This essay is part of a series by American diplomats sharing their impressions of the dramatic early years of Central Asia’s independence from the Soviet Union.These memoirs were written at the invitation of the DavisCenter for Russian and Eurasian Studies at HarvardUniversity.
We publish these with special thanks to Nargis Kassenova, director of Davis’s Program on Central Asia.As I stood on the marble steps of Kyrgyzstan’s “White House,” sweltering in the late summer afternoon sun, I felt the cell phone in my suit pocket vibrate.
This was unexpected.I rarely got daytime calls during my business trips to Central Asia: the 10-hour time difference meant everyone back in Washington was asleep while I was having meetings, like the one I had just completed with a small group of Kyrgyz parliamentarians.
It was September 1, 2016 and, in my role as Deputy Assistant Secretary of State (DAS) for Central Asia, I was in the middle of a four-day visit to Kyrgyzstan, after which I was supposed to return home to Washington.
In a few days, Kyrgyzstan would be hosting the World Nomad Games there, and the Embassy had arranged for me to attend.I was excited at the prospect of getting outside of Bishkek to attend an unusual cultural and athletic event, including such exotic competitions as archery and wrestling on horseback, eagle hunting, and kok-boru, which some have described as “rugby on horseback,” with a 60-pound headless goat as the ball.
But when my phone rang unexpectedly on that hot day in Bishkek, that carefully planned trip got turned inside out.Although I did end up getting to see a portion of the Nomad Games, my time in Kyrgyzstan was cut short to add a stop in Tashkent.
I had expected to return home with colorful stories to share about nomadic sporting events that none of my friends and colleagues had ever seen.Instead, I got the diplomatic equivalent of a front-row seat to a different sort of event: one of most important political transitions in modern Central Asian history.
I remember thinking, as I pulled the phone out of my pocket, that it might be my wife calling to wish me a happy anniversary.Yes, September 1 was our wedding anniversary.
In fact, in one of life’s strange coincidences, we were married on September 1, 1991 the very same day that Uzbekistan declared its independence from the Soviet Union!
Later, when I served in Tashkent, I used to joke that Uzbekistan’s Independence Day was my “Dependence Day” when I vowed mutual dependence to the love of my life!
Admittedly a corny line, but one my Uzbek friends always seemed to appreciate.But no, it was not my wife on the phone.To my complete surprise, it was Uzbekistan’s then-ambassador to Washington, Bakhtiyar Gulyamov.
Although we met fairly often back in DC, Ambassador Gulyamov had never, to my recollection, called me.Even through the static of a lousy connection, I could hear the stress in his voice.
He sounded forced, unnatural, as if he were reading from a prepared script as he undoubtedly was.Gulyamov was delivering a message about the health of Uzbekistan’s president, Islam Karimov.
Rumors that the 78-year-old Karimov had experienced a “medical incident” had begun trickling out of Tashkent four days earlier, and on August 29, his younger daughter Lola posted on social media that he had suffered a brain hemorrhage but was in “stable condition.” This was not confirmed or denied by any official government source, so the Uzbek public and international community were left to speculate.
Rumors began circulating that Karimov had already died and that the top leadership was stalling for time while it figured out a succession plan.Karimov never discussed succession publicly especially after his elder daughter and once presumed successor, Gulnara, had fallen out of favor in 2014 and was placed under house arrest, charged with heading a criminal organization, money laundering, extortion, and embezzling state assets totaling hundreds of millions of dollars.
No one knew if there in fact was a succession plan and what it might be a not untypical situation in a political system where authority is concentrated in a single, all-powerful leader.
As a professional “Central Asia watcher,” I had obviously been following news of Karimov’s health with tremendous interest, so I listened carefully to what Gulyamov was saying.His message was along these lines: you might have heard that our President is very ill; he is indeed in serious condition and has had several setbacks; however, he is getting the best care from the best Uzbek doctors, and there is a chance he will have a full recovery.
I recall my instinctive reaction being “the Ambassador doth protest too much.” If the intention was to control the narrative and squelch rumors that he was already dead, it had the opposite effect.
