Kazakhstan Opinions - The Times Of Central Asia

Viewing results 1 - 6 of 155

Cancer Treatment

Diagnosis and a Suitcase: Why Kazakhstanis with Cancer Still Seek Treatment Abroad

Fundraising appeals for cancer treatment abroad have become a familiar feature of Kazakhstan’s social media landscape. A photograph, a medical report, a bank account number and a plea for help often signal a family’s decision that treatment outside the country offers the best chance of survival. Whether that perception is justified remains one of the most sensitive questions facing Kazakhstan’s healthcare system. According to the Ministry of Health, the incidence of malignant neoplasms in urban areas reached approximately 239 cases per 100,000 people in 2024, up from 230 a year earlier. Kazakhstan records one of the highest cancer incidence rates in Central Asia, ahead of Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and Tajikistan, according to recent regional comparisons. More than 30,000 new cancer cases are diagnosed in Kazakhstan each year, while thousands of people die annually from malignant tumors. Breast cancer is the most commonly diagnosed form of the disease, followed by colorectal and lung cancers. Lung cancer remains one of the leading causes of cancer-related mortality. The burden of disease is not evenly distributed. The highest incidence rates are recorded in industrial regions such as Pavlodar, Karaganda, Kostanay, North Kazakhstan and East Kazakhstan. Specialists attribute the trend to a combination of environmental pollution, unhealthy lifestyles, population aging and, according to some experts, the long-term effects of the COVID-19 pandemic. Kazakhstan’s leading oncologists generally reject the notion that treatment abroad is automatically better. The country’s major oncology centers offer surgery, chemotherapy and radiation therapy using treatment protocols that largely correspond to international standards. Physicians at the National Research Oncology Center in Astana note that many patients who travel to Turkey or South Korea eventually receive treatment recommendations similar to those available in Kazakhstan, often at a much higher personal cost. The difference, doctors and patients say, often lies in speed and service. Private clinics abroad can offer faster access to consultations, diagnostics and treatment, while patients frequently cite more personalized care and greater attention from medical staff. For families confronting a life-threatening diagnosis, such factors can become decisive. At the same time, some limitations within Kazakhstan’s healthcare system are difficult to ignore. The country’s bone marrow donor registry remains relatively small. In leukemia cases where no compatible donor can be found among relatives, patients often depend on international registries and may require treatment abroad. Organ transplantation from deceased donors also remains underdeveloped. In some cases of liver cancer, patients must travel to countries such as Belarus when no living donor is available. Some of the latest targeted therapies and immunotherapy drugs are also not yet registered in Kazakhstan, although oncologists say new treatments are gradually being incorporated into clinical practice. One of the most common complaints among patients with cancer in Kazakhstan concerns delays in diagnostics and treatment. Kazakhstan’s healthcare system formally guarantees a so-called “green corridor” for oncology patients, under which no more than 30 days should pass between the initial suspicion of cancer and the start of treatment. In practice, however, access to high-tech diagnostic equipment remains uneven. PET/CT scanners, a...

