation of Central Asia has also led to the Europeanisation of this area or at least, that its Europeanisation is highly probable in the foreseeable future. This is why an increasing number of political analysts have been exploring the chances of the transition from Communism to Democracy,2 examining the probability of establishing civil societies3 and evaluating the political progress, or the lack of it, towards a market economy.4 From this perspective Kazakhstan – like Kyrgyzstan – has been described as one of the more democratic Central Asian states, where party pluralism, elections with alternative candidates and free mass media have to a certain extent been established. In contrast, Turkmenistan has been perceived as the most authoritarian dictatorship, in which the power of Saparmurad Niyazov is based on an extreme personality cult of the Türkmenbashy, as the Turkmen president is officially called. Some scholars even affirm that Niyazov has managed to ‘build a cult of personality to rival or even exceed that of Stalin’.5 Another assumption common among Western analysts is their optimism that political change from a Communist regime to a political system based on representative parliamentarism and on the rule of law can indeed be achieved by political and economic reform. In their opinion Mikhail Gorbachev was a political reformer who started to 203

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democratise the Soviet Union. Therefore, they expect his reform policy to be continued by the Soviet successor states. However, ten years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, analysts can only point at an increasing authoritarianism in Central Asia. Even the republics of Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan perceived as more democratic have been facing increasing criticism. In the case of Kazakhstan, Nursultan Nazarbayev’s five-year extension of his presidency in April 1995 was denounced as ‘undemocratic’ and ‘unconstitutional’. Similarly, the January 1999 presidential elections were described by Western observers as ‘unfair’ and ‘undemocratic’, because rival candidates – such as former Prime Minister Akezhan Kazhegeldin – had either been barred from running or been denied access to the mass media.6 As for Turkmenistan – it has never been perceived as being committed to democracy anyway. If the first assumption has proven to be erroneous, it is mainly so because of the tendency to apply Western concepts of society and polity to Central Asia. The focus on parliamentarism, fair elections, political freedom, opposition movements or civil society serve only to obscure the picture. Instead, one would rather suggest using a more general perspective on the problem of political change, which might enable us to explain not only how politics operate in the Central Asian context, but also why parliamentary democracy there faces serious problems. In doing so, one will necessarily have to examine the second tacit assumption about the possibility of political reform as well. Another major obstacle to any reliable analysis is the political terminology used by Western analysts. These employ terms that are associated with negative concepts in Western political discourse, such as ‘dictatorship’, ‘despotism’, ‘corruption’, ‘tyranny’ or ‘Islamic fundamentalism’. This chapter, being a comparative analysis of the problem of political order in post-Soviet Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan from a more general perspective, will avoid such strong ethnocentric concepts. It will use, therefore, the precisely defined and value-free terms of political sociology. THE POLITICAL HERITAGE

The dissolution of the Soviet Union confronted in a new way the political elites of Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan with the problem of political order. It was the first time that indigenous political elites got full control over an independent state apparatus and that they solely became responsible for the political integration of their republics. The political leadership no longer depended on good relations in Moscow 204

Map 8: Kazakhstan: Administrative Division

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and could no longer be controlled from the outside. Due to economic, military and financial dependence on the USSR, the leaders of both countries had initially supported their republics’ participation in a reformed Union. After the August 1991 putsch attempt and the Minsk agreement of December 1991the fate of the Soviet Union was sealed.7 Turkmenistan declared its national independence in October and Kazakhstan in December 1991. The disintegration of the Soviet Union was followed by the collapse of ‘Soviet Patriotism’ and ‘Marxism-Leninism’ as a totalistic world view. On the other hand, the Republican leaders had already by the late 1980s taken over the cultural concerns of nationalistic groups like Zheltoqsan (‘December’) or the Azat (‘freedom’) movement in Kazakhstan and Agzybirlik (‘Concord’) in Turkmenistan.8 They had thus promoted the nationalisation9 of their republics already before their formal declarations of independence. In this policy they continued the process of nation-building originally initiated by the Soviet authorities in the 1920s. Soviet nationality policy, which became an administrative principle of Soviet government, aimed at forming indigenous Communist elites by promoting local cadres and advancing the nativisation (korenizatsiia) of the party apparatus.10 Thus the nationalisation of state and society in postSoviet Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan has not been invented by the former Communist elites to gain an alternative political ideology to legitimise their rule. Rather it has been a response to the mounting public demand for a more appropriate official acknowledgement of the titulary nations’ cultural and historical heritage. A demonstration of what might happen in the lack of such a response was supplied by Tajikistan, where the political elites tried even after the failed August 1991 putsch to hold on to Communism as the normative base of their rule.11 With regard to their forms of government, both republics inherited their presidential regime from Gorbachev, who had introduced the presidential system in March 1990.12 Within the same month the first secretary of the Central Committee (CC) of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) in Turkmenistan, Saparmurat Niyazov, orchestrated his election by the Supreme Soviet of the Turkmen Soviet Socialist Republic (SSR) as the republic’s president. His colleague from Kazakhstan, Nursultan Nazarbayev, followed this example only one month later. In October 1990 Niyazov became the first president to be elected by a popular vote (he was the only candidate). Nazarbayev was directly elected (also as a single candidate) only in December 1991, by when he had already resigned as first secretary of the CC of the CPSU in Kazakhstan. This means that a presidential regime was not a deliberate choice of the Kazakh and Turkmen polit206

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ical elites after independence but rather a result of their attempts to secure the state apparatus during the collapse of the Soviet Union and its core, the CPSU. Since independence both republics have adopted constitutions which define them as democratic, secular states based on the rule of law.13 Both constitutions outline a division of power and establish a system of checks and balances among the legislative, executive and judiciary branches.14 They formally and liberally guarantee the citizens’ human, social and political rights and freedoms – including those of forming assemblies, corporations and political parties – on a par with Western constitutions.15 Since their adoption, Western politicians, diplomats and political analysts have criticised both presidents for their reluctance to allow the exercise of the political rights, democratic elections and free media promised in these constitutions. Some of them stated that the Kazakh and Turkmen leaders have been unwilling to take the risks that real democracy entails.16 In response, the Turkmen and Kazakh political leaders emphasised that democratic reforms which do not consider the mentality of their peoples have a destabilising effect. According to the Kazakh president, at a time of economic crisis, dropping standard of living and struggles between rival groupings, one needs to establish a ‘democracy without blood and chaos’. That is, in order to prevent destabilisation and carry out effective reforms, state control has to be enhanced and the power of the president strengthened.17 Similarly, the Turkmen president, asked about his cult of personality, declared: I do not need this, but our state does . . . In the transition period there must be one leader in our state. Multipower centres would engender anarchy.18

Is the concern for stability and strong state structures expressed by Niyazov and Nazarbayev only an ideological cover to justify their rule, or is there also an objective reason for their concern? PATRIMONIAL AUTHORITY

Too often the implications of a political order that is not based on the rule of law are not comprehended fully. In Western democracies both the citizens and the politicians respect the rules of the constitutions or of the common law which regulate political competition. This is what enables the political competition among the various political parties. Political power19 is linked to the attainment of majorities in legal assemblies which enforce new laws executed by the government and 207

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their administrative staff and interpreted in the last resort by independent courts. Due to the rule of law, authority relations20 are depersonalised and are, therefore, stable despite the change of political elites. The monopoly of physical coercion and of taxation is guaranteed by the commitment to the law of both the citizens and the officials. This form of political community was often called ‘legal authority’21 and identified with the constitutional state. Political orders which form state structures22 that are not based on legal authority, operate on a quite different base. Their form of political community relies on relations of piety,23 and loyalty of ruler and ruled. Loyalty of the administrative staff to the head of the state is the constitutive principle of authority, which tries to strengthen or secure its monopoly of taxation and the use of force. In contrast to an acephalous tribal political community and that based on patriarchal authority,24 this type of community enables the ruler to dispose of an administrative staff and to enforce his commands without being dependent on the cooperation of subjects or tribal followers. These authority relations will be defined in this article according to the sociological usage as ‘patrimonial’.25 Both Kazakhs and Turkmen were originally organised in tribal confederacies which maintained inimical relations to neighbouring more or less patrimonial states like the Qajar Shah in Iran, the Khan of Khiva, the Emir of Bukhara and the Russian Tsar. Whenever facing economic and military pressure, they formed political alliances with patrimonial rulers who often mistook their temporary oaths of allegiance as permanent submission to their rule.26 It was only in the second half of the nineteenth century that patrimonial state structures were established in Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan by the introduction of the Tsarist civil–military administration headed by governor-generals and oblast and uezd commandants. Henceforth the tribesmen were no longer able to secure their own political integration, and their political elites were deprived of influence. However, these patrimonial state structures were based not on authority but on domination because they lacked shared legal and political community within the population.27 Patrimonial state structures were re-established after the victory of the Red Army with the creation of the Turkmen and the Kazakh SSRs. Although Europeans dominated the upper echelons of these state apparati, Turkmen and Kazakhs who had joined the Soviet power held important positions in the Soviet government. Local committees, on the other hand, were controlled completely by the traditional elites. Even some Alash Ordists,28 who during the civil war had opposed the Bolsheviks and tried to form an independent Kazakh government, joined the CP. Thus during the NEP period29 the Kazakh and Turkmen elites regained political influence on the regional level. 208

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The highest degree of external control of the state apparatus was reached in the purges of the 1930s, when Stalin ordered the liquidation of most of the prominent Turkmen and Kazakh communists. Among the most famous victims of these purges were the chairman of the Turkmen Supreme Soviet, Nederbay Aytakov, and the Kazakh historian Turar Ryskulov.30 In Stalin’s last years disgraced national elites were treated less harshly. For example, Shaja Batyrov, the first secretary of the CC of the Turkmen CP between 1946 and 1951, who had not prevented the publication of Korkut-Ata, a nationalised Turkmen heroic epic, only lost his office. He was, nevertheless, able to switch his career to science, to become an aspirant31 at the Academy of Social Science in Moscow, and to end up as the head of the Turkmen Academy of Sciences. He died in 1965.32 In the eras of Khrushchev and Brezhnev the nomenklatura system became firmly rooted in both republics. Outwardly the republican first secretaries displayed loyalty to the general secretary and formally complied with instructions from Moscow. In their own republic they were able to augment their political sway by forming patronagenetworks which ensured the loyalty of regional and local leaders and the economic and administrative elites. Since republican and oblast appointments were determined in Moscow, the change of the general secretary of the CPSU was usually followed by the nomination of new first secretaries of the parties’ CC in the republics. These secretaries established a new patronage-network of their own by forming political alliances and replacing the administrative staff.33 Nevertheless, senior positions had to be appointed, or at least approved by Moscow. Sukhan Babayev, Turkmenistan’s first secretary from 1951 to 1958, was replaced because he had disobeyed this rule and deposed Balysh Ovezov, the republic’s chairman of the Council of Ministers, without Moscow’s approval. On the other hand, first secretaries who became members of the CC or of the Politburo in Moscow were able to lobby for more economic investment for the union in their republics. In this way long-term First Secretary Dinmuhamed Kunayev (1961–86) used successfully his close relations with Brezhnev to mobilise considerable economic means for Kazakhstan. Perestroika had little impact on the patrimonial base of authority relations. Both Niyazov and Nazarbayev were appointed by Gorbachev, who also supported their personnel reshuffle of the state apparatus. Niyazov, however, did not grant political freedom to opposition groups. He had, therefore, fewer problems than Nazarbayev in securing the unity of the state, once Moscow’s control of economic resources, oblast committees and the republican apparatus had collapsed and the newly independent republics had to cope with the antagonism of regional leaders by themselves. 209

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Hence national independence had no impact on the prevailing form of political association in Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan. The government of the newly independent republics is patrimonially organised, exactly like the Soviet one was. And since patrimonial states cannot grant political freedom without risking the collapse of the centralised state structures, the political elites of Central Asia have justified their continuing political monopoly by a simpler explanation: whereas the CPSU maintained that its political monopoly was necessary to persevere with its avant-garde role in society and to defeat the enemies of the working class, Nazarbayev and Niyazov defend their authoritarian rule by the necessity to maintain stability and interethnic peace in their republics. THE PROBLEM OF POLITICAL ORDER

The disintegration of the Soviet Union has posed the problem of political order in a new way. In contrast to the view expressed by many Western political analysts, the problem of political order is not how to realise democracy in terms of Western parliamentarism. (This view, by the way, is frequently opposed by Central Asian politicians who insist that their societies have to proceed along their own way towards democracy.) As already mentioned above, this view is based on problematic assumptions. Thus it does not take into account the fact that political liberalisation and democratisation of societies which are not committed to legal authority, i.e. the rule of law, might result in an unintended outcome. Instead of promoting democratic political culture, Western style ‘democratisation’ might, in fact, undermine or even destroy the integrity of the state apparatus and lead to the regionalisation of the republics. Thus Western support of opposition movements does not and cannot promote a democratic opposition which is firmly established in all parts of the state. Rather, Western support either helps some regional leaders to prop up their power or ascribes to some political activists influence in their countries which they do not possess in reality. Furthermore, there is little evidence to assume that if these opposition leaders succeeded in becoming presidents they would grant more political freedom to their opponents. Even the most Europeanised politicians would soon realise that if they want to rule a country, and not only its capital, they need a loyal administrative apparatus and the support of the regional leaders. Since patrimonial politics depended on loyalty to the ruler, democratic elections have a destabilising effect. Whenever the supreme political position is vacant, various groups and regional leaders 210

