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Common Language Project
Trouble In The Suburbs
The Dark Side of Post-Soviet Development in Kazakhstan
By Sarah Stuteville
June 28, 2006
Almaty, KAZAKHSTAN—The sounds of construction are ubiquitous
in Almaty. Pounding jackhammers, whining saws and lumbering bulldozers are at
work on almost every block of this green, mountain-rimmed Central Asian city.
This breakneck development takes place alongside the expensive bistros and
Mercedes dealerships that cater to a new generation reveling in the riches of
recently discovered oil and gas reserves, giving this city—once considered a
sleepy Soviet outpost—a powerfully wealthy and cosmopolitan veneer.
But all is not well in this city lauded as an economic giant in the region, a
model of expedient privatization and post-Soviet development. Kazakhstan’s
reality check lies only a few miles outside the city center where a growing
movement of discontent among those left behind by the recent boom tells a very
different story and reveals a country developing on the shaky foundations of
corruption and disparity.
“The oil boom provided enormous wealth,” says Yevgeniy Zhovtis, founder of the
Kazakhstan International Bureau for Human Rights and Rule of Law, “but it only
happened for some and they are concentrated here in the city. Economically
speaking, in Almaty you are Europe, but ten kilometers outside of the center,
you are in Asia.”
Demolitions for Development
Nowhere is the economic and cultural schizophrenia of Kazakhstan more pronounced
than in the embattled community of Shanyrak on the fringes of Almaty. Here over
100,000 poor and working class people have found themselves pitched against a
government determined to sell their property to the highest bidder—in this case
a developer looking to build a water park—and clashing with police squads sent
to forcibly push residents out. Ironically, it was this very government that
less than a decade ago encouraged Shanyrak into existence.
When the Soviet Union fell and Kazakhstan became an independent nation in 1991
there was a concerted effort on the part of the newly formed government to
integrate ethnic Kazakhs, many of whom lived in far flung rural regions, into
urban centers dominated by ethnic Russians. Those lured by promises of cheap
land in the outskirts of cities like Almaty bought modest plots from local
officials and set to work building new lives in a brand new country.
But alongside rapid development and oil prosperity, a culture of corruption has
also flourished. With real estate prices in Almaty now rivaling those of many
European cities, the city’s government has decided to reclaim surrounding land
for resale to buyers wealthier than migrating Kazakhs driven from their villages
by a collapse of rural industries and infrastructure.
Suddenly, Shanyrak homeowners’ deeds are no longer honored: government officials
now claim that local people sold them the land illegally. Others, who have
squatted land here for years by paying out regular small bribes, have no
assurance of long-term legal rights to the property they’ve developed. This
conflict came to a head two and a half months ago when police arrived with
sledgehammers and bulldozers.
“Coming home from work down the main road one night in April, I was met by my
youngest daughter who was yelling, ‘father, father, they are destroying the
house!’” recalls Vladimir Kahimov, a security guard in Almaty and father of
four, “She is sometimes a mischievous child, so at first I thought ‘What kind of
joke is this to make?’ but then I saw the police and I knew that it was true.”
Kahimov and his neighbors had previously received a letter demanding that all
residents leave their homes, but no demolition date was given and Shanyrak
residents who insist that they have legal rights to their homes say they ignored
the notice. Ten homes have been destroyed in Shanyrak in the past six months,
but in every case the community immediately pooled their resources and rebuilt
the houses within days in keeping with the Kazakh tradition of Ashar—collective
house building. They say they will continue to do so and have no intentions of
capitulating to the government.
“I bought this land for $1,500 a year and a half ago,” says Kahimov, standing
next to rows of trenches and dirt mounds dug by Shanyrak residents in an attempt
to hinder future bulldozers, “they can’t destroy our community because we can
rebuild our houses in one day. This is our home and whatever happens we will
continue to live here.”
This spirit of resistance has grown throughout Almaty’s unincorporated
communities, often referred to as “settlements,” which are home to almost ten
percent of the city’s population. The past year has brought an onslaught of
demolitions and battles with police, with over one hundred houses destroyed, but
it has also fostered a sense of solidarity, forming these communities into a
cohesive political force.
Their growing movement has gained support from opposition parties who see such
disenchanted citizens as a potential constituency—especially in light of last
year’s revolution in neighboring Kyrgyzstan, which was largely fueled by
similarly disenfranchised rural populations and citizens frustrated by
government corruption. Public sympathy has also been strong, and private
companies have refused to perform demolitions, meaning that police, or even city
prosecutors have had to swing the sledgehammers themselves.
Recent legislation, to take effect in July, will officially secure land rights
for current inhabitants of properties in Almaty. While there is hope that this
may alleviate some of the problems in the settlements, residents fear that the
new law is intended only to protect the rich. Many say it was passed to serve
the wealthy who land-grabbed in the immediate wake of the Soviet collapse, and
will not be enforced in favor of settlement residents unable to offer
substantial bribes to politicians and officials.
“If I were a rich woman, I would be outside of the problem,” says Maysara
Biahmetova, a retired teacher who saw her home recently destroyed. “Now it is as
before, during the Communist Revolution, when the poor fought against the rich
and we must join all of the settlements together, no one else will protect us.
