• KZT/USD = 0.00223
  • TJS/USD = 0.10800
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00223
  • TJS/USD = 0.10800
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00223
  • TJS/USD = 0.10800
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00223
  • TJS/USD = 0.10800
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00223
  • TJS/USD = 0.10800
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00223
  • TJS/USD = 0.10800
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00223
  • TJS/USD = 0.10800
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00223
  • TJS/USD = 0.10800
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
20 September 2026

Viewing results 1 - 6 of 174

Kazakhstan Hijab Debate Exposes Divide Over Secularism

Kazakhstan’s long-running controversy over hijabs in schools has collided with a wider public argument about religion, exposing sharp differences among prominent public figures and institutions over the boundaries of the country’s secular model. The latest religious controversy in Kazakhstan’s social media space was triggered by two statements made within the span of a week. On September 3, well-known Kazakhstani film and entertainment producer and former television host Bayan Alaguzova wrote on Threads that she was “tired of religion and its propaganda.” “I’ll say this right away,” she added. “There’s no need to frighten me with hell – it doesn’t exist for me. Not a single person in the world can claim to have seen hell, or heaven for that matter. Now that is reliable information! The same goes for the 72 virgins thrown into the bargain.” She went on to sarcastically ask how a disembodied spirit was supposed to deprive the heavenly maidens of their virginity. The deliberately provocative tone used by the prominent film and entertainment figure stirred debate among social media users. Soon afterward, another Threads user posted a screenshot of an official complaint submitted through Kazakhstan’s eOtinish system against the producer, calling for Alaguzova’s posts to be examined for possible incitement of religious discord. There have so far been no official reports of further action on the complaint. Even so, Kazakhstanis on social media began joking about how the complainant intended to prove the existence of heaven and hell. Journalists and other users also spoke out in support of Alaguzova. On September 8, in response to the backlash, Alaguzova acknowledged on Instagram that her “words had hurt believers” and offered her “sincere apologies,” explaining that she respected “every person and every faith, as long as it does not harm others.” She then said her remarks had been misunderstood. “All those accusing me of ‘offending the feelings of believers,’ read carefully: I said that I am against the imposition of dogmas alien to our people, against radical and fanatical propaganda, not religion itself... Do you want girls to be married off at the age of nine? To be denied education or medical care? To be beaten supposedly ‘as a preventive measure against the influence of shaitan’? To be taken as wives without anyone assuming responsibility for them? To be easily abandoned simply by loudly saying ‘talaq’ three times? Do you want your daughter or sister not to be an individual in her own right, but simply an appendage to someone else? To be unable to appear in public or speak without permission? To be unable even to protect herself and her children? I am categorically against this!” the producer said. That same day, journalists at a government briefing asked Kazakhstan’s Education Minister Zhuldyz Suleimenova about reports that some private schools had allowed pupils to wear hijabs. Each new school year in Kazakhstan has brought renewed disputes over hijabs in schools. Some Muslim parents, particularly in western Kazakhstan, require their teenage daughters to wear hijabs to school. This conflicts...

The Language Gap: Why the Korean Language Is Outpacing Japanese in Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan