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compete for political influence. It is up to the successful leader to rearrange the balance of power by forming political alliances and granting influential administrative positions to powerful regional leaders and their clients. He will also try to deprive potential rivals of their influence, as has indeed happened in Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan.34 If there is a choice among several strong eligible candidates, people would vote according to the candidate’s regional origin, not for his programme, because they expect ‘their’ candidate to promote the interests of their region. Ruling presidents are often re-elected because people see in them the only guarantors of peace and stability. On the other hand, ruling candidates are able to mobilise their electorate with the help of the patronage-network and through their privileged access to mass media.35 It is not surprising, therefore, that the Turkmen and Kazakh presidents, like other Central Asian leaders, have tried to minimise the political risks of elections in several ways. To start with, they used the instrument of referendum to extend their term in office. Thus, in January 1994 a referendum prolonged Niyazov’s term in office by six years by a vote of 99.99 per cent.36 Similarly in April 1995 a vote of 95.4 per cent extended the Kazakh president’s term in office until the year 2000.37 Second, their administrations influenced elections by controlling the registration process of presidential candidates and parties. In September 1999 only government officials and senators whose terms of office were about to expire contested the 16 seats for another sixyear term in the 39 member Senate of the Kazakhstani parliament.38 At the Mäzhilis (lower house) elections in October 1999, most elected candidates were pro-presidential and the pro-presidential party Otan (fatherland) became the largest faction in the Mäzhilis.39 In contrast, former premier Akezhan Kazhegel’din, who was the most prominent alternative political leader opposed to the ruling establishment, was not registered as a candidate for the presidential elections in January 1999. Moreover, his Republican People’s Party of Kazakhstan was withdrawn from the party list ballot on grounds of his ‘denied registration and claims of harassment and intimidation by local authorities’.40 In Turkmenistan almost all of the 104 candidates contesting the 50 seats in the new Mejilis at the December 1999 elections were from the Demokratic Party of Turkmenistan, the only registered party in the republic.41 Third, they have tried to strip the parliament of any significant power and for that purpose even transferred previously granted powers to the presidency. Some Kazakh political analysts have argued that Nazarbayev’s series of steps between March and December 1995 – the dissolution of the parliament, the rule by decree, the referendum to extend his term in office and the new constitution which stipulates 211

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a strong presidential regime – were all intended to eliminate ‘Middle and Small Horde opposition’ to his rule (Nazarbayev belongs to the Great Horde).42 At the moment both presidents seem to have reached their aim by successfully monopolising political power in their states. However, this does not mean that they have solved the problem of political order. The problem of a patrimonial political order is linked to the regime’s capacity to secure its legitimacy among the population. Looked at from the perspective of political sociology the questions to be asked do not relate to political discourse or a philosophical evaluation of whether certain policies are really just or not. Rather, the focus is on the motivational aspect of political obedience of the ruled population and the questions to be asked are: Who is authorised to be the supreme leader? What is the leader authorised to represent? Whom is he expected to represent? And more generally, what is the normative base of patrimonial authority in Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan? REGIONALISM AND THE SUPREME POLITICAL LEADERSHIP

A patrimonial political order is clearly based on an efficient state apparatus which secures the political integration of the population and is able to ensure its external security. It is pretty clear that both governments risk uprisings, if they are unable to solve some of the most urgent economic and ecological problems of their countries. However, improved economic performance alone does not solve the problem of order. A ‘carrot and stick’ policy may enable an opportunistic, or factual, political order, but is less efficient when normative commitments of people are involved.43 When Nazarbayev stated that ‘efficient decisions sometimes may not be taken, because they offend traditional and deeply rooted national ideals’, he referred to such normative commitments.44 Despite the transfer of considerable financial subsidies to both republics during the Soviet period, present-day assessment of the Soviet period in terms of ‘totalitarianism’ is rooted in the humiliation inflicted by the harsh Soviet cultural policy which punished even participants in traditional funerals who only gave the last honours to their beloved ones. Normative commitments are most consistent when they also regulate the allocation of resources.45 As stated above, the collapse of the Soviet Union challenged the problem of supreme political leadership in Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan in a new way. If the republican leaders are no longer imposed from the outside, authority has to be sanctioned in a new way. It is not at all an accident that both Nazarbayev and Niyazov – both appointees of Gorbachev – organised presidential elections to 212

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get a popular seal of approval for their rule. The formal responses to this challenge are the constitutions which state that the legitimate president is the citizen who won the majority of votes in the elections. However, not only Western observers realise that such democratic elections are not the real stage where power can be allocated or is indeed renegotiated. The political elites in both countries are no less sensitive of these shortcomings. That is why they have been making efforts to anchor political obedience on their putative respect of old customs and traditions and have been presenting their presidents as leaders who treasure these traditions. For example, in Kazakhstan only Chingizids46 could traditionally have become supreme political leaders, i.e. khans. Thus, some officials surrounding the president have been claiming that he is of Chingizid lineage. And although the president himself has denied aristocratic descent in his autobiography, such rumours seem to have become an important part of the political image (and legitimation) of Nazarbayev.47 The question of leadership is not simply a question of competition among various groups for access to resources. Traditionally, access to resources depended on the tribesmen freely following influential sultans and khans. These supplied protection and coordinated migration routes and pastures. The three Hordes were the largest political entities. After the introduction of the Tsarist civil–military administration, in the mid-nineteenth century, the hordes and the tribes ceased to exist as political structures. What has remained is the memory of the previous political affiliation in terms of descent. This memory, however, shaped the territorial settlement patterns of tribesmen within the Tsarist administrative units,48 and influenced the Soviet administrative order in Kazakhstan. In the Soviet period political alliances of influential persons and families were formed to share positions in the Soviet oblast and raion administration. These alliances have often been referred to in the literature as ‘clans’ even though they operate on a territorial base.49 In fact, these networks do not exclusively operate on an ethnic base, and include both Kazakhs of different descent and non-Kazakhs. Zhüz and ru descent matter, and often coincide, because people from the same region often have a common ancestry. However, these networks are primarily based on mutual personal trust and interests, and on personal loyalty between patrons and clients. These may be of any origin – Kazakhs of different ancestry as well as non-Kazakhs.50 At the state level nationality plays a secondary role in Kazakhstan’s power structures. The state has not become a nationalistic one, its ‘Kazakhisation’ and the replacement of many Russians by Kazakhs in prominent positions notwithstanding. Many non-Kazakhs are still holding leading positions,51 and like the hakim (governor) of Northern 213

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Kazakhstan do not believe that their standings are threatened because of their different ethnic background. They all, however, have been strictly loyal to the central government and have been making great efforts to learn the Kazakh language (if they had not spoken it already).52 However, it is more significant that hakims normally have a close affiliation to the oblast they rule. Most of them were either born and/or made their career in it.53 Nevertheless, descent affiliation remains an important means in shaping social and political relations and zhüz affiliation stays the most important criterion to evaluate politics. Generally, the Great Horde is considered to be the most influential politically. The most prominent politician members of this descent group are the former First Secretary Kunayev and the present president. The Middle Horde is often believed to be the ‘homeland’ of Kazakh intellectuals. The two most prominent intellectuals representing it are the writers Olzhas Suleymenov and Mukhtar Auezov. The Small Horde was less influential during the Soviet period. However, since abundant oil reserves exist in Western Kazakhstan, kïshï zhüz connections are said to have become more important in recent years.54 In his appointment of prime ministers, Nazarbayev has carefully taken into account their ethnic origin. His first prime minister, Sergei Tereshchenko (1991–94), was from the Slavic population of the republic; his successor, Akezhan Kazhegel’din (1994–97), was of orta zhüz descent; and Nurlan Balghymbayev (1997–99) is from the Small Horde. High position appointments from all ethno-territorial groups aim at symbolising that the Kazakhstani government is the government of all Kazakh and non-Kazakh people. In this way zhüz commitment is related to the nation-state of Kazakhstan. In contrast, the recent appointment of former Minister of Foreign Affairs Kasymzhomrat Tokayev (a native of Almaty) as prime minister might be once more interpreted as an instance for Great Horde dominance in Kazakhstani political life. In Turkmenistan the problem of supreme political leadership is even more severe after the decline of outside control of the country. In contrast to the Kazakhs, Turkmen tribal confederacies had never been politically unified and maintained mutually inimical relations before the Tsarist conquest. Furthermore, independent tribal confederacies, like the Ahal Teke and the Gurgan Yomut, formed acephalous tribal political orders based on political equality. Thus the tribesmen did not acknowledge enduring political authority relations.55 As in Kazakhstan, the introduction of Tsarist civil–military administration caused the decline of tribalism. Since the Turkmen were no longer able to secure their own political integration, access to resources started to depend on good relations with Tsarist officials. Nevertheless, 214

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the Turkmen tribesmen remained in their former tribal territories. The Soviet administrative division of Turkmenistan favoured those Turkmen who, tracing descent from the dominating tribal confederacies, regarded their oblast as their tribal homeland. In this way the Ahal Teke dominated the Ashkhabad oblast (renamed the Ahal velayat after independence). The Merv Teke claimed the Mary oblast as their land. The West Yomut were the most influential group in the Krasnovodsk oblast (now the Balkan velayat). The North Yomut were influential in the Tashauz oblast (now the Dashoguz velayat). The Ersary are the most numerous group in the Charjuy oblast (now the Lebap velayat).56 Regionalism has also been favoured by the fact that Turkmen tribalism was endogamous and that these regions are geographically isolated from each other by the Karakum desert. However, contrary to the assertion of some analysts,57 these developments did not restore Turkmen tribalism. Rather these were territorial units within which regional competition for access to Soviet power structures and economic resources took place. These circumstances gave rise to political alliances (‘clans’) and networks based on mutual trust and economic interest – often called ‘Mafia’. As these networks also linked people with the same descent affiliation, they are often perceived or described as ‘tribes’ (‘plemias’). These so called ‘tribes’, however, have little in common with nineteenth-century tribalism. Independence has reinforced President Niyazov’s position as supreme political leader since he has now the power to appoint all regional and district heads. He has, thus, appropriated a position which is new in the Turkmen history. He heads a people whose members had formerly regarded themselves as ‘people without head’.58 Also he is able as an Ahal Teke to rule Turkmen from other regions and of different descent. However, he does not aim at promoting a new form of Teke tribalism or hegemony over other regions, but tries to strengthen Turkmen patriotism. In this way he is omnipresent in the public space of the republic as ‘Türkmenbashy’ (literally: ‘the Head of the Turkmen’). The fact that he lost his family in the earthquake in Ashkhabad in 1948, gives some plausibility to his claim to be the ‘Father of the Nation’. Niyazov tries to integrate the former tribal heritage into the Turkmen nation-state in several ways. He has re-established the former tribal khalk maslakhaty (people’s council), but now as the highest consultative representative body of Turkmenistan. Its members are the president, the members of the cabinet of ministers, the 50 deputies of the Mejlis (the Parliament), the elected khalk vekilleri (people’s representatives) of the etraps (provinces), the appointed hakims (heads) of the velayats (districts) and the municipalities and the chairmen of the highest courts.59 215

Map 9: Turkmenistan: Administrative Division

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In order to increase the trust of the local people in the government, Niyazov has re-created the yashuly maslakhats (councils of elders) (which decided concerns of the local descent groups in former times) on all of the local, regional and republican levels. The government has convened these councils to discuss the national revival and future of Turkmenistan.60 In addition, gengeshs (assemblies) were created as local bodies of self-government in the villages and the towns. Headed by elected archyns and supervised by the appointed hakims of the districts and the towns, these councils are charged with collecting local taxes, approving of local budgets and deciding on matters of local economic and ecological concern. In addition they are the guardians of local customs and moral standards and are authorised to expel unrepentant wrongdoers from their local communities. In this they perform some of the functions of the tribal maslakhats of elders.61 Niyazov has also changed the relations between the centre and the regions. During the Soviet period Moscow tried to neutralise regional influences (mestnichestvo) on Soviet structures by appointing Europeans as vice-chairmen and Turkmen from other parts of the country in top oblast and republican positions.62 Niyazov, on the other hand, appoints as a rule loyal local people to head the velayat and etrap administration.63 As newly appointed, strictly loyal regional heads build up a loyal administration and improve their regional client networks the president is able to secure some influence in the regions. However, these networks are sometimes perceived also as a danger. In September 1997, for example, the chairman of the KNB (Komitet Natsional’noi Bezopasnosti, the Committee for National Security) Muhammed Nazarov told Neitral’nyi Turkmenistan that he discerned the consolidation of Mafia structures in Turkmenistan which used their direct contacts with foreign companies to make extraordinary profits.64 Thus, Niyazov’s appeal to the people to send letters of complaint directly to his office is not merely a campaign to raise his popularity, but must also be seen as an attempt to get greater control over his local administration.65 THE PROBLEM OF AN ENDURING POLITICAL ORDER

Both states have been engaged in a process of nationalisation of society and state administration. Kazakh and Turkmen have become the official state languages, whereas Russian has become the language of interethnic communication (in Turkmenistan) or a second official one (in Kazakhstan). In Kazakhstan this is so because many Kazakhs are not fluent in their own language and because of the dominance of Russian 217

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in state institutions. Nevertheless, all official documents have now to be written in both Russian and Kazakh.66 A new language law of November 1996 made fluency in the Kazakh language mandatory for Kazakhs by 2001 and for non-Kazakhs by 2006.67 In Turkmenistan special commissions have been formed in state-owned companies to define the necessary language skills for each position. Since 1996 all information on products of Turkmenistan must be written in Turkmen.68 In Kazakhstan a similar law has been passed recently. Although both presidents continue to rely on Russian officials, many senior government positions have been occupied by ethnic Turkmen and Kazakhs. Natives also have taken control of the military and the security services, which in Soviet times had been the domain of Europeans. Many Soviet and Russian topographical names have been changed, Soviet monuments removed and new memorials built. A special emphasis is given to the new, nationalist interpretation of history in schools and universities and both states have limited the broadcasts in Russian and increased the programmes in the state language. These are just some indicative examples of the process of nationalisation. The policy of nationalisation aims at integrating former tribal and regional political orientation into a newly interpreted political community of Kazakhs or Turkmen, and at strengthening this community which is held to be the main social substrate of the independent states. The establishment of a political community, however, faces serious problems in both republics. Despite the demographic trend towards an increasing proportion of Kazakhs, they are less than half of Kazakhstan’s population. They are, thus, the largest group in the state, but still a minority.69 Therefore, even if the consolidation of the Kazakhs as a political community is successful, the problem of political order will not be solved. Having realised it early on, President Nazarbayev, while promoting the state’s Kazakhisation, emphasised simultaneously the importance of a ‘Kazakhstani patriotism’. In numerous official statements he has argued for a collective identity of all Kazakhstani citizens proud of their country’s history and future and of their state’s hymn and flag, who respect the laws and constitution of Kazakhstan.70 The promotion of constitutional patriotism, however, is a very limited and abstract approach in a political culture which is not grounded in the rule of law. How is it possible to advance commitment to the principles and legal norms of a constitution which is only used as a vehicle for political struggle? In Turkmenistan this problem is less severe, since about 75 per cent of the population are Turkmen. In contrast to Kazakhstan, the republic could even afford to grant double citizenship to European 218