Only together will we stop them.”
Joining Together
Twenty miles across town forty people lie on iron bed frames, their pale faces
illuminated in blue by the tarp that shelters them. Their headbands, torn from
tablecloths and tee-shirts, announce the name of their community—Bakai. They are
entering their second week of hunger strike.
It was here, on February 21st of this year that police stormed their settlement,
while most residents were gathered outside of the town celebrating a local
holiday, and set to work pulling apart their humble clay brick and corrugated
tin houses.
When word spread that the police were attacking their homes, Bakai residents
fought back with whatever they had: burning tires, sticks, and rocks. They even
tried to keep their houses together by padlocking large chains around them, and
climbed on to the roofs so the police would be forced to knock them down before
proceeding with the demolition. Many Bakai citizens were wounded and arrested.
Despite their resistance five homes were destroyed that day and Bakai residents
say that they have lost two or three houses to police raids every month since.
They see their current hunger strike, which has been joined by many citizens of
other settlements including Shanyrak, as their last resort.
“We are waiting for legislation that promises that these houses are ours,” says
Vinera Ismagulova, leaning against a folding table outside of the hunger strike
tent that sags beneath the weight of paperwork filed on behalf of Bakai
Settlement, “We’ll stay on strike until we get an answer, we will not give up.”
Living Under the Line
It is not only recent migrants to Almaty who are suffering under a new economy
of runaway development and rampant corruption. Iraida Bendzya has lived in the
rustic Almaty suburb of Mountain Giant—at the foot of the Alatu mountain range,
for over sixty years, since Soviet days when it was a farming collective of
apple orchards and vegetable farms.
Bendzya’s backyard is still abundant with cherry trees, tomato vines, and
raspberry bushes. What her family doesn’t eat she sells in the main market to
supplement the meager government pension ($80 a month) she receives. Hens peck
the ground at her feet as she proudly wanders her garden trailed by her daughter
and granddaughter. When an independent Kazakhstan was born and the collective
farm dissolved Bendzya believed that she would quietly live out her remaining
days here in her aging but tidy home of white plaster and blue trim.
But rising out of this idyllic scene, abutting the fence that marks the borders
of Bendzya’s garden, is a thick steel pole supporting high voltage wires that
run from a nearby power station to new high rise developments two kilometers
down the road. Hastily built by Almaty Power Consolidated four years ago in
spite of protests from the community, and without regards to established
international safety standards, this line has become a source of growing
resentment. Like the struggle for land rights in the settlements, this series of
thirty foot high poles has become a symbol of corruption and greed.
“We don’t even get electricity from this line,” says Bendzya gesturing up at the
pole that looms over her garden, “but everyone in this community is suffering,
from headaches, dizziness, heart problems, and sleeplessness we suspect are a
result of the wires, as well as from lowered property values and the eyesore of
the line.” She says even her fruit trees have suffered and that their bark has
become dry and brittle.
While this list of complaints may sound dramatic, the dangers of electromagnetic
fields emitted by such wires are well-documented, and international
environmental agreements such as the Aarhus Convention prohibit their erection
in residential areas. Many Mountain Giant residents were concerned enough for
their safety and health that they moved out of the neighborhood despite
dramatically lowered property values and a number of homes closest to the line
now lay vacant.
Kazakhstan is a signing member of the Aarhus Convention and Mountain Giant
residents invoked violations in a court case demanding that the line be placed
underground—a project that would cost an estimated $300,000, an amount Almaty’s
mayor claims is currently beyond the city’s budget. After numerous delays local
courts rejected the residents’ appeal, responding that Kazakhstan’s adherence to
the Convention was voluntary.
The power line follows the main street of Mountain Giant passing small clapboard
homes along dirt roads, corrugated plastic fences tangled in blackberry vines,
and drab Soviet style apartment blocks with cement balconies crowded with
laundry lines and children. But the moment the line ducks underground these
scenes give way to the steel skeletons of upscale condominiums currently under
construction that developers hope will soon be filled with a nouveau riche
clientele.
If the housing explosion continues this type of development is bound to push its
way up the slopes of Mountain Giant, a threat not lost on residents like
Bendzya, all too familiar with the property rights struggles in the settlements.
“There are many violations of property rights happening in Kazakhstan today. We
are afraid local authorities will destroy our houses and replace us with rich
people. Then of course, they will take down the power line.”
Paradoxically, the very private-property rights issues that spelled the collapse
of the Soviet Union have now become a battleground between rich and poor in this
post-Soviet state. When the Soviet Union fell, powerful party members quickly
made the transition to become the wealthy elite of independent Kazakhstan,
employing the same tactics under a new banner.
But another legacy of the Soviet Union has been a communalist spirit among the
working class which has shown itself in the determined struggles of communities
like Shanyrak and Mountain Giant.
“Our officials absolutely don’t care about us ordinary people,” says Bendzya,
who has led her community in the legal battles to bury the power line, as she
sits at her picnic table amidst her cherry trees. “Prices go up, others get
rich, and we see no benefits. Our only choice is to fight for ourselves.”
© 2006 The Common Language Project