Two weeks ago, Kazakhstan officially joined South Korea’s Employment Permit System (EPS), becoming the 18th country admitted to the program. Even before the change, thousands of Kazakhstani nationals were working in South Korea, many without legal status. Kazakhstani authorities estimated the total at around 15,000 in 2025, including 11,000 without legal documentation. To work legally in South Korea under the EPS, applicants must pass the EPS-TOPIK, a standardized Korean-language test. In this context, learning Korean has become a direct route to better-paid work for many young people in Kazakhstan. Japan, however, has generated no comparable rush. A Widening Gap, By the Numbers The contrast is also evident in language-learning trends. In 2022, Jang Ho-jong, a professor at the Kazakh Ablai Khan University of International Relations and World Languages, told The Korea Times that Korean ranked alongside English and Chinese among Kazakhstan’s three most popular foreign languages and was taught at 15 to 20 universities. About 400 students were taking Korean courses at his university, compared with just three or four when the program opened 20 years earlier. South Korea has also expanded teaching and testing infrastructure. In July 2026, the King Sejong Institute at Akhmet Baitursynuly Kostanay Regional University became Kazakhstan’s first official center for the Sejong Korean Language Assessment (SKA), allowing candidates to take the exam without traveling abroad. Official enrollment data from the King Sejong Institute Foundation show that 1,320 students were enrolled at its institutes in Kazakhstan in 2025, down slightly from 1,481 in 2024. The picture is very different for Japanese. The Japan Foundation counted 581 learners across eight institutions in Kazakhstan in 2024, compared with 1,569 learners in 2006. In Uzbekistan, Korean-language education has expanded even faster. The country recorded the largest increase worldwide in 2025, adding 68 schools offering Korean classes. Sri Lanka placed second with 43. Enrollment at King Sejong institutes in Uzbekistan rose from 1,873 in 2021 to 7,931 in 2024. It eased to 6,308 in 2025, according to the same official dataset. Japanese-language study has also grown in Uzbekistan, but more slowly. The same Japan Foundation survey counted 4,201 learners across 19 institutions in 2024, up from 3,579 at 18 institutions in 2021. Although the two datasets cover different types of institutions, the nationwide Japanese total remained below enrollment in Uzbekistan’s King Sejong network that year. A More Complicated Picture Next Door Across the rest of Central Asia, however, the comparison is less clear-cut. The Japan Foundation’s 2024 regional survey recorded 1,708 Japanese-language learners at 14 institutions in Kyrgyzstan, taught by 50 teachers. That was almost three times Kazakhstan’s total, even though Kyrgyzstan’s population is roughly one-third as large. Among the learners in Kyrgyzstan, 411 were in primary or secondary education. A 2020 account by a Japan Foundation specialist described young people learning through anime and the internet, while Japan International Cooperation Agency volunteers introduced Japanese in rural schools. Some later traveled to Bishkek for more formal study. This points to demand developing from the ground up alongside institutional support. Korean-language...

After the Fires: The 9 Million-Tree Plan to Restore Kazakhstan’s Forests

In 2023, wildfires destroyed more than 60,000 hectares of forest in the Semey Ormany State Forest Nature Reserve in eastern Kazakhstan’s Abai Region. The restoration effort now underway is not simply about replacing what was lost. It is about rebuilding forests in a way that can survive, mature and support future generations. That is the purpose of Halyk Ormany, a five-year reforestation program supported by the Halyk Charitable Fund, co-founded by Timur Kulibayev and Dinara Kulibayeva in 2016. With 1 billion tenge committed, the project plans to plant 9 million trees across three ecologically significant locations: Semey Ormany, Ile-Alatau National Park and the green belt of Astana. Since its launch in autumn 2025, more than one million seedlings have already been planted across 400 hectares in Semey Ormany alone, with a further 1,600 hectares to follow as part of the wider program. Building forests designed to endure The question is no longer “How many trees can we plant?” but rather “How can we nurture forests that endure for decades to come?” Halyk Ormany is designed to maximize survival rates and long-term ecological impact, including through optimal site selection, high-quality planting material and implementation led by forestry experts. In Semey Ormany, the project uses two-year-old Scots pine seedlings because the species is native to the area and suited to local soil, climate and precipitation conditions. The process begins long before planting: cones are collected locally, dried and processed, seeds are quality-tested and classified, and seedlings are grown in nurseries before being hardened for transfer to forest sites. Planting is then carried out and closely monitored by forestry specialists. Expected survival rates are between 70% and 90%, with failed seedlings replaced. The infrastructure behind lasting restoration The project also looks beyond planting, focusing on the nursery, irrigation and maintenance systems required to help young trees survive. The Fund has funded a major irrigation modernization program in Semey Ormany, worth more than KZT 146 million ($321,000), including new water-storage tanks, pipelines, pumps and sprinkler systems. Nursery staff also monitor water temperature to avoid damaging young seedlings and use a hardening process to prepare them for harsher forest conditions. An experiment found that locally grown seedlings achieved a 97% survival rate, compared with 25% for non-local stock tested elsewhere. A delivery model built for impact The delivery model is central to the project’s credibility. As a pilot ESG partnership between the state and private sector, it is designed to combine scale with clear responsibilities, transparent funding and measurable environmental results. Funding is channeled through a dedicated mechanism with oversight at each stage, while planting work is carried out and monitored in partnership with the Ministry of Ecology. This addresses one of the persistent challenges in reforestation: ensuring that projects are not judged simply by the number of trees planted, but by whether those trees survive, mature and deliver lasting environmental benefits. Restoration as a shared national effort Corporate partners, volunteers and communities are also integrated into the process, supporting the long-term approach rather than...