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residents, whose skills are urgently needed to maintain the gas sector and/or other important infrastructures. Nevertheless, while the cult of the Türkmenbashy might be efficient in increasing Niyazov’s popularity, it seems to be less able to promote an enduring political order, since the present order is hardly expected to survive the president. In Soviet times first party secretaries were appointed and removed by the secretary-general of the CPSU. Today political succession will be decided within the republics. The decease of the president, therefore, is likely to cause a political vacuum which will attract a political struggle between rival regional and republican leaders. It is not certain that rival political elites will respect the constitutional order in this matter. In the case of a premature death of the president, the Constitution of Turkmenistan prescribes that the chairman of the Mejlis takes over the latter’s power until presidential elections, which are to be held not later than two months afterwards. The chairman cannot contest the vote, however.71 In Kazakhstan the chairman of the Senate is expected to hold a similar position.72 The outcome of such elections is uncertain, as is the acknowledgement of the election’s result by the defeated opponents. It is not surprising, therefore, that Turkmenistan’s parliament approved in December 1999 an amendment which allows Niyazov to remain president for an unlimited period.73 Half a year later the Kazakhstani parliament passed a similar law, which gives Nazarbayev extended powers after the expiry of his presidential term in 2006.74 Taking for granted that new enduring political orders emerge from the interpenetration of communal and political action orientations, enduring political order is also rooted in communal commitment structures. Thus a lasting political stability in Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan will also depend on the ability of the political elites to integrate communal commitment into state structures. Neither state includes large segments of population which shared in the past an Islamic communal commitment like the majority of the population of Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. Although their putative ancestors had already been Islamised between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries through Sufi-brotherhoods, Turkmen tribesmen remained up to the Tsarist conquest committed to the tribal customary law (däp) and took over precepts of the shari‘a (Islamic law) in a very limited way. The same is true of the Kazakhs. In the Kazakh steppe a great many tribesmen were Islamised only in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries by Tatars sent by the Tsarist government to civilise the steppe. Thus there is some indication that Islam in Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan is unlikely to become ‘Islamistic’, i.e. oriented towards the shari‘a. Islam as an alternative normative order 219

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able to integrate various nationalities within one state is, thus, unlikely to find many supporters. Nevertheless, Islam has become and remains an integral part of the Kazakh and Turkmen culture and all the family feasts – birth, circumcision, marriage, funerals – are embedded in it.75 Since 1991 a large number of mosques have been built or reopened and some Islamic holidays, such as the Kurban Bayram, restored. Both states have established national religious administrations appointed by the president – the ‘Spiritual Directorate of Kazakhstan’ headed by Mufti Radibek ibn Nassynbai-Uli,76 and the ‘Council of Religious Affairs’ in Turkmenistan (which includes also the head of the Orthodox Church), chaired by Mufti Nasrullo ibn Ibadullah. From a historical perspective, it is no wonder that in Turkmenistan most officially appointed clerics are Uzbeks, like the mufti himself.77 Political order is difficult to establish if there is little legal consciousness or various legal concepts of justice. In pre-Tsarist Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan legal concepts were based on customary law which regulated social relations among the tribesmen. The customary law also regulated politics and provided obedience to political decisions which had been based on it. In Kazakhstan, for example, not everybody could become a khan, and khans were not authorised to collect taxes, nor to make decisions without consulting the tribal leaders. Among Turkmen tribesmen, nobody could become a khan, as no tribesmen could command other tribesmen. These legal traditions continued to exist and influence in a limited and modified way the Tsarist local administrative structures, and numerous compilations of Turkmen and Kazakh customary law were collected and published for the benefit of Tsarist officials. Soviet politics rejected these legal traditions, combated them and tried to replace them with Socialist law, outlooks and ways of doing things. Although on the local level this struggle has not been fully successful, it has deprived politics from being embedded in a legal culture which is shared by large parts of the population. Thus, an evolutionary development of customary law towards the legal integration of authority relations and the constraint of state authority – as happened in Anglo-Saxon countries – is no longer possible in Central Asia, because customary law has no political significance any more. Furthermore, its pre-Tsarist state of development does not fit the conflict regulation of contemporary Kazakh and Turkmen society. Instead patrimonial authority relations emerged during the Soviet period, which secured the political integration of regions in the republics and guaranteed the maintenance of the social infrastructure and the allocation of resources without being embedded in a legal culture shared by the people. In post Soviet Turkmenistan, 220

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these state–society relations are still intact. The state has not lost control over strategic economic sectors, like the energy sector, and uses its revenues to implement main policies. In this way Turkmenistan has kept a strong state which is able to penetrate society. Kazakhstan, on the other hand, has opened its economy to international investors and privatised strategic parts of its economy. This has diminished the state’s autonomy to implement central politics, led to increased competition between regional leaders and the central government and decreased the state’s ability to provide the population with social infrastructures.78 If a legal culture is to develop in the future, it will be rather in a strong state which is able to secure obedience to the laws and which is able to spread commitment to the laws. In this view Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan are closer to a political order based on the rule of law than other Central Asian states, because only strong states are able to spread a legal culture in areas which have been deprived of its legal traditions. This culture is an important precondition for granting some kind of political freedom. On the other hand, strong state structures do not automatically guarantee the successful establishment of an enduring political order. They often rather strain control over the population, increase the efficiency of their coercive apparatus and produce worse human rights records. Taking into account the perseverance of patriarchal communal commitment structures, one has reason to believe that client–patron relations will remain a constitutive element of Central Asian politics, even if some kind of legal culture does emerge. NOTES 1 I am endebted to the Austrian Academy of Science for granting a PhD scholarship which enabled me to do research on the problem of political order in Central Asia. I also want to thank M.-C. von Gumppenberg for her comments on this chapter. 2 L. Schatalina, ‘Das politische Spektrum Kyrgysstans. Zur Frage der Herausbildung einer parlamentarischen Demokratie in den post-sowjetischen Staaten Zentralasiens’, Osteuropa, No. 11 (1994), pp. 1045–56; L. Fuller, ‘Kazakh President Pledges Democratization – At His Own Pace and On His Own Terms’, Radio Free Europe/Radio-Liberty (RFE/RL), Newsline, Vol. 3, No. 71, Part I, 13 April 1999. 3 R. D. Kangas, ‘State Building and Civil Society in Central Asia’, in V. Tismaneanu (ed.), Political Culture and Civil Society in Russia and the New States of Eurasia (New York and London: M. E. Sharpe, 1995), pp. 271–91; P. M. Carley, ‘The Legacy of the Soviet Political System and the Prospects for Developing Civil Society in Central Asia’, in Tismaneanu, Political Culture and Civil Society, pp. 292–317; Z. Galieva, ‘Civil Society in the Kyrgyz Republic in Transition’,Central Asian Monitor (CAM), No. 5 (1998), pp. 7–10; D. Saltmarshe, Civil Society and Sustainable Development in Central Asia’, Central Asian Survey (CAS), Vol. 15,

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4 5 6

7

8

9 10

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No. 3–4 (1996), pp. 387–98; P. G. Geiß, ‘Zivilgesellschaft: Risiko oder Chance für Mittelasien’, in F. Kolland, E. Pilz, A. Schedler and W. Schicho (eds), Staat und zivile Gesellschaft – Beiträge zur Entwicklungspolitik in Afrika, Asien und Lateinamerika, Historische Sozialkunde: Band 8 (Frankfurt and Wien: Brandes & Apsel – Südwind, 1996), pp. 167–82; M. Holt Ruffin and Daniel C. Waugh (eds), Civil Society in Central Asia (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 1999). For example A. Apostolou, ‘The Mistake of the Uzbek Economic Model’, CAM, No. 2 (1998), pp. 1–5. A. Bohr, ‘Turkmenistan and the Turkmen’, in G. Smith (ed.), The Nationalities Question in the Post-Soviet States, 2nd edn (London and New York: Longman, 1996), pp. 356–7. Cf. ‘Diary of a Free Election – Nazarbayev Style’, CAM, No. 6 (1998), pp. x, 7–9. M.-C. v. Gumppenberg, ‘Meinungsfreiheit und Opposition in Kasachstan’, Bundesinstitut für ostwissenschaftliche und internationale Studien (BIOST), Aktuelle Analysen, No. 35 (1998), pp. 1–5; K. Benner, Der Vielvölkerstaat Kasachstan. Ethnische Heterogenität in friedlicher Koexistenz?, Osteuropa: Geschichte, Wirtschaft, Politik – Vol. 11 (Hamburg: Lit Verlag, 1996), p. 116; B. Eschment, ‘Hat Kasachstan ein “Russisches Problem”? Revision eines Katastrophenbildes’, BIOST (February 1998) (Sonderveröffentlichung), pp. 63–5, 115. On 19 August 1991, while Gorbachev was on vacation, some opponents of his reforms among the members of the politburo formed a ‘Committee of National Emergency’ under the leadership of Vice-President G. I. Ianaev. They tried to force Gorbachev’s resignation by keeping him as hostage in his dacha in the Crimea. This failed putsch enabled the president of the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic, Boris Yeltsin to become a symbol of democratic resistance to the Communist insurgents and led to the outlawing of the CPSU. On 8 December 1991 Yeltsin, the Ukrainian President Kravchuk and the Chairman of the Belorussian Supreme Soviet Shuskevich established the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) in Minsk which succeeded the Soviet Union at the end of that very month. Zheltoqsan was a nationalistic group which emerged from the experiences of some of their activists during the December 1986 riots in Almaty, when Kazakhs protested against the replacement of the republic’s First Secretary Kunayev by an outside Russian apparatchik. Azat was founded in April 1990 as a nationalistic grouping by S. Akatayev and M. Kormanov and was involved in activism against Cossacks. Parts of both groupings formed in 1992 the Republican Party Kazakhstan Azat under the leadership of Akatayev. Agzybirlik was a group of Turkmen intellectuals which promoted the agenda of national revival in Ashgabad at the end of the 1980s. After organising a commemoration meeting in January 1990 at Gök Tepe, where the Akhal Teke was defeated by the Tsarist army and suffered high losses in 1881, agzybirlik was officially forbidden and its leaders, such as the engineer Nurberdy Nurmamedov, faced trials. This term is used as a generic term for Kazakhisation, Turkmenisation, Uzbekisation etc. Cf. P. G. Geiß, Nationenwerdung in Mittelasien (Series XXXI: Political Science) (Frankfurt: Peter Lang – Europäischer Verlag der Wissenschaften, 1995), pp. 177–87; Olivier Roy, La Nouvelle Asie Centrale ou la fabrication des nations (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1997), pp. 93–140, 195–218. Sharam Akbarzadeh, ‘Why Did Nationalism Fail in Tajikistan?’, Europe–Asia Studies, Vol. 48, No. 7 (1996), pp. 1105–29.

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POLITICAL ORDER IN KAZAKHSTAN AND TURKMENISTAN 12 This was linked to the decision of the Central Committee (CC) of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) to renounce the leading role of the CPSU. 13 Cf. Article 1 of the Constitution of Turkmenistan (CoT), Ashkhabad, 1992; Article 1 of the Constitution of Kazakhstan (CoK), Almaty, 1995. 14 Article 4 of CoT; Article 3 §4 of CoK. 15 Articles 10–39 of CoK; articles 16–44 of CoT. 16 For example: S. Horton, ‘Is Kazakhstan Taking Reform Seriously?’, CAM, No. 3 (1999), pp. 1–2; B. Brauer and B. Eschment, ‘Presidental Elections in Kazakhstan’, CAM, No. 2 (1999), pp. 8–14. 17 N. Nazarbaev, Na doroge XXI veka (Almaty: Öner, 1996), pp. 141, 178. 18 Moskovskie novosti, 31 January 1993, quoted in J. Anderson, ‘Political Development in Turkmenistan’, CAS, Vol. 14, No. 4 (1995), p. 513. 19 In contrast to Parsons’ overemphasis on the aspect of negative sanctions (T. Parsons, Über den Begriff der Macht, in T. Parsons, Zur Theorie der sozialen Interaktionsmedien, Opladen, 1980, pp. 76–8; Munich, 1988, p. 127) here power is defined as the chance to carry out one’s own will against or in accordance with the will of others. This accordance emerges from the political association (Vergemeinschaftung) of people and leads to shared political commitment which regulates authority relations. This is possible due to the human capacity to associate with others and to act in agreement with them. See J. Habermas, ‘Hannah Arendts Begriff der Macht’, in Politik, Kunst, Religion. Essays über zeitgenössische Philosophen (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1989) (1978), pp. 103–26. Thus power is not necessarily oriented on successful realisation of one’s aim against the will of others, and the coercive aspect of power relations can be more or less developed. 20 Authority is defined as the chance for obedience to commands among a specified group of people. Cf. Weber, 1972, pp. 28, 128; 1978, p. 53. 21 Cf. M. Weber, Economy and Society (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1978) ed. by G. Roth, C. Wittich, Vol. 1, pp. 217–23 (German original: Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1972) (1921). 22 States are political organisations whose regulations are implemented by an administrative staff within a defined territory and which successfully monopolise the levying of taxes and the use of coercive power. 23 In ancient Greek tradition piety was called eusebia, which was the respectful devotion towards humans and gods. But it was also granted to the polis, the civic community, in which one lives and to which the citizens owed their political existence. The Romans attributed pietas to the ancestors, relatives, gods; and to the polity, the res publica. In the Christian tradition the concept of piety was extended and it was primarily directed to God, as the ground for all life and to whom everything is owed in the last instance. And see H. Schneider, ‘Patriotismus und Nationalismus’, Concilium, December 1995, pp. 499–509. 24 Basically one can speak of four pure types of political community. Political orders based on an acephalous political community lack both leaders and staff of authority, are decentralised and based on shared community of law. Turkmen tribal confederacies like the Akhal Teke or the Gurgan Yomuts formed such an order in pre-Tsarist times due to the tribesmen’s commitment to customary law (däp) and political equality. Sometimes such societies are also called ‘gerontocracies’, since councils of elders interpret customary law and influence the mutual consent of the community. Tribal political orders can also be based on patriarchal authority, however. In this case authority relations are rooted in the obedience of followers to leaders. Lacking an administrative staff these leaders,