The very next day, Karimov’s death was publicly announced.There were many, varied descriptions of Karimov during his lifetime: father of Uzbek independence; proud economist with two decades experience in Soviet central planning (and little appreciation for or understanding of market economics); dogged defender of Uzbekistan’s sovereignty; thin-skinned politician, with a proclivity for picking fights with neighbors and obstructing efforts at regional cooperation; ruthless autocrat with no tolerance for foreign criticism of his government’s human rights record.
But there was one thing it seemed everyone could agree on: Karimov would always be Uzbekistan’s leader.Until September 2, 2016 when, suddenly, he was not.And by fortunate coincidence, I happened to be next door in Kyrgyzstan.
I called our Ambassador in Uzbekistan, Pamela Spratlen a colleague and friend going back to the late 1990s, when she was posted in Moscow and I was the person in Washington responsible for our then-enormous assistance to Russia to ask whether it made sense for me to come to Tashkent.
Perhaps I should skip the Nomad Games and try to get there for the funeral on September 3?This might be an opportune moment, I suggested, for a relatively senior U.S.
official to show up and pay respects and perhaps get a preview of what to expect from a post-Karimov Uzbekistan.Ambassador Spratlen agreed, but recommended delaying my arrival until a couple of days after the funeral: “wait until Monday when things will have settled down,” she said. “We can get you some good meetings then.” This sage advice had the added benefit of allowing me to attend the opening ceremony of the Nomad Games the following day.
And after a shorter than planned stay at the Games which were held on the shores of Kyrgyzstan’s beautiful LakeIssyk-Kul I was driven back to Bishkek, from where, on September 5, I flew to Tashkent.
Ten years ago, there were no direct air connections between Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan, a legacy of Karimov’s contentious relations with his Central Asian neighbors.So, I flew first to Almaty, Kazakhstan, connecting from there to the Uzbek capital.
What should have been an hour and a half flight instead took the better part of a day.The opportunity costs of poor neighborly relations were patently obvious, impeding economic growth and the daily lives of Uzbeks and their neighbors.
The question now on the minds of millions of Central Asians (and others outside the region who followed its politics closely): would the regional dynamic change after Karimov’s passing?
Late that afternoon, together with Ambassador Spratlen, I was taken to the Oqsaroy Presidential Palace, Karimov’s former residence and office, where a temporary memorial had been set up for mourners to pay their respects.
We saw a long line of ordinary citizens awaiting their turn, the queue snaking outside for some considerable distance.Looking at their faces, I recognized that people were experiencing genuine grief at having lost the only President independent Uzbekistan had ever known.
It reminded me of accounts I read while studying Soviet history about the shock and sadness felt by the vast majority of Soviet citizens when Stalin died in 1953.
It may seem incredible to us today that such an immensely cruel leader, a man responsible for the murder of tens of millions of his own citizens, would be missed, even deeply mourned, by the survivors.
Yet in the context of a society where his personality had filled every conceivable corner of life for three decades, it is actually not surprising that Stalin’s sudden absence would be deeply felt.
While I would not stretch the analogy too far for all the abuses committed under his leadership, Karimov was no Stalin I firmly believe a similar psychological effect was experienced by the Uzbek public during those early days following his death.
As Pamela and I approached the building where mourners could pay respects to the former President, we were relieved to see that foreign diplomats were being directed to a separate, much shorter line.
So within just a few minutes, we were laying flowers at the Karimov memorial, as the local press snapped photos.From there, we were ushered into a separate side room for a meeting with the Deputy Chairman of Uzbekistan’s Senate, former Ambassador to the United States and Minister of Foreign Affairs, Sadiq Safoyev.
Safoyev was one of our key interlocutors in the Uzbek government, seen as someone who truly understood the American mentality.It made perfect sense that when our Embassy requested meetings for the visiting DAS, the Government had proposed Senator Safoyev.
Safoyev and I had established a good rapport in earlier years (I still recall fondly a long and fascinating discussion with him, during a dinner at the 2014 US-Uzbekistan Annual Bilateral Consultations, about the philosophical underpinnings of Marxism and how they had been adapted by Lenin and Stalin to the Russian context).
So, our conversation flowed easily.He explained all the details surrounding the President’s death, and how the Senate had been involved in his funeral and other arrangements to ensure continuity of government.
