Page 217 – The Times Of Central Asia

29 Jun 2025

Central Asia, Home, Uzbekistan, Uzbekistan Opinions, International Affairs, Uzbekistan Features, Opinions, Features, Uzbekistan International Affairs

Opinion: Beyond the Steppe and the Oasis – Uzbekistan and Mongolia Forge a New Eurasian Axis

June 29, 2025
By Times of Central Asia

When Uzbekistan’s President Shavkat Mirziyoyev arrived in Ulaanbaatar on June 24, for the first state visit of its kind in over thirty years of bilateral relations, it marked far more than a ceremonial milestone—it inaugurated a new continental bridge between Central and Northeast Asia. This long-overdue rapprochement, anchored in pragmatism and shared strategic aspirations, signals a transformative shift in Eurasian diplomacy.

It is a moment not just of bilateral relevance, but of regional consequence. The significance of this visit rests not only in its unprecedented nature, but also in its scope and timing. Concluding just a year after Mongolian President Ukhnaagiin Khurelsukh’s landmark 2024 visit to Tashkent—which laid the groundwork by opening Mongolia’s embassy in Uzbekistan and producing 14 foundational agreements—Mirziyoyev’s trip has formalized the momentum into a ‘Comprehensive Partnership Declaration’.

The outcomes include new trade commitments, transport corridors, cultural and academic ties, and a political alignment that subtly redraws the map of Eurasian cooperation.

Rediscovering Strategic Geography

What makes this partnership compelling is the rediscovery of geography in a post-globalization world. Uzbekistan and Mongolia are both landlocked, Uzbekistan doubly so, and lie at the crossroads of larger powers—Russia, China, and increasingly, the emerging economic spheres of South and West Asia.

For years, both nations were seen as peripheral actors in global politics. Today, however, shifting supply chains, energy diversification, and regional infrastructure projects such as China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) have brought new relevance to their geography. This state visit demonstrated a clear strategic calculus of connectivity, resilience, and regional integration. With the rise of multi-vector diplomacy—long a staple of Mongolia’s foreign policy—Uzbekistan is mirroring similar principles to diversify its partnerships and mitigate geopolitical dependence.

In Mirziyoyev’s words, both countries “agreed to jointly develop efficient transportation routes,” echoing a growing realization that infrastructure is destiny. The immediate fruit of this understanding is the first direct air link between Tashkent and Ulaanbaatar, to be operated by Hunnu Air and Uzbek partners starting in fall 2025.

On the ground, both sides are accelerating the development of a road corridor via Kyrgyzstan and China, creating an East-West axis that could become a vital alternative to congested or politically fraught transit routes. In this regard, the Uzbek-Mongolian corridor aligns with academic assessments that argue for multimodal, decentralized connectivity in post-pandemic Eurasia.

Economic Diplomacy in Action

Although bilateral trade remains modest in volume—just $14 million in 2023—it is growing rapidly, nearly doubling year-on-year. More importantly, it is underpinned by complementary economies. Uzbekistan exports automobiles, textiles, and agricultural products, while Mongolia offers livestock, wool, leather, and minerals. This isn’t simply a matter of goods exchanged, but of value chains being stitched together. The presence of a Chevrolet dealership in Ulaanbaatar and the arrival of over 1,400 Mongolian sheep in Navoi region of Uzbekistan are not anecdotal oddities—they’re signs of a nascent, multidimensional trade ecosystem.

More than 150 companies participated in a bilateral business forum in Ulaanbaatar, resulting in new contracts and a decision to establish a ‘Joint Business Council’. Further, the agreements on investment protection and double taxation avoidance are in the pipeline, vital legal scaffolding for long-term investment and industrial collaboration. These include targeted areas such as mining, agricultural processing, textile manufacturing, and logistics hubs. The potential for livestock clusters, with Mongolian expertise and Uzbek veterinary infrastructure, represents a practical case of south-north agro-cooperation that is rare in continental Asia.

Such economic diplomacy is consistent with the recent shift toward regionally embedded growth strategies, highlighted in recent publications such as the Asian Development Outlook and CSIS. The narrative of “Eurasia rising” is no longer just Chinese-driven—it is now populated with middle powers like Uzbekistan and Mongolia asserting their agency.