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32 33 34

35 36 37 38 39

however, depend on the cooperation of their followers who could easily change their political affiliations. The political integration of Kyrgyz tribal confederacies or Kazakh hordes relied on this type of political community. In contrast, political orders based on patrimonial or legal authority relations enable the establishment of state structures. In contrast to Pipes, I do not think that the rulers’ extended rights of ownership and their ‘being both sovereigns of the realm and its proprietors’ must be always linked to patrimonialism. For example, Islamic rulers did also acknowledge private ownership of mulk property. R. Pipes, Russia under the Old Regime (London: Penguin Books, 1995) (1974), pp. xxii, 19–24. And cf. Weber, Economy and Society, pp. 231–5. P. G. Geiss, ‘Communal Commitment and Political Order in Change. The PreTsarist and Tsarist Central Asia’, PhD thesis, University of Vienna, 1999, Chs 6 and 7. Cf. A. Kappeler, Rußland als Vielvölkerreich. Entstehung – Geschichte – Zerfall (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1993), pp. 42, 54. Cf. Geiss, ‘Communal Commitment and Political Order in Change’, Ch. 7. The Alash Orda (headquarters of Alash) was a group of Kazakhs which tried to form an independent government in the Kazakh Steppe after the fall of the Tsarist regime. It was called after Alash, a mythical founder of the Kazakh hordes. The New Economic Policy (NEP) was a temporary pragmatic approach of the Soviet authorities which permitted private trade and small business to enable economic recovery after the civil war. It changed the policy of forcible extraction of produce from the peasants during the war and lasted from 1921 to 1927. M. Olcott, The Kazakhs (Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press, 1987), pp. 199–223; Bohr, ‘Turkmenistan and the Turkmen’, p. 350. The aspirantura was the first degree of research study at Soviet universities. It was concluded by submitting a kanditatskaia dissertation. Successful candidates were supposed to write a doktorskaia dissertation in order to be allowed to apply for a professorship. Sh. Kadyrov, Turkmenistan: chetyre goda bez SSSR (Moscow: N. Mitrokhin, 1996), pp. 63–9. Olcott, The Kazakhs, pp. 241–6; Kadyrov, Turkmenistan, pp. 62–78. Niyazov’s most prominent opponent was the former Turkmen Foreign Minister Abdy Kuliev who openly declared he intended to run for the presidential office. As a result he emigrated to Moscow, where he had to refrain from oppositional activities – K. P. Dudarev, ‘Turkmeniia – Postkommunisticheskii avtoritarnyi rezhim’, in Postsovetskaia tsentral’naia Aziia. Poteri i obretiniia (Moscow: Rossiiskaia Akademiia Nauk – Tsentr tsivilizatsionnykh i regional’nykh issledovanii, 1998), pp. 170–1; K. P. Kadyrov, Turkmenistan, pp. 86–9. According to Masanov (N. Masanov, ‘Kazakhskaia politicheskaia i intellektual’naia elita: klanovaia prinadlezhnost’ i vnutrietnicheskoe sopernichestvo’, Vestnik Evrazii, No. 1 (2) (1996), pp. 53–4), Nazarbaev did not excuse competion for power and criticism from other influential Kazakh leaders, when he was appointed First Secretary by Gorbachev in 1989. Thus he retired Z. Kamalidnov who was a strong Kazakh leader from western Kazakhstan and other leaders from Central Kazakhstan, such as Sh. Dzhanybekov, E. Auel’bekov and K. Salykov. Cf. Institut for Development of Kazakhstan, Kazakh tribalism today, its characteristics and possible solutions (Almaty [n.p], 1996), p. 14. The Economist, 22 January 1994, p. 57. Interfax, 30 April 1995. RFE/RL, Newsline, Vol. 3, No. 183, Part I, 20 September 1999. RFE/RL, Newsline, Vol. 3, No. 210, Part I, 27 October 1999.

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POLITICAL ORDER IN KAZAKHSTAN AND TURKMENISTAN 40 OSCE – Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights, Republic of Kazakhstan. Parliamentary Elections 10 and 24 October 1999. Final Report. Warsaw, 20 January 2000 (4.2. The Political Parties). 41 RFE/RL, Newsline, Vol. 3, No. 240, Part I, 13 November 1999 42 Masanov, ‘Kazakhskaia politicheskaia’, pp. 56–7. The three Kazakh Hordes – the ûly zhüz (the senior part or, senior hundred), the orta zhüz (the middle part) and the kïshï zhüz (the junior part) – emerged from the Kazakh Khanate founded by Qasim Khan at the beginning of the sixteenth century. This khanate split into three hordes within economically self-sufficient zones including both summer and winter pastures. In times of external threat the hordes unified, acknowledged batyrs as military leaders, and khans were able to strengthen their political influence. At the begining of the nineteenth century the hordes were abolished when forms of Tsarist administration were introduced in the Kazakh Steppe. Since then zhüz affiliation has remained important in terms of shared descent groups. 43 The differentiation between normative and factual orders was introduced by T. Parsons in his famous study The Structure of Social Action (New York: Free Press, 1949) (1937) where he refers to the fact that not every order is sustainable (p. 91). A stable order, at least, must be rooted to a certain extent in the normative commitment of its members to it. And cf. J. C. Alexander, The Modern Reconstruction of Classical Thought: Talcott Parsons, Theoretical Logic in Sociology, Vol. 4 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1983), pp. 20–7; E. Durkheim, The Division of Labour in Society (New York: Macmillan, 1933) (French: De la division du travail social (Paris: Quadrige/Presses Universitaires de France, 1996) (1893), p. 201; R. N. Bellah (ed.), Emile Durkheim on Morality and Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1973), pp. 87–8. 44 Frankfurter Zeitung, 24 November 1997, p. B2. 45 M. Scheler, Die Wissensformen und die Gesellschaft, Gesammelte Werke, Band 8 (Bern: Francke, 1960) (1925), pp. 17–51; M. Weber, ‘Die Wirtschaftsethik der Weltreligionen’, in Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Religionssoziologie I (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1988) (1920), p. 252. 46 The Chingizids, called white bones (aq süyeks) by the Kazakhs and sultans by the Russians, were endogamous descendants of Chingiz Khan. Members of senior lineages legitimately could claim the dignity of khan and were elected by tribal assemblies among the Kazakhs. Khans coordinated the routes of migration between tribal confederacies of the hordes and organised the defence of the tribal territories against invaders in pre-Tsarist times. 47 N. Nazarbaev, Without Right & Left (London: Class Publishing, 1992), p. 2. 48 V. V. Vostrov and M. S. Mukanov: Rodoplemennoi sostav i rasselenie Kazakhov (konets XIX – nachalo XX v.) (Alma-Ata: Izdatel’stvo Nauka, 1978), pp. 109–254. 49 Cf. Roy, La Nouvelle Asie Centrale, pp. 141–93; cf C. Werner, ‘Household Networks and the Security of Mutual Indebtedness in Rural Kazakhstan’, CAS, Vol. 17, No. 4 (1998), pp. 597–612. 50 T. Edmunds, ‘Power and Powerlessness in Kazakhstani Society: Ethnic Problems in Perspective’, CAS, Vol. 17, No. 3 (1998), pp. 463–6. 51 In April 1999 4 out of 15 hakims were Europeans, including the hakim of Almaty, Viktor Khrapunov. 52 Edmunds, ‘Power and Powerlessness in Kazakhstani Society’, pp. 466–7. 53 Cf. D. R. Ashimbaev, Kto est’ kto v Kazakhstane (Almaty: Qarzhy-Qarazhat, 1995).

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION 54 Cf. Masanov, ‘Kazakhskaia politicheskaia’, pp. 46–61; M.-C. von Gumppenberg, ‘Elitenwandel in Osteuropa’, Osteuropa, No. 3 (1999), pp. 261–8. 55 P. Geiss, ‘Turkmen Tribalism’, CAS, Vol. 18, No. 3 (1999), pp. 347–58. 56 Cf. Kadyrov, Turkmenistan, pp. 52–6. 57 Bohr, ‘Turkmenistan and the Turkmen’, p. 348. 58 H. Vámbéry, Reise in Mittelasien von Teheran durch die Turkmanische Wüste an der Ostküste des Kaspischen Meeres nach Chiwa, Bochara und Samarkand, ausgeführt im Jahr 1863 (Leipzig: F.A. Brockhaus, 1999) (1865). (English trans. Travel in Central Asia: Being the Account of a Journey from Teheran across the Turkoman Desert on the Eastern Shore of the Caspian to Khiva, Bokhara and Samarcand (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1865), p. 249.) 59 Article 48 of CoT. 60 O. Musaev, ‘Stroitel’stvo demokraticheskikh institutov v nezavisimom i neitral’nom Turkmenistane’, in Demokratiia i Pravo, Vol. 2 (Ashkhabad: Turkmenskii natsional’yi institut demokratii i prav cheloveka pri prezidente Turkmenistana, 1998), pp. 78–9. 61 Cf. Kadyrov, Turkmenistan, pp. 94–7. 62 Ibid., p. 62. 63 Interview with a Turkmen official, 17 June 1999. And cf. D. Hiro, Between Marx and Muhammad. The changing face of Central Asia (London: HarperCollins, 1995), p. 149. 64 Dudarev, ‘Turkmeniia’, p. 189. On the other hand, it is said that all foreign transactions of state assets need to be authorised by the President personally, so that it seems to be difficult in Turkmenistan to illegally transfer money to foreign bank accounts, as frequently happened in Russia or other CIS-republics. 65 RFE/RL, Newsline, Vol. 3, No. 14, Part I, 21 January 1999; Nezavisimaia gazeta, 20 January 1999. 66 Cf. Kazakhstanskaia Pravda, 4 June 1998. 67 More recently it was dicussed to extend this deadline to 2005 and 2010 respectively. Open Media Research Institute (OMRI), 27 January 1997. 68 Dudarev, ‘Turkmeniia’, p. 174. 69 The official statistics claim 51 per cent. Other Kazakhstani statistics claim up to 56 per cent, which seems to exaggerate the Kazakh portion of the population for political reasons. However, if Kazakhs do not yet represent a majority, they will do so in a few years due to higher birth-rates and the emigration of non-Kazakhs. 70 M.-C. v. Gumppenberg, ‘Kasachstan an der Schwelle zum 21. Jahrhundert. Präsident Nazarbaev zwischen Kollektiverinnerung und Zukunftsvisionen’, Zeitschrift für Türkeistudien, No. 2 (1998), pp. 253–71; P. Kolstø, ‘Anticipating Demographic Superiority: Kazakh Thinking on Integration and Nation Building’, Europe-Asia Studies, Vol. 50, No. 1 (1998), pp. 56–8. 71 Article 61 of CoT. 72 Article 48 §1 of CoK. 73 RFE/RL, Newsline, Vol. 3, No. 240, Part I, 30 December 1999. 74 RFE/RL, Newsline, Vol. 4, No. 139, Part I, 21 July 2000/No. 140, Part I, 24 July 2000. 75 Cf. Sergei P. Poliakov, Everyday Islam. Religion and Tradition in Rural Central Asia (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharp, 1992). 76 In June 2000 Radibek ibn Nassynbai-Uli resigned, and the Third Congress of the Muslims of Kazakhstan elected Absattar Derbisaliev as the new mufti. Derbisaliev, who previously served as a diplomat at Kazakhstan’s embassy in Saudi Arabia, is a specialist in Arabic philosophy – RFE/RL, Newsline, Vol. 4, No. 124, Part I, 27 June 2000.

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POLITICAL ORDER IN KAZAKHSTAN AND TURKMENISTAN 77 Sredniaia Aziia: Spravochnye Materialy (Moscow: Institute for Humanitarian and Political Research, 1992), p. 96. Quoted in Bohr, ‘Turkmenistan and the Turkmen’, p. 359. 78 P. J. Luong, ‘The Future of Central Asian Statehood’, CAM, No. 1 (1999), pp. 1–10.

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11

The Mahalla in Present-Day Uzbekistan Boris Mathieu Pétric

The collapse of the USSR has put again on the agenda the question of the political community’s nature and basis. A clear example is provided by the transformation of Uzbekistan and the other Central Asian Republics into independent states. The Uzbek State was created not as a result of a collective mobilisation movement, but because Moscow had terminated its support. This forced the Uzbek political elites to shape a new discourse within the context of an independent state, pertaining to the model of the nation-state as reference. These changes are to be decided on by the omnipotent political leader. However, even though the incumbent president was the last first secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) in the Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republic (SSR), his new orientation is not a mere continuation of Soviet values, nor their translation into Uzbek nationalism. The constitution of the young state consecrates a strongly centralised political system with supreme power vested in the president, while the Olii Majlis (the Parliament) is relegated to a secondary role. The president and his staff monopolise legislation. Only he can initiate laws and then the Olii Majlis ratifies them. By passing the laws on the instruments of self-government or the ‘mahalla’ (adopted in September 1993), President Islam Karimov wished to redefine the relationship between the authorities and the individual by placing at the centre of the reorganisation of the political system the readoption of a certain national legacy. Indeed, the mahalla may be presented as a symbol of Uzbek national culture because social life has to a great extent been shaped by this neighbourhood community. The law thus turns the mahalla from an essentially social institution into a new political-administrative unit of the Uzbek state. Article 105 of 228

Map 10: Uzbekistan: Administrative Division

International border Oblast boundary Autonomous republic boundary State capital Oblast capital

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the Uzbek constitution states that this legislative provision is designed to strengthen the executive. The mahalla expresses a new relationship between the government on the one hand, and the populace of Uzbekistan turned into citizens of a new state on the other. This new situation enables one a thorough observation on the issue of membership in a cosmopolitan society. This chapter intends to study the implications and the significance to Uzbek society of this politico-administrative change, by observing the state from below through an examination of local power, its exercise and entrenchment. THE MAHALLA: A NEW POLITICAL-ADMINISTRATIVE ENTITY

The Mahalla is at the heart of the ideological frame reference of the new Uzbek authorities. For President Karimov, it embodies the restoration of a traditional social order which has been able to survive through the vicissitudes of history, the influence of Soviet society notwithstanding. This wish to adapt a social form is a permanent feature in the history of human societies in the course of which new governments wish to express an incontestable legitimacy. Therefore, before addressing the contemporary mahalla, it is necessary to look back in order to understand the context within which it is taking place. The word mahalla derives from Arabic and it originally meant ‘the place where the caravan leaves its luggage’. This word was introduced into the administrative language of Transoxania via the Ottomans. Here it has come to designate a territorially defined urban area in which individuals share bonds of solidarity. Contrary to the claims of Soviet ethnologists, this social structure is not specific to Central Asia’s Turkic areas: it is also found in other Muslim cultural areas, such as Albania and the Swat Valley in Pakistan.1 The Central Asian city has grown through the successive integration of neighbourhoods by membership groups rather than through the accumulation of individuals who had left the countryside to dodge traditional allegiances, as has happened in European cities. Consequently, the mahallas often represent a microcosm2 where the street does not separate the inhabitants from each other but rather brings them together. Furthermore, the shape of the neighbourhood, with its numerous dead-end alleys, gives the impression of a private area. The Tsarist authorities did not try to challenge the urban structure in Central Asia. Rather, they built adjacent cities, such as Ferghana or Jangi Marghilan, to compete with, and to move social life away from, the traditional urban centres. The Soviet authorities tried to abolish the various forms of membership (waqf, medresehs, etc.) and the 230

