A man from Kyrgyzstan's Chui Oblast washes windows on a train parked at Moscow's Paveletsky Railway Station. While Russia already hosts hundreds of thousands of Kyrgyz labour migrants, a new law will allow fluent Russian-speakers from around the former Soviet Union to apply for fast-track citizenship. Credit: David Trilling/EurasiaNet

By Asel Kalybekova
BISHKEK, Apr 30 2014 (EurasiaNet)

Russian President Vladimir Putin signed legislation recently offering fast-track citizenship to Russian speakers anywhere within the former Soviet Union.

Analysts believe the law is motivated by a desire to enhance Moscow’s influence in Ukraine and elsewhere, but it may have unintended consequences for the Kremlin in Central Asia.“Soon we may come to the point when no Kyrgyz citizens will be left on the territory of Kyrgyzstan; there will be no one to vote." -- Marat Kazakpaev

In Kyrgyzstan, the law has alarmed, confused and excited Bishkek’s chattering classes. Some see Russian citizenship as an opportunity to escape grinding poverty and political instability; others believe it will become easier to milk the Russian budget for social benefits; still others fear the measure could hasten Kyrgyzstan’s brain drain and pose a threat to the country’s sovereignty.

In order to be eligible for citizenship under the new regulations, one has to pass a Russian-language exam proving native-level proficiency. One also must hail from or have relatives from somewhere on the territory of the former Soviet Union.

In addition, applicants must renounce their current citizenship, though details on this point are vague. They must also apply for Russian citizenship in Russia, not at an embassy abroad.

Before the law was ratified in lightening succession and signed by Putin on Apr. 21, it took eligible Kyrgyz citizens about two years to apply, pass the tests, and receive Russian citizenship, a process allowed them then to hold onto their Kyrgyz passports. The new regulations will greatly speed up the process, shortening the timeframe to three months.

All this is “a clear threat” to Kyrgyz sovereignty, said Marat Kazakpaev, a political scientist at Bishkek’s Kyrgyz-Russian Slavic University. He went on to envision a future in which a large percentage of those living in Kyrgyzstan are Russian citizens.

“Soon we may come to the point when no Kyrgyz citizens will be left on the territory of Kyrgyzstan; there will be no one to vote,” Kazakpaev told EurasiaNet.org.

Already, Central Asia is greatly dependent on Russia’s economy; about a million labour migrants from Kyrgyzstan (about a fifth of the population) and even more from Tajikistan and Uzbekistan work abroad, mostly in Russia. How the law will affect these migrants remains unclear because many are not fluent in Russian.

According to a second bill that Putin signed the same day, Russia is toughening regulations for migrant laborers by obliging them to pass Russian-language tests and exams on Russia’s history and legal code. So now for Central Asia’s fluent Russian speakers, it will, at least on paper, be easier to get Russian citizenship than a work permit.

(How the regulations will be implemented remains an unanswered question: it’s not clear how the tests will be conducted; if they will be selective to give preference to ethnic Russians over other ethnicities; and how Russia’s pervasive corruption will influence the examination process).

Kazakpaev believes the Kremlin is signaling that “it doesn’t need migrants; it needs new citizens.”

Another vague piece of legislation being considered by the Russian State Duma, the lower house of parliament, would require Russian citizens who carry multiple passports to register. State-run media has quoted Putin as saying that Russia must track dual-citizens.

Nurbek Toktakunov, a prominent human rights lawyer in Bishkek, notes that while it is Russia’s right to know who holds dual citizenship, the proposed regulation could be used as a pretext to meddle in other countries’ affairs. Toktakunov fears the package of legislation could force Russian-passport holders in Kyrgyzstan to choose their allegiance and thus split society into pro- and anti-Russian camps.

“If tomorrow we held a referendum on joining Russia, many would vote in favour,” Toktakunov told EurasiaNet.org, because most Kyrgyz are nostalgic for the stability of the Soviet Union.

An analyst in neighbouring Tajikistan said the same thing this week, estimating a “huge majority” of Tajiks would vote to join Russia given the chance.

Though there is little Kyrgyzstan’s leaders can do about the Russian law, talk of citizenship and allegiance is alarming some. After one informal poll found 51 percent of Kyrgyz would be willing to renounce their country’s sovereignty for the greater good, deputy Tursunbai Bakir uulu demanded parliament respond.