Knowledge, Culture, and a Shared Past

Mirziyoyev’s visit also highlighted the human and historical dimension of the partnership. Uzbekistan has offered to increase educational quotas for Mongolian students and revitalize academic exchange, including through universities in Tashkent, Samarkand, and Urgench. Joint archaeological missions and cultural festivals—such as the Days of Uzbek Culture in Ulaanbaatar and Mongolian orchestras performing in Tashkent—serve as more than diplomatic niceties. They are vital threads in a civilizational reconnection between two peoples that once shared the routes of the Great Silk Road.

Indeed, this soft power investment aligns with broader regional aspirations. In both countries, eco-tourism and cultural tourism are gaining prominence. With Uzbekistan’s UNESCO-listed cities and Mongolia’s pristine steppe landscapes, a collaborative Ecotourism Action Plan has already been signed, including joint projects for nature reserves and conservation knowledge sharing.

This also fits with what scholars such as Peter Frankopan, in his book The Silk Roads, have long argued that Eurasia’s future depends on rediscovering the connective tissue of its past. By rooting their cooperation in shared heritage and mutual curiosity, Uzbekistan and Mongolia are fostering a partnership that is durable, not transactional.

Political Alignment and a Quiet Strategic Signal

The political alignment emerging from this visit is subtle but significant. Both nations are constitutionally neutral, but firmly support multilateralism, peaceful development, and regional dialogue. They collaborate in forums such as the United Nations and Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO), and Mongolia has expressed interest in deeper ties with the Organization of Turkic States—where Uzbekistan is a key member.

In this context, the Uzbek-Mongolian declaration of comprehensive partnership is not aimed at countering any major power but at asserting autonomy. It contributes to the emerging architecture of what some scholars call “Eurasian middle diplomacy”—a model where mid-sized states collaborate laterally rather than solely through traditional great-power channels. For Mongolia, this relationship offers access to Central Asia’s population of over 75 million and a platform to reach the Persian Gulf, South Asia, and beyond through Uzbek infrastructure.

For Uzbekistan, it opens the door to East Asia via a partner that, while small in population, is geopolitically agile and resource-rich. It is a mutually empowering alignment, built not on dependence but on co-development.

Shared Environmental Challenges

Beyond trade and transport, both nations face acute environmental vulnerabilities—desertification, water stress, and climate volatility. The convergence of Uzbekistan’s “Yashil Makon” initiative with Mongolia’s “Green Belt” reforestation program indicates a willingness to jointly address ecological degradation. Scholars and climate institutions alike have called for greater cooperation across arid and semi-arid states in Eurasia.

This visit demonstrates such calls are being heeded. A particular area of collaboration could be pastureland rehabilitation, where Mongolian herders possess traditional knowledge and Uzbekistan can offer modern water management and remote sensing tools. This synergy could be critical in managing both climate adaptation and rural development, especially in fragile zones of both nations.

Looking Ahead

This visit has rightly been called historic—but its enduring value lies not in symbolism, but in systems. With a joint road map adopted, clear implementation mechanisms, and monitoring responsibilities assigned, the usual fate of high-level visits—diplomatic inertia—may well be avoided.

Of course, challenges remain. Trade volumes must be scaled up from millions to hundreds of millions. Transport corridors require security, funding, and inter-governmental synchronization. Further, bureaucratic inertia can also dilute private sector enthusiasm. But the political will, institutional alignment, and public enthusiasm on both sides offer a rare combination. In an era where de-risking, regional hedging, and economic fragmentation dominate global headlines, the Uzbekistan-Mongolia partnership offers a quiet but powerful counterpoint.

It is the story of two nations long on the periphery of international narratives, finally turning to each other and discovering opportunity in proximity. The path ahead is not without obstacles—but if nurtured, it may very well shape a new axis of Eurasian cooperation.

The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the publication, its affiliates, or any other organizations mentioned, including Samarkand State University.

29 Jun 2025

Cultural Heritage, Central Asia, Kyrgyzstan Life & Culture, Life & Culture, Kyrgyzstan, Kyrgyzstan Features

Two Duishens: 60 Years of a Seminal Soviet Kyrgyz Film

June 30, 2025
By Times of Central Asia

Andrei Konchalovsky’s First Teacher, an adaptation of Chingiz Aitmatov’s famous work of the same name about an educator who undertakes the task of tutoring the kids in a remote Kyrgyz village, re-tailors the protagonist and the plot to convert a coming-of-age symphony into a triumph over tragedy while maintaining the book’s core values.

In one of the earlier frames of First Teacher (Konchalovsky, 1965), the well-meaning beggar-turned-Komsomol member Duishen tears into a young student who suggests that the impermanence of life might also apply to, besides everyone else, Lenin.