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existing socio-economic activities in the neighbourhood were outlawed.3 The traditional areas of socialisation were turned into instruments of Agitprop.4 Renamed Kizil choyhona (‘Red Teahouse’) they were used to spread Soviet ideology and to teach the population to read and write. Also traditional feasts were turned into Kizil Toy (‘Red Feast’) and used by the authorities, as were public areas.5 During the Khrushchev era, the city quarter, and in Uzbekistan in particular the mahalla, was restored as a privileged area for fashioning ‘Homo sovieticus’. The state constructed buildings which it later christened ‘choyhona’ where the quarter committee could meet. It thus exploited tradition to create a new sphere of social control.6 The Soviet administrative re-parcelling did not take into account the limits of the neighbourhood community. It partly modified its social life by abolishing areas of socialisation, such as mosques, small shops, medressas. It also changed the toponymy by renaming the quarters and giving numbers (rather than names) to new estates. From a formal point of view, the recent setting-up of the mahalla as a new political-administrative entity is the continuation of Soviet strategy. The government presents the mahalla law as a return to a natural social order. However, whereas the mahalla has been created as a uniform administrative entity throughout Uzbekistan, as a social structure it does not exist everywhere in that state. According to Sukhareva the Bukhariots, indeed all the Persian-speaking urban population, use the term guzar to designate their neighbourhood community. Moreover, social life in the rural areas is regulated by the village community. Thus, the current administrative restructuring which divides some villages into several mahallas does not fit the social reality. It is, therefore, very difficult to establish the new political structure consistently throughout the entire territory of Uzbekistan. Nevertheless, the drive to standardise, characteristic of each new regime, ends in changing the reality. On the one hand, from a linguistic point of view the use of the term mahalla reveals a will to ‘turkicise’ Uzbekistan and to minimise the Tajik cultural legacy. On the other hand, the mahalla may in the end compete with other forms of social solidarity. The first reform to be introduced by the govenment was the imposition of Uzbek as the sole official language of the mahalla committees. It has become the working language and all the circulars and official forms have to be written only in Uzbek. Most symbols of the former regime have been purged to change the look of the public domain. ‘Toponymic’ committees were established to rename streets and mahallas. Many of these were given their previous pre-Soviet names. In Bukhara and probably in all other Tajik-speaking cities, on 231

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the other hand, the guzar were not given their old Persian names, but were renamed after Soviet era Uzbek heroes.7 Thus, by renaming the 30,000 or so mahallas the authorities purged them of any non-Uzbek reference. At the present, the administrative redivision of the mahallas is far from having been completed. Although a presidential ukaz (decree) defines the mahalla as an administrative district containing about five hundred families, many still accommodate more than double that number. In terms of administrative innovation the mahalla is the only novelty: the Soviet structure (respublika, oblast [province], raion [district]) has remained and there seems to be no intention to change it.8 Hierarchically, the mahallas depend on the khokimyat9 (or the raion khokimiyat in large cities), or on the selsovet (village council) in rural areas. Most mahalla chairmen are chosen or appointed by the khokimyat (governor’s administration), though a pretence of popular assent is kept: the mahalla committee and its ‘ra’is’10 are elected for a term of two and a half years by vokilar (delegates) each representing 45 members of the mahalla.11 (However, the elections are organised by two representatives of the khokimiyat and proceed in the presence of a policeman.). The delegates are usually at least 60 years old and the lists seem to respect the principle of equal representation for men and women. Nevertheless, in the last elections, only a few women were chosen as delegates. The ra’is gets an allowance of about 3,000 sums (US$5) and is assisted by a kotib (secretary) who is also paid a salary. The nine maslahatchillar (councillors) are also retired persons, but they do not get paid. They sit in seven committees charged with the smooth running of the neighbourhood.12 This system reflects President Karimov’s political orientations in matters of reform. Since he has not chosen the ‘shock therapy’ adopted by countries like Russia or Kazakhstan, the mahalla must take care of the most disadvantaged so as to prevent decay of the society. A national body, the ‘Mahalla Fund’,13 is entrusted with implementing the state social policy and diffusing the new legal dispositions in society. But its chairman stated that the mahalla and its social fund were also a vehicle for spreading the new national ideology – the ‘Miliyi Manaviyat’ (national spirituality). This new ideology refers also to religious appeal, but in the form of a non-politicised Islam.14 The authorities thus try to use the mahalla to legitimise civil institutions by diffusing a discourse which re-appropriates national heritage to counterbalance the growing influence of religion. In his speech to the Parliament, after the bomb attacks of 16 February 1999,15 President Karimov stated that the ra’is and his committee should enjoy more authority in their mahalla than the imam and his mosque.16 232

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Figure 1: A Mahalla in Tashkent

In April 1999 the Parliament passed a set of laws designed to reinforce and expand the powers of the mahalla. According to a mahalla ra’is from Bukhara, this law turns us henceforth into ‘little Karimovs’ in the neighbourhood, we must know everything that occurs in our mahalla. For instance, I know exactly who owns what, who accommodates whom . . . The State can rely on us.17

The same person complained, however, of the gap between the law and its enforcement. According to him, the mahalla committees lack both means and autonomy. Even if they own a bank account, the legislation does not provide for a clear budget system to supply their resources. And finally, the khokimiyat, with the assent of the national 233

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bank, controls the financial means of all the mahallas. The mahallas are, therefore, too often mere executing instruments of the khokimiyat to the great displeasure of their chairmen.18 The new law charges the mahalla committee with the collection of taxes and gas and electricity bills. They are to use volunteers (kengash) for this purpose. Thus, this new political structure reinforces the control of the state. However, the establishment of a system to levy tax and energy bills (which had hitherto been free of charge) has met with some difficulties. The state has attempted to rely on the mahalla because it can potentially constrain individuals. On the other hand, as many chairmen fear, the increase in the powers of the mahalla coming with no financial means at its disposal, might well increase the number of conflicts within the quarter. After the Namangan events of January 1998,19 all the mahalla committee chairmen, accused of being unable to foresee and avoid the crisis, were dismissed. The new chairmen were sent to Tashkent for training, to discover in vivo a model mahalla. Further, President Karimov and the rector of the Academy of State and Social Construction20 justify the slow progress of the reforms as being a matter of cadres training, and especially of mahalla heads and of khokims. Therefore, there is no clear division between political and administrative positions, and politics are never separated from the state. Consequently, a mahalla ra’is represents the state before representing his community. The melting of administrative and political positions means that a civil servant – like a mahalla ra’is and a district, a city or a region khokim – must hold concurrently a ‘rational legitimacy’ (administrative competence) and a ‘traditional legitimacy’ (status inside his community) in order to have a chance to influence social life. Thus, most civil servants are natives of the region of their appointment. They are, therefore, automatically part of a social network with its own practices (clientalism, supporters). But what are the processes of accession to power and the legitimacy of these new local players? THE MAHALLA CHAIRMEN: EXPRESSION OF A NEW LEGITIMACY

The appointment of most of the rai’s by the state leads to the question of what type of individual does it prefer to rely on to reorganise social life in the quarters. The new law postulates that the committee chairmen must be experienced people. They are usually ex-Soviet apparatus employees now retired – many of them former teachers – who have command of the Uzbek language. This choice is part of the authorities’ wish to ‘Uzbekise’ the country and to marginalise other parts of society from power. The party no longer embodying order, the gov234

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TOY

Figure 2: A Mahalla in Bukhara

ernment’s legitimacy has to rest on national concept. Nevertheless, in order to have political influence, the government must rely on other types of legitimacy. The committee chairman can usually rely on some support inside his quarter. However, most of his support comes from the outside, due to his family network which intertwines with the political networks of the khokim or vice-khokim. The khokimiyat 235

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tries to attain this double legitimacy, which is not always possible. The legitimacy of the rai’s inside the neighbourhood influences the quality of his social authority. Retaining power does not necessarily mean that this instrument of coercion would be accepted by the individuals. It is social authority which legitimises the means of action. Consequently, power and social authority are the two indispensable factors to govern human groups. The cultural diversity of Uzbekistan causes these two factors to be expressed in various ways according to the geographical, cultural, social or ethnic determinants of these new political-administrative entities. To understand the social mechanism which permits some people access to elected positions and rejects others, four ideal-type examples will be examined which have emerged during field research.21 The New Social Norm The political life of the young Uzbek state is not based on ideological appeal to the individual. When a khokimiyat representative supports his candidate during the election campaign, he emphasises those personal qualities of the candidate which reflect the new social model. This new social norm exemplifies, according to him, the Uzbek traditional values. Therefore, the balance of power is established first of all by the assertion of this new model. In the first ideal type, the population of the neighbourhood can identify with this new social norm. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood are mainly Uzbek and the mahalla constitutes an organic community where most neighbours know each other. Group influence is significant and the inhabitants are extremely sensitive to public opinion and to the reputation of their family, which in most cases has lived in the neighbourhood for generations. Social life is punctuated by feasts (toy) to which the neighbours are invited. In such a context, the ra’is leans on a large family network inside the neighbourhood. Usually, most of his brothers live nearby and the extended family can sometimes count more than a hundred people because of endogamy. In addition he has his relationships of support outside the neighbourhood – the second sine qua non condition for access to an elected position seems to be acquaintance with the deputy-khokim or someone close to him. The confidence placed in an individual is deeply inter-linked with personal acquaintance. These cognitive reactions can be found at all levels of authority in the Uzbek society. A senior civil servant said: ‘It is almost impossible to get a prominent position in our state apparatus if Alimov22 doesn’t know you personally. His psychology is to trust people he knows over competent and qualified civil servants.’23 236

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TOY

Figure 3: A Mahalla in Karshi

Knowing the candidate is thus an indispensable characteristic. The balance of power inside the neighbourhood then is among several individuals who posses such social networks, but in fact, most ra’is assert that they did not volunteer to stand for an election. One of them underlined: ‘I did not really want to be elected, the people from the khokimiyat and the ward inhabitants did make me stand for.’ Therefore, the ra’is and his committee enjoy substantial social authority and have the 237

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power to influence the social life of the neighbourhood. On notable social occasions, like weddings in which the groom comes from a neighbourhood family, the ra’is is given the honour to open the party with, for example, a speech to the newly-weds.24 He can also play a weighty role in family or conjugal conflicts. In this ideal type the mahalla committee relies on both internal and external legitimacy and thus enjoys real influence on the neighbourhood’s destiny. This ideal type can be divided into two categories according to whether the so called ‘Uzbek’ population remembers its original ethnic group within the tribal confederation (rodplemena) or not.25 This distinction, which separates large city mahallas (like those in Tashkent and Karshi) from small town and rural mahallas (such as those in Kashkadarya and Sukhandarya), helps us to understand how political alliances are built, especially in the rural areas where ethnic categories are prevalent.26 The Limits of Power Without Representation There are, however, mahallas which, although ethnically similar to those discussed above, are made up of a disadvantaged population that has no strong social networks which could integrate it into society. While the political game in this case is the same, the ra’is and his committee are regarded by the community as individuals who take care of their own interests and use their positions in favour of their own network members. During social events, such as feasts (‘toy’), the inhabitants appeal to an authentic committee of elders, which has no official standing but enjoys effective social authority to solve daily conflicts. These ‘oqsoqols’27 prefer the mosque to the choyhona.28 This second type of mahalla reveals an evolution of Uzbek society. Most mahallas used to be socio-economically heterogeneous. However, nowadays one can notice the evolution of separate poor and wealthy neighbourhoods, a process that is modifying social relationships. The most disadvantaged neighbourhoods thus tend to establish alternative forms of solidarity to cope with the difficulties of life, outside the state’s grip and influence. The growing gap between the poor and the rich finds its expression in the disadvantaged neighbourhoods in the marginalisation of the mahalla committee. Instead non-official players or religion are becoming increasingly influential. Alienation from the Authorities However, it is not always possible to place an individual whose legitimacy is based on the new Uzbek social norm at the head of the community. This phenomenon is most explicit in isolated rural areas 238

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where social life is not distinguished by an intensive fusion of ethnic groups. Such are the cases of northern Uzbekistan, inhabited by large numbers of Kazakhs, and Karakalpakstan. These people do not fit into the family tree of Uzbek ethnic groups nor do they conform to the Uzbek social norm. It is impossible to appoint someone from the outside as mahalla chairman. The central authorities have to rely, therefore, on a person enjoying genuine social authority within the community and able to influence its life. The political game is thus played out inside the community and utilises the leaders’ representativity. For instance, among Karakalpaks positions of power are often held by members of the Muten tribe.29 Here, the central authorities have to rely on the community itself for its internal running and to respect their specific hierarchies. It should be noted that social authority in these areas is not vested in the mahalla chairman. Rather, the kolkhoz or the selsovet chairman is usually the pivot of social life. The alienation from the central authorities is felt by the slow pace of changes. For instance, the transition to the Uzbek language raises concrete problems for a large part of the population. Therefore most reforms related to renaming and purging the Soviet era slogans and symbols are slower in this type of mahalla. Proximity to the Authorities and Social Alienation On the opposite side are mahallas in urban areas in which the state is able to nominate its candidate as ra’is who will have no social legitimacy at all. This situation is fairly frequent in large city mahallas inhabited predominantly by a population which does not fit into the Uzbek family tree.30 In such cases, the committee chairman is chosen by the khokimiyat. In one such case the chairman of a mahalla inhabited predominantly by Ironis,31 was an Uzbek woman from outside the neighbourhood, who had not a long time before moved to Bukhara from the countryside. This case illustrates a new balance of power, particularly in cities like Samarkand and Bukhara, between the ‘old city dwellers’ (mainly Tajik or Tajik-speaking) and the new Uzbek inhabitants. These Uzbeks, who have originally come from the countryside, have enjoyed a significant social rise since independence. This type of ra’is has usually no social authority at all, because the inhabitants of the neighbourhood do not see in him their representative. His appendage to the new social norm and his kinship network (karandoch uruhchillik) or his friendship network (tanishbilish chillik) – which is part of the city vice-khokim’s political network – give him a position of power without allowing him a hold on social life. In Tashkent, neighbourhoods with a large Russian population are 239

