Soviet Legacy - The Times Of Central Asia

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Nuclear waste

Central Asia Makes Progress on Uranium Cleanup, but Major Risks Remain

Radioactive waste lies beside the river in Mailuu-Suu, a former uranium town in Kyrgyzstan’s picturesque mountain landscape. Engineers preparing to secure it found a problem inside one of its dams. Additional drilling revealed tailings within the dam structure itself. Two subsequent studies concluded that waste from two connected ponds would have to be moved to a safer location. The discovery changed the cleanup design and increased its cost, according to the International Atomic Energy Agency’s revised master plan. Material that planners had intended to secure in place could no longer safely remain there. Once known as Mailbox 200, the town was founded in 1946 for a secret Soviet uranium program. Its workforce included Germans treated as politically suspect and former Red Army soldiers punished for surrendering during World War II. Uranium mining and processing at Mailuu-Suu ended in the late 1960s, leaving waste buried along the river. Cleanup is expected to continue until 2032. Even then, the authorities will need to maintain the restored sites and check that contamination remains contained. Mailuu-Suu illustrates why Central Asia’s uranium cleanup has stretched across decades. The waste sits in places where rivers and unstable slopes can carry it beyond the original industrial sites. Making those places safer requires extensive engineering, followed by public oversight that must outlast the contractors. [caption id="attachment_56370" align="aligncenter" width="1774"] Archival photograph of Mailuu-Suu’s old mill and uranium tailings; image: Peter Waggit/IAEA[/caption] The International Atomic Energy Agency’s latest assessment, published in January 2026, records substantial progress. Four out of seven priority sites have been remediated since the original regional plan was adopted in 2017. But Mailuu-Suu remains one of the largest and most complex projects, with work expected to extend beyond the updated regional plan’s 2030 horizon. Across the region, former uranium operations left radioactive residue after mining and processing ended. The IAEA describes facilities abandoned without adequate plans for safe closure. National governments inherited responsibility for sites where no private owner remained to pay for the work. The geography compounds the situation. The IAEA’s original planning framework identifies tailings ponds near major rivers in seismically active areas. Flooding or a landslide can undermine containment and lead to contaminated materials traveling downstream. The location of a deposit therefore helps determine the urgency and design of its cleanup. At Mailuu-Suu, the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) announced a €23 million grant in 2023. The original design included soil covers two meters thick to reduce water entering the waste and prevent access to it. The project concerned more than two million cubic meters of tailings along the river and its tributaries. Following the devastating 2023 earthquake in Turkey and Syria, Kyrgyzstan’s Ministry of Construction required further checks on the dams’ stability. Drilling revealed tailings inside the dam at pond seven. Subsequent studies found that the waste in ponds five and seven could not safely remain in place. The IAEA plan warns that a strong earthquake could cause the dam to collapse, allowing water-saturated waste to liquefy and enter the river....