Duishen’s God-like reverence for the father of the Soviet experiment is also present in Chingiz Aitmatov’s novel of the same name. And yet, unlike the reserved and understanding protagonist of the book, who has the qualities if not qualifications of an educator and would’ve perhaps counselled the young one in the situation mentioned above, Konchalovsky’s teacher is an obstinate simpleton who is almost always on the edge and yearning for the village’s respect.

Inna Merkoulova and Marina Merkoulova, in their brilliant essay ‘The first teacher: A case of intersemiotic translation. When Chingiz Aitmatov’s short story becomes Andrei Konchalovsky’s film’ discuss how the movie adaptation is a case of intersemiotic translation by the director, wherein the work transforms from Aitmatov’s drama into Konchalovsky’s tragedy through the usage of various film techniques.

In fact, I believe that Duishen’s character undergoes a severe reinterpretation, from a Leninist disciple trying to do his bit for the Proletarian dictatorship by educating the kids in the book to a hot-headed agitator eager to force the Soviet will on the local populace in the film.

In this work, we’ll analyse how the ‘two Duishens’ manage to achieve their objectives and meet at a similar end despite existing in vastly different frameworks.

The ‘first Duishen’ from Chingiz Aitmatov’s book is sketched by an older Altynai, the Red Army soldier’s favourite disciple, who after achieving success as an academician in Moscow, looks back fondly at the bold Duishen of her childhood in the 1920s. A man who used the meagre resources at his disposal to become the village’s first educator. Someone who helped her achieve her potential.

Duishen’s teachings have an importance that is much greater than the bookish knowledge that the soldier imparts. Duishen’s education is an act of courage, for they come from a man who is barely literate himself, his teachings restricted to basic numerals, letters and political wordings.

But it assumes significance in the fact that Duishen shows the fortitude to overcome his circumstances, and becomes more than what fate had assigned him. Further, he indoctrinates the other illiterates, especially the weakest sections of a conservative society: women and children, to follow suit and take first steps towards their emancipation.

Aitmatov’s hero is moulded as a Soviet ideal, and sits closer to the cinematic Duishen’s imagination of ‘hundreds and thousands’ steel-like party members who would keep the revolution alive after Lenin’s demise.

He shows balanced wisdom in judgments, the heart of a soldier in peril, and an appreciation of the simpler things like the rich nature, which he shows by planting two Poplar trees in Altynai’s memory. When Altynai’s aunt seeks to harm her, the teacher uses his wit and becomes her de facto guardian, and looks after her best interests to the end.

The ’other Duishen’ from Andrei Konchalovsky’s film, which came nearly three years after the book, interacts with a village that is undergoing upheaval following the Soviet takeover in the early 20s. This is unlike the novel, set around the 50s-early 60s, where Duishen’s struggles are shown as an occurrence of the past.

The narrative lens also shifts, from a sympathetic individual (Altynai) to a communal one, wherein the entire village or community becomes the perspective. The locals who are never quite sure of the nature of the Soviet regime, which gives them freedoms but at the same time puts restrictions on their traditional beliefs, direct their suspicions on the ‘New Soviet Man’, never at ease with his progressive principles.

This is a big difference, as in the book, the village as a whole doesn’t take extreme stances beyond the discussion on education.

Compounding the situation is Duishen’s character, which is of an unyielding ideologue who, as if by the force of will, wants to meld the village into the Soviet state. He is impulsive in his reactions and visceral in his tactics.

This clash of principles is best on display when Duishen mocks a former landlord, as a depraved oppressor, whereas the majority of the villagers cower before their former master.

In this setup, while a few seek to instigate Duishen time and again, the majority merely want to stick to life as it has been. For Duishen, this primitive state is unacceptable. Thus, in an already tense situation, Duishen’s heads-on approach acts like a catalyst, adding fuel to the fire and giving the plot a tension that is generally lacking in the book.

Unlike the book’s Duishen, who was meant to symbolise hope amidst darkness, the film’s version is a corrosive agent representing intrusion and a clash of civilisations between the new pro-women’s Soviet power and the centuries-old ethno-religious traditions.

The characterisation and construction of the two ‘Duishens’ pitches the novel and its screen adaptation in opposition.

Altynai’s optimism, no doubt informed by her prestigious present, pervades into her recollection of the past in the former, whereas the fault lines that emerge with Duishen’s appearance in the film introduce a bleaker tone that remains to the very end in the latter.