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in a comparable position. The ra’is is usually an Uzbek who does not represent the people at all. His legitimacy is external (to the mahalla) and he is not even well acquainted with the residents. He does not play a significant role in social life and must systematically negotiate his position as intermediary between the state and the people of the neighbourhood. One ra’is, for example, attempted to establish his influence over the neighbourhood by employing a Russian secretary who knew Uzbek. The various committees charged with resolving conflicts have rarely been called into action. Another ra’is confided that he did not intervene at all in the social life of his mahalla and did not even register divorces of Russian residents. In such a configuration, the ra’is is often confined to a merely administrative role. He has no real influence on social life, and only his ability to negotiate with alternative actors can supply him with a potential influence on the neighbourhood. But unlike the Ironis, the Russian population has no firm alternative social structures which would compensate it for the political deficit. THE MAHALLA: A NEW SPHERE OF NEGOTIATION

Consequently, the political-administrative system of the mahalla expands over various realities. Manifold admixtures of power and social authority determine whether the mahalla committee chairman is central or marginal to its social life. However, generally speaking, it is impossible to attribute to the post of the chairman any significant stake in social life. The ra’is remains a link in a larger political chain. In order to obtain social prominence he has to negotiate with people of authority in the neighbourhood. To exercise his legitimacy he has to use his network of acquaintance, which is not part of the state apparatus. Thus realities of power in the mahalla vary according to the configuration of each. The mahalla committee is often percieved ambivalently by the people. The elders, or oqsoqols, are seen as deserving respect and fear, but also as people acting according to their own selfish interests, for instance by favouring systematically ‘their’ people. The fact that the neighbourhood has been bestowed with an assortment of attributes has caused an increase in the conflicts inside the mahalla. The ra’is must now take into account the complexity of social life and finds himself constantly in the sphere of negotiations between the state and the citizens. The mahalla has not escaped the logic according to which people, while acknowledging authority, adopt strategies of avoidance of or fundamental opposition vis-à-vis those in power. For example, since the law prohibits consumption of 240

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vodka during breakfast some establishments, apprehensive of the state, serve vodka in tea-cups. The behaviour thus differs from one mahalla to another in accordance with their new association with the authorities. In neighbourhoods where the mahalla committees lack social authority, alternative players advance by solving conflicts which the state is no longer able to resolve through its institutions. The mahalla committees as an institutional device are unable to control the sweeping changes in Uzbek society. Social differentiation is becoming increasingly visible, and the influence of religion is on the rise, while the fortune of the most disadvantaged is gravely worsening. CONCLUSION

In Uzbekistan, the state has imposed itself as the master of meaning, and the mahalla illustrates its changed perception of social relations. The weight of the group and tradition weighs on each person, and the authorities want to restore a true face-to-face society. The mahalla thus constitutes the new model of life which reorganises social time, the perception of social links and the perception of territory. The authorities introduce the neighbourhood community as a sphere of solidarity and mutual aid, but it is also the location of new social and cultural conflicts. It is the territory par excellence of nation- and statebuilding and of the diffusion of a new national discourse. The application of these new legislative provisions also demonstrates the difficulty of bringing uniformity to social life in a strongly diversified society. Strengthening the mahalla carries with it the risk of accelerating ‘communitarisation’ (the fragmentation into separate communities) of Uzbek society. Uzbekistan is not a segmented society, because power is short-lived and depends on the capacity of a group or a person to form stable political alliances. The result is that power circulates and does not remain in the hands of the same person. The braiding of politics and other dimensions of social life helps us to grasp how power relationships are woven, to comprehend their ramifications and to understand the practices they generate. The placement of a social framework aimed at organising the differentiation between those who may access elected positions and others in particular has to be observed. Therefore, the present mahalla cannot be considered as a fixed political system. It is above all a new field of force among individuals, who play with new legitimities and forms of domination, because behind the abstract notion of the state particular human activities are always unfolding. 241

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The present evolution of the mahalla is not synonymous with a return to a traditional model. The public discourse of the authorities often presents the mahalla as embodying the new social ideal. Paradoxically, Tashkent is witnessing its old neighbourhoods disappear because of a large-scale programme to demolish the old reputedly uncontrollable part of the city. The erection of tower blocks gives birth to a new variety of social links. There the authorities will no longer be able to evade the issue of representation. And there alternative players who are already representative outside the political institutions are getting stronger and benefiting from the interstices left by the state. NOTES 1 In his famous book Barth describes the Swats’ core social structure called ‘mahalle’ and meaning neighbourhood community (Fredrik Barth, Political Leadership among the Pathans in the Swat Valley (London: University of London, Athlone Press, 1959). In Albanian villages, this word usually describes a neighbourhood community. 2 Cf. David Abramson, ‘From Soviet to Mahalla: Community and Change in PostSoviet Uzbekistan’, unpublished PhD Dissertation, University of Indiana, Bloomington, April 1998. 3 Pravda Vostoka, Kizil Uzbekistan law UzSSR O sozdanii i dietiel’nosti mahalla’, 14 April 1932. 4 The Agitprop was the Soviet organisation that organised the spread of the ideology. 5 V. M. Kandinov, ‘Ispol’zovaniie narodnykh obychaev i traditsii v ideologicheskoi rabote 20kh godov’, Obschestvennye Nauki v Uzbekistane, No. 6 (1968), pp. 56–8. 6 See Rogers Brubaker, ‘Nationhood and the National Question in the Soviet Union and Post-soviet Eurasia: An Institutional Account’, Theory and Society, Vol. 23, No. 1 (1994), pp. 47–78. 7 For instance, a district in Bukhara known as ‘Rozyon’ before the Revolution and ‘Oktiabr’ during the Soviet era, has recently been renamed after the Uzbek poet ‘Hamid Olimjon’. 8 See Olivier Roy, La nouvelle Asie Centrale ou la fabrication des Nations (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1997). 9 In the Uzbek political-administrative system, there is no distinction between elected and administrative positions. Therefore the khokimiyat is at one and the same time both a political and an administrative institution, and its head – the khokim – is the representative of both the citizens and the state. The Soviet equivalent of this position is the province or district first secretary. 10 This term designates the head, and can be used in various contexts. 11 There is, in fact, one delegate per uram – a unit of several houses that comprises about 45 people. This uram corresponds probably to the extended family. It is not in general use throughout the entire territory of Uzbekistan. Moreover, the term vokil, for example, is used in Bukhara, but not in Tashkent. 12 There are seven committees: the ‘toy’ committee, charged with organising the feasts; the social committee, charged with social assistance; the women’s commit-

242

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13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

tee, charged with solving family problems; the maintenance committee, to maintain public property; the sanitary committee; the environment committee; and the committee for disabled people. This fund is intended to cover part of the social assistance, to help to organise the feasts and national festivals and to contribute to the training of new agents. For an extensive view of its ideology, see N. Imamnazarov, Milii manaviat (Tashkent: Akademia, 1998). Five bombs exploded in Tashkent. The official version accused Islamic opposition in the organisation of bombings. Narodnoie slovo, 17 February 1999. Interview in Bukhara, April 1999. During our investigation, many mahalla chairmen accused the khokimiyats of delaying the payments to the mahalla committees so as to speculate instead. Others talked simply and purely of the embezzlement of social assistance funds. According to Uzbek official sources, several policemen from Namangan (in the Ferghana valley) were murdered and decapitated by Islamists. Azizkhojaev, the former First Deputy Prime Minister in charge of Education, is the Rector of the Academy entrusted with the training of high civil servants of the Republic of Uzbekistan. This research is based on ethnographical material obtained in dozens of mahallas during a three and a half year stay in Uzbekistan. Alimov is the president’s adviser in charge of the cadres policy. Interview with a trainee from the Academy of State and Social Construction in June 1999. This is the case in many mahallas of Karshi, but one cannot generalize. See ‘Uzbek’ as defined by Inguebor Baldauf, ‘Some Thoughts on the Making of the Uzbek Nation’, Cahiers du monde russe et sovietique, Vol. XXXI, No. 1 (January–March 1991), pp. 79–96. In certain parts of the country, the agnatic system plays a key role in social life to organise solidarity. This term, meaning ‘white beards’, designates the elders’ committee in Uzbek culture. The choyhona is also the office of the mahalla committee chairman. The Karakalpak tribal confederation comprises 12 tribes, of which the Muten has always played a major political role. For instance Russian people, but also Ironis, or more widely the Tajik populations of those cities. Ironi was a category used in the Soviet census to designate Shi‘ites. Most of them are now registered as Uzbek in their internal passports.

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Index

Italic page numbers refer to maps and tables. ‘Abbaspur, Mohammad 131 Abdülhamid II, Sultan 106–7 Abedinzadeh, Kamel 131 Abkhazia, separatism 23, 33 Achilova, Rahat 196 Afghanistan: Aral Sea basin 143, 145; definition of Caspian Region 3; development of oil resources 8; ethnic minorities 166; pipeline routes 16, 25, 33–4, 43; Russian security concerns about Islam 56, 57–60; Uzbeks in 168 Africa, former French colonies 73–95 agriculture: Aral Sea basin 144–9; Azerbaijan 36; Kazakhstan 39; Uzbekistan 43 AIOC see Azerbaijan International Operating Company Akayev, Askar: Aksakal Courts 184; clans 185–7, 194–6; corruption 182, 187, 189, 191, 193–6 Aksakal Courts 184 Aliyev, Heydar: Azerbaijanis in Iran 124; CIS 17; Iran 130; Russian role in Nagorno-Karabakh conflict 17 Almaty Declaration (1991) 10 Amoco 34 Amudarya River 143–6, 147, 151, 155, 166 Ankara Declaration (1998) 19–20 Arabic 176 Arabs: in Central Asia 168, 171; in Iran 119

Aral Sea basin 143–58 Aral Sea Basin Programme (ASBP) 152–5, 156 Araz River 127, 132 Armenia: conflict with Azerbaijan 16–19, 23; development of oil resources 8; economy 33, 36, 47, 48; Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35–6; interest in Caspian Region 23; Iran 107, 111, 113, 124, 125–30, 134–5; pipeline routes 16–19, 21; population 48; see also Nagorno-Karabakh conflict Armenians: in Central Asia 171, 173; in Iran 132 Arutyunyan, Gagik 127 ASBP see Aral Sea Basin Programme Atatürk, Mustafa Kemal 106, 108 Auezov, Mukhtar 214 authoritarianism: Central Asian states 182; Kyrgyzstan 196–7; Turkmenistan 203 authority: mahalla in Uzbekistan 234–40; patrimonial 207–10 Aydin, Mustafa xiv 3–26 Aytakov, Nederbay 209 Azerbaijan 120; Azerbaijani minority in Iran 119–36; definition of Caspian Region 3; economy 33, 36–8, 47, 48; Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35–6; environmental issues 21; foreign investment 35; Iran 34, 108, 111, 114, 119–36; legal status of Caspian

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INDEX Sea 9, 11–13; oil and gas forecasts 26, 32, 45, 46, 49, 50; oil and gas industry 7, 8, 37–8; pipeline routes 15, 16–21, 25, 38, 114; population 48; trade with Iran 34; Turco-Iranian relations 108, 111, 113, 114; Turkmen export routes 43; US interests 23; see also NagornoKarabakh Azerbaijan International Operating Company 20, 25, 37–8 Azerbaijanis: in Central Asia 173; in Iran 119–36; Turco-Iranian relations 106,107 Azeri oil fields 12, 21 Azeris see Azerbaijanis Babayev, Sukhan 209 Badakhshan 170 Baghdad Pact (1955) 108 Baku-Ceyhan pipeline route 15, 19–20, 34–5, 37–8 Baku-Novorossiisk pipeline route 14–15, 25 Baku-Supsa pipeline route 19, 25, 38 Balghymbayev, Nurlan 214 Balkars 173 Baluchis, in Iran 119 Batyrov, Shaja 209 Bernstein, Boris 190–1 Black Sea 22, 34, 35, 37–8 Black Sea Economic Cooperation Zone 114 ‘border lake’ concept 11–12, 13 Bosphorus 15, 22, 34 BOTUS 20 British Petroleum (BP) 34 Brzezinski, Zbigniev 18 BSECZ see Black Sea Economic Cooperation Zone Bukhara (Uzbekistan), mahalla 231–2, 235, 239 Bukharan Arabs 168 Bulgaria 8 CAMECO 190–1 CAOPP see Central Asian Oil Pipeline Project Caspian Pipeline Consortium 25, 40 ‘Caspian Region’, definitions 3–7 Caspian Sea: definition of Caspian

Region 3; Kazakhstan’s oil industry 40; legal status and ownership 9–13, 34 Caspian Sea Cooperation Scheme 114 Caspian-Mediterranean (Baku-TbilisiCeyhan) Project 19–20 Caucasians, ethnic minorities in Central Asia 172–3 Caucasus: definitions of Caspian Region 3–4, 6–7; Islam 65; pipeline routes 16; Turkey 113; US interests 15 CENTO see Central Treaty Organisation Central Asia: Aral Sea basin 143–58; assimilation of elites into Russian culture 82–5; Chinese territorial claims in 87; comparison to francophone Africa 73–95; definitions of Caspian Region 3–4, 6–7; dissolution of Soviet Union 75; economic dependence on USSR/Russia 78–81; emigration of russophone minorities from 93–4; ethnic tensions 165–76; heartland of 166; Islam 57–61; proximity to regional superpowers 88–9; relation to Russian Federation 73–95; rivalries among states of 89–91; Russian security concerns about Islam 55, 57–61; Russia’s interests in 4, 92–5; russophone minorities 86–8, 93–4; US interests 15; see also Kazakhstan; Kyrgyzstan; Tajikistan; Turkmenistan; Uzbekistan Central Asian Oil Pipeline Project 43, 44 Central Treaty Organisation 108 centre-periphery: ethnic minorities 168–71; Uzbeks 166–8 Ceyhan (Turkey), pipeline routes 15, 19–20, 34–5, 37–8 Chagatay 168 Chait, Elisa A. xiv 143–58 Changyshev, Tursunbek 191 Chardzou, pipeline routes 25 Chechens, ethnic minority in Central Asia 173 Chechnya: conflict and the economy 33; Islamic law 67; pipeline routes 16; Russian casualties 59; Russian security concerns about Islam 56, 65