He emphasized that constitutional procedures were being strictly followed, knowing instinctively this is something U.S.officials would care about.That meant, he explained, that the Chairman of the Senate would become the “interim president” a caretaker role until such time as elections for a new president could be organized.
Above all, he expressed gratitude for the written statement issued by President Obama several days earlier, in which he had said: “As Uzbekistan begins a new chapter in its history, the United States remains committed to partnership with Uzbekistan, to its sovereignty, security, and to a future based on the rights of all its citizens.” I was concerned Safoyev might be critical of the statement for its failure to say anything positive about Karimov it contained no acknowledgement of his contribution to Uzbekistan’s independence, no tributes to his leadership or regrets about his passing.
Instead, he chose to focus on Obama’s reference to a “new chapter,” assuring me we should expect to see new initiatives coming out of a new government.He was not specific about what those were and likely did not know himself at this point in the transition but implied they would almost certainly allow us to turn over a new leaf in the bilateral relationship.
The next day, September 6, I had the opportunity to meet with Foreign Minister Abdulaziz Kamilov.Kamilov and I had sat across diplomatic tables from one another many times before.
From an American perspective, he was a reliable interlocutor, sort of the “Northern Star” for our bilateral relationship, having served as Foreign Minister from 1994-2003, ambassador to the United States from 2003-10, and then Foreign Minister again since 2012.
I had first met him during his time as Ambassador in Washington, while I was the Coordinator of U.S.Assistance to all the former Soviet republics.Then, we were frequently discussing how to maintain minimal levels of U.S.
assistance in Uzbekistan, especially following the killing of protesters in Andijon in May 2005, which caused a major rupture in the bilateral relationship after the United States condemned the shootings and joined the EU and the UN in calling for an independent, international investigation. [The violent suppression of protesters by Uzbek government forces in Andijon resulted in hundreds of civilian deaths.
Following armed prison breaks that released accused extremists, thousands gathered to protest poverty and repression.Authorities surrounded the crowd, firing indiscriminately, killing men, women, and children].During my DAS years that followed (2014-18), I visited Tashkent frequently, sometimes solo and sometimes as part of larger U.S.
delegations, including for what we called the Annual Bilateral Consultations or “ABCs.” Alternating yearly between Tashkent and Washington, the ABCs were a full-day review of all aspects of the bilateral relationship political, economic, security, and what were euphemistically labeled “humanitarian” issues, including human rights, educational exchanges and other “people-to-people” linkages.
I had grown accustomed to always being received by Kamilov at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.He was consistently warm, attentive and open to discussing any issue, no matter how difficult or complex.
He frequently remarked that even though we surely would not agree on everything, the important thing for Uzbekistan was to have “stable and predictable” relations with the United States.
In diplomatic as in interpersonal relations, the more often you talk to the same person, the more relaxed and informal your communication becomes.Over time, Kamilov and I developed a sort of friendly banter, even when discussing sensitive subjects.
When it came time to raise the “uncomfortable” portion of our bilateral agenda, I would begin by saying: “Mr.Minister, consistent with your wish for stable and predictable relations,’ I am now, very predictably, going to talk about human rights!” He would chuckle.
And then I would go through the litany of our concerns: the seemingly ever-growing list of people imprisoned for exercising free speech; the persecution of observant Muslims and discrimination against minority faiths, especially evangelical Christians; the extensive use of forced labor, including children, in the annual cotton harvest, and so on.
Usually he would listen politely, then respond by reading prepared notes outlining all the excellent progress being made in each of these areas: some prisoners had been amnestied; a few churches had been registered; child labor had been eliminated.
Sometimes, I would hear a more robust defense of overall government policy and the need to maintain certain “controls” over society; this was usually based on the threat of terrorism (which was undeniably real) and the imperative to avoid Islamic radicalism taking root in Uzbekistan.
We would usually conclude our exchange by agreeing to disagree about the appropriate balance between freedom and security.Sometimes, I would add a comment to the effect that we were underachieving on the potential of the bilateral relationship, that so much more would be possible if only we could make more progress on these “humanitarian” issues, which remained important to the Obama Administration, the U.S.