“Our ancestors fought for the independence of our country,” Vechernii Bishkek quoted him as saying on Apr. 24. “Look what’s going on in Ukraine. Do you want to find yourself in a similar situation?”

Fears about national security have been reinforced by multiple, provocative reports in recent weeks that migrants from former Soviet republics are eager to serve in the Russian army, suggesting a blurring of political allegiances.

The bills that are causing such confusion are not targeting Central Asians, says Andrei Grozin, head of the Central Asia Department at the CIS Institute in Moscow. Instead, they are aimed at Ukrainians who wish to move to Russia, he said. By opening the door for Ukrainians, the Duma, willingly or not, has given an opportunity for others to go to Russia.

“Who is mostly interested in the new norms? Not Ukrainians, but people from Central Asia and the Caucasus. The interest is coming from the countries that provide labour migrants,” Grozin told EurasiaNet.org.

Grozin believes that in the long run, the citizenship legislation – if fully implemented – will hurt Russia’s economy because the country is already inundated with migrants.

Yet as long as living standards in Russia are higher than in most parts of Central Asia, Kyrgyz and Tajiks will seek Russian citizenship simply to access a Russian pension or other social benefits, said the deputy director of Bishkek’s Adilet legal clinic, Lyudmila Arapova, who says the practice is already “widespread.”

Arapova, an expert on citizenship law, believes the new rules will encourage more Kyrgyz to seek Russian citizenship not to move to Russia or to work there, but to tap into Russia’s Social Fund.

This story originally appeared on EurasiaNet.org

Georgian soldiers congregate at the Manas Transit Center in Kyrgyzstan en route to Afghanistan in late September 2013. As U.S. troops, which began using the airport near Bishkek in 2001, close down their operations, Rosneft, Russia's state-controlled oil giant, wants to grab a majority stake. Credit: David Trilling/EurasiaNet

By Asel Kalybekova
BISHKEK, Apr 1 2014 (EurasiaNet)

Russia’s state-run oil giant Rosneft wants to purchase a majority stake in the state-controlled company that owns all of Kyrgyzstan’s civilian airports.

The negotiations are stoking concern in some circles in Bishkek about the potential risk to Kyrgyzstan’s sovereignty. But with its entrenched corruption, poor governance and remote location, the Central Asian country has few other options.

Rosneft’s takeover target is a company called Manas International Airport, named for the largest of the airfields under its control. In addition to Manas, which is situated outside Bishkek, the company operates 10 smaller (mostly non-functional) airports around the country.

The Manas facility has hosted a U.S. military base for almost 13 years, but the troops are packing up and are due to leave by July. Without the American spending, Kyrgyz officials argue, the company, which is 79 percent state-owned, will go into the red.

In February, Igor Sechin – Rosneft’s chairman, and close ally of Russian President Vladimir Putin – and Kyrgyz First Deputy Prime Minister Djoomart Otorbaev (who has since been appointed acting prime minster) signed a non-binding memorandum on Rosneft’s intentions to purchase at least 51 percent of Manas’ shares.

In the memo, Rosneft also promises to spend up to a billion dollars for the shares and to create “a large-scale international logistics hub.”

In a separate document, Rosneft expresses its intentions to purchase 50 percent of fuel-distribution operations at Osh airport, Kyrgyzstan’s second largest, and acquire the Bishkek Oil Company, a private company that runs a network of filling stations in Bishkek.

Manas Vice President Dair Tokobaev admits that Manas’ economic prognosis is grim unless it can find a new revenue stream to offset the closure of the American base. “We have a lot of problems. We need an investor,” Tokobaev told EurasiaNet.org.

Since 2010, when Kyrgyzstan’s government began insisting the Americans would have to leave, officials have floated the idea of turning Manas into a civilian transportation hub serving cargo and passengers transiting Asia.

In the National Strategy for Sustainable Development, President Almazbek Atambayev has made reconstruction and modernization of the country’s airports, and the creation of a global hub, one of his administration’s top priorities.

In a Mar. 27 television interview, Atambayev threw his support behind the Rosneft initiative, reasoning that Kyrgyzstan basically had no other choice. Inexpensive fuel is necessary for the airport to develop and only Rosneft is able to provide it, he said.

