Kazakhstan is proud to boast about its independence gained in December 1991 after the unexpected collapse of the Soviet Union. This pride has, for instance, been constantly reiterated by the country’s first, and so far only, president, Nursultan Nazarbayev in his various speeches and in his policies. But this desire to affirm its sovereignty and to dissociate itself from its colonial past appears to be mainly a matter of rhetoric. Indeed, and contrary to what has been argued by some authors (Cummings 2005), it is obvious in many regards that the Soviet legacy, as well as the Russian influence on Kazakhstani politics, is still being felt today. This is what the various chapters of this book will explore by explaining that Kazakhstan’s governance is showing more continuity with its colonial past and that its willingness to assert its uniqueness is still mainly a symbolic phenomenon than a reality. Indeed, the continuity thesis with the Soviet legacy allows us to explain not only the persistence of the Russian influence on Kazakhstani politics but also its patterns of centralization and bureaucratization, as well as its reliance on autocracy and a lack of transparency and accountability.
It is a truism to say that being able to promote one’s independence and to avoid being seen in another country’s pay is fundamental for any nation. From a symbolic perspective, this capacity to show and promote one’s uniqueness on the world stage is a central tool for any nation-building process. This could, however, be very challenging for a nation that is geographically located next to a superpower, since the latter will very often tend to see the former as a necessary satellite that should dance to the sound of its tune. It is therefore very difficult for such a country to appear unique in the eyes of its people and not be seen as simply ‘bandwagoning’ with their nearby giant.1 History shows us that consequences can be serious when smaller or weaker countries have tried to severe ties with such a powerful state. This has been the case with Ukraine when it has tried to leave Moscow’s sphere of influence in favour of building closer connections with the West or when the Estonian government moved the Bronze Soldier of Tallinn, which led to great anger on the part of Moscow.2
Of course, as it is shown by Aziz Burkhanov and Neil Collins, Kazakhstan’s political culture is not homogeneous and solely associated with a willingness to replicate the Soviet legacy. This dominant political narrative is challenged by alternative views resulting from the appearance of an educated middle class as well as from individuals promoting a Kazakh nationalist agenda.
So far, the country’s president has been able to juggle with these competing narratives by the use of a skilful rhetoric that tends to affirm the specificity of the ‘Kazakhstani way’ in a manner that is not actually threatening for its powerful Russian neighbour. This is especially the case with Kazakhstan foreign policy commonly referred to as ‘multivectorism’. As Charles Sullivan is showing in his chapter, this policy that emphasizes the importance of maintaining cordial relations with all other states (especially, the great powers) is usually seen, and presented to Kazakhstani citizens, as a tool to affirm the country’s independence and to prevent it from becoming Moscow’s puppet by diversifying its political and economic ties with other powerful nations. As long as this policy was not impairing Russia’s international prestige and economic development, the Kremlin has shown a form of indifference with its biggest Central Asian ally. However, it is often said that war and conflict usually reveal a country’s true interests, and when asked to make a choice between its former colonial power and the West, the Kazakhstani government’s decision was clearly in favour of Moscow’s interests. Indeed, recent events that have exacerbated the tensions between Russia and the West tend to make this policy untenable and have led Kazakhstan to make decisions that clearly show that the country’s friendly relations with Russia (and China as another giant neighbour) supersede those with the West.
Moreover, as Beatrice Penati shows in her chapter, the way the Kazakhstani government has been dealing with the protection of environment over the last 25 years also shows a lot of similarities with the old Soviet way. Even though the government has emphasized its willingness to correct the environmental tragedies of the past, namely, the drying up of the Aral Sea and the long-term nuclear contamination in eastern Kazakhstan, it has not challenged the former logic. Indeed, the economic development of the country is still not prioritizing the externalities of projects on people and communities, but is rather focusing almost exclusively on the economics outputs that will result from them.
The judicial system is also another field where we can observe the persistence of the Soviet legacy. As shown by Alexei Trochev and Gavin Slade, the Kazakhstani penal culture, the emphasis on getting low numbers of acquittals, the pro-accusation bias in the criminal proceedings, as well as the lack of autonomy of the judicial system because of improper government influence are all signs of the remnants of the Soviet era. This is why, just as it was the case in the Soviet Union, Kazakhstani citizens continue to show a lack of trust towards criminal justice institutions and an unwillingness to cooperate with police forces.
