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The Following lecture was given as the Seventeenth Annual Navai Lecture in Central Asian Studies at Georgetown University, November 30, 2006 Dangerous Clan Conflict or Muslim Civil Society: Towards an Alternative Understanding of Central Asia's Democratic Development Sean R. Roberts, Central Asian Affairs Fellow, Georgetown University In recent years, numerous manuscripts and papers have been produced that characterize the political development of the Central Asian countries as being dominated and hindered by the competition between so-called clans. Among the most prominent and influential of these works are Oliver Roys widely read introduction to the region, The New Central Asia, Kathleen Collins in-depth exploration of clan politics in Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan, Ed Schatzs book on the role of tribal and clan affiliations in Kazakhstan, and a policy paper written by Fredrick Starr for the European Union on how best to implement democracy assistance in the region in the context of clan politics.1

For the most part, these different works base their analysis on a rather loose definition of the concept of clans in Central Asia. While Schatz is able to be more specific since he provides us with a case-study focused on two different forms of kin-based identities among Kazakhs, the other authors offer a confusing array of kin-related and regionally defined ties to illustrate the universality of clanism across ethnic and cultural lines in the region. This clanism in Central Asia, according to these authors, is qualitatively different
1

See Oliver Roy, The New Central Asia: The Creation of Nations (New York: New York University Press, 2000); Kathleen Collins, The Logic of Clan Politics in Central Asia : Its Impact on Regime Transformation (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2006); Edward Schatz, Modern Clan Politics: The Power Of "Blood" In Kazakhstan and Beyond (Seattle, WA: Washington University Press, 2005); S. Fredrick Starr, Clans, Authoritarian Rulers, and Parliaments in Central Asia, (Washington, DC: Central Asia-Caucasus Institute, SAIS, Silk Road Paper, June 2006).

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from the patron-client networks of elites in Russia and elsewhere in the former Soviet Union. In Central Asia, they suggest, clans are a part of cultural identity, an aspect of the regions primordial social ties.

The most descriptive of these works, which attempt to explain where these primordial ties come from, tell us that the clans of Central Asia are based in a variety of solidarity groups, to borrow the term of Oliver Roy, that emerge from traditional local social structures mostly in rural regions.2 According to the proponents of Central Asian clanism, these local solidarity groups, whether based on regionalism, kin-relations, or a mixture of both, are intimately linked to the patron-client networks among the elite, which in turn frame the competition for economic and political power in the region. They further argue that these primordial divisions in society, which reach from the grassroots to the elite, are a significant deterrent to the development of democracy in Central Asia. Some of the authors even suggest that the dangerous competition between clans may justify the autocratic policies of Central Asian presidents, who must prevent potential conflict between clan interests in order to ensure stability in the region.

On a basic level, one is tempted to dismiss these descriptions of clan relations in Central Asia as simply Eurocentric and orientalist analysis based on stereotypes concerning the assumed primordial ties inherent in Asian societies. To some extent such criticism would not be misplaced, but today I would like to examine this idea of clan politics in Central Asia at face value in the hopes that such an analysis will provide an alternative viewpoint of the interaction between cultural institutions and politics in the region.
2

See Roy pp. 85-124

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Given the complexity of the subject, I do not intend to fully replace the clan politics paradigm with a different model for understanding Central Asia. But, I at least hope today to problematize the concept of clan politics in the region and to challenge both scholars and policy implementers to re-evaluate the ways they presently think about traditional social structures and politics in Central Asia.