Architecture

Opinion: Beyond Ornaments – Rethinking Kazakhstan’s Architectural Identity

Walking into the Flower of God Mosque in Astana, I was struck not by its grand domes or elaborate decoration, but by the experience of the space itself. Light filtered through the structure in unexpected ways, the interior unfolded gradually, and the building created a sense of calm. It made me wonder: can architecture express cultural meaning without directly reproducing traditional architectural symbols? This question is becoming increasingly important for Kazakhstan. Over the past two decades, the country has transformed its urban landscape through ambitious construction projects. New airports, museums, universities, financial centers, and religious buildings have reshaped cities, particularly Astana. As Kazakhstan seeks to position itself as a modern state connecting Europe and Asia, architecture has become one of the most visible expressions of national identity. Yet a fundamental challenge remains unresolved: how can architecture be modern while also expressing what it means to be Kazakh? National ornaments appear on glass facades and stylized references to the yurt shape public buildings. While these references are familiar and visually recognizable, they do not necessarily create meaningful architecture. Cultural identity cannot simply be attached to a building like decoration. This approach reflects what architects often describe as direct design: the use of recognizable forms and symbols to communicate meaning. Domes, arches, ornaments, and historical references immediately signal cultural identity because they are easy to recognize. Such architecture can create a strong visual connection to heritage, but relying solely on symbolism risks becoming superficial. An alternative approach focuses not on reproducing historical forms but on interpreting the values behind them. Instead of asking how a building should look, architects ask how it should feel. Meaning emerges through light, space, movement, and human experience. Astana's architectural landscape offers several examples of how national identity has been translated into built form. The Baiterek Monument offers perhaps the clearest example of symbolic architecture in Kazakhstan. Drawing on the legend of the Tree of Life and the Samruk bird, it transforms a national myth into a physical structure that is immediately recognizable. Its meaning is communicated directly through form and narrative, making it one of the country's most powerful architectural symbols. [caption id="attachment_50124" align="aligncenter" width="2560"] Baiterek, Astana; image: TCA[/caption] Yet the monument also raises an important question. While visitors can easily recognize the symbolism, do they experience the myth itself? Does the ascent through the tower evoke the journey up the Tree of Life, or does the golden sphere create the sensation of entering the sacred egg of the Samruk bird? The symbolism is clearly represented, but the extent to which it is translated into a spatial experience remains open to interpretation. Khan Shatyr occupies a unique place in Kazakhstan's architectural landscape. Its tent-like form directly references the nomadic heritage of the steppe, making it one of the country's most recognizable cultural symbols. Yet the project also raises an important question: is reproducing a familiar image enough to convey a cultural experience? [caption id="attachment_50122" align="aligncenter" width="1280"] Khan Shatyr, Astana; image: Bgag[/caption] Despite its obvious reference to...

UNDP

UNDP Opinion: Central Asia – Shared Wildlife, Shared Landscapes, Shared Responsibility

As global leaders gather for the Global Environment Facility (GEF) Assembly in Samarkand, Central Asia has an opportunity to send a clear message to the world: protecting biodiversity is not only about saving species — it is about securing water, livelihoods, resilience and long-term stability for millions of people across our region. From the glaciers of the Tien Shan and Pamir mountains to the deserts, steppes and river basins downstream, Central Asia’s ecosystems are deeply interconnected across borders. Rivers flow between countries. Wildlife migrates through shared landscapes. Mountain ecosystems regulate water systems that sustain agriculture, energy production and communities far beyond the highlands themselves. Among the most powerful symbols of this shared natural heritage is the snow leopard — the silent guardian of Central Asia’s mountains. The snow leopard represents far more than a rare and iconic species. Its survival reflects the health of entire ecosystems that millions of people depend upon every day. Healthy mountain landscapes help secure freshwater resources, reduce disaster risks, sustain pastures and agriculture, preserve biodiversity, and strengthen resilience to climate change across the region. But today, these ecosystems are under growing pressure. Climate change is accelerating glacier melting and intensifying water stress. Land degradation, unsustainable grazing, habitat fragmentation and biodiversity loss are placing increasing pressure on fragile mountain environments and rural livelihoods. Communities living closest to nature are often the first to feel the consequences — through declining water availability, degraded pastures, reduced agricultural productivity and increasing climate-related risks. These challenges do not stop at national borders. And neither can the solutions. Only a coordinated regional response can match the scale of the challenge. Protecting Central Asia’s mountain ecosystems requires countries to work together to conserve ecological corridors, strengthen transboundary protected areas, improve water and land governance, and invest in climate-resilient livelihoods for communities whose futures are closely tied to nature. There are already successful examples of regional agreements. For example, a highly successful transboundary nature conservation agreement in Central Asia protects the Ustyurt Plateau and the Turan Temperate Deserts. Spanning across Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Turkmenistan, this initiative has successfully safeguarded vulnerable ecosystems and migratory species like the saiga antelope and snow leopard. [caption id="attachment_50004" align="aligncenter" width="1774"] Photo: Saiga calf. Kazakhstan/UNDP Kazakhstan[/caption] It is encouraging that transboundary cooperation has already taken shape across the region. Across Central Asia, governments, communities and development partners are already demonstrating that conservation and development can advance together. While each country's experience is unique, the lessons are remarkably similar: when communities benefit from healthy ecosystems, nature and people both thrive. In Kazakhstan, the snow leopard has become one of the clearest examples of how coordinated conservation efforts can help restore fragile ecosystems across borders. The species inhabits mountain systems that extend beyond national boundaries into China, Kyrgyzstan, Russia, and Uzbekistan, making its protection inseparable from regional cooperation. Over the past decade, habitat countries have strengthened efforts to protect the species through national conservation strategies, expanded protected areas, and improved ecosystem monitoring. Supported by cooperation between the Government, UNDP, the Global...

