When I first heard the news about political unrest in Kazakhstan in early January of 2022, I didn’t give it much attention. After all, I had no expectation that I would end up visiting Kazakhstan in the near future. I remember hearing about dissatisfaction with gas prices, a viral video of protestors charging police on horseback, and Kazakhstan’s president inviting Russian troops into the country. But after a day or two, it fell out of the news. Two months later, Russia invaded Ukraine. America and the world forgot about the events in Kazakhstan, if they had ever occupied our minds in the first place.
But did people here forget? Upon arriving in Kazakhstan, I soon found the answer to that question wasn’t simple. As my host father was driving me from the airport after I landed here in March, he pointed out a government building covered in scaffolding, and told me that it had been burned by protestors last January. Outside of that, the physical legacy of the protests seemed relatively scant. Most notably, many signs on Nazarbayev Street, torn down by protestors dissatisfied with the eponymous former president, still had not been replaced a year and a half later. But I doubt I would have noticed their absence had it not been pointed out, as neglected building repairs are not exactly rare in Almaty.
On one of our first days here, we were led on a walking tour by Azhar, a former student of Victoria’s. Not only does she live in Almaty, but she was also an active participant in the protests, present when security forces opened fire on protestors without warning. I was a bit surprised to hear her describe the experience so matter-of-factly and readily, and was intrigued to hear more. Later on, in a “Dutch Pancake House” perched on a balcony underneath the vast roof of Almaty’s bustling Green Bazaar, she gave us a more in depth account of what happened.
It started out in the west of Kazakhstan, in opposition the repeal of price controls on natural gas in the middle of winter. Within days, the protest movement spread to cities across Kazakhstan and acquired a broader, anti-government meaning. According to another activist we spoke with, grievances ranged from to the falling value of the Tenge against foreign currencies, to the government’s authoritarian practices, antiquated views on social issues, and lack of democratic accountability. By the time the government promised to reduce the price of natural gas, it was too late to stem the tide of demonstrations.
There was no single leader to speak for the entire movement, but it coalesced around opposition to the legacy of former president Nursultan Nazarbayev. Beginning his career in the Communist Party of the Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic, in 1991 Nazarbayev suddenly found himself at the head of the last independent nation to emerge from the disintegrating Soviet Union. Nazarbayev ruled as president for nearly three decades before handing off the position to longtime underling Kassym-Jomart Tokayev in 2019. Nazarbayev didn’t disappear however, receiving an honorific title as “Leader of the Nation” and retaining the chairmanship of the ruling political party as well as Kazakhstan’s Security Council. Astana, the capital of Kazakhstan, was even renamed in his honor.
In addition to his behind-the-scenes power, public monuments to Nazarbayev, from street signs to statues, became targets of the protestors, who adopted the slogan “shel ket!” (leave, geezer!). As battles with security forces intensified, the government cracked down. The internet was shut off. Reinforcements from Russia and its dwindling collection of post-soviet allies were requested. President Tokayev gave a televised speech in which he claimed that thousands of terrorists had infiltrated Kazakhstan. Finally, he announced that police had been ordered to shoot protestors, a warning he neglected to convey to those in the streets at the moment.
As the shots rang out, Azhar ran for her life through the sea of panicked and even some visibly wounded protestors, scrambling to assure her mother that she was safe. She had expected danger, but not a massacre. How does a person make sense of such an experience? For people like my host family, who remained at home the entire time, those days were “scary.” For Azhar, I can’t even imagine what it was like. She didn’t express much strong emotion as she speculated about how the government might have released criminals into the crowd to create violence, or how Nazarbayev’s nephew might have orchestrated the chaos in order to take down Tokayev.
Her reaction encapsulates the general mood I felt in Kazakhstan. Some of the changes demanded by the protestors have been realized, Nazarbayev having stepped down from his remaining political offices and Astana having returned to its previous name. But especially compared to the aftermath of the 2014 Euromaidan protests in Ukraine, much remains the same. Nobody I talked to expressed positive views of Tokayev, but at the same time none seemed to have much hope that this new shel would ket. Calm has returned to Kazakhstan, but over two hundred people shot by the government never will. Will these protests be remembered as a key turning point for Kazakhstan’s politics, or glossed over in history books? Only time will tell.