This is visible during the sequences depicting Altynai’s sexual assault in the respective works.

While the book skims through the event hastily, and repairs it with a sequence of Altynai’s ‘rebirth’ in a lake with her ally Duishen by her side, thus reinforcing the positivity prevalent through the rest of the work, the movie painstakingly shows Altynai’s fight, and even the ‘rebirth’ sequence, a powerful admixture of natural sound and images, maintains that an irretrievable change has occurred.

Despite these inherent differences, which are showcased in their respective endings, the two works achieve unity in their principles.

Take the instance of romance between Altynai and Duishen, which blossoms as an innocent teenage infatuation but never really meets a fulfilling end in the book, given Duishen’s dedication to his cause, which means separating from Altynai to send her away for studies. However, it remains a strong undercurrent throughout the work that informs Altynai’s pain for several years after she moves away. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that losing Duishen was a greater loss for Altynai than leaving her homeland when she is taken to Russia.

On the other hand, the intimate interaction between them is restricted in the movie, yet the rawness present in the two instances that it is shown, when firstly, Duishen accidentally caresses her near the stream and secondly the ‘kiss’ right before Altynai’s departure, builds on the themes of unsaid attraction (in the first case) and intense feeling of longing (in the second), thus successfully evoking the values of Aitmatov’s work.

At the end of the film, Duishen’s final stand against the regressive village traditions make him an unpopular yet unyielding figure on the verge of becoming a victim of the village’s wrath. Although Altynai has begun her journey towards a new life, one where she’ll find success and fame as depicted in the novel, the director keeps the lens on Duishen and finishes his work at a particularly tense moment, with the villagers encircling him even as the soldier vows to keep fighting for his cause.

Literary adaptations of films often reinvent the story to give it a novel theme, like Vijay Anand’s adaptation of R.K. Narayanan’s famous work The Guide (1958). In the movie, Raju’s spiritual rejuvenation takes precedence and overruns the writer’s humorous critique of organized religious systems.

However, Duishen’s last stand reinforces the romantic communist ideals present in Aitmatov’s work. When the novel begins, old Duishen is treated as an outcast and a nobody, often laughed at for his endeavour to educate people despite being barely literate himself, perhaps writer’s way of mirroring ambitious initiatives undertaken by Soviets at a time when the country lacked means of exploiting its resources.

But we learn over time that Duishen’s journey would not entail fame or recognition as an end goal. He found meaning in being a cog in the machine, giving it all to achieve the socialist dream, whether as an educator, a soldier, or a deliveryman.

The village transitioned from traditionalism to socialism, with schools and collective farms opening to all, regardless of gender, and the system’s opponents became loyal citizens of the Soviet republic.

In the narrative of the locals in both works, Duishen’s servitude to his cause is something to be mocked at. But it is this very servitude that connects Aitmatov’s novel and Konchalovsky’s film. In their respective styles, both of them show us that Duishen, despite all his shortcomings, was truly committed to the idea of being a ‘communist’.

29 Jun 2025

Home, Uzbekistan, Uzbekistan Features, International Affairs, Features, Uzbekistan International Affairs

Democracy’s Unsung Day Finds a Voice in Tashkent

July 17, 2025
By Times of Central Asia

For a holiday few have heard of, the International Day of Parliamentarism carries more weight than its quiet profile suggests. Marked each year on June 30^th — the anniversary of the Inter-Parliamentary Union’s founding in 1889 — it was never intended to generate mass celebrations. Instead, it serves as a modest reminder that parliamentary institutions, often overlooked and frequently maligned, still matter.

This year, the occasion arrived with more relevance than usual. In April, Tashkent hosted the 150th Assembly of the Inter-Parliamentary Union (IPU) — the first time such a gathering had taken place in Central Asia. It was Uzbekistan’s diplomatic debut on the global parliamentary stage, attracting over 1,400 delegates from 130 countries. The timing, just months before the official Day of Parliamentarism, was deliberate.

For Uzbekistan, still navigating its democratic evolution, the event offered both a platform and a test. President Shavkat Mirziyoyev opened the proceedings with an appeal to the enduring value of representative institutions. “You are a powerful force,” he told lawmakers, “capable of perceiving the concerns and problems of ordinary people, elevating them, if necessary, to the regional and international level, and finding effective solutions for them.” In a country where the parliament remains largely deferential to the executive, the words were aspirational. Yet they reflected a broader ambition: to present Uzbekistan as a serious contributor to global governance conversations, and as a reformer — albeit a cautious one — at home.