Congress, and the American people.I do not remember all the details of my conversation with the foreign minister on September 6, 2016 but one thing stands out in my memory: although appropriately somber for this period of mourning, Kamilov seemed “lighter” to me, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Like Safoyev, he expressed a strong desire to strengthen the U.S.-Uzbek partnership.But he also spoke at length about the need to make improving relations with Uzbekistan’s immediate neighbors the number one foreign policy priority, and how this was essential to stability and prosperity in the region.
Based on body language and tone of voice, he appeared energized, as if given a new sense of purpose, an opportunity to make his natural foreign policy instincts the basis for a reshaped Uzbek foreign policy. (Was I imagining all this?
I will never know for certain but I recall that Pamela Spratlen, who was at the table with me, took away a similar impression).My sense that something fundamental might be changing was amplified by the knowledge that Kamilov had been an early and enthusiastic supporter of the U.S.-Central Asia “C5+1” diplomatic format despite the fact that his own president was at best ambivalent, and at times openly hostile towards the idea of closer regional cooperation.
The C5+1 had been launched 10 months before Karimov’s death, during John Kerry’s historic tour of all five Central Asian states in the fall of 2015.
The first secretary of state to visit all five countries in a single trip, Kerry met with heads of state in Bishkek, Astana, Dushanbe and Ashgabat but the centerpiece was a gathering in Samarkand with all five CEN foreign ministers.
I was part of that epic journey, which we were able to pull off only because secretaries of state are entitled to the use of U.S.military aircraft.
Non-existent commercial air links between capitals would otherwise have made the trip impossible.I have many vivid memories from that trip but chief among them were two incidents that demonstrated the dysfunctionality of Central Asian regional relations in 2015 and why it was hard to imagine those regional dynamics changing as long as Yurtboshi sat at the center of them all. [Yurtboshi means Father of the Nation,” literally “Head of the Yurt-Dwellers”.
A less than flattering nickname commonly used to refer to Karimov during his rule].Two days before that first C5+1 meeting in Samarkand, I was sitting in a hotel restaurant in Bishkek when my cell phone (that fateful phone again!) rang.
This time it was Tajik Foreign Minister, Sirojiddin Aslov. [Three years later, Aslov changed his surname to Muhriddin, part of a larger trend of officials “Tajikifying” their names as an assertion of national identity].
Aslov and I also knew each other well from numerous meetings, so I was not shocked he would call me, presumably to discuss the upcoming meeting with Secretary Kerry.
But I was completely taken aback by his query: could I intervene with the Uzbek authorities to have them open the border crossing at Panjakent, so that he and his entourage could drive through there on their way to Samarkand?
Looking at a regional map quickly revealed the logic of Aslov’s request: Dushanbe to Samarkand is a straight shot west, on pretty good roads, about a five-hour drive if you can cross the border at Panjakent.
Unfortunately, this had been impossible since the early 2000s, when Uzbekistan closed nearly all its border crossings with Tajikistan due to “regional security threats.” The Panjakent crossing had been closed since 2003.
But the Tajiks believed that perhaps in the spirit of regional solidarity surrounding this C5+1 gathering the Uzbeks would see their way clear to facilitating an efficient journey by FM Aslov, even if it required a temporary exception to border policy.
If they would not do so, Aslov explained, his alternative was to cross at the one remaining open border point, Oybek-Fotekhobod near Khujand, in the northern part of the Tajikistan.
This would require a long and circuitous drive over the mountains and through the so-called “Tunnel of Death”: the Iranian-built, five-kilometer long Anzob tunnel, notorious for poor lighting, massive potholes, and a terrible ventilation system that could lead to dangerous build-ups of noxious gases.
He expected this route would take upwards of 12 hours to get to Samarkand.Could I persuade our Uzbek colleagues to do their Tajik brothers this small favor?
I dialed up FM Kamilov and posed the question.Based on his tone of voice, I had the feeling he was sympathetic.But he explained in no uncertain terms that this was not a decision he could make on his own.
It would need to go up the chain.An hour later, he called back to inform me that, sadly, there was no way to open the Panjakent crossing on such short notice.
It had been closed for 12 years already; there were land mines planted in parts of the surrounding territory; it simply was not safe.He implied the decision had been made at the very top.
I then conveyed the bad news to Aslov.Although he did not seem at all surprised, he sighed deeply, contemplating the long and treacherous car journey ahead.Two days later, the secretary’s plane was supposed to arrive in Samarkand from Bishkek.