Myths

Kazakhstan’s Haunted Steppe: Myths, Cold War Ruins, and Unexplained Phenomena

Kazakhstan’s vast steppes, deserts, mountains, and abandoned Soviet sites have produced a mythology of their own. Some stories are folklore. Others grew from real geography, ecological disaster, nuclear testing, secretive institutions, and the long shadow of the Cold War. That mix helps explain why tales of lost islands, strange stones, atomic ghosts, and unidentified flying objects still circulate across the country. The most interesting stories are not necessarily the ones that prove anything paranormal. They are the ones that show how history and landscape can turn into legend. You Will Go But Never Return One of Kazakhstan’s best-known mysterious places is Barsakelmes, whose name is usually translated from Kazakh as “You Will Go But Never Return.” The former island, once located in the Aral Sea, was less than 20 kilometers long, but it acquired an outsized reputation during the Soviet period. [caption id="attachment_49303" align="aligncenter" width="2560"] Barsakelmes[/caption] Today, Barsakelmes is no longer technically an island. The Aral Sea has largely dried up after one of the world’s major ecological disasters, and the surrounding landscape has changed almost beyond recognition. The island’s name did much of the work. So did Soviet-era popular culture. Russian science-fiction writer Sergei Lukyanenko, who was born in Kazakhstan, helped deepen its mystique through a story published in the Soviet magazine Tekhnika Molodezhi. In that fictional version, Barsakelmes became a deadly place linked to secret laboratories, biological experiments, and mutant soldiers. The confirmed history is less lurid, but still striking. Local accounts and researchers have linked the name to earlier tragedies, including stories of herders who died while trying to cross the frozen Aral Sea. Over time, those disappearances became part of the island’s reputation as a place from which people did not return. The mystery deepened in the 2000s, when archaeologists found burial grounds and remains of ancient settlements on the dried seabed near Barsakelmes. The finds, dated to the 11th-14th centuries, included religious structures and evidence of trade links that may have extended toward China. Some homes reportedly contained jars still filled with grain, suggesting that residents left suddenly. Whether they fled a flood, conflict, or another disaster is less certain. But it is easy to see how the physical evidence of abrupt abandonment fed older stories about a cursed landscape. Even the island’s natural features became part of the legend. Fishermen once avoided the area after seeing what they thought were huge bones along the shore. They were, in fact, large gypsum formations glinting in the sun. Today, Barsakelmes is also a protected area and a refuge for rare wildlife, showing how a place associated with loss can also become a site of recovery. The Stone Spheres of Mangystau Another of Kazakhstan’s strange landscapes lies on the Mangystau Peninsula in the west of the country, about 150 kilometers from Aktau. There, in a valley that resembles a Martian plain, hundreds of large stone spheres are scattered across the ground. Some are several meters in diameter. Visitors have compared them to giant balls, prehistoric eggs, or...

Victory day

No Tanks on Red Square as Moscow’s Victory Day Pull Fades in Central Asia

Russia’s Victory Day parade on May 9 is set to be more restrained this year, with tanks, armored vehicles, and missile systems absent from Red Square for the first time in nearly two decades. The Russian Defense Ministry cited the “current operational situation,” while the Kremlin blamed what it called Ukrainian “terrorist activity.” Russia also reported drone attacks aimed at Moscow in the days before the ceremony, and security around President Vladimir Putin has been tightened. The reduced scale of the parade carries a resonance beyond Russia. Victory Day remains one of the most emotionally charged dates in the post-Soviet calendar, including in Central Asia, where families still remember relatives who fought, died, or labored during World War II. But across the region, the holiday has increasingly been placed inside national calendars rather than left as part of Russia’s political script. The contrast with last year is sharp. In 2025, Moscow marked the 80th anniversary of Nazi Germany’s defeat with its largest Victory Day parade since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Chinese troops marched on Red Square, Xi Jinping sat beside Putin, and foreign leaders attended from across Asia, Africa, Latin America, and the former Soviet space. Tanks, rocket launchers, missile systems, drones, and other military hardware rolled through the square. This year’s guest list is more limited. The Kremlin’s initial list of foreign delegations included leaders and senior figures from Belarus, Laos, Malaysia, Slovakia, the breakaway republics of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, and representatives from Bosnia and Herzegovina’s Republika Srpska. Attendance has also been hard to read. Earlier reports said Kazakhstan’s Kassym-Jomart Tokayev and Kyrgyzstan’s Sadyr Japarov were expected in Moscow, while the Kremlin’s initial published list of foreign guests did not include any Central Asian presidents. On May 8, however, Kazakh and Uzbek media reported that Tokayev and Uzbekistan’s Shavkat Mirziyoyev were traveling to Moscow for Victory Day events. The late confirmations complicate the picture, but they do not restore the full regional show of unity seen in the last two years, when all five Central Asian presidents were present at the Moscow parade. It does suggest, however, that Moscow’s political ownership of the date is less automatic than it once was. Victory Day, which commemorates the Soviet defeat of Nazi Germany in what Russia calls the Great Patriotic War, has long been one of the main rituals of modern Russian power. It draws large television audiences, fills public space with military symbolism, and presents the Kremlin as the guardian of a sacred national memory. The holiday speaks of sacrifice and family loss, but also of nationalism and state control over history. Putin has used that language repeatedly. On May 9, 2024, after appearing on Red Square in snowfall, he said Russia was going through a “difficult, milestone period,” and warned: “We will not allow anyone to threaten us. Our strategic forces are always in combat readiness.” In 2025, he used the 80th anniversary parade to link Soviet wartime memory to Russia’s current war, saying...