“Those screaming that any percent cannot be given to Rosneft, all the more so 51 percent, they, in fact, want to put an end to the future of Manas,” Bishkek’s Kloop.kg news agency quoted the president as saying.

In recent years, Russian state-controlled companies have moved aggressively to gobble up key Kyrgyz assets.

In December, for example, Moscow’s state-run giant Gazprom acquired ailing Kyrgyzgaz, which manages Kyrgyzstan’s gas-distribution network, for the symbolic price of one dollar. (Gazprom promised to invest 600 million dollars into the network and also assumed 38 million in debt.)

During discussions of the sale last summer, Kyrgyzgaz chief Turgunbek Kulmurzayev told local newspaper Vechernii Bishkek that the company was “bankrupt” and “had no other choice” but to sell.

Another Kremlin-controlled company, RusHydro, started construction of a 400-million-dollar hydroelectric cascade last June. Moreover, Russia’s state-run Inter RAO has promised to build an estimated two-billion-dollar hydropower dam, Kambara-Ata-1, further upstream on the Naryn River.

Such deals are viewed warily by some experts in Bishkek. Most readily acknowledge that Moscow is destined to exert considerable influence over Bishkek, given that Kyrgyz labour migrants in Russia generate the equivalent of about one-third of Kyrgyzstan’s GDP, and a large contingent of Russian troops are stationed in the Central Asian state.

But the steady stream of sales of state assets is making it much more difficult for Kyrgyz officials to steer an independent course.

Bishkek-based analyst Marat Kazakpaev argues that while Kyrgyzstan needs foreign investment, it should strive to attract private investors. He believes that Russia, with the recent string of deals, is expanding its geopolitical influence in the region and sees Bishkek as its foothold.

“The fact that Rosneft is a state-owned company gives this memorandum a political context. This is not business, this is politics,” Kazakpaev told EurasiaNet.org.

The challenge for Kyrgyzstan at present is that its reputation for widespread corruption and political volatility is frightening potential Western investors away.

“Let’s admit it frankly, if there will be investment, it will be from Russia. We won’t get any investment from the West,” economist Meimanbek Abdyldaev told Radio Liberty’s Kyrgyz Service. Rosneft’s interest in Manas “can be regarded as a forerunner to [Kyrgyzstan’s] entrance into the [Russia-led] Customs Union.”

Though the Rosneft memorandum is not legally binding – and any final deal to sell state-assets must be ratified by parliament – on Mar. 20, a small group of protestors gathered outside the legislature.

Rights activist Gulshaiyr Abdirasulova told Kloop.kg that Manas is a “strategic object. It’s the people’s welfare and wealth. We’re not against investments that will develop the airport, but [we want investment] without giving away a controlling stake.”

Parliamentarian Dastan Bekeshev supported the demonstrators. “If one wants to attract investors, one does it not through sale, but through opening a joint venture,” he was quoted as saying.

Rosneft did not respond to repeated requests for comment. Neither did Russia’s Transport Ministry, which is helping negotiate the deal.

Tokobaev at Manas agrees that the airport is a strategic object, but for him development is more critical than the funding source. Without investors like Rosneft, “we will be left feasting our eyes on [Manas] like a cultural memorial. Should we let it be gouged and plundered and stay Kyrgyz, or should we save and develop it together with someone?”

This story originally appeared on EurasiaNet.org.

A generation after independence from the Soviet Union, most villages in Kyrgyzstan are ramshackle, broken places, scenes of hopelessness and despair. Able young people leave – for Bishkek, the capital, or for menial jobs in Russia. But thanks to a secret gold mine, one little mountain hamlet is different.

Soviet geologists found the gold vein in remote Naryn Province in the 1940s, villagers say. But the gold was never tapped until economic collapse in the 1990s forced the village’s “wild geologists,” as they call themselves, to explore.

“Without it, our village would vanish in crime and theft,” says one miner, an agronomist by training. “It used to be a very criminal place before people started working at the mine. One wouldn’t even leave a broom in the backyard.”

Though it’s illegal, villagers say about 60 percent of local men work regularly at the mine, and it supports the entire community of approximately 3,000. With other work opportunities scant – and with gold mining increasingly contentious and politicised in Kyrgyzstan – villagers are cautious. They would only speak with EurasiaNet.org on condition of strict anonymity, insisting even the name of the village not appear in print.