As we approached the airport, our Air Force crew informed the traveling party that due to poor visibility and inclement weather, landing was not possible.However, knowing that President Karimov had traveled down from Tashkent just to meet him and that five Foreign Ministers were waiting for him on the ground as well Secretary Kerry was not about to give up so easily.
We circled for nearly two hours, waiting for the clouds to dissipate.Diverting to Almaty or flying back to Bishkek were both seriously discussed as contingencies.Finally, just when fuel levels were becoming a concern, the fog cleared enough for us to land.
The visit of an American secretary of state to Uzbekistan was a big deal, especially considering the difficult period in bilateral relations we had experienced over the previous decade.
To his credit, Karimov had graciously agreed to host this first C5+1 meeting an idea pitched to him first by Assistant Secretary of State for South and Central Asian Affairs Nisha Biswal during a visit to Tashkent for the ABCs in December 2014 and had decided to travel down to Samarkand to personally greet Secretary Kerry.
This was very much in keeping with deeply embedded Uzbek traditions of hospitality.It was also anticipated that Karimov would take full advantage of this opportunity to “explain” Uzbekistan and the rest of the region to the secretary.
And explain he did.As had often happened with previous high-level visitors, Karimov opened by talking at his guest for 90 minutes straight.Scheduled for an hour, the meeting lasted nearly two and a half.
Perhaps he felt especially entitled to take his time, after waiting so long for our plane. (I was told later that Uzbek ground controllers were bemused by our pilots’ refusal to land; apparently the Air Force’s strict protocols for acceptable landing conditions did not match up with the Uzbeks’ more “forgiving” criteria).
I did not make the cut to be in the room for this meeting but was briefed immediately afterwards by Assistant Secretary Biswal and others.It was a monologue only Karimov could deliver: full of impassioned commentary on the threat of terrorism, the misdeeds of neighbors who sought to take advantage of his country’s vulnerabilities, and the need for Uzbekistan to take its own economic and political path, based on security and self-reliance.
Leaving the meeting, Kerry was heard to comment that this may have been the most difficult meeting to sit through since a five-hour session with President Ferdinand Marcos thirty years earlier (just before the “People Power Revolution” that toppled the Philippine leader).
I guess if you have heard one aging autocrat justify his decades-long rule in full transmit mode for multiple hours, you have heard them all!Clearly, something about the one-way flow of information and opinions coming from the Uzbek President had triggered a flashback to Manila in 1986.
After Kerry was finally freed up to meet his counterparts in the first-ever C5+United States meeting; after the long ceremonial dinner that followed; and after what seemed like a very short rest at a Samarkand hotel, a tired State Department traveling party got back on our plane to fly to Kazakhstan for the third leg of the odyssey.
Upon landing in Astana, the Secretary was whisked to the Ak Orda Presidential Palace to see President Nursultan Nazarbayev.Warmly greeting the secretary, Nazarbayev smiled wryly and said: “Mr.
Secretary, the floor is yours.I am going to let you have the first word.I suspect you did not get to say very much yesterday in Samarkand!” Clearly, Nazarbayev was well-acquainted with his long-time comrade and sometime rival, Islam Karimov.
Fast forward 10 months later: it is September 2016 and I am back in that room in the Foreign Ministry in Tashkent, meeting with an energized Foreign Minister Kamilov, talking about the post-Karimov future of regional cooperation.
By now the C5+1 had begun to take on more substance: the six ministers had met again in Washington that summer; working groups had been convened on specific topics like trade, energy and security; and USAID was providing additional technical assistance aimed at bolstering regional cooperation on things like water resource management and harmonization of customs procedures.
Kamilov recognized the promise such enhanced cooperation held for the ability of Central Asian states to develop alternatives to total reliance on their big neighbors to the north and the east.
And he fully agreed with my assessment that, ultimately, the key outcome from the C5+1 platform should not be enhanced cooperation with America as desirable as this was but rather “a stronger C5, without any pluses or minuses!” I returned home on September 7, without enough information to make confident predictions but with a generally positive feeling about the future of U.S.-Uzbek bilateral relations.