In my opinion, the most problematic aspect of the existing literature on clan politics in Central Asia is its attempt to link cultural traditions and social structure at the local level to elite political allegiances. It is this link that purportedly differentiates Central Asias clan politics from the merely corrupt patron-client networks of elites elsewhere in the former U.S.S.R. As Kathleen Collins explains it, in contrast to the fluidity of the weaker ties evident in Russia, a more stable identity underlies the clan network (in Central Asia).3

My own research and experience in the region, however, suggests differently. While I recognize that patron-client networks are prevalent among the Central Asian elite and largely frame political competition in the region, I do not see these networks as being any different from those present in Russia or elsewhere in the former U.S.S.R. While I also recognize that Central Asia is characterized by cohesive local social structures that form the basis for closely-knit local communities, I do not view these communities as inherently being related to anti-democratic patron-client networks. To the contrary, it is my assertion that the local social structures of Central Asia serve as a certain type of

Collins, p. 43

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indigenous civil society that has bolstered stability in the region over the last fifteen years of uncertainly and that could eventually help to facilitate democratic developments.

Today, I will elaborate on these assertions by offering some clarification concerning what constitutes elite patron-client networks in the region, what characterizes local Central Asian social structures, and what if anything is the relationship between these two phenomena.

Let me begin with elite patron-client networks. Elite patron-client networks in Central Asia and throughout the former U.S.S.R. are a remnant of the political economy of the Soviet Union. The combination of an economy of scarcity, a top-down system of governance, and a general lack of rule of law in the Soviet Union facilitated a system of patron-client relations that continues to determine political and economic power alignments in the post-Soviet space. It is a system which lacks institutionalized and transparent rules of the game and favors the use of brute force, intrigue, and alliances of power. Essentially, this system creates a pyramid of power with the top seeking ways to maintain undying loyalty from groups below, and the groups below competing for influence over and recognition from those above them.

I will not delve into specific examples of the ways in which such elite patron-client networks have been influential in the contemporary politics of Central Asia because this has been done quite well elsewhere, most notably by Kathleen Collins in her recently

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published book on clan politics in the region.4 I will, however, discuss some of the characteristics of patron-client networks in Central Asia that emerge from the Soviet context, thus re-casting this phenomenon as part of the Soviet experience as opposed to being emblematic of Central Asian traditionalism. In particular, I want to briefly outline three Soviet era political and economic concepts that serve as the primary political vehicles that maintain the system of patron-client networks in the post-Soviet context of Central Asia. These three concepts are best explained by the Russian words blat, kompromat, and nasiliye. Essentially, these three words all represent vehicles that politicians and businessmen in the former Soviet Union employ both to maintain loyalty within their own patron-client network and to undermine competition from rival networks. In other words, blat, kompromat, and nasiliye are the primary tools of power in the political and economic arena of the former U.S.S.R., Central Asia included.

Blat, for which there is no English language equivalent, is an abstract concept related to the extent of ones patron-client network, and it became the common currency in the Soviet economy of scarcity when one needed to accomplish almost anything, from the purchase of scarce products to finding employment.5 Blat is accumulated by doing favors for others or through access to resources allowing for the performance of such favors, and blat is expended by attaining favors from others. In the context of a patron-client network, ones blat defines ones relative position of power and ones ability to attain loyalty from others. For the anthropologist, the system of blat in the Soviet Union is

4 5

See Collins pp. 135-297 For a comprehensive study of the concept of Blat, see Alena Ledeneva, Russia's Economy of Favours: Blat, Networking and Informal Exchange (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998).

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reminiscent of the gift-giving described for traditional cultures by the French anthropologist Marcel Mauss in his seminal work from the 1920s, The Gift.6

As the Soviet experience demonstrates, however, this system is not limited to those societies defined with the value-laden term traditional. Rather, it is typical of almost any society with a significant shadow economy that is not defined in strict monetary terms. In Central Asia, the system of blat is alive and well, but this systems origins owe at least as much to the Soviet context as they do to the cultural heritage of the region itself.

