Opinion: Ghosts of the Gulag: Kazakhstan’s Uneasy Dance With Memory and Moscow
In May 2025, the authorities in Moscow unveiled a life-size bas‑relief sculpture of Josef Stalin in the Taganskaya metro station. The next month, a statue of Lenin was pulled down in Osh, Kyrgyzstan. Between these two symbolic acts lies Kazakhstan, caught in a tug-of-war over the memory of Soviet-era repression. Between 1920 and 1960, millions of prisoners were deported to more than fifty labor camps across what was later to become the Republic of Kazakhstan. Those who weren’t executed on the spot — political opponents, intellectuals, artists — were forced to work in mines, construction sites, or collective farms feeding Soviet industrial expansion. The death toll remains unknown but is believed to be in the millions. Today, this dark past draws in history buffs and thrill-seekers. But darktourism.com, the go-to website on the topic, warns them: forgotten cemeteries, ghost villages, crumbling camps — this gulag archipelago is well hidden in the steppes. No sign points the way to the Museum of Political Repression in Dolinka, housed in the former headquarters of Karlag, one of the largest camps of the Soviet Gulag system. The only other gulag transformed into a museum is ALZHIR, built on the ruins of the Akmola camp near Astana. It commemorates the 18,000 women imprisoned between 1939 and 1953 for being the wives of “traitors to the motherland.” These two museums now stand as official symbols of Soviet repression in Kazakhstan, and, more subtly, as frontline sites in a broader memory war across the former Soviet Union. Selective Memory When the museums were nationalized in the 2000s, their message became tightly controlled. Portraits and quotes from former president Nursultan Nazarbayev began to cover the walls. Guillaume Tiberghien, a specialist in dark tourism at the University of Glasgow, calls it a “selective interpretation of history.” The goal? To unify the country’s 160 ethnic groups under a shared narrative of collective suffering. At both Karlag and ALZHIR, guides emphasize acts of solidarity between Kazakh villagers and deportees — hospitality, compassion, bits of cheese tossed over barbed wire fences to feed the starving. [caption id="attachment_34338" align="aligncenter" width="2560"] Execution scene recreated at the Karlag museum; image: Manon Madec.[/caption] The past is staged. Between wax statues with sunken faces, sound effects mimicking heartbeats, and torture room reconstructions, the visitor is drawn into a visceral experience, sometimes at the cost of accuracy. “You wonder if the museum overdoes it to trigger emotion,” Tiberghien remarks. Margaret Comer, a memory studies expert at the University of Warsaw, explains: “It’s sometimes easier to mourn victims than to identify perpetrators.” [caption id="attachment_34337" align="aligncenter" width="2560"] Execution scene and fake blood, reconstructed in the Dolinka museum; image: Manon Madec.[/caption] The complicity of local Kazakhs is never addressed. Russian responsibility is blurred behind vague terms like “NKVD” or “Stalinist repression.” At ALZHIR, visitors learn only about Sergey Barinov — a Russian commandant described as cultured, discreet, and caring toward the women detained. The other two camp directors are never mentioned. In other former Soviet republics — Ukraine, the Baltics, Georgia — such...