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION Chevron 34, 40 China: definition of Caspian Region 3; development of oil resources 8; ethnic minorities 166; interest in Caspian Region 4; Kazakhs in 174; pipeline routes 14, 25, 33–4; territorial claims in Central Asia 87, 88 Chinese, food 172 Chingizids 213 Chirag oil fields 12, 21 CIS see Commonwealth of Independent States cities, mahalla in Uzbekistan 228–42 civil rights, Kyrgyzstan 182 clans 170; Kazakhstan 213; Kyrgyzstan 184–7, 190–2, 193–6, 197; Soviet creation of Central Asian states 77; Turkmenistan 215; Uzbeks 166; see also tribes clientelism, Kyrgyzstan 181–99 climate change, Aral Sea crisis 146–7 Cold War, Turco-Iranian relations 104, 108–11, 112 colonisation, Russia and Central Asia 73–95 Commission on Security and Cooperation in Europe 193 Commonwealth of Independent States: Afghanistan and the Taliban 57–8, 59–60; Azerbaijan’s membership of 17; Collective Security Treaty 58; geo-politics of the Caspian Region 23; membership of Central Asian states 75; Russian claims to rights in 13; Russian security concerns and Islam 61–5; Russian-Iranian relations 14; Turco-Iranian relations 113–14 Communist Party of the Soviet Union, Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 206–7, 209 Communists: corruption in Kyrgyzstan 188–9; transition to democracy 203–4 communitarianisation, Uzbekistan 241 community, the mahalla in Uzbekistan 228–42 condominium approach, legal status of Caspian Sea 9–13 corruption, Kyrgyzstan 181–99 Cossacks, in Kazakhstan 175 cotton production: Aral Sea basin 146–7; Turkmenistan 42

CPC see Caspian Pipeline Consortium CPSU see Communist Party of the Soviet Union crime: Afghanistan and the Taliban 59; Kyrgyzstan 189 Crimean Tatars 171, 174 Crimean War (1853–56) 106 CSCS see Caspian Sea Cooperation Scheme cultural rights, Azerbaijani minority in Iran 121–3, 133–4 customary law, Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan 220 Cyprus, United States and Turkey 109 Czechs, food 172 Daghestan, Russian concerns about Islam 65, 67 definitions of region 3–7 Demirel, Süleyman 132 democracy: Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 203–21; Kyrgyzstan 181–99 Dessouki, Ali Hillal 112 development of oil reserves: barriers to 17–19, 33–6; environmental issues 21–2; estimates of oil reserves 32 drug trade, Kyrgyzstan 189–90 Dungans 171 Dyryldayev, Ramazan 195 early oil, pipelines 25 East-West Energy Corridor 35 ecological issues see environmental issues Economic Cooperation Council 126 economic reform, Kyrgyzstan 187–92 economy: dependence of Central Asian states on USSR/Russia 78–81; oil and gas 32–50 ecosystem, geo-politics of the Caspian Region 21–2 EIA see Energy Information Administration Elchibey, Abulfez 17, 126–7, 128, 130 elections: Kazakhstan 206–7, 210–13; Turkmenistan 206–7, 210–13, 219 elites: assimilation into Russian culture in Central Asian states 82–5; Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 204–7, 213; Kyrgyzstan 181–99; Turkey 112

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INDEX emigration: ethnic minorities in Central Asia 174–6; of russophone minorities from Central Asia 86–8, 93–4 enclosed sea concept, legal status of Caspian Sea 13 Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35 Energy Information Administration (US Department of Energy) 32–3, 44–5, 46, 48 Enver, Pasha 107 environmental issues: Aral Sea basin 146–58; geo-politics of the Caspian Region 21–2; legal status of Caspian Sea 10; rising water level in the Caspian Sea 34; transportation 35 ethnic minorities: Afghanistan 59; Azerbaijanis in Iran 119–36; Central Asia 165–76; Kazakhstan 213–14; Russian Federation 65–6 ethnicity: Central Asia 165–76; Kazakhstan 213–14, 217–19; power structures in Kyrgyzstan 182–7; Turkmenistan 217–19 ethnocentrism, Russian Federation 65–6 EU see European Union Europe: gas supply forecasts 45–6; Turco-Iranian relations 109, 114; see also European Union European Energy Charter 35–6 European Union: Aral Sea basin 154; investment in resource development 35–6; pipeline routes 14 Evren, Kenan 110 exploitation rights: barriers to 33–6; environmental issues 21–2; geopolitics of the region 22–3; legal status of Caspian Sea 9–13, 34; Nagorno-Karabakh conflict 17–19 exploration rights, legal status of Caspian Sea 9–13, 34 family: mahalla in Uzbekistan 236–8; see also clan; tribe Ferghana Valley 157, 168 fishing, legal status of Caspian Sea 9, 10 flood control, Aral Sea basin 144–6 food, ethnic groups in Central Asia 172 forced migration, to Central Asian states in Soviet era 77–8

foreign economic aid, corruption in Kyrgyzstan 192 foreign investment 8–9, 35–6; Azerbaijan 37; geo-politics of the region 23; Kazakhstan 39; Uzbekistan 44 France, relationship to former colonies 73–95 Gammer, Moshe xiv 73–95 Gamsakhurdia, Zviad, pipeline routes 19 gas: Azerbaijan 37–8; definition of Caspian Region 3; economies of the region 32–50; estimates of reserves 26, 32–3; Kazakhstan 39–40; Kyrgyzstan 41; legal status of Caspian Sea 10–13; resource development 7–9; Russian interests in 4; supply forecasts 45–6, 46, 47, 50; Tajikistan 42; Turkmenistan 42–3; Uzbekistan 44; Western interest in 4–6; see also pipelines Gaulle, Charles de 92 Gazprom 17 Geiss, Paul Georg xiv–xv 203–21 geo-politics of the region 3–26 Georgia: Abkhaz separatism 23, 33; Azerbaijani export routes 37–8; development of oil resources 8; economy 33, 38, 47, 48; Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35–6; internal conflict 23; pipeline routes 15, 16, 19–21, 34, 37–8; population and national income 48 Germans, as ethnic minority in Central Asia 167, 171, 172, 174 gold: Kyrgyzstan 190–1, 193, 194; Tajikistan 41 Gorbachev, Mikhail: coup attempt 1991 75, 84–5; Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 206, 209; perestroika 84; political reform 203–4 Great Britain, Turco-Iranian relations 106 Great Horde 212, 214 Greece, development of oil resources 8 Greeks, as ethnic minorities in Central Asia 171, 174 GUAM Group 19 Guneshli oil field 21 guzar 231–2

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION Hansen, Flemming S. xv 55–68 health, Aral Sea crisis 146–7, 149 Hemmeti, Ahmad 131 Hindus 172 Hordes 212, 213, 214 Houphouet-Boigny, Félix 74 human rights: Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 207; Kyrgyzstan 182, 196 hydroelectricity: Aral Sea basin 144–6, 148, 149; Tajikistan 42 ICAS see Interstate Council for the Aral Sea ICKKU see Interstate Council for Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan ICWC see Interstate Commission for Water Coordination identity: Azerbaijani minority in Iran 121–3, 134, 136; Kazakhstanis 218; Soviet creation of Central Asian states 77; Turco-Iranian relations 106 IEA see International Energy Agency IFAS see International Fund for the Aral Sea (IFAS) international agencies, Aral Sea basin 152–4 International Energy Agency (IEA): development costs 35; oil and gas supply forecasts 44–6, 48, 49 International Fund for the Aral Sea (IFAS) 152–4 International Monetary Fund (IMF): Azerbaijan 36; Kazakhstan 39; Kyrgyzstan 41 international organisations, corruption in Kyrgyzstan 187 International Water and Energy Consortium 156 Interstate Commission for Water Coordination 150–1, 152, 154 Interstate Council for the Aral Sea 152–4 Interstate Council for Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan 155–6 Iran: Aral Sea basin 143; Azerbaijani minority in 119–36, 120; definition of Caspian Region 3; development of oil resources 7, 8; environmental issues 21–2; estimates of oil and gas resources 26; ethnic minorities 166;

interest in Caspian Region 4, 23; legal status of Caspian Sea 9, 11, 12; Nagorno-Karabakh conflict 125–33, 134–5; pipeline routes 12, 14, 15–16, 20–1, 23, 25, 33–5, 40; relations with Russia 14, 60–1; relations with Turkey 104–15; Revolution 1979 109–10, 112; threat to Uzbekistan 88–9; US sanctions 13, 16, 34 Iran-Iraq war, Turkey 110 Iranian Revolution (1979) 109–10, 112 Iranians, Turco-Iranian relations 105 Iraq: pipeline routes 16; relations with Russia 61; Turkey 110; US policy 16, 23 Ironis 239 irrigation, Aral River basin 144–9, 150, 155–6 Isayev, Urkalyi 192 Islam: creation of Central Asian states 76; ethnic groups in Central Asia 170, 172–3; ‘extremism’ and ‘fundamentalism’ 56; food 172; Kazakhstan 219–20; nomadism and rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; Russian security concerns 55–68, 57–61; Turco-Iranian relations 104, 105–7, 109–10, 111, 112, 113–14; Turkmenistan 219–20; Uzbekistan 232, 238; see also Islamic extremism; Islamic fundamentalism; Shi‘ites Islamic extremism: Afghanistan and the Taliban 59; in Russia 65, 67; Russian definition 56; Russian policy 60, 68; Tajikistan 61, 63–4 Islamic fundamentalism: in Russia 65; Russian definition 56; Russian policy 60–1, 68; Turco-Iranian relations 113–14 Islamic world, Russian security concerns 57–61 Islamism, Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan 219–20 Isma‘ilis 170 Israel, pipeline routes 14, 23 Ivanov, Igor 59 Jaisanbaev, Shalkar 191 Japan, pipeline routes 14 Jews, migration from Central Asia 174 joint ownership, legal status of Caspian Sea 12–13

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INDEX joint utilisation, legal status of Caspian Sea 9–13 judiciary, Aksakal Courts in Kyrgyzstan 184 Jumagulov, Apas 191, 194 Jumaliyev, Kubanychbek 191 Karabakh see Nagorno-Karabakh conflict Karachay 173 Karadarya River 144 Karakalpaks: autonomous republic 76; ethnic minority in Uzbekistan 166, 167, 168, 172, 239; Islam 170 Karakalpakstan 169, 172, 239 Karimov, Islam 91; mahalla 228, 230, 232, 234; power 193 Karluks 168 Karshi (Uzbekistan), mahalla 237 Kashghari, Mahmud 115 Katagan 166–8 Kazakhs: as ethnic minority 167, 171; food 172; Islam 170; in Kazakhstan 174, 218; nomadism and rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; patrimonial authority 208–10; tribes 169; in Uzbekistan 166, 167, 169, 171–2, 239 Kazakhstan: administrative division 205; Aral River basin 143–6, 145, 147, 151, 155–6; definition of Caspian Region 3; development of oil resources 7, 8; economy 33, 38–40, 47, 48; elections 219; Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35–6; estimates of oil and gas resources 26, 32–3, 45, 46, 47, 49, 50; ethnic minorities 33, 167, 169, 173; foreign investment 35; heartland of Central Asia 166; legal status of Caspian Sea 9, 11, 12–13; nomadism and rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; oil and gas industry 39–40; oil-swap with Iran 16; pipeline routes 19–20, 25; political order 203–21; population 48; proximity to Russia 85–6; regionalism 213–14; Russian security concerns about Islam 55; Russians in 173–5; russophone minorities 86–8, 173–5; threat from China 88; Turkey 113; Uzbeks in 166 Kazhegel’din, Akezhan 204, 211, 214 Keneges 77

Kennedy, John F. 109 Khanin, Vladimir (Ze’ev) xv 181–99 Kharrazi, Kamal 12 Khatami, Mohammad 136 khokimiyat (governor’s administration) 232–4, 235–8 Khorezm Uzbeks 168 Kiyat 77 Kobishchanov, Yuri xv 165–76 Kongrad 166–8 Korany, Bahgat 112 Koreans, as ethnic minority in Central Asia 171, 172 Kouchumanov, Talaibek 191 Ktay 77 Kulov, Feliks 186, 195 Kumyks, Central Asia 173 Kunayev, Dinmuhamed 209, 214 Kungrat 77, 171 Kurama 166–8 Kurds: Iran 119, 136; Islam 170 Kyapaz oil deposits 12 Kypchak 166–8 Kyrgyz 168–9; and Caucasians 173; food 172; Islam 170; nomadism and rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; power stuctures in Kyrgyzstan 184; tribes 169; in Uzbekistan 166 Kyrgyzstan: administrative division 183; Aral River basin 143–6, 145, 147, 149, 151, 155–6, 157; clientelism 181–99; corruption 181–99; dissolution of Soviet Union 75; economy 40–1, 47, 48; Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35–6; ethnic groups in 167, 169; heartland of Central Asia 166; nomadism and rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; oil and gas reserves 41; population 48; proximity to Russia 85–6; Russian security concerns about Islam 55; Russians in 174; russophone minorities 86–8, 174; threat from China 88; Turkey 113; Uzbeks in 166 languages: assimilation of elites into Russian culture 84; Azerbaijanis in Iran 121–3, 133–4; ethnic minorities in Central Asia 165, 176; Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 217–18; Uzbekistan 231