The second term I mentioned above as critical to understanding elite patron-client networks in Central Asia and the entire former U.S.S.R. is Kompromat-- a Sovietized abbreviation for compromising material. Probably having its origins in the practices of the secret police, kompromat refers to a certain type of political blackmail where one withholds embarrassing or potentially illicit information about somebody in order to control him or her. If blat serves as positive reinforcement for bringing together patronclient networks, kompromat is its negative reinforcement that ensures unconditional loyalty to that network. In the political economy of kompromat, those politicians and businessmen who have the most access to kompromat about their friends and enemies are the strongest because they are able to maintain the largest network of loyal clients and are protected from the wrath of competing networks. For this reason, it is not surprising that whether we are talking about Moscow, Minsk, Bishkek, Astana, Tashkent, or Dushanbe,

See Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies [W. W. Norton & Company, 2000 (1954)].

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the most important section of government to control in the post-Soviet political arena is the successor agencies to the Soviet KGB, because these have the greatest access to kompromat on everybody from local activists to ministers and oligarchs. Even more than blat, therefore, kompromat is a Soviet phenomenon that has little to do with Central Asian traditions.

The last term I will address, nasiliye, literally means violence in Russian, but in the context of politics, it refers to the power to use violence and brute force in the political arena, whether through beatings, assassinations, poisonings, arrests, institutionalization in mental health facilities, or threats made on ones family members. This is the tool one uses in politics when the powers of blat and kompromat have failed to weaken enemies and maintain loyalties from friends. It is, of course, the ugliest manifestation of patronclient-based authoritarian politics, and it is a concept well known around the world. While it is hardly unique to the Soviet experience, Stalins legacy ensured that it remained an important political tool for instilling public fear throughout the history of the U.S.S.R. and into the present day in the Soviet successor states. Furthermore, like kompromat, nasilye is a political tool best employed with the assistance of the successor agencies to the Soviet KGB.

To different degrees in each of the former Soviet Central Asian states, therefore, elite politics are defined by a patron-client pyramid of power maintained through political tools from the Soviet era. This is how Presidents maintain order and ensure service and loyalty from those below them, and it is also how politicians and businessmen improve

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their position within the elite and manage to get closer to the sources of power and wealth.

While a skeleton of institutions of governance based on a democratic model exist in every country of Central Asia and in most of the former Soviet Union, such institutions are continually undermined by the employment of blat, kompromat, and nasiliye by patronclient networks in the political sphere. For those elites who operate in this system, little has changed from the Soviet period in substance. Democracy is mostly an abstract concept that frames competition for power just as communism was before it. Essentially, most post-Soviet political systems are -- to paraphrase one of the great slogans of the Soviet era democratic in form, but clientelist and power-based in content.

It is obvious why this self-reinforcing system of power represents an obstacle to democratic development in Central Asia and elsewhere in the former U.S.S.R. For those at the top of this systems pyramid of power, the establishment of transparent and democratic institutions of governance would likely undermine their present hold on power. For other elites entangled in this system, democratic institutions would limit their ability to utilize the political vehicles with which they are most accustomed. Finally, for all elites and even for many citizens, the prospect of a structural change in the way that political power is won and expressed represents an ominous unknown quantity, which they often view as a potential source of instability.

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Founded in Soviet practices of power, however, it is inaccurate to suggest that this system is somehow qualitatively different in the Central Asian context. It can be argued that this patron-client political system that is present to varying degrees throughout the former U.S.S.R. becomes expressed slightly differently in the context of Central Asian culture, but this is neither suggestive of the systems origins or of its relative entrenchment in Central Asia in comparison with other former Soviet regions.

Elite patron-client power groups in Central Asia, for example, may have a stronger familial dimension than in Russia and other European areas of the former U.S.S.R. due to Central Asias strong tradition of family cohesiveness. Thus, at the top of the patronclient networks of the Central Asian states, one usually finds other members of the presidents family. This, however, does not differ substantially from Yeltsins government in Russia or qualitatively from Putins regime today. While one might find kinship to be a bonding force in the patron-client relationships of Central Asia, it does not serve as the basis for this system. Rather, this system is based in the common experiences of the economy of scarcity, the bureaucratic system of appointments, and the culture of fear of the Soviet Union.