The persistence of the Soviet legacy can also be seen from the angle of the civil society, namely, from those known as members of the ‘Nazarbayev generation’ (individuals aged between 18 and 29). As it has been regularly affirmed by the country’s president, it is obvious that these young individuals are privileged, compared with their elders. Indeed, they can benefit from a modern educational system, a world-class university in Astana and a possibility to pursue graduate studies abroad thanks to the Bolashak programme. For President Nazarbayev the development of their independent thinking will be a factor in the further development of their country. However, as data from Azamat Junisbai and Barbara Junisbai’s chapter show, these individuals are not advocating for political changes. On the contrary, their way of thinking about politics has a lot of similarities with the traditional Soviet attitude that emphasized a strong vertical and distant relationship between those in power and the citizens who remained disengaged, thereby reinforcing Kazakhstan’s authoritarianism and the power of its ageing nomenklatura that has been ruling the country since 1991.
In the same vein, Dina Sharipova also emphasizes the impact of the Soviet legacy when it comes to the structure, symbols and the administration of the state-created youth organizations. Despite the fact that the Soviet youth organizations—namely, the Komsomol and the Pioneers—have disappeared with the collapse of the Soviet Union, their model has nonetheless survived. It has indeed inspired the Kazakhstani authorities when they created similar organizations in the 2000s. For Sharipova, this legacy clearly shows how the state-society model of the former Soviet Union remains a central feature of post-independent Kazakhstan.
The persistence of the Soviet legacy among the Kazakhstani people can also be seen when it comes to religious practices. In appearance, it looks like there has been a dramatic shift when it comes to the practice of Islam since independence in light of the more than 2,500 mosques that have been built in Kazakhstan since 1991. But these data are hiding the fact that Kazakhstani people remain globally as atheist as they were before independence. Moreover, as Hélène Thibault shows in her chapter, this trend within the civil society must be coupled with the way the Kazakhstani government is managing religious diversity: a control that bears enormous similarities with the way religion was managed under the USSR .
While it is true that paternalism and a nostalgia for the former USSR are still the main features of the relationship between the Kazakhstani people and their government, there is, however, a growing willingness on the part of some citizens and members of the elite to really dissociate themselves from their past. This Kazakh nationalism is indeed more and more explicit in state’s discourses and in official policies that tend to reaffirm its language and culture. What has been labelled by many as the policy of ‘Kazakhisation’, for example, a form of ethnic conception of the nation, can be observed in many ways, such as the decision to abandon the Cyrillic alphabet in favour of the Latin one by 2025 or the celebration of the historical legacy of the Kazakh Kanate (kingdom) in 2015. However, this rhetoric of rupture with the Soviet legacy is especially seen in the urban development and architecture of the country’s planned capital Astana. As Jean-François Caron’s chapter argues, this form of Kazakhisation seems to be only the tip of the iceberg of a broader process that has become more and more explicit in the official rhetoric in the last five years, which may lead Kazakhstan onto a path that might create ethnic strife between the more than 100 ethnic and religious groups that can be found in the country.
Many reasons can explain Kazakhstan’s incapacity or unwillingness to dissociate itself from its past. The power of the Russian influence is certainly the main factor, as well as the fact that the country has been ruled since its independence by the same man whose political life was strongly influenced by the legacy of the Soviet Union.3 But, in light of the advanced age of its ruler, it is obvious that Kazakhstan is on the eve of a political transition that will see new faces ruling the country with potentially new ideas about how the country should affirm itself. Will this lead to a real break-up with the country’s past and a radical shift in the country’s policies? If this is the case, what will be the geopolitical consequences of this discontinuity? Only time will tell what might result from this hypothetical scenario. However, one cannot avoid thinking that the country’s smooth political and economic transitions, as well as its stability from the past 25 years, might be the result of this deliberate willingness to pursue a course of action that is basically the same as the one that had been in place for decades prior to the country’s independence. Old habits die hard, as it is often said, and Kazakhstan’s success story since its independence in 1991 might very well be the quintessential example of such a proverb.
References
- Caron, Jean-...