And the very next day, September 8, Uzbekistan’s Senate Chairman, Nigmatilla Yuldashev, declined to take on the role of Interim President citing his “inexperience” and recommended Prime Minister Shavkat Miromonovich Mirziyoyev for the job instead.
Mirziyoyev was appointed by the Uzbek Parliament (Oliy Majlis) to the position, pending elections to be held in December.The news that Karimov’s faithful Prime Minister of the previous thirteen years had become the Acting President and presumed successor did not come as a shock to anyone.
Although we knew relatively little about Mirziyoyev he had very much operated behind the scenes, apparently focusing on domestic affairs and never meeting with foreign visitors or diplomatic representatives it was generally assumed that any successor from the President’s inner circle would simply rule as Karimov 2.0.
That he would pursue the same aggressively isolationist foreign policy and the same autarkic economic policies, maintaining state ownership and suffocating regulation of the small private sector; and that he would demonstrate the same lack of tolerance for political opposition and independent civil society.
From his very first speech to the Parliament on September 8, however, it was very clear that we had misjudged Shavkat Mirziyoyev.While that speech did not fully lay out the sweeping program of liberalizing economic and political reforms that unfolded over the first several years of Mirziyoyev’s presidency, it hinted at big changes to come domestically.
And with respect to external policy, Mirziyoyev made clear that this was a new day, explicitly declaring stronger relations with Central Asia as the top priority what came to be called his “Neighbors First” foreign policy.
About six weeks later, in late October 2016, I traveled back to the region once again, this time accompanying Undersecretary of State for Political Affairs Thomas Shannon.Shannon occupied the third most important position in the State Department hierarchy, traditionally the highest position held by a career Foreign Service officer.
The fact that State Department leadership had sent him to Central Asia indicated how much importance was being attached to the changes underway in Uzbekistan.Undersecretary Shannon and I visited Kyrgyzstan and then Kazakhstan together, and had many useful meetings and site visits, including an inspection of the American Pavilion at the site of the upcoming World Expo 2017 in Astana, and a discussion in Bishkek about how to renegotiate our lapsed bilateral assistance agreement.
But the most highly anticipated stop was clearly Tashkent.And unlike practically every other visit to Uzbekistan over the previous 25 years, it was suddenly difficult to know exactly what our host government interlocutors were going to say or how those conversations would unfold.
In the world of diplomatic relations, where everyone strives to be “stable and predictable,” it is a rare and frankly exhilarating feeling not to know what to expect!Undersecretary Shannon’s meeting with the President did not disappoint.
Again, Mirziyoyev had been essentially unknown to us.Embassy Tashkent’s archives showed that, during his 13 years as Karimov’s Prime Minister, a series of visiting U.S.
officials had asked to meet with him not once had those requests been granted.The same appeared to be true for our like-minded partners in the diplomatic community.
Which meant that everything known about him was based on public speeches, official media reporting, and the usual assortment of gossip and third-hand stories.The picture that emerged was of the consummate “inside man,” adept at managing the bureaucracy and of course completely loyal to the supreme leader.
Clearly very well-briefed (no doubt by Foreign Minister Kamilov and others), Mirziyoyev warmly welcomed the undersecretary and commented on his schedule.He expressed deep appreciation for Shannon having traveled to Samarkand, in order to pay respects at the gravesite of the late president, as well as taking in the most significant cultural sites of that city, so important to Uzbek national identity.
He also commented favorably on the undersecretary’s visit earlier that day to a Paralympics training compound (where Shannon had put on boxing gloves and playfully sparred in the ring with several of the parathletes).
And he also expressed appreciation for Shannon’s meeting with the leaders of Uzbekistan’s major religious denominations, which showed respect for the country’s long tradition of religious tolerance. (The last point was clearly aimed at a point of perennial bilateral contention: our strong criticism of Uzbek government persecution of religious minorities in the annual Freedom of Religion report).
In an extended tribute to his former boss who he called the “George Washington of Uzbekistan” Mirziyoyev focused on Karimov’s role in establishing the country’s independence and constantly seeking to strengthen its sovereignty.
To illustrate his point, he shared an extended account of the moment when Uzbekistan declared its independence in 1991.As a deputy in what was then the Supreme Soviet (parliament) of the Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republic, Mirziyoyev personally witnessed the stunned silence in the room when Karimov announced that independence had arrived, and how he inspired everyone with his stirring call for all to stand up and support the new Uzbek state.