Similarly, while the elite clans often referred to in political analysis of Central Asia frequently have a regional dimension, it is difficult to argue that these so-called regional clans differ qualitatively from the regional bases of political power one sees in Ukraine or Russia. In fact, the personal nature of patron-client networks almost naturally lends itself everywhere to the formation of groups with common origins in a given locality. This

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regionalist aspect of such networks, however, is a formal quality and does not really change the content and function of these relationships.

In this context, it is counter-intuitive to suggest that the regional character of elite patronclient relations in Central Asia is somehow inherently related to the ethnographic nature of the regions local social structures. In fact, I would argue the opposite -- that there is a significant gap between the patron-client political system of elites in Central Asia and the regions local communities. Furthermore, while the former may be a significant obstacle to the development of democratic institutions in the region, the latter serves as a certain type of indigenous civil society that could potentially become an important grassroots check on authoritarian rule and help facilitate democratic governance.

To elaborate on this argument, I will now look more closely at Central Asias local communities, their functionality in society, and the mechanisms that provide for their cohesiveness.

First, it is important to note that traditional social structures in Central Asia are not everywhere apparent and vary significantly where they are present. As Collins herself admits, these traditional structures are more apparent in rural areas than they are in urban spaces. Furthermore, while Collins downplays the regional and ethnic variations in these local community structures, Central Asias many ethnic groups all tend to maintain different means of self-regulation in their local communities. The mahallas of the

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Uzbeks and the Uyghurs, for example, differ markedly from the structure of a Kazakh aul or a Tajik avlod.

Unfortunately, I neither have the data nor the time today to elaborate on all of these different forms of local social structure in Central Asia. Rather, I will draw from my own fieldwork in the later 1990s among the Uyghurs of Kazakhstan to provide a sketch of how local communities operate in the region. While the Uyghurs are, in many ways, a unique example in Central Asia since they are a minority in all states in which they live, my experiences among other Central Asian peoples leads me to believe that local Uyghur social structure in Kazakhstan shares many features common throughout the region. In this sense, the example I provide of a Uyghur mahalla on the outskirts of the city of Almaty is intended to be instructive of the operations of local communities among various peoples throughout the region.

The Uyghurs refer to their local communities as mahallas. The term makhalla has its origins in the Arab world where it is usually used to describe urban enclaves in large cities. In the Central Asian context, it describes a certain type of local social structure that has evolved over time, particularly among the Uyghurs, Uzbeks, and urban Tadjiks. It is also a physical place with definite borders that define the space of the community. Traditionally, such spaces were interconnected through construction. Drawing from her ethnographic research among Uzbeks in Afghanistan in the 1970s, Audrey Shalinsky

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described this space as "a series of interlocked lanes (or) kocha" that are formed by joining the walls of household compounds7.

The Uyghur mahalla in which I lived on the outskirts of Almaty, Kazakhstan in 1997 was called Zarya Vostoka after the name of the collective farm to which it once belonged. It did not have interconnected housing compounds as described by Shalinsky, but it did have a very strong sense of community, the borders of which were understood by every one of its residents. As is true for most Central Asian communities, the glue that held this mahalla together was largely created through ritual celebrations, known as tois, most of which mark life cycle rites of passage, such as births, circumcisions, weddings, deaths, etc.

The mahalla in which I lived also had a fairly clear system of governance that, while similar to that for the communities of other Central Asian peoples, is specific to the Uyghurs. Although Uyghurs draw upon their elders, or aq sakols, to be the primary decision makers of a mahalla, they also elect a middle-aged male to serve as the community organizer and dispute mediator. This man is known as the zhigit beshi, or head male. In addition to organizing community events and mediating disputes, the zhigit beshi is responsible for coordinating and regulating the toi celebrations in the neighborhood by ensuring that neighborhood limits are placed on spending for such events, that community assets such as its large cooking kazan and its samovar for tea are distributed to all who host such events, and that tois of different families do not have scheduling conflicts. More generally, however, the zhigit beshi of the neighborhood is
7

Audrey Shalinsky, Long Years of Exile (University Press of America, 1993), p. 33

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the unofficial head of what is basically a form of local self-government outside the purview of the state.

