International Conference

«Conflicts in the Caucasus: History, the Present and Prospects for Resolution»

Baku (Azerbaijan) 22-23 October, 2012 and Tbilisi (Georgia) 25-26 October, 2012

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WHITHER CENTRAL ASIA’S ISLAMIC RADICALS?
A COMPARATIVE FRAMEWORK FOR EXAMINING POLITICAL ISLAM IN CENTRAL ASIA

Keith Martin

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Keith MARTIN from the Overseas Private Investment Corporation in Washington is a PhD candidate at MacGill University in Montreal.

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Introduction

Ever since the states of Central Asia gained unexpected independence in 1992, pundits, politicians and analysts have commented on the importance of political Islam in Central Asia. Those comments have seen many ebbs and tides: at times, the threat of ‘fundamentalist’ Islam sweeping through Central Asia to the very doors of Mother Russia has been touted, while at other, calmer moments, political Islam in the region is dismissed as a grossly exaggerated phenomenon. In almost all cases, however, the study of political Islam in Central Asia has been descriptive or polemical, without even the effort of a search for comparative models in the broader Islamic world. At best, scattered comparative references are made, either to Central Asia’s past¹ or to nearby states such as Afghanistan, Iran and Turkey. The point of this paper is to assess the value of looking to a broader comparative universe of cases – that of the Islamic world as a whole – in order to bring the study of Central Asian political Islam into the wider fold of comparative politics. This author would argue that the experiences of countries as diverse as Algeria, Nigeria, Indonesia and Syria all have something to teach us about how we should look at Islamic radicalism in Central Asia. Such a comparative analysis will not provide students of this topic with the answers, but it should equip all of us with the tools to ask the right questions and to be able to fit our answers into a broader context that is more analytical and accessible to students of Islam in many other parts of the world.

The remainder of this introduction is dedicated to a discussion of the parameters of this paper, which largely arise out of the context of the author’s Ph.D. dissertation. In the second part, comparative frameworks used for the examination of political Islam elsewhere and their applicability to the Central Asian context are discussed. Next follows an analysis of Central Asia’s current reality as seen through the prism of the aforementioned comparative frameworks. Finally, the conclusion draws together the lessons of these comparative experiences and illuminates some of the signposts analysts should be focusing on when examining the future of radical Islam in Central Asia.

Given the historical, geographical and ethnic realities of Central Asia, this paper focuses on Islamic movements in Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and southern Kyrgyzstan. While the experience of Muslims in Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan and northern Kyrgyzstan is obviously no less ‘authentic’, the history and contemporary role of Islam here has so far not produced strong political Islamic movements, nor is it likely that they will emerge in the near future. (It might be argued that, in Kazakhstan, an escalation of tension between Russians and Kazakhs could cause an appeal to Islam as part of Kazakh nationalist agenda, and there has been some evidence of this in the past in the proclamations of Alash, the Kazakh nationalist movement. While this may merit further study elsewhere, it does not fall into the scope of analysis here.)

Political Islam – as an integrated part of advanced communal Islam – has had a role in many areas that constitute present-day Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and those parts of Kyrgyzstan located in the Fergana Valley for centuries. Much of what today is considered ‘radical’ or ‘fundamentalist’ Islam was practiced in the Khiva, Bukhara and Khivan khanates. When Muslims in Central Asia rebelled against first Russian, and then Soviet, rule their leaders were influenced profoundly by the thinking of Muslim activists elsewhere – be it from Tatarstan or Pakistan. In this sense, the relationship of Central Asia’s Muslims to their brethren elsewhere was strong – and they were affected, and confronted, by many of the same secularizing influences even before Stalin’s crackdown on Central Asia’s believers.