The assembly also put a spotlight on the International Day itself, which remains unfamiliar to many. Established by the UN in 2018, the day commemorates the founding of the IPU and serves to promote parliaments as critical pillars of democracy, lawmaking, and oversight. While few countries observe it with more than a press release, the IPU has worked to turn June 30th into a hub for discussion, experimentation, and institutional self-reflection.

This year’s global theme is gender equality. Under the motto “Step by Step Toward Gender Equality,” the IPU — together with UN Women — has launched a campaign marking the 30th anniversary of the Beijing Declaration. It comes at a time when progress on women’s political representation has slowed. As of early 2025, fewer than one-third of national parliamentarians globally are women. In some regions, the numbers are falling.

The campaign goes beyond slogans. It calls for legal quotas, safer working conditions, and stronger mechanisms to address harassment and political violence. In Tashkent, the initiative received an unexpected boost. President Mirziyoyev cited research estimating that global GDP could rise by over 25% if gender parity were achieved in public and economic life. His remarks were later incorporated into the Tashkent Declaration — a document that emphasized the link between inclusive representation and sustainable development.

The IPU itself has taken modest but meaningful steps to promote gender balance within its ranks. Delegations without women face sanctions; forums for women parliamentarians are increasingly influential; and men are being actively recruited as allies in the push for equality. The campaign’s underlying message is clear: democracy without diversity is fragile.

Other issues are gaining traction as well. Environmental policy, once a peripheral concern for legislative bodies, is now part of the parliamentary mainstream. In 2023, the IPU launched “Parliaments for the Planet,” urging lawmakers to align national laws with global climate goals. While most of the heavy lifting still falls to governments and regulators, parliaments are beginning to exercise oversight over emissions plans, green budgeting, and environmental justice. In resource-rich countries where environmental decisions often carry political risk, the IPU’s model — quiet encouragement, peer engagement, and scorecard monitoring — may be the most effective approach available.

Perhaps the most intriguing innovations, however, are happening outside the formal structures. In recent years, countries from Latin America to South Asia have begun experimenting with “parliamentary hackathons” — events that bring together lawmakers, technologists, students, and civil society to reimagine legislative processes. Some of these efforts focus on transparency, others on digital public consultation, or tracking the implementation of laws. In places where faith in democracy is eroding, they represent an attempt to modernize without losing legitimacy.

The International Day of Parliamentarism now serves as a kind of annual rallying point for these scattered efforts. In dozens of countries, parliaments have begun using June 30th to host public forums, open hearings, youth events, and expert panels. In some cases, it has even become a moment of accountability — an opportunity for legislatures to report on their activities and test new forms of public engagement.

Still, challenges remain. In many democracies, parliaments are gridlocked, weakened by executive overreach or hollowed out by hyper-partisanship. In others, they are little more than ceremonial bodies. The IPU cannot change that single-handedly, but it can set expectations and share models that work.

Its Secretary-General, Martin Chungong, is fond of saying that modern parliaments “must develop significantly to meet the demands of today’s world.” The demands are clear enough: transparency, inclusivity, technological adaptability, and renewed public trust. Meeting them won’t be easy. But if parliamentarism is to survive as more than a formality, it must prove its relevance again and again.

That a relatively young democracy like Uzbekistan chose to host the world’s parliamentarians is no small gesture. Nor is it without risk. But it suggests a willingness, however tentative, to be part of something broader. For one day at least, democracy’s least flashy institution found its voice in Tashkent.

28 Jun 2025

From Eurasia to Greater Central Asia: A Region Reclaims Its Voice

August 6, 2025
By Times of Central Asia

At its most basic, Eurasia refers to the combined landmass of Europe and Asia, stretching from the Atlantic Ocean in the west to the Pacific in the east, and from the Arctic in the north to South and Southeast Asia in the south. Yet when defined in political or economic terms, the concept becomes more complex. This vast region—covering over 36% of the world’s surface area—includes influential Western institutions in the west, such as the European Union and the Council of Europe. In contrast, the east is shaped by post-Soviet and Sino-Russian groupings, including the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), and the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU).

In policy circles, the term “Eurasia” often refers more narrowly to the Caucasus (Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia) and Central Asia (Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Mongolia, and Afghanistan). Yet countries in these regions rarely lead the institutions that shape their future. Instead, most regional organizations are dominated by larger powers, primarily Russia and China. One partial exception is the Organization of Turkic States (OTS), though it excludes non-Turkic members such as Tajikistan, Georgia, and Armenia.