In the neighborhood where I lived, the zhigit beshi, the local mullah, and the aq sakols would frequently meet to discuss community affairs and to make decisions related to community concerns. This would usually happen daily on an informal basis at the local mosque between prayers, but it might also happen in a more formal manner through something akin to a town meeting if an urgent and/or controversial decision needed to be made.

In general, this system of governance is based on consensus rather than on majority-rule. While decisions in Zarya Vostoka were usually ultimately made by the loosely organized council of aq sakols, the zhigit beshi, and the mullah, important issues would only be made with the input of the whole community. Furthermore, community members, sometimes as a group, would frequently approach this loosely organized council with issues of general community concern. Interestingly, I did not witness in the six months that I lived in the mahalla of Zarya Vostoka any incidents where this consensus-means of decision making created conflict, but I also do not dispute that such conflicts do occur from time to time.

Even the election of the zhigit beshi takes place through a consensus building process. During my stay in the Zarya Vostoka mahalla, the community had decided that it needed to select a youth zhigit beshi from the neighborhood men in their 30s, both to help

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regulate youth activities and to eventually replace the middle-aged zhigit beshi once he stepped down. As a result, an election was organized that was held outdoors at the local soccer field one summer evening. At the election, the neighborhoods middle-aged zhigit beshi facilitated the process with the assistance of a middle-aged haji who was respected as a religious leader in the community. In addition to these two men and a handful of their middle-aged colleagues, the meeting included virtually every young man in the neighborhood between the ages of 18 and 40.

The meeting began with various representatives of the youth offering their opinions on the qualities needed to fulfill the positions responsibilities. In many ways, these were thinly disguised campaign speeches by men who hoped to be elected to the position. Following this quite orderly make-shift town meeting where various young men were able to speak, one of the middle-aged men in attendance nominated a young man who combined several of the qualities discussed previously. While this young man politely tried to decline the nomination, he eventually agreed to a vote, which he won unanimously. In order to placate others who had been interested in the position, several other nominations were made for other positions, all of which would work in concert with the new youth zhigit beshi.

While this election did not reflect the type of competitive electoral democracy with which we are acquainted in the United States, it did entail a certain community consensus building that was inclusive and that reinforced the cohesiveness of the community. Such

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consensus building processes were common in the adoption of virtually all important local decisions in zarya vostoka..

If the mahalla within which I lived represented a certain type of consensus democracy in its decision making and governance, it was the communitys mobilization in solving problems that reflected its role as a critical part of civil society. Uyghur mahallas, like most local Central Asian communities, frequently mobilize to undertake activities for the social good. When this entails construction, this mobilization is known as hashar in Uyghur and Uzbek and Asar in Kazakh and Kyrgyz. A Uyghur hashar involves shared community labor (and often shared money) in the construction of communal spaces such as schools, mosques, roads, or recreational facilities. In addition, hashar is frequently undertaken by the community to assist in the rebuilding of homes when a neighbors house has been destroyed by fire or natural catastrophe.

During my stay in Zarya Vostoka, I witnessed one such hashar which involved the building of a community soccer field. This process was not undertaken by the entire community, but instead it was performed by a group of men in their 20s and 30s who were primarily businessmen of different types. The idea for the project began as a means for providing the local community with a recreational space for school children to prevent them from becoming involved in narcotics and other vices during their free time. Once this group of men in their 20s and 30s had formulated the idea, they went to the zhigit beshi and the aqsakol elders to present it. This informal council agreed that such a project was needed and suggested that a vacant lot nearby be utilized to build the field.