Nuclear Energy

Kazakhstan Recasts Its Nuclear Past

At the United Nations in late April, Robert Floyd, executive secretary of the Preparatory Commission for the Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban Treaty Organization, warned that any renewed nuclear test by Russia, the United States, or another state could draw other nuclear powers back into testing. His remarks followed the re-emergence of nuclear testing as an issue in international political debate. Kazakhstan enters this debate from the opposite side of nuclear history. It is a former Soviet nuclear test ground that now defines its nuclear policy through civilian power, peaceful use, and non-proliferation. Kazakhstan’s nuclear future is shaped by its nuclear past. The country was a Soviet nuclear test ground at Semipalatinsk, now Semey, where late-Soviet public-health concerns helped force nuclear testing into public politics before the site’s closure. After independence, Kazakhstan renounced the Soviet-era nuclear weapons it inherited on its territory. Its present nuclear-energy policy begins from that record. It is not a search for nuclear status, but a civilian program formed by restraint, public memory, and national development. Semipalatinsk is the source of Kazakhstan’s authority on nuclear testing. Between 1949 and 1989, the Soviet Union used the site as one of its principal nuclear testing grounds. In total, 456 nuclear tests were conducted there, including 340 underground and 116 atmospheric tests. Kazakhstan closed the site in 1991. These facts remove the subject from arms-control abstraction. For Kazakhstan, nuclear testing is a territorial, social, public-health, and political inheritance, bound to the eastern steppe and the communities around the former test range. Atomic Lake gives that history a single, physical form. In January 1965, the Soviet Union carried out the Chagan underground nuclear explosion at the Semipalatinsk Test Site. The blast, with a yield of 140 kilotons, was part of a Soviet program for using underground nuclear explosions in civil engineering, including reservoirs and channels in water-scarce regions. It created the crater later known as Atomic Lake. The site remains a physical residue of the Soviet claim that nuclear explosions could serve economic and social development. This is why nuclear technology in Kazakhstan cannot be politically neutral. Independence gave Kazakhstan agency in that history. Kazakhstan transferred Soviet-era nuclear weapons to Russia by April 1995 and took part in cooperative threat reduction, including the sealing of test-site boreholes and tunnels. More recently, it became host to the International Atomic Energy Agency’s Low Enriched Uranium Bank at Ulba, in Oskemen. The bank is an IAEA-owned fuel-assurance reserve for peaceful nuclear power, designed to support access to nuclear fuel without encouraging additional enrichment programs. Kazakhstan’s civilian nuclear claim, therefore, rests on practice: disarmament, threat reduction, and non-proliferation infrastructure. The policy now turns on a practical paradox. Kazakhstan has been the world’s leading uranium producer since 2009 and produced about 40% of the world’s uranium in 2025. Yet it has no operating nuclear power plant. Its Soviet-era BN-350 reactor, near Aktau on the Caspian Sea, was decommissioned in 1999 after decades of electricity generation and desalination. Kazakhstan is central to the global nuclear fuel cycle but has...