Many external actors—beginning with Japan’s “Central Asia plus Japan” initiative in 2001—have formed dialogue platforms with the five post-Soviet Central Asian republics, often referred to collectively as the “C5.” More recently, Turkey, China, the EU, and others have created similar frameworks. While these engagements have value, they are usually shaped by external agendas. The fundamental issue remains: Central Asia lacks strong, self-directed institutions of its own.

In response to this institutional vacuum, Professor S. Frederick Starr proposed in 2015 a broader regional framing: Greater Central Asia. He called for moving beyond the Soviet-era definition of Central Asia to include neighboring regions with shared historical, cultural, and strategic ties. He also noted a stark reality: Greater Central Asia is the only region of its kind without its own exclusive institutions—ones not directed by outsiders.

That may be starting to change. A more distinct regional identity is emerging, with new frameworks for cooperation gradually taking shape. As countries in the region increasingly define their own development priorities and diversify partnerships beyond Moscow and Beijing, there is growing momentum for a more autonomous and inclusive model of regional integration.

One of the clearest examples is CAMCA—an initiative that reflects the full geographic and political scope of Greater Central Asia. Over the past decade, the Central Asia-Caucasus Institute (CACI), founded by Professor Starr, has worked with the Rumsfeld Foundation to support a new generation of regional leaders through the CAMCA Fellowship Program. Originally conceived by alumni of a joint initiative between Starr and former U.S. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld more than fifteen years ago, the CAMCA Network has become one of the few institutions uniting the entire Greater Central Asia region.

Each year, the fellowship culminates in a regional forum hosted by a different CAMCA country. The most recent—held last week in Ulaanbaatar—marked the 11th such gathering and the second time the event has been hosted by CAMCA fellows in Mongolia. Originally focused on trade, CAMCA has since broadened its scope. The 2025 agenda included sessions on tourism, AI, women in business, and media, alongside its traditional focus on investment and geopolitics. Over 300 delegates attended, including many from outside the region.

Yet questions remain. Can the ten diverse CAMCA countries—each with its own economic model and foreign policy—truly unite around a shared regional vision? With strong trade ties to China and Russia already delivering growth, is there sufficient political will to challenge the status quo?

Many CAMCA leaders believe so. While there is clear synergy with certain U.S. foreign policy objectives, the initiative does not seek to reorient the region toward Washington. Instead, it aims to foster practical collaboration among Greater Central Asian countries themselves.

Professor Starr has described the region as being “on the cusp of a dramatically different world,” where declining Russian and Chinese influence could create new space for local agency. At the Ulaanbaatar forum, Laura Linderman, Director of Programs at CACI, cautioned that such an opportunity could be lost unless countries in the region act with greater purpose. She urged governments to “reject outdated Cold War divisions” and focus on “connecting emerging leaders.”

One of the most revealing insights came from Sanat Kushkumbayev, a Senior Research Fellow at the Kazakhstan Institute for Strategic Studies (KazISS), who documented the overlooked history of the Central Asian Economic Union (CAEU) of the 1990s. Created and led by the Central Asian republics, the CAEU was so effective that Russia, under President Putin, asked to join. No external actors objected. Instead of joining, however, Putin dissolved the CAEU and established the EAEU—under Moscow’s leadership. Speaking at the Ulaanbaatar forum, Kushkumbayev remarked, “Leaders talk about unity, but without strong institutions, nothing will last.” His account highlights a lost moment of regional initiative and the factors that derailed it.

That call for renewed agency was echoed by delegates at the forum. Dr. Fuad Karimov, an Azerbaijani fintech executive, argued that CAMCA could serve as a practical engine for regulatory alignment, cross-border fintech collaboration, and knowledge exchange. Kyrgyz investor Daniel Abdyldaev, founder of the chANGELS platform, emphasized the community-building power of the network, noting, “None of our countries can integrate into the global ecosystem by itself, so it is crucial for our region to join forces and unite.”

Yet significant challenges persist. At a media roundtable, participants acknowledged the worsening state of press freedom in the region. Armenia ranks highest among CAMCA countries at 34th globally, while most of Central Asia ranks much lower, with Afghanistan at the bottom. Panelists—including Kyrgyz journalist Aigerim Turgunbaeva and Joanna Lillis of The Economist—noted that frameworks like WTO accession could pressure governments to adopt international standards. Uzbekistan, nearing WTO membership, may soon face such expectations. While regional cooperation remains the focus, global institutions still have a role to play in promoting transparency, accountability, and long-term reform.