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With approval from the elders, the young men went about doing the work needed to turn this lot into a functional soccer field, including the rental of a bulldozer and the purchase of goal posts, the costs of which they absorbed themselves.

With the completion of the field, the young men then organized a celebratory toi which involved a community feast, a concert by local musicians, and, of course, a soccer game. Following this celebration, the young men continued to organize soccer games for the youth of the neighborhood and worked together to ensure maintenance of the field with the assistance of the local youth who used it. Several years later when I returned to the neighborhood to visit, the field was still in use and was well kept.

Such activity was typical for this community. It did not rely on the state or foreign organizations for assistance in such projects. Rather, they were undertaken by the community itself, utilizing available resources. Similar processes had gone into the building of the mahallas mosque and the maintenance of its Uyghur language school.

Such consensual activism, however, was not only reserved for local self-implemented development projects. While I lived in the community, for example, its residents took the initiative to engage the state on building gas lines for all of the homes in the mahalla. After having lobbied the local government to ensure that these lines were to be built, the community helped local authorities in organizing the schedule for the construction and ensuring that people were present at all homes when their gas lines were connected. Due

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to this coordinated effort, gas lines were established in all homes over a two week period when such work undertaken by the local government alone usually took much longer.

Furthermore, I encountered at least one instance where the community even coordinated a political advocacy campaign with other Uyghur mahallas around Almaty to address the repression of fellow Uyghurs in China. After the 1997 riots in the city of Kuldja in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region of China during which many young Uyghurs were killed and others later imprisoned, the community gathered to hold a meeting about its response to the event. At the meeting, it was decided to work with other Uyghur neighborhoods in the city and with Uyghur political groups in Kazakhstan to coordinate protests and press conferences in Almaty. As a result, the various Uyghur mahallas in the city were able to collectively use their resources to engage a significant number of international journalists who had come to Almaty after not gaining entry to Xinjiang. They also helped to gather information from contacts in China and to distribute this information to other parts of the world through the network of Uyghur political organizations in Turkey and Europe.

In my opinion, all of these activities suggest that the Uyghur mahalla in which I lived represented a certain type of indigenous civil society. According to an often cited definition of civil society from the London School of Economics Centre for the Study of Civil Society, Civil society refers to the arena of uncoerced collective action around shared interests, purposes and values. In theory, its institutional forms are distinct from

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those of the state, family and market, though in practice, the boundaries between state, civil society, family and market are often complex, blurred and negotiated.8

While this mahalla and other local Central Asian communities appear to be quite different from the deToqueville-esque voluntary civic organizations usually associated with civil society in the west, I would suggest that they are consistent with the London School of Economics definition in that they represent uncoerced collective action around shared interests, purposes, and values, albeit organized along localized boundaries.

In the title of this talk, I have suggested that such local communities in Central Asia might be considered as a certain form of Muslim civil society. This term is not meant to infer that similar structures are found throughout the Muslim world or that their political perspective is defined by Islam. Rather, it is communal society at least partially built on Islamic values and kept together through ritual practices related to the Muslim religion.

While such a civil society differs markedly from the type of NGOs that receive funding in Central Asia from international organizations, it can play a similar role in society to that which is envisioned for such NGOs. In effect, the local communities that make up this indigenous civil society are well organized and cohesive units that in certain contexts already represent the special interests of citizens vis a vis the state. Most importantly,

LSE Centre for the Study of Civil Society, http://www.lse.ac.uk/collections/CCS/what_is_civil_society.htm

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however, such communities represent consensually based socio-political organizations that differ markedly from the top-down patron-client networks of elites in the region.

If they are a certain type of civil society, these traditional communities have yet to play a proactive role in Central Asian politics. Instead, they have been instrumental in maintaining stability in many Central Asian countries by undertaking numerous social functions that should be the domain of the state. These include such neglected areas as the maintenance of schools, the construction of roads, and the maintenance of potable water systems. In this sense, these communities have to a certain degree facilitated the ineffective governance of autocratic regimes by filling in where the state is absent.