Trade Corridors

Opinion: Eurasia’s New Corridors Are More Than a Transit Race

Across Eurasia, new transport corridors are usually described as instruments of rivalry: routes to bypass Russia, ports to outflank competitors, or rail links to shift influence between regions. The conflict around Iran, the rivalry between India and Pakistan, instability in the Afghanistan-Pakistan zone, crises in the Middle East, sanctions, competition over transport routes, and growing struggles for transit influence all reinforce the image of a continent divided by political contradictions. Increasingly, this is the lens through which Eurasia is viewed. The development of transport routes and connectivity is now often explained through the logic of rivalry. Some corridors are described as alternatives to others. Certain ports are positioned against competing ports. Routes are increasingly perceived as tools of competition, circumvention, or geopolitical influence. The continent can also be viewed differently. Alongside political crises, another reality is visible: the continent continues to connect itself through new routes and networks. Railways, ports, energy grids, dry ports, container corridors, digital cables, and trade chains are gradually linking spaces that only recently were seen as separate regions. In many ways, Eurasia has always been a space of movement, exchange, and connectivity. The Silk Road Was a Network, Not a Single Route A recent article by News Central Asia made a simple but important observation: the Silk Road functioned because it belonged to everyone. This idea contains one of the central lessons of Eurasian history. The Silk Road was never a single road. It was not one unified highway built according to a master plan or controlled by a single center. For centuries, the continent was connected by a vast network of caravan routes, maritime pathways, mountain passes, cities, and trade hubs through which goods, people, knowledge, and ideas circulated. Some routes gained importance while others temporarily declined. States, empires, and commercial centers changed. New pathways emerged. Yet the network itself endured. The strength of the Silk Road lay not in one route, but in the multiplicity of connections. When one corridor became unsafe, trade shifted elsewhere. When political conditions changed, commerce adapted to a new geography. The continental network remained flexible and multilayered. This offers an important lesson for today’s Eurasian space as well. Many modern transport corridors did not emerge from nothing. In many respects, they follow historical logic. Railways have replaced caravan paths, dry ports have succeeded old trade hubs, and container routes continue along directions in which goods moved for centuries. Corridors and the Logic of Rivalry Today, most transport and economic corridors are interpreted as competing projects. Nearly every new route is framed through confrontation, alternatives, or attempts to bypass another direction. The Middle Corridor is often described as an alternative to northern routes. The International North-South Transport Corridor is presented as a separate geo-economic axis. Trans-Afghan projects are portrayed as competitors to other links between Central and South Asia. Chabahar and Gwadar are depicted as rival ports. Even the South Caucasus transport hub is increasingly viewed through the prism of struggles over control of routes and flows. Yet historically,...

Water Security

Opinion: Water Without a Guarantor – Central Asia’s Next Security Test

The Fourth High-Level International Conference on the International Decade for Action, “Water for Sustainable Development,“ taking place in Dushanbe on May 25-28, comes at a difficult moment. Central Asia's water problem is no longer only about environmental management; it is moving into the field of regional security. The conference agenda is familiar and necessary: climate, investment, innovation, transboundary cooperation, and the implementation of the Water Action Decade. The harder question is what happens outside the conference hall. Does Central Asia still have a credible way to stop water stress from becoming an interstate crisis? For decades, the region operated in a post-Soviet setting in which Moscow shaped many security calculations, even though it was never a formal water arbiter. That setting has weakened. Russia has not disappeared from Central Asia, and it still retains military, economic, and institutional leverage. But since 2022, its role as the assumed external stabilizer has become less convincing. The result is not a simple vacuum. It is a more awkward reality: a region with many outside actors, but no trusted water-security guarantor. The Old Backdrop Is Weakening Central Asia's water system was built around a Soviet-era division of functions. Upstream republics, Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan, controlled the mountains, reservoirs, and hydropower potential. Downstream republics, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan, depended on seasonal water flows for agriculture, food security, and social stability. The Soviet system managed those tensions through central planning. After independence, cooperation became more fragile. Water, energy, borders, electricity, and agriculture were separated into national strategies. The rivers, however, remained transboundary. For many years, Russia remained the largest external power around which regional security calculations were organized. That did not make Moscow an effective water manager, but it helped shape the political environment. Today, that environment has changed. The CSTO did not prevent the Kyrgyz-Tajik border escalations of recent years. Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan eventually reached a border agreement through direct negotiation rather than outside enforcement. That difference is not academic. Water disputes are rarely settled by conferences alone. They need trusted channels for mediation, compensation, and restraint when pressure builds. Central Asia has plenty of statements about cooperation. It has fewer tools for managing coercion when water becomes scarce. Three Pressure Points The region's water-security stress is already visible in three places. The first is Afghanistan's Qosh-Tepa Canal. The canal draws water from the Amu Darya, a river system critical for Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. Because Afghanistan was not part of the old Soviet water-allocation arrangements, the Taliban government is creating a new upstream reality outside the inherited regional framework. Estimates of the canal's downstream impact vary widely. Some analyses suggest it could divert between 15 and 30% of the Amu Darya's flow, depending on the completion timeline, irrigation efficiency, and water-management practices. The Times of Central Asia previously reported that reduced Amu Darya flows could indirectly affect Kazakhstan if Uzbekistan compensates by drawing more heavily on the Syr Darya. Carnegie has described the Qosh-Tepa as a serious test for regional water cooperation. The second pressure point...