Participation in global institutions like the WTO can help Eurasian countries integrate more deeply into the world economy while encouraging regulatory reform. All CAMCA countries are WTO members except Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, and Azerbaijan, with Uzbekistan now in the final stages of accession. For a region often shaped by external powers, greater engagement with multilateral systems could help reinforce homegrown institutional development.

As Greater Central Asia moves to reclaim its voice, the future of the region will depend on whether its leaders can turn shared vision into shared infrastructure. CAMCA is not yet a finished structure, but it is one of the first forums to be built from within. Its strength lies not in replacing existing ties, but in deepening regional confidence—and showing that cooperation on Central Asia’s terms is not only possible, but long overdue.

27 Jun 2025

Home, Life & Culture, Kazakhstan Life & Culture, Features, Kazakhstan Featurees

“I Dreamed of Writing Without Borders”: An Interview With a Kazakh Journalist in Russia

June 27, 2025
By Tamila Olzhbaekova

Elmira, a journalist from Astana, moved to St. Petersburg six years ago to study journalism. Since then, she has transformed from a reserved first-year student into a working reporter, navigating culture shock, social media censorship, and the outbreak of the war in Ukraine. In this candid interview, Elmira discusses Russian bureaucracy, casual racism, and finding her voice in the Russian media landscape. She also offers reflections for others considering a similar path.

TCA: Why did you choose to study in St. Petersburg rather than stay in Kazakhstan or go elsewhere?

Elmira: I applied before the war in Ukraine began. At that time, Russia seemed like a land of opportunity, where you could earn a decent living even without connections, which is rare in Kazakhstan. Plus, Russia offers state-funded spots for foreign students, as long as you pass the entrance exams.

Kazakh journalism programs felt underdeveloped to me; they lacked tradition, experienced faculty, and institutional history. In contrast, Russian journalism schools had all of that. Also, I wanted to write in Russian. My family always spoke Russian at home, and Kazakh was harder for me, an experience common among northern Kazakhs. Studying elsewhere was financially out of reach, and among CIS countries, Russia was the most appealing.

TCA: Why journalism? And did your expectations match reality?

Elmira: I’ve loved writing since childhood, school news, travel stories, anything. I imagined journalism as limitless creativity. In reality, it has even more constraints than other fields: editorial policies, laws, and censorship. Still, I wasn’t disappointed. Restrictions force you to innovate, and a strong story can always be told within the right format.

TCA: What were your first impressions of university life? Did you feel like part of an international community or an outsider?

Elmira: The university itself was a pleasant surprise. Many professors were open-minded and genuinely interested in students’ ideas. That made me feel I belonged.

But the student environment was tougher. Although classmates claimed, “We’re not racist,” jokes about Tajiks, Uzbeks, and Caucasians were common, and occasionally about Kazakhs too, disguised as “harmless humor.” These moments were alienating. You’re sitting in the same lectures, working on the same projects, but still feel like a stranger.

TCA: Was the Kazakh diaspora in St. Petersburg helpful during your adjustment?

Elmira: Definitely. The community is very supportive. Besides the consulate, groups like Atameken and Dostar host cultural events. I couldn’t volunteer, but I never missed Nauryz or Independence Day. Just being able to speak with fellow Kazakhs helped me feel at home.

TCA: What domestic or cultural challenges surprised you the most?

Elmira: Dorm life was tough. Once, I overheard roommates say, “How can you live with a Chinese woman? She must smell bad.” These moments were rare but memorable.

Still, there were warm experiences. In the dorm, I befriended students from Kyrgyzstan, Armenia, and Tajikistan. We cooked together, shared stories, and supported each other. That helped me to feel part of a community.

I was also heartened that many Russian students were genuinely curious about Kazakhstan. They asked about our traditions, holidays, food, and even wanted to learn Kazakh words. That interest helped bridge gaps.

TCA: What bureaucratic challenges did you face as a foreign student?

Elmira: Once I moved out of the dorm, everything was on me: registrations, medical checks, document translations, insurance. The queues at the MFC were endless, and staff often didn’t know the rules. There’s only one clinic in the city that handles medical exams for foreigners. I once waited there for nearly nine hours.

TCA: How did you transition from student to journalist?

Elmira: I started writing for Kazakhstani outlets in my first year. By graduation, I had a solid portfolio, which made getting internships and job offers easier. Editorial teams were welcoming and quite diverse.