I would argue, however, that these local communities compliance with autocratic regimes to date has been mostly a survival strategy in the context of Central Asias transition from communism, and it has been reinforced by state attempts to varying degrees throughout the region to control these communities and their political expressions.

Since the later 1990s, for example, the Karimov regime in Uzbekistan has actively sought to control the mahalla social structure throughout the country. It has made the position of mahalla leader a state-financed position that must be approved by the local government and is required to report to government organs, including the secruity agencies. While these actions have been undertaken by the Uzbek state in the name of developing

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grassroots democracy, they have essentially removed the mahalla from the domain of the grassroots, making it beholden to a top-down system of power.

While Karimovs co-optation of the mahalla structure provides an extreme example of state attempts to control local communities, less overt devices have been used by other states in the region. In Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan, for example, local communities are often forced to join the ruling political party and/or deliver certain election results. This is done through local governmental organs that are able to implicitly or explicitly threaten communities with the withdrawl of what meager resources they receive from the state. Acquainted with similar control mechanisms being employed during the Soviet era, the local communities have to date rarely resisted such requests from the state.

Over the last several years, however, we are beginning to see cracks in the armor of this system of control over local communities in Central Asia. During the 2004 parliamentary elections in Kazakhstan, for example, I heard several anecdotal accounts of rural communities refusing to vote, or even more subversive, refusing to vote for the ruling party.

While this represents a subtle and silent form of resistance like those described by political scientist James Scott in his discussion of the weapons of the weak in Indonesia, a much more violatile lapse in state control over local communities was seen

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in the infamous Andijan events of May 2005 in Uzbekistan.9 While much remains unclear about the events that took place last year in Andijan, most objective observers would agree that the Akramiya religious community in the city had gained significant influence in local neighborhoods through their support for social activities and small business development. In effect, this small religious group was preaching many of the same values as the mahalla community structure itself, and it is likely that many of the people who came out to protest the arrests of Akramiya members in the days prior to the May 13 massacre were not adherents to the sect, but merely sympathizers with the Akramiyas social programs.10 Given the force used by the Uzbek state to repress the popular protest in the city square, it is also likely that state officials understood that they were gradually losing control of the citys local communities.

Similarly, Kazakhstan has also been witnessing the resistance power of local communities in Almaty this past year. When the Almaty city government chose to evict the residents of two squatter communities in Shanirak and Bakay, they were met with fierce and organized resistance, including the burning to death of a police officer who was trying to evict the residents.11 While the city eventually was able to bulldoz both villages, the resistance it encountered suggested that similar evictions elsewhere could provoke destablilizing violence.

See James Scott, Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987).

For a fairly neutral description of the Akramiya sect in Uzbekistan and its involvement in the May protests, see Igor Rotar, UZBEKISTAN: What is known about Akramia and the uprising? (Forum 18 News Service, 16 June 2005, http://www.forum18.org/Archive.php?article_id=586). See Sarah Stuteville, Trouble in the Suburbs: The Dark Side of Post-Soviet Development in Kazakhstan (Common Language Project, 24 August 2005).
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And these are only those events that have been widely reported. We have no idea of how many similar examples of resistance, both peaceful and violent, have taken place throughout the region, particularly in a closed state like Turkmenistan.

I would argue that such resistance is further indicative of the myth of cohesive grassrootsto-elite clans in Central Asia. Such incidents suggest that most local communities in the region, especially in rural areas, do not feel included in the political machinations of the elite. While they may occassionally support the political careers of local elites who promise to deliver their communities more resources, such self-interested acts hardly suggest that there exists a cohesive and primordial clan system that is universally operative in the politics of Central Asia.