Organization of Turkic States (OTS)

Opinion: Silk Seven or the OTS? Central Asia May Not Have to Choose

A new proposal circulating in Washington – the Silk Seven Plus (S7+) initiative – aims to reshape Central Asia by linking its five post-Soviet states with Afghanistan and Pakistan into an integrated economic region. Azerbaijan is also seen as a potential addition. The idea, advanced by the New Lines Institute for Strategy and Policy, is straightforward: connect landlocked Central Asia to the Black Sea and Arabian Sea through new trade corridors. On paper, the bloc looks compelling. The seven countries form a contiguous zone in the heart of Eurasia, potentially turning geography from a constraint to an advantage. “Central Asia needs an organization built by Central Asian states and for Central Asian states,” said Justin Burke, a resident senior fellow at the New Lines Institute, at a recent event in Washington. “If Central Asia can speak with one voice rather than five different voices, that will make it a more reliable investment destination.” There are signs of momentum. Kazakhstan’s President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev and Uzbekistan’s President Shavkat Mirziyoyev made back-to-back visits to Pakistan earlier this year, highlighting regional connectivity. Proponents argue that if Afghanistan stabilizes, the Silk Seven could become a formidable cluster. But that is a big “if.” It also raises a deeper question: why construct a new, geographically convenient bloc when an existing organization – the Organization of Turkic States (OTS)—already offers something deeper: shared language, history, and identity? While the Silk Seven spans broadly Muslim-majority countries, it is linguistically and culturally diverse. The grouping spans Turkic-speaking Central Asia, Persian-speaking Tajikistan, and Indo-Aryan Pakistan. ASEAN offers a cautionary example. Despite decades of cooperation, its religious, linguistic, and geopolitical diversity – combined with consensus-based decision-making – has often prevented it from speaking with one voice, particularly on China. In The Clash of Civilizations, Samuel Huntington wrote that when ASEAN was created in 1967 by Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, and Thailand, it was an organization of “one Sinic, one Buddhist, one Christian, and two Muslim member states.” Such multicivilizational regional organizations have limits, he said. The Silk Seven risks similar limitations. The OTS, by contrast, rests on a narrower but deeper foundation: its core members—Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkey, and Uzbekistan—share closely related languages and overlapping historical experiences. Tucked away in the eight-page document issued after the informal OTS summit earlier this month was a revealing signal of intent: clauses dedicated to cataloguing Turkic cultural heritage, promoting youth engagement through Khiva’s designation as the 2026 Youth Capital, and launching a “Turkic Heritage” digital platform. Together, they show that the OTS is actively building a shared cultural space. Yet even as members emphasize common heritage, differences remain over how far the organization should evolve politically. Kazakhstan’s President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev, the summit host, stressed in his remarks that “the Organization of Turkic States is neither a geopolitical project nor a military organization,” but rather “a unique platform” for cooperation across trade, technology, culture, and humanitarian ties. Azerbaijan’s President Ilham Aliyev struck a more ambitious note, saying that “the Turkic world must grow into one of the influential geopolitical centers of the 21st century,” and pledging...