Victory day

Victory, Memory, and Moscow: Central Asia’s Changing May Calendar

May is when Central Asia’s past crowds into the public square. Workers, soldiers, veterans, constitutions, unity campaigns, and the legacy of World War II all compete for space on the calendar. The dates are familiar across the region, but their meanings are no longer the same. Kazakhstan marks People’s Unity Day on May 1, Defenders’ Day on May 7, and Victory Day on May 9. Kyrgyzstan has a May calendar built around Labor Day, Constitution Day, and Victory Day. Uzbekistan has recast May 9 as the Day of Remembrance and Honor. Turkmenistan lists May 9 as Victory Day of the 1941-1945 Great Patriotic War, but it no longer carries the same public weight as the country’s main state holidays. Those choices show how each state is handling its Soviet past. May 1 can mean labor, unity, or almost nothing. May 9 can mean victory, mourning, family memory, or careful diplomacy. In Central Asia, the politics of memory rarely move through open rejection. It works through renaming, recalibrating, and changing the optics. Russia still treats May 9 as a central ritual of state power. Victory Day marks the Soviet defeat of Nazi Germany in what Russia calls the Great Patriotic War. Under Vladimir Putin, it has become a display of military strength, national sacrifice, and confrontation with the West. Since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, that message has become more direct. This year, the image projected from Moscow will be weaker. Russia is preparing to hold its May 9 parade on Red Square without the usual display of military hardware. Tanks and missile systems, long central to the spectacle, are being kept away. Russia’s Defense Ministry cited the “current operational situation,” while the Kremlin linked the change to Ukrainian attacks. For Central Asian governments, that image will be hard to separate from their own handling of Victory Day. Moscow has long used May 9 to gather friendly leaders and place the post-Soviet region inside a shared wartime story. Attendance in Moscow has become a diplomatic signal. Absence has become one too. In recent years, Victory Day diplomacy has shown how Central Asian governments try to respect wartime memory while avoiding full alignment with Russia’s narrative. This year, at least some Central Asian leaders are again expected in Moscow. Kazakhstan’s Kassym-Jomart Tokayev and Kyrgyzstan’s Sadyr Japarov have been reported among those planning to attend, though the Kremlin has not yet published a full list of foreign guests. Central Asian states cannot simply discard May 9. Millions of people from the region served in the Red Army or worked behind the front during World War II; from Kazakhstan alone, around one million people contributed to the war effort, with nearly 271,000 soldiers still listed as missing. Families still carry those memories. Monuments, veterans’ payments, school events, and wreath-laying ceremonies remain important. For many people, Victory Day is personal before it is geopolitical. Yet governments have changed the tone. Kazakhstan still marks Victory Day as a public holiday, but large military parades...

History

Kinship Clans in Modern Kazakhstan: Historical Continuity and New Realities

Ancestral ties are seemingly embedded in the DNA of every Kazakh. This tradition, rooted in antiquity, reflects the clan structure that historically shaped Kazakh society. The notions of zhuz (a set of clans) and ru (clan) largely determined the social organization of the nomadic lifestyle. Kazakh society traditionally consisted of three zhuzes, the Older, Middle, and Younger which in turn united many clans. The zhuzes were large tribal unions, a kind of higher-level “horde” that included dozens or even hundreds of distinct clan groups (ru), while ru referred specifically to a group of close blood relatives. Such clan structures formed the basis of traditional society. Historical Roots: The System of Zhuzes and Shezhire The origin of the three Kazakh zhuzes remains a subject of historical debate. In early written sources from the 17th century, the names of the zhuzes had not yet been formalized. Chronicles described only a geographic custom: those living in the upper reaches of a river were called the “Big zhuz,” those in the middle the “Middle zhuz,” and those in the lower reaches the “Younger zhuz.” The 16th-century work Majmu al-Garaib mentions Kazakhs but notes that the terms Uly zhuz, Orta zhuz, and Kishi zhuz were not yet in use. The classical three-zhuz system only fully formed by the late 17th to early 18th century, during the reign of Tauke Khan (1680-1715), when the Kazakhs united under a single Kazakh Khanate. According to a legend recorded by traveler G. N. Potanin, one ruler gathered 300 warriors and divided them into three groups: the first hundred, Uly zhuz, were settled upstream along the Syr Darya; the second hundred, Orta zhuz, in the middle; and the last hundred, led by the chief Alshin, downstream as Kishi zhuz. These legends provide a cultural explanation for the emergence of the zhuzes, though historians stress there is no single agreed version. Hypotheses range from military-administrative divisions into “wings” to the influence of geography and climate across Semirechye, Saryarka, and Western Kazakhstan. Alongside the zhuz system, clan identity was reinforced through genealogical chronicles, shezhire, in which Kazakhs recorded their ancestors’ names and clan history. Knowledge of seven generations (jeti ata) was obligatory for every Kazakh and was absorbed “with mother’s milk”. These genealogies had practical implications: knowing one’s lineage helped determine kinship laws, including prohibitions on marrying within the same clan. The clan was not just a social structure, but a fundamental part of identity. As publicist Khakim Omar wrote: “The main idea of the shezhire is revealed in the close connection of ancestors’ and descendants’ names, in the continuity of generations,” allowing a person, through genealogy, “to define their place in the world”. Transformation of Tradition in the Soviet Era Under Soviet rule, internationalism and a break from “tribalism” were officially promoted. Yet in practice, the clan system continued to operate informally as a mechanism of social mobility and legitimacy. While divisions into zhuzes and clans were no longer legally recognized, they endured as a way of thinking, a cultural filter...