From Lenin to Kenesary: What Kazakhstan’s Renamed Streets Say About Power

In July 2026, a new constitutional law on Kazakhstan’s administrative-territorial structure came into force. It retained a layered process for changing place names: local authorities must consider residents’ views, while onomastic commissions review proposals before final decisions are made. The previous legal framework dated to 1993. Replacing it with a constitutional law did not dismantle the machinery of onomastic policy but consolidated the roles of public consultation, local government and official commissions. The law formalized a system built over three decades, during which thousands of streets were renamed but the country’s urban map changed at markedly different speeds. Kazakhstan’s experience is often described as a simple substitution of Lenin with Abai and communist terminology with the symbols of independence. The geography of renaming suggests something more precise: a centralized nation-building project whose reach depends on local demography and the political cost of opposition. Research documenting 6,832 cases across 37 cities between 1991 and 2019 shows the disparity. Five cities accounted for 72% of all recorded renamings: Shymkent had 1,767, Almaty 1,064, Astana 860, Aktobe 783, and Kyzylorda 470. Pavlodar recorded 34, Petropavl 28, Oskemen 23, and Rudny only two. Raw totals partly reflect city size and urban expansion, but the study’s statistical analysis identified both city status and ethnic composition as significant factors. Renaming occurred less frequently where the share of Slavic residents was higher, a pattern the author interpreted as evidence of greater state caution in ethnically mixed cities. The procedure helps explain why a national symbolic agenda produced such local variation. Proposals move through public consultation, local representative and executive bodies, and onomastic commissions. These stages do not guarantee that public preferences will determine the outcome, but they create points at which opposition can slow or redirect a proposal. Astana, extensively rebuilt after becoming the capital in 1997, could remake its urban identity quickly. Established industrial cities in the north and east moved more carefully. The contrast between what disappeared and what survived is equally revealing. Explicitly ideological names associated with Lenin, Marx, Engels, and the October Revolution became far less common, while Almaty retained streets named after Soviet scientists, writers, and figures connected to Kazakhstan’s development. The authorities did not treat every Soviet reference alike. They separated communist ideology from cultural and intellectual contribution, producing selective de-Sovietization rather than wholesale symbolic purification. Municipal practice further complicates a purely nationalist reading. Official data from Kyzylorda for 2025 lists 874 city streets: 497 named after individuals, 270 after localities and water features, and 107 carrying conventional names. This snapshot does not identify which streets were renamed, but it shows that the present naming system encompasses historical figures, local geography, and ordinary municipal conventions. In the expanding Arai-Shugyla neighborhood, seven previously unnamed streets received names drawn from localities and water features. Onomastic policy was therefore organizing new urban space as well as redistributing historical visibility. Naming new streets and replacing old ones use the same administrative machinery, although their political consequences are not always comparable. The politics became clearer when...