What is happening in Central Asia today, particularly in Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, is that political elites are beginning to court local communities more vigorously. Given these politicians Soviet background, however, they have not yet been extensively successful. In Kazakhstan, Dariga Nazarbayevas Asar party was in many ways founded with the ambition of gaining the support of local communities around the country. It is for this reason that she likely chose the name Asar, which appeals to the sensibilities of traditional Kazakh communities. Furthermore, she made community development projects in rural villages a cornerstone of her partys strategy for gaining support. The ruling Otan party in Kazakhstan, which has now subsumed Asar, has also followed suit, using significant resources for local community development projects around the country.

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In Kyrgyzstan, the attempts to reach out to local communities have been quite different, but they have also played a much more critcal role in politics than in Kazakhstan. Both during and since the March events of 2005 that deposed president Akayev, Kyrgyz politicians of all stripes have sought the support of villagers for mass protest actions. Many observers, however, suggest that these efforts have been mostly accomplished by doling out cash to village residents in return for their participation in protests. That being said, there is also evidence that villagers have participated in protests in return for promises of state resources once the organizing politician is in a position of power. Regardless of motivations, the events of the last twenty months in Kyrgyzstan have demonstrated that local communities are a powerful force that can be politically mobilized for a variety of political agendas.

These attempts by Kyrgyz and Kazakh politicians to reach out to local communities, however, both share the same shortcoming. They are based in efforts to merely provide materially for these local communities rather than in sincere attempts to engage rural populations on political issues or a vision for the future of their respective countries. Addressing such abstract concepts with local communities, of course, is difficult for several reasons. People in Central Asias rural communities have been continually disappointed by the promises of political ideologies, whether communism, capitalism, or democracy. Furthermore, most politicians in the region remain beholden to the political tools that frame their competition for power, and those toolsas I have already noted rely more on intrigue and force than on ideals. Once a political movement in Central

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Sean R. Roberts

Asia can successfully appeal to the regions large rural population with a vision for the future, however, that movement could be very powerful indeed.

In conclusion, I just want to reiterate the main points of my argument and what they tell us about political development in Central Asia. I have tried today to deconstruct the myth of a cohesive primordial politics of clans in Central Asia by showing the wide gaps between the political characteristics of local communities and those of elite patron-client networks. In doing so, I have pointed out that elite patron-client networks, while important to understanding politics in the region, are less a phenomenon of Central Asian traditions than they are a remnant of Soviet political culture. By contrast, the local community structures in the region, which are based in indigenous cultural traditions, have little interaction with the ruthless political world of elites. Instead, they reflect a certain type of indigenous Muslim-influenced civil society that is potentially a powerful political force that can represent the interests of a large rural population.

The question that remains in the political development of Central Asia is how the political power of these local communities will be expressed. One would like to hope that such local communities could serve as a potent mediating force between citizens and the state in Central Asia, leading to more representative and accountable governance in the region. Without access to a variety of sources of information, institutions that can facilitate meaningful citizen input into governmental decision making, or political processes that encourage politicians to reach out to such local communities, however, these local solidarity groups may not fulfill such a role in the near future.

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Sean R. Roberts

Rather, in the short term, local communities are more likely to become another political tool in Central Asia as elite politicians begin to understand their power. In order for that to happen, however, those wishing to employ them as tools must find effective and meaningful means for engaging these communities. While politicians in some Central Asian states are beginning to understand the power of local rural communities, they generally do not have the capacity to engage them. The same could be said of international development organizations, which have occasionally been successful in engaging such communities, but only for short periods of time. In contrast, religious groups such as Hizb-ut-tahrir have likely been the most successful in reaching out to such communities in Central Asia. While I do not want to overstate the danger or power of such religious groups, it is somewhat ominous that they are one of the few political players in Central Asia right now that truly understands the power of local communities. They are evidently not fooled by the myth of traditional clanism in Central Asia and can appreciate local rural communities for their role as an indigenous Muslim civil society.

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