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION Lapidot-Firilla, Anat xv 104–15 Latvians, migration from Central Asia 174 law: Aksakal Courts in Kyrgyzstan 184; Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan 220–1 Law of the Sea 9–10 Lebed, Aleksandr 55–6, 57 legal authority, Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan 207–8, 220–1 Libya, relations with Russia 61 Lokay 166–8 loyalty, patrimonial politics in Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 208, 210–11, 217 Lukin, Vladimir 63–4 Lukoil 11–12, 17 mahalla 77, 228–42 Mangyt 77, 171 Masaliyev, Absamat 186, 194, 196 Maskhadov, Aslan 56 Mederov, Sultan 189 Meskhetian Turks 173, 174 Middle Horde 212, 214 migration: ethnic minorities from Central Asia 86–8, 93–4, 174–6; to Central Asian states in Soviet era 77–8 Mikoyan, Sergey 64 MTAK 194 Muraliyev, Amangeldi 195 Musavi-Ardabeli, Ayatollah 130–1 Muzaffer ad-Din Shah 106 Myngit 166–8 Nagorno-Karabakh conflict 23; economy 33, 36; Iran 113, 125–33, 134–5; pipeline routes 16–19; Russian role in 16–19; Turco-Iranian relations 111 Nanayev, Kemelbek 191 Naryn River 144 Naryn-Syrdarya Cascade 156 Naser ad-Din Shah 106 Nasibzade, Nasib 124 nation-building: Central Asian states 75–8; Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 206; mahalla in Uzbekistan 241 national identity, Soviet creation of Central Asian states 77 national income 48

nationalisation: Kazakhstan 217–18; Turkmenistan 217, 218–19 nationalism: Azerbaijanis in Iran 134–5; emigration of russophone minorities from Central Asia 93–4; Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 206; nomadism and rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; Turco-Iranian relations 108, 111; Uzbekistan 232, 234–5 NATO see North Atlantic Treaty Organisation navigation, legal status of Caspian Sea 9, 10, 11 Nazarbayev, Nursultan: coup attempt 1991 85; democracy 204; dissolution of Soviet Union 75; elections 206–7, 219; ethnic origins of ministers 212, 214; patrimonial authority 209–10, 211–13; patriotism 218; perestroika 84; rivalry with Uzbekistan 90 ‘near abroad’, Russian security concerns about Islam 55, 61–5 neighbourhood community (mahalla), Uzbekistan 228–42 Nejad-Sarkhani, ‘Ali 131 Niyazov, Saparmurat: authoritarianism 203; elections 206–7, 219; legal status of Caspian Sea 12; patrimonial authority 209–10, 212–13, 215–17; pipeline routes 19–20; political order 219; referendum 211 nomads: Islam 170; rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; Soviet creation of Central Asian states 76–7; Turco-Iranian relations 105; Uzbeks 166–8 nomenklatura: assimilation of elites into Russian culture 84; Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 209; Kyrgyzstan 184, 186, 193–6 nomenklatura capitalism, Kyrgyzstan 187–92 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation 19, 109, 135 Northern Caucasus: definition of Caspian Region 3–4; Muslims in 65 Novorossiisk (Russia), pipeline routes 14–15, 25, 34, 35, 37–8 Nur Uulu, Dosbol 196 Nuraliyev, Amangeldi 195 Nuri, Said Abdullo 62

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INDEX oil: Azerbaijan 37–8; definitions of Caspian Region 3; economies of the region 32–50; estimates of reserves 7, 26, 32, 44–5, 46, 48; foreign investment 8; Iran and Azerbaijan 133; Kazakhstan 39, 39–40; Kyrgyzstan 41, 191; legal status of Caspian Sea 9–13; resource development 7–9; Russia’s interest in Central Asia 4, 92; Uzbekistan 44; Western interest in 4–6; see also pipelines Oman, Kazakh oil 40 ‘open sea’ concept, legal status of Caspian Sea 11–12 Orosbakov, Sapar 188 OSCE Minsk Group 18 Osh, ethnic conflict 170, 185 Ossetian secessionist movement 23, 173 Ottoman Empire, Turco-Iranian relations 105–7 Ovezov, Balysh 209 Özal, Turgut 106, 110–11 Pakistan: definition of Caspian Region 3; development of oil resources 8; pipeline routes 14, 25, 43; threat to Uzbekistan 88–9 Pamiris, Islam 170 pan-Islamicism, Ottoman Empire and Iran 106–7 pan-Turanism, Turco-Iranian relations 107–8, 111, 113–14 pan-Turkism, Soviet creation of Central Asian states 77 Partnership for Peace Programme 19 Pasha, Enver 107 Pastukhov, Boris 62 patrimonial authority, Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 207–21 patriotism: Kazakhstan 218; Russian’s concern about Islam 68; Soviet creation of Central Asian states 77 patronage, Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 209 personality cult, Turkmenistan 203, 207 Pétric, Boris Mathieu xv, 228–42 pipelines 5, 13–21, 25, 33–5; Azerbaijan 37–8; competition for control of 6; gas supply forecasts 46; geo-politics of the region 13–21, 23;

Georgia 38; Iran 12; Kazakhstan’s oil export routes 40; Turco-Iranian relations 114; Turkey 113; Turkmen oil and gas 43; Uzbek oil exports 44 political clans, Kyrgyzstan 184–7, 190–2 political power: Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 203–21; Kyrgyzstan 181–99; rule of law 207–8; Uzbekistan 228–42 pollution: Aral Sea crisis 146, 149; geopolitics of the Caspian Region 21–2 population 48 Primakov, Evgenii, Islam 17, 56, 57, 60, 62, 66 privatisation: Azerbaijan 36; Kazakhstan 39; Kyrgyzstan 188–92 Quluzade, Vafa 135 ra’is 232–41 Rakhmonov, Imomali 58, 60, 62 refugees: Armenians in Dushanbe 173; Nagorno-Karabakh conflict and Iran 123–4, 127, 129, 132 regionalism, Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 212–17 religion: Soviet creation of Central Asian states 77; see also Islam resource conflict, Aral Sea basin 143–58 restructuring, corruption in Kyrgyzstan 188–92 Rivlin, Paul xv–xvi 32–50 rule of law, Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 207–8, 210 Russia (Tsarist): Kazakhstan 208; Turkmenistan 208, 214–15; urban structure in Central Asia 230 Russian Federation, see also Soviet Union Russian Federation: Afghanistan and the Taliban 57–60; Azerbaijan 135; definition of Caspian Region 3; dependence of Central Asian states on 78–81; development of oil deposits 7–8; economy 33, 47, 48; Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35–6; environmental issues 21–2; estimates of oil and gas resources 26, 46, 47; geo-politics of the Caspian Region 23; interests in Caspian Region 4, 13, 23; interests in Central Asia 92–5;

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION Russian Federation (continued) Iran 14, 106, 125; Islam and security concerns 55–68; Kazakhs in 174; legal status of Caspian Sea 9–13; Muslim minority in 55, 65–7; Nagorno-Karabakh conflict 16–19, 125; pipeline routes 14–15, 16–19, 20–1, 33–5, 40; population and national income 48; proximity to Central Asia 85–6; relationship to former Soviet Central Asian states 73–95; rivalries among states of Central Asia 89–91; russophone minorities in Central Asia 93–4; security and Islam 55–68; Tajik civil war 61–2; Turkey 112–13; Turkmen gas exports 43; see also Soviet Union Russian language, assimilation of elites into Russian culture 84 Russians: ethnic minorities in Central Asia 167, 171, 172, 173–6; in Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan 218; in Kyrgyzstan 185; migration from Central Asia 174–5; in Uzbekistan 239–40 russophones: as ethnic minorities in Central Asia 77–8, 80, 86–8, 171, 173–6; in Kyrgyzstan 169; Russia’s interests in Central Asia 93–4; in Tajikistan 169 Ryskulov, Turar 209 Samarkand (Uzbekistan) 239 Sarts 166 Sarygulov, Askar 191 Saudi Arabia: pipeline routes 14; Turkey 110, 111 SDC see Sustainable Development Commission Second World War 108 sedentary societies: rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; TurcoIranian relations 105 Seleznov, Gennadii 60 Senegal 74 Senghor, Léopold Sédar 74, 76 Shaffer, Brenda xvi 119–36 Shafrannik, Iurii 13, 17–18 Shevardnadze, Eduard 19 Shi‘ites: Azerbaijan 119; ethnic groups in Central Asia 170; Turco-Iranian relations 105–6; Turkey 110

Shusha (Azerbaijan), Iran 127, 128 Siabeco 190–1 Small Horde 212, 214 smuggling, Afghanistan and the Taliban 59 SOCAR see State Oil Company of Azerbaijan South Ossetia separatism 33 Soviet Union: Aral Sea basin 144–6, 148, 150; assimilation of elites in Central Asia 82–5; Azerbaijani minority in Iran 121–2; collapse of 33, 38, 112–13, 121–2, 125, 150, 204–7; colonisation of Central Asia 73–4; coup attempt 1991 84–5; creation of Central Asian states 76–8, 91, 144–6, 165, 168; dependence of Central Asian states on 78–81; development of oil and gas resources 7; dissolution of and Central Asian states 75; economies 33; environmental issues 21–2; Iran 121–2, 125; Kazakhstan 38, 204–7, 208; legal status of Caspian Sea 9; Nagorno-Karabakh conflict 125; pipeline routes 33–4; russophones in Central Asia 173–4, 175; Tajikistan economy 41; Turco-Iranian relations 108–13; Turkmenistan 42, 204–7, 208, 215; Uzbekistan 230–1; see also Russian Federation State Oil Company of Azerbaijan 18, 37 state-building: Central Asian states 75–8; Uzbekistan 241 Sufi Islam 170 Suleymenov, Olzhas 214 Sunni Islam: ethnic groups in Central Asia 170; Turco-Iranian relations 105–6 Supsa (Georgia) pipeline route 25, 34, 37–8 Sustainable Development Commission 152 Suyunov, Nazar 170 Sydykov, Usen 195 Syrdarya River 143–6, 147, 151, 155–6 Syria, relations with Russia 61 Tajikistan: Afghanistan and the Taliban 58, 59–60; Aral Sea basin 143–6, 145, 147, 151; civil war 61–2;

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INDEX creation by Soviet Union 77; economy 41–2, 47; Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35–6; ethnic groups in 167, 169; gas 42; heartland of Central Asia 166; mahalla 77; pipeline routes 16; population 48; rivalry with Uzbekistan 91; Russian security concerns about Islam 55, 61–4, 68; Russians in 175; Uzbeks in 166, 168 Tajiks 168; in Afghanistan 59; and Caucasians 173; as ethnic minority 167; Islam 170; rivalry with Uzbeks 91; Soviet creation of Central Asian states 77; tribes 169; in Uzbekistan 166, 171–2, 231–2 Taliban: Russian security concerns about Islam 56, 57–60; Tajikistan 63, 64 Tashkent, mahalla 233, 239–40, 242 Tatars 167, 171, 172–3 Tbilisi, Caspian-Mediterranean (BakuTbilisi-Ceyhan) Project 19–20 Tengiz oil field 8, 40 Tengiz-Novorossiisk pipeline route 25 Ter-Petrossian, Levon 128, 129–30 Tereshchenko, Sergei 214 terrorism, Aral River basin 157 Toktogul Reservoir 155–6 Totskii, Colonel-General Konstantin 60 Toygonbayev, Adil 195 Transcaucasia: definition of Caspian Region 3–4; pipline routes 16; Russian interests in 4; Turkey and Iran 111 Transparency International 187 transportation: environmental issues 22, 35; see also pipelines travel, Central Asian borders 165 tribes 169–70; Kazakhstan 208, 213–14, 220; Kyrgyzstan 184–7; Soviet creation of Central Asian states 77; Turkmenistan 208, 213–17, 220; Uzbeks 166, 171; see also clans Tsereteli, Irakli 19 Turajonzoda, Ahbar 62 Turkey: Azerbaijani export routes 37–8; definition of Caspian Region 3; development of oil resources 8; environmental issues in the

Bosphorus 22; interest in Caspian Region 4–5, 23; Iran 104–15, 129; military coup 1980 109–10; Nagorno-Karabakh conflict 129, 132; pipeline routes 14, 15, 19–21, 23, 25, 34–5, 40, 113 Turkish Straits 22, 35 Turkmen 168; ethnic minority in Central Asia 167, 168; in Iran 119; Islam 170; nomadism and rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; patrimonial authority 208–10; political order in Turkmenistan 218–19; tribalism 214–17; tribes 169–70; Turco-Iranian relations 105; in Turkmenistan 169; in Uzbekistan 166 Turkmen Natural Gas Project 114 Turkmenistan: administrative division 216; Afghanistan and the Taliban 59–60; Aral Sea basin 143–6, 145, 147, 149, 151; definition of Caspian Region 3; economy 42–3, 47, 48; Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35–6; ethnic groups in 167, 169; heartland of Central Asia 166; Iran 34; Islam 170; legal status of Caspian Sea 9–10, 11, 12; nationalisation 218–19; nomadism and rivalries among states of Central Asia 90; oil and gas resources 7, 8, 26, 32–3, 42–3, 46, 46, 47, 49, 50; pipeline routes 19–20, 25, 35; political order 203–21; population 48; regionalism 214–17; Russian security concerns about Islam 55; Russians in 174; tribes 169–70; Turco-Iranian relations 114; Turkey 113; Uzbeks in 166 Turks, as ethnic minorities in Central Asia 168 Uighurs 169, 171, 175 Ukrainians, as ethnic minorities in Central Asia 167, 171, 172, 173–4, 175 UNEP see United Nations Environmental Programme United Nations: Aral Sea basin 154; legal status of Caspian Sea 10 United Nations Environmental Programme 152

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THE CASPIAN: A RE-EMERGING REGION United States: Aral Sea basin 154; development of oil resources 8–9; interest in Caspian Region 4, 23; Iran 7, 13, 15–16, 23, 34, 114, 125; IranLibya Sanctions Act 1996 13, 34; Iraq 16, 23; legal status of Caspian Sea 13; Nagorno-Karabakh conflict 18–19, 125; pipeline routes 14, 15–16, 19, 20–1, 34–5, 37–8; Russian influence in Central Asia 94–5; sanctions against Iran 114; Turco-Iranian relations 114; Turkey 109, 112–13 urban areas, mahalla in Uzbekistan 228–42 Uzbekistan: administrative division 229; Afghanistan and the Taliban 58, 59–60; Aral River basin 143–6, 145, 147, 149, 151, 155–6, 157; creation by Soviet Union 77; economy 33, 43–4, 47, 48; Energy Charter Treaty (1994) 35–6; ethnic groups in 167, 169, 171–2; heartland of Central Asia 166; Kazakhs in 174; mahalla 77, 228–42; oil and gas resources 7, 26, 32–3, 44, 46, 47, 49, 50; population 48; rivalries among states of Central Asia 89–91; Russian security concerns about Islam 55; Russians in 174; special position in Central Asia 171; Tajiks in 168; threats from Iran and Pakistan 88–9; Turkey 113

Uzbeks 166–8; in Afghanistan 59; Caucasians 173; as ethnic minority 167, 171; Islam 170; in Kazakhstan 175; in Kyrgyzstan 184, 185; nomadism and rivalries among states of Central Asia 90–1; Soviet creation of Central Asian states 77; tribes 169; in Uzbekistan 167, 169, 171, 238–9 Va’ezi, Mahmud 126, 134 Vartanian, Vartan 132 Volga Tatars 171 ‘Vostok’ 191 voting, Kyrgyzstan 197 water: Aral Sea basin 143–58; rising level in the Caspian Sea 34 West: Azerbaijan and Iran 135; interest in Caspian Region 4–6; Russian cooperation with Islamic world 60–1; Turkey 112–13; view of Central Asian political order 203–4 Western Europe: development of oil resources 8–9; interest in Caspian Region 4 World Bank 152, 153 Yeltsin, Boris: Afghanistan and the Taliban 60; legal status of Caspian Sea 11; Tajik civil war 62, 63 Zuulfugarov, Tofiq 135

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