Opinion: Why Central Asia Cannot Afford to Abandon the Iranian Route

Kazakhstan had barely secured a foothold in Iran’s largest commercial port when renewed military escalation made the southern route risky again. The problem for Central Asia is that Iran is more than a trading partner. For a region without direct access to the open sea, it provides one of the few overland routes to the Persian Gulf and the Indian Ocean. On June 28, Kazakhstan and Iran signed a 27-year build-operate-transfer (BOT) agreement for a Kazakh transport and logistics terminal at Shahid Rajaee Port in Bandar Abbas. The agreement allocates two years for construction and the following 25 for operation. Astana expects the terminal to provide more direct access to markets in the Gulf, South and Southeast Asia, and East Africa. The project almost immediately found itself in a different reality. In July, U.S. strikes hit Iranian railway and coastal infrastructure. The Aq Taqeh Khan bridge on a rail route connecting Iran with Turkmenistan and, further north, with Kazakhstan, was damaged. There was no confirmed halt to Central Asian freight traffic, but military risk was no longer an abstract concern for carriers. That risk has now been compounded by a new U.S. sanctions campaign. On August 24, U.S. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent launched what Washington calls Operation Economic Outcast, combining direct sanctions with pressure on Iran’s foreign economic partners. The United States said it would set timelines for other countries to shut down economic activity with Iran, while the scope of secondary sanctions was expanded to cover five areas: digital assets, technology, gold, aviation, and shipping. Nearly 60 Iran-linked individuals, entities, and vessels were also sanctioned. The United States has not publicly identified which countries could face penalties first. War and sanctions can make the Iranian route more expensive, slower, and more dangerous. They cannot change geography. Iran gives Central Asia overland access to ports on the Persian Gulf and Gulf of Oman. From Bandar Abbas and Chabahar, cargo can move onward toward India, the Gulf states, and East Africa. Iran also provides a western overland route toward Turkey. This is one of the fundamental differences between the Iranian route and the Middle Corridor, which crosses the Caspian Sea before continuing through Azerbaijan, Georgia, and Turkey. The Middle Corridor requires cargo to move between rail and maritime transport. Iran offers the possibility of a continuous overland chain while also providing access to ports connected to the Indian Ocean. For Kazakhstan, the southern route is already more than a plan. Trade with Iran increased by 26.4% in 2025 to $430.2 million. Freight traffic along the International North-South Transport Corridor reached 3.5 million tons, while rail traffic between Kazakhstan and Iran increased by 69%. It is this expanding transport network that is now exposed to greater military and sanctions risks. There is another factor. A free trade agreement between Iran and the Eurasian Economic Union, which includes Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, entered into force on May 15, 2025. It significantly reduced tariff barriers to trade in goods between the two sides. Uzbekistan offers...

What Building Central Asian Supply Chains Taught Me About AI

I took over spare-parts supply at BPK Auto in Ust-Kamenogorsk in the mid-2000s, at the age of 25, moving from selling cars. The company was the general dealer for VAZ in Kazakhstan, assembled Niva models in the city, and was taking on Skoda, Chevrolet, and Kia while building service centers across the country to meet the expectations of those brands for a dealer. My job was to keep parts flowing to all of it. Several thousand vehicles came through in a month, and a single car contains something like 50,000 separate part numbers. The service teams wanted as many of those as possible sitting on the shelves. From where they stood, that made sense, because they were judged on whether a mechanic could start a repair the same day, whether a customer complained, and an ISO audit was running over the service operation at the same time. From the procurement side, the arithmetic looked different. Some parts cost two or three thousand dollars and were fitted once or twice a year, and holding them across four model lines tied up a large share of the company's working capital. I built the forecast in spreadsheets and checked it against actual sales once the month closed in 1C. To run it, I needed the service side's own records: how many vehicles of each type they had seen, and what had been repaired. I asked for them for months. They would not release them. Some of that was habit; a warehouse full of everything being what a well-run operation had looked like for the previous 40 years. More of it sat in how the two departments were counted. My result was recorded the moment the parts moved into the service center. Theirs was recorded much later, when the car left the workshop. Nobody was measured by the number that would have made the forecast work. The forecasting was the straightforward part of that job. The difficult part was building an operation in which people shared the information behind the forecast and were expected to act on its findings. Why a Better Model Would Not Have Changed the Outcome Put one of today's AI demand-forecasting systems into that same warehouse and very little changes. The forecast would be far better than anything I produced by hand. It would still depend on service records that nobody was willing to release, and where records did exist, it would be reading entries written up at the end of a long shift. It could not grant the purchasing manager authority to reorder against it, nor could it alter the measures by which the service department was judged. Better intelligence does not repair the path between operational data and operational action. Every party you add to that path lengthens it. A distribution network across Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan can run from a manufacturer to over 45,000 small retail outlets, served through more than 18 distribution centers, with 1,391 field staff taking and checking orders on the ground. An order begins...