Another miner, who has been working at the open-pit mine for more than 10 years, says the gold helped him and his wife, a schoolteacher, raise three children and build a modest home. Now his son is studying geology in Bishkek, intending to continue his father’s work. With deeply wrinkled hands he points at the mountain: “Everything I have today is because of this mine.”

The miner, who asked to be called Bakyt, makes the three-hour trek up to the pit about once every other month with four or five colleagues in a jeep packed with warm clothes, tents, and food they can cook on a portable gas stove – meat, rice, and vegetables. “It needs to be high-calorie food, because it’s very hard labour,” he says.

On trips lasting up to a month, the miners look for quartz and pyrite – two indications of gold. “Once we see small pieces of gold glittering, we start digging with pickaxes and hoes,” Bakyt says.

The miners sort promising rocks into 50-kilo burlap sacks and return home to a jerry-built refinery. One machine crushes the stones into powder; several electric sieves wash away the dust, leaving the heavier gold on the bottom. Even hidden in a garage, the machines make so much noise they can be heard outside. But it seems everyone in the village has an economic stake in the process, and thus an incentive to keep the secret.

The gold dust contains gold, silver, iron, and pyrite. The pyrite is burned away with highly corrosive nitric acid in a process that might frighten health inspectors: Outside, in an open field, with no goggles or other protection, the miners mix the acid and powder in a stainless-steel dish and step back as they burn.

“We … put the dish against the wind, in order not to inhale the smoke,” says Bakyt, describing it first as “black, then yellow. At the end, it turns white and stops. That’s how we know it’s done.”

Nitric acid is available, illegally, in Bishkek for about five dollars per litre. The amateur chemists remove iron with the help of magnets. Eventually, they say, the gold dust is about 83-85 percent gold and about 15 percent silver. This compound is sold to one of several middlemen in the village at an agreed four to five-dollar discount off world market price, per gramme, because of the silver.

Villagers keep a close eye on market price fluctuations with the help of mobile Internet connections.

Those not directly involved in the mining also benefit, explains a member of the elected local council. Shops in the village are well stocked and several men hire themselves out as drivers to ferry miners to the site. Unlike many Kyrgyz villages, where most young men have migrated away to search for work, few are eager to leave. Some who left in the 1990s have even returned.

The mine “benefits these people and the whole village. Everyone is doing what they can to get by,” the official says. “Plus, gold miners contribute money to social events. There’s both an economic and social impact.”

The economic benefits may trickle down illicitly to local officials, too – a phenomenon widespread in Kyrgyzstan and throughout the former Soviet Union. One villager said police sometimes stop vehicles on a road from the mine, demanding a “toll” of 300 som (about six dollars) per bag of stones. (Each vehicle returning from the mine carries up to 10 bags.)

Asked if the miners have the technical expertise to handle and store chemicals like nitric acid, the council member says locals are more careful than foreign investors because “they live here.” Foreign companies are often faulted in the local press for environmental breaches – in some cases justly, in others not.

He says villagers have tried to get permission to operate the mine legally, but never heard back from Bishkek. Now, with parliament considering nationalising the country’s only significant gold mine, Canadian-owned Kumtor, the villagers are afraid to ask again. “I don’t believe the government will listen to us, they will just ban mining,” the council member says.

The off-the-radar mine was contested in the not-too-distant past. In 2011, Kyrgyzaltyn, the state-run gold company, tried to sell it to a Chinese firm, according to Radio Azattyk. The decision seems to have been put on hold after villagers protested in the provincial capital, Naryn.

“This is theft. It cannot be allowed and should be prosecuted by the local government,” said Kadyrbek Kaketaev, recently retired as deputy director of the State Geology Agency.

But villagers have no intention of stopping.

“We don’t care whether it’s winter or summer, we are there the whole year,” says one miner. The mine doesn’t make him rich, but gives him something rare in rural Kyrgyzstan – a comfortable life. It’s also risky, he explains: Some missions return home empty-handed and rack up debt. But a successful trip can gross around 2,000 dollars.

“We have gold fever and will never be healed. We will do this all our lives,” says Bakyt.

Editor’s note:  Asel Kalybekova is a freelance reporter based in Kyrgyzstan. This story originally appeared on EurasiaNet.org.