Stressing how much courage this took when Soviet tanks were still stationed at the nearby Turkestan military garrison, the president said Uzbekistan would not “throw stones on the memory of its first president,” unlike some other (unnamed) countries.
Mirziyoyev then spent time outlining his foreign policy priorities.At first, these sounded like a continuation of Karimov’s: preserving sovereignty and independence, and defending the country’s “inviolable” borders; prohibitions on both the deployment of Uzbek troops outside its own borders and the hosting of any foreign military bases.
But he then repeated the line from his September 8 speech about the “first direction” of Uzbekistan’s foreign policy being better relations with immediate neighbors.And as if to demonstrate this was not just a rhetorical flourish, he went on to outline specific areas where improved relations were most needed, such as sorting out the sharing of water resources and electrical power with Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan.
He added Afghanistan’s economic recovery as an important goal, and for the first time mentioned to an American official something that would later become a fixation during my period as ambassador: the need to extend railway lines originating in Uzbekistan deeper into Afghanistan, where they might connect to markets in South Asia.
The president then ticked off an impressive list of areas where the U.S.and Uzbekistan were already cooperating to mutual benefit, and expressed his desire to see that cooperation grow.
He highlighted the successes of several American multinationals and the gradual growth of bilateral trade, and thanked the Undersecretary for a series of bilateral military training events, as well the provision of useful military equipment.
He even gave a shout out to the transfer to the Uzbek military of 328 “excess” Mine Resistant Ambush Protected armored vehicles that had occurred two years prior, declaring that he had ridden in the MRAPs himself, praising their mobility, and commenting that “every soldier knows they come from the United States.” And he expressed a strong wish to see more Uzbek young people study at the best U.S.
universities.In a real contrast to his predecessor, Mirziyoyev made a point of raising issues of democracy and human rights, without prompting by the undersecretary.He described efforts already underway to develop democratic principles in the judicial system, combat corruption, and protect the economic rights of entrepreneurs.
And he singled out the issue of forced labor in the cotton harvest (something we knew he had been focused on as Prime Minister) for special mention.Maintaining that Uzbekistan had made significant progress over the past four years in eliminating child labor and reducing adult involuntary labor, he also implied further work was required, assuring the undersecretary that cooperation with the International Labor Organization would continue.
As the meeting drew to an end, Mirziyoyev seemed to warm to these themes, telling Shannon how pleased he was to be able to discuss his plans to expand democracy and protect human rights.
This led him to describe another new initiative (which did not seem to be in his meeting notes): the creation of a new Internet portal for direct citizen access to their leaders.
He noted nearly 100,000 Uzbeks had already used it to send messages to him.This was aimed, he explained, at fundamentally changing the way the state interacts with its citizens.
Mostly in listening mode for this initial meeting, Undersecretary Shannon expressed the U.S.desire to identify common goals and find ways of ramping up cooperation, even in areas where we sometimes had different perspectives.
For his part, Mirziyoyev made clear he saw this as only the beginning of a newly positive trajectory for what he referred to throughout as Uzbekistan’s “strategic” relationship with the United States.
We came away with the sense that, while a product of the Karimov regime, Mirziyoyev was very much his own man and a fundamentally different sort of leader.Upbeat and focused throughout the meeting, he seemed almost eager to demonstrate a new approach, particularly with his emphasis on the “neighbors first” foreign policy, his praise for US military and economic engagement, and his frank acknowledgement that Uzbekistan had some work to do on its governance.
Towards the end of that Shannon meeting, Mirziyoyev used an evocative line that is embedded in my memory to this day likely because I heard him express similar sentiments more than once in later years.
I may not have the words exactly right, but it was, essentially: “we’ve been sleeping for the past 25 years; it’s past time for us to wake up!” He knew his country needed to transform and was impatient to get started.
Whatever one thinks of Mirziyoyev’s “New Uzbekistan” and 10 years on, there are clearly grounds for skepticism about the results of reform there is no doubt fundamental change was long overdue in 2016, and that he recognized this from Day One of his presidency.
And thanks to a twist of fate and an unexpected call on a hot day in Bishkek, I was there when Uzbekistan began to “wake up”!