In a profound sense, the Stalinist repression of Islam in Central Asia was a Western technique of domination, rooted (in however perverted a manner) in Marxism and 19th-century socialist thought. While it is probably generally true that the Soviet Union’s Muslims were fairly effectively isolated, as a broader community, from developments in Islamic thinking in other countries such as Egypt or India/Pakistan, one should not forget that many of the top clerics in the official Soviet religious establishment (e.g., the Muslim Religious Board for Central Asia and Kazakhstan) studied and lived in Arab cities, where they would have come into contact with these thinkers or their followers.² 1979 marked a profound change in this pseudo-isolation. First, the Islamic Revolution in Iran energized the forces of political Islam to a virtually unprecedented extent – even if the actual Shi’a content of the Islamic Republic which followed was not to become a model for other Islamic activists. Second, the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan brought the issues of Islamic identity and of the struggle for an Islamic identity in the face of a secular, outside force to the Central Asians’ doorstep. In fact, given that a fair number of Central Asians, having been deployed in Afghanistan early on (or Tajiks serving as interpreters there throughout the intervention), joined the Afghan mujahedin and at various later points (see below) brought back the seeds of the current fundamentalist movements in Central Asia, one might say that the Soviet invasion actually brought the Islamists beyond the threshold, and into the house itself.

Since independence, the Central Asian states’ ties to the Islamic world have played a crucial role in those states’ efforts to forge new identities. As has been examined by many others,³ the Central Asian leaders, and especially President Karimov of Uzbekistan, have been attempting a very important but dangerous balancing act: emphasizing their personal commitment to Islam and their states’ connectedness with the Islamic world while suppressing and undermining any elements of ‘political’ Islam that might be outside of their control. The simple fact of the matter, however, is that thousands of new mosques and dozens of new madrasahs and other institutions throughout the region are requiring trained personnel and financial assistance. The source of such outside training and funding is one of the most sensitive subjects in the region today, especially as concerns Saudi Arabia’s role, and we shall return to this topic in the conclusion of this paper.

This brief historical overview would not be complete without a brief examination of the Tajik civil war, which remains a grim reminder of the symbolic power of political Islam in Central Asia. Even if it is now generally recognized that – as the author has long argued⁴ – the main roots of the conflict in Tajikistan were regional, sub-ethnic rivalries that broke into the open after the collapse of the Soviet system, the role of the Islamic Renaissance Party and of the Tajik Qazi, Akbar Turajonzoda, remain a potent symbol of that conflict.⁵ Furthermore, all of the regimes in the region – as well as Russia – used the threat of an Islamist takeover of Tajikistan (fuelled by support from Afghanistan) as excuses to crack down on their own independent Muslim leaders or, at the very least, support the Rakhmonov regime in Dushanbe against the ‘Islamic rebels.’

In all of this there is the temptation to focus only on the current events of the region, and to lose sight of how they might fit into patterns found in the larger Islamic world. Scholars have, after all, been studying the emergence of movements such as the Muslim Brotherhood (al-Ikhwan al-Muslimun) in Egypt and Syria for a decade and more. In fact, while definitive explanations are always elusive in political science, we are now much more aware of the role that socio-economic change and relative deprivation of certain groups played in the development of Iran’s Islamic revolution or in the rise of Algeria’s FIS. Already, as the Soviet system of cradle-to-grave security crumbles in Central Asia, it is clear that the state (as an institution) is beginning to face some of the same challenges faced by Middle Eastern states. Given the combination of strong population growth, lack of improving economic prospects and increasing corruption in Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and southern Kyrgyzstan, the similarities are only likely to increase as Soviet and Russian influence wanes.

The search for a comparative framework

The genesis of this study lies in the Fergana Valley, and centres on an intriguing question. In a valley that, historically, culturally and (multi-) ethnically, was a unified whole (see analysis below), why did the Uzbek part of the valley emerge as a hotbed of radical, political Islam, whereas the Tajik part became a veritable bulwark against the Islamic Renaissance Party and the forces supporting it? This question is particularly intriguing, since there is no historical evidence that the people of the Khujand region of northern Tajikistan were any less fervent believers in the pre-Soviet period than their brethren in Kokand, Namangan or Andijan.⁶ To find an answer, however, we must expand our vision beyond both Central Asia and beyond a narrow focus on what most current observers see as the context of political Islam in the region.

Theories of modern comparative politics that explore the relationship between economic, social, political and religious factors may hold the key to explaining this seeming paradox. Beginning beyond political developments in Muslim countries, theorists from Max Weber and Barrington Moore to Theda Skocpol have examined the role of the state in shaping underlying state-societal and inter-societal relations.⁷ Particularly where the state is very strong – and this is undoubtedly the case in Uzbekistan and pre-civil war Tajikistan, as well as in the predecessor republics – there is a fