Two Decades Later in Central Asia, Still Awaiting the Revolution

By Sasha Meyer

Western news reports on the revolutions of 1989 have been celebratory. But in Russia the mood has been somber. Russian writers want to know what went wrong. Among them, Sergey Kovalev, a Soviet-era dissident, laments that Soviet dissidents by and large failed to form into an effective political opposition once the Soviet collapse was under way. That thought has been echoed by Aleksandr Podrabinek, who argues that power simply shifted from one group of former apparatchiks to another. Lev Ponomarev distinguishes between two types of dissidents – those who started out the era outside the system, and those who were insiders – and decides that the latter had managerial experience, and it was they who came to power; he cites Aleksandr Yakovlev, Boris Yeltsin and Anatoly Sobchak among them. It is from the confluence of factors raised by all these writers that Russia gets its largely Soviet flavor of governance.

Central Asia, too, has been run the last two decades by such figures – Islam Karimov in Uzbekistan, Nursultan Nazarbaev in Kazakhstan, and so on. The only exception has been Askar Akayev, Kyrgyzstan’s former president. Taking stock of their performance, it’s useful to consider the achievements of what other originally backwater nations achieved in similar two-decade periods of time.

In 1968, South Korea was still a poor country, with a per-capita GDP equal to that of North Korea. Twenty years later, its car makers were selling upscale vehicles in the U.S., the world's most competitive market, and its economy had overtaken Belgium's. Most recently, its Korea Electric Power this week beat out marquee French, Japanese and U.S. consortia to win a contract to build four nuclear power plants in the United Arab Emirates.

In 1986, Vietnam was still reeling from the impact of the wars with China, France, and the U.S. Food shortages were common. A little over two decades later, Vietnam has one of the world's fastest-growing economies. It doesn't just export the usual paraphernalia of international trade: clothing, shoes and appliances. The country is turning into a high-tech hub, hosting IBM's cloud computing facilities and Intel's $1 billion chip-making plant, among others.

In the early 1980s, Turkey had an anemic and quasi-statist economy. Again, a little over 20 years later, Turkish companies make more than half of all TVs sold in Europe. Its apparel such as Mavi jeans are sold at upmarket stores like Nordstrom. Elsewhere, as Hugh Pope writes in Sons of the Conquerors, ”Turkish manufacturers' reputation had grown enough, in fact, that some Chinese clothing designers imitated higher-quality Turkish styles and brands.” The strength goes beyond consumer goods – Turkey has contracted to supply parts for America's F-35, the world’s most advanced jet fighter.

In the meantime, Central Asia has followed a trajectory that resembles Africa's in the years after gaining independence. Passages from Ryszard Kapuscinski's Shadow of the Sun read like today's Central Asia. The gaining of independence, he writes,

“was characterized by a universal optimism, enthusiasm, euphoria. People were convinced that freedom meant a better roof over their heads, a large bowl of rice, a first pair of shoes. A miracle would take place – the multiplying of loaves, fishes, and wine.”

“[But] nothing of the sort occurred. On the contrary. optimism quickly turned to disenchantment and pessimism. The people's bitterness, fury, hatred was now directed against their own elites, who were rapidly and greedily stuffing their pockets.”

“[And] in the years since independence, fundamental human rights were brutally violated by the government. People were denied the right to live in freedom and with mutual respect. They were not allowed to have their own opinions. Organized political gangsterism and the politics of falsehood turned all elections into a farce. Instead of serving the nation, politicians were busy stealing.”

The recent obituary of Omar Bongo, president for life of Gabon, could be a résumé of his Central Asian peers:

Mr Bongo made no distinction between Gabon and his private property. He had ruled there so long, 42 years, that they had become one. It was therefore perfectly natural that an oil company, granted a large concession for coastal drilling, should slip him regular suitcases stuffed with cash. It was natural that $2.6 million in aid money should be used to decorate his private jet, that government funds should pay for the Italian marble cladding his palace, and that his wife Edith's sea-blue Maybach, in which she was driven round Paris, should be paid for with a cheque drawn on the Gabonese treasury. Of the $130 million in his personal accounts at Citibank in New York, it was probable – though Citibank never asked, and nobody ever managed to pin a charge on him – that much of it was derived from the GDP of his country.

The suggestion of fiddling public finances flummoxed and infuriated him. Corruption, he once explained to a reporter, was not an African word. No more was nepotism: He simply looked after his family, supplying them with villas in Nice as well as the ministries of defense and foreign affairs. When French judges in 2009 froze nine of his 70 bank accounts, he was outraged. An attack on him was obviously an attempt to destabilize his country. He was equally indignant when in 2004, after a "Miss Humanity" pageant was held in Libreville, Miss Peru charged him with sexual harassment for summoning her to the palace and, he hoped, to his nifty behind-the-paneling bed. If something was in Gabon, by nature or chance, he evidently had first dibs on it.

To alter the course would be simple. Consider what China did in 1979 – land reform that, by freeing peasants in a largely agricultural society, instantly improved the lot of many, and generated the cash needed to modernize the industry. Not incidentally, it also generated broad public support for the government, and helped to strengthen political stability.

Uzbekistan would achieve a big advance by halting the production of its biggest current crop – cotton – and planting native fruit in its place. Uzbekistan grows cotton – a subtropical, water-thirsty crop – on some 1.5 million hectares in this arid region, earning about $1 billion from exports. On the cost side of the ledger is a massive loss of land to salt, polluted river water unfit even for agricultural use, growing international criticism of child labor during harvest time, and tension with neighbors over water rights from the Amu Darya and Syr Darya. Cotton simply doesn’t pay. As a comparison, Chile earns $1.26 billion from the export of grapes harvested on just 182,000 hectares; it causes no environmental damage, and brings in an additional $1.37 billion from wine exports. All in all, the South American country makes $3.34 billion selling various fruit. Emulating its success in Central Asia should be simple given that the region is home to many varieties of fruit and walnuts. Agribusiness is a serious source of cash even in more advanced economies like Portugal and New Zealand, as well as in high-tech powerhouses like South Korea, which is a top-ten producer of onions. So, far the only place in the neighborhood to adopt this strategy is the neighboring Chinese province of Xinjiang, which exports apples to Kazakhstan and pears to the United States. Xinjiang also exports its products to Mongolia, Japan and Malaysia.

The stumbling block is probably the prevailing mindset among officials in the region. Russian researcher Olga Kryshtanovskaka has found that up to 83% of government positions in Russia are held by former members of the Soviet nomenklatura. The figure for Central Asia is probably higher as its bureaucracy survived the Soviet collapse intact.

Soviet-era writers have been scathing about this upper layer of society, which comprises just 0.1% of the population. Soviet-era writer Michail Voslensky called the nomeklatura “an invisible aristocracy whose reign is more oppressive than that of the czars.” Hungarian essayist György Konrád caustically writes that the nomenklatura often fail economically, trained as they are in a Communist system in which "the more stupid lead the more intelligent, because it has made political reliability a more important job requirement than ability." There is traction to this thinking. For instance, a Western diplomat based in Tajikistan says of local officials in a report by the International Crisis Group, "We are not just dealing with selfishness and greed, but incredible incompetence at all levels.”

The question then is whether there will be new faces in the political elites, and whether they will make a break with Soviet-era attitudes, as has happened in Georgia and to a lesser degree in Ukraine.

Or whether the region will continue to be like Gabon and Egypt – in the former, the new president is the son of the late Omar Bongo; in the latter, the combination of a youthful population bulge and governmental economic incompetence is creating an increasingly religious and conservative society, possibly opening the door to the Pakistani outcome in the longer term.