TCA: How did the war in Ukraine, starting on February 24, 2022, affect you and your university environment?

Elmira: It was terrifying. I seriously considered dropping out, but my parents persuaded me to stay, and they were right. The first months were tense. Some friends criticized me for “staying in Russia,” even though I opposed the war.

At university, political discussions disappeared. Navalny’s name wasn’t mentioned. Topics like Chechnya were covered in vague terms. Censorship grew steadily, Instagram was no longer considered a source, and LGBT issues were whispered about.

TCA: How did media censorship and tech restrictions affect your work?

Elmira: At first, it was chaotic, VPNs failed, and services like Canva were blocked. Now, I pay for a reliable VPN and keep backups for essential tools. I avoid sensitive topics that could endanger sources or myself, but even cultural reporting is now reviewed under new laws.

TCA: Have you faced job discrimination as a foreigner?

Elmira: Not directly during interviews, but as a part-time layout designer, I noticed something. A Russian friend and I would apply for the same internships, same skills, and with similar portfolios. She got interviews, I got polite rejections. It likely wasn’t about qualifications but assumptions: that I might have an accent, misunderstand tasks, or not fit in.

TCA: Are there any advantages to being a foreigner in Russian media?

Elmira: Honestly? Not many. It’s riskier to tackle controversial topics. But I’ve found a niche, writing about cultural ties across CIS countries. My background gives me insight that others might not have.

TCA: What helped you overcome the challenges?

Elmira: Friends, above all. I met my future husband in St. Petersburg; he’s Russian. His support has been essential. We’re planning to move to Kazakhstan eventually and are saving for a home there.

TCA: How have intercultural relationships affected your family dynamic?

Elmira: Our families reacted differently. My Kazakh relatives were initially worried – interethnic marriages still raise eyebrows in Kazakh society. On Kazakh social media, there are constant posts criticizing women who marry foreigners, with bizarre claims about “diluting the nation.”

Thankfully, our families came around. They saw that we respect each other and maintain traditions. We approach cultural differences not as threats, but as opportunities to grow stronger together.

TCA: What advice would you give aspiring Kazakh journalists considering a move to Russia?

Elmira: Be realistic about the bureaucracy, registrations, health checks, and documents cost time and money. Expect cultural differences, and yes, everyday racism.

Most importantly, stay connected to Kazakhstan. The diaspora and Kazakhstani media can be a vital support system if things change.

27 Jun 2025

Business & Economy, Kazakhstan, Kazakhstan Business & Economy

German Firm to Build New Cargo and Passenger Airport in Kazakhstan

June 27, 2025
By Dmitry Pokidaev

Kazakhstan’s Prime Minister, Olzhas Bektenov, has met with Dr. Christine Grötzbach, board member and co-founder of the German aviation company Skyhansa, to finalize the construction timeline for a new cargo and passenger airport in the Zhetysu region. The first phase of the project is expected to be completed by 2027.

The facility will be built within the Khorgos – Eastern Gate special economic zone (SEZ), located on Kazakhstan’s border with China. The project envisions the creation of a multifunctional aviation hub designed to meet ICAO international standards and will be developed in phases, according to a government announcement.

The initiative is being carried out under a framework agreement between Kazakhstan’s Ministry of Transport and the Kazakh-German consortium Skyhansa. On the German side, the project is led by the Hansa Consortium, an aviation infrastructure specialist, while the Kazakh side is represented by Skymax Technologies, a regional logistics and infrastructure operator active in Central Asia and the Caucasus.

The total investment in the airport project is projected at $500 million. Dr. Grötzbach emphasized that the vision extends far beyond a standard airport facility.

“We are creating not just an airport, but a comprehensive infrastructure: cargo and passenger terminals, a fuel and refueling complex, an aviation technical center, a business center, and hotels,” she stated. “Its strategic location near China, combined with access to rail and road transport, positions it as a key logistics node on the New Silk Road.”

Bektenov echoed this sentiment, stating that the project will significantly enhance Kazakhstan’s transport and logistics capabilities.

“The implementation of this project will give a powerful impetus to the development of transport infrastructure and reinforce Kazakhstan’s role as a bridge between China, Central Asia, and Europe,” he said.

This announcement follows a similar initiative by Kazakhstan’s Ministry of Transport, which recently signed an investment agreement with Terminals Astana Airport Limited, a subsidiary of a UAE-based holding company. That project involves a $1.1 billion investment in the development of the Astana Aerotropolis, as reported by The Times of Central Asia.