Edward Stourton: Kyrgyzstan ... Stalin's deadly legacy
[Edward Stourton is a BBC broadcaster and the presenter of BBC Radio 4's Sunday programme, and a former presenter of the Today programme on the same network.]
Two days before Osh erupted, my BBC colleagues and I dined at the city's sole international restaurant. It was a balmy evening, and we were shown to a table on the terrace.
But our absorption in the menu was interrupted by an embarrassed waitress; the other group on the terrace didn't like us so close, and we would have to move. At the neighbouring table a group of men in shiny suits had a half-eaten banquet laid out before them, and they were drinking vodka toasts. More to the point, they were being looked after by an intimidating bunch of heavies. We moved.
I asked our Kyrgyz driver whether humiliation like this was usual on an evening out. He shrugged and identified our fellow diners as an officer from the security forces, a local politician and a group of mafia bosses. He'd heard them discussing how to stitch up the referendum on a new constitution which is due in Kyrgyzstan on Sunday.
Whether their plans included inciting violence I do not know, but the incident offered a glimpse into the way politics in Kyrgyzstan really work. The country has had two bloody revolutions in five years; in both cases authoritarian leaders were kicked out because of popular anger about the way they were ripping off the country. The interim president, Rosa Otunbayeva, is trying to break the cycle by introducing a parliamentary system, and this week's referendum is a critical step on that road. But she is fighting powerful interest groups.
She blames supporters of the exiled president, Kurmanbek Bakiyev, for the latest outbreak of violence in Osh, and the Bakiyev camp has already tried one counter-revolution. In mid-May a group of his southern supporters took over the main government building in Jalalabad (a couple of hours' drive from Osh) and appointed their own regional governor. They were driven out by an anti-Bakiyev crowd in a brutal confrontation that left several people dead.
I visited the Bakiyev family home, just outside Jalalabad, which was attacked in the aftermath. It was once an impressive complex of buildings around a pretty garden, with a vast ornamental yurt at the centre. No longer. The compound was sacked with an awe-inspiring thoroughness; every building, including the yurt, had been put to the torch.
There are multiple versions of why this happened, and they reflect the layers of hatred and suspicion in Kyrgyz society...
Read entire article at Guardian (UK)
Two days before Osh erupted, my BBC colleagues and I dined at the city's sole international restaurant. It was a balmy evening, and we were shown to a table on the terrace.
But our absorption in the menu was interrupted by an embarrassed waitress; the other group on the terrace didn't like us so close, and we would have to move. At the neighbouring table a group of men in shiny suits had a half-eaten banquet laid out before them, and they were drinking vodka toasts. More to the point, they were being looked after by an intimidating bunch of heavies. We moved.
I asked our Kyrgyz driver whether humiliation like this was usual on an evening out. He shrugged and identified our fellow diners as an officer from the security forces, a local politician and a group of mafia bosses. He'd heard them discussing how to stitch up the referendum on a new constitution which is due in Kyrgyzstan on Sunday.
Whether their plans included inciting violence I do not know, but the incident offered a glimpse into the way politics in Kyrgyzstan really work. The country has had two bloody revolutions in five years; in both cases authoritarian leaders were kicked out because of popular anger about the way they were ripping off the country. The interim president, Rosa Otunbayeva, is trying to break the cycle by introducing a parliamentary system, and this week's referendum is a critical step on that road. But she is fighting powerful interest groups.
She blames supporters of the exiled president, Kurmanbek Bakiyev, for the latest outbreak of violence in Osh, and the Bakiyev camp has already tried one counter-revolution. In mid-May a group of his southern supporters took over the main government building in Jalalabad (a couple of hours' drive from Osh) and appointed their own regional governor. They were driven out by an anti-Bakiyev crowd in a brutal confrontation that left several people dead.
I visited the Bakiyev family home, just outside Jalalabad, which was attacked in the aftermath. It was once an impressive complex of buildings around a pretty garden, with a vast ornamental yurt at the centre. No longer. The compound was sacked with an awe-inspiring thoroughness; every building, including the yurt, had been put to the torch.
There are multiple versions of why this happened, and they reflect the layers of hatred and suspicion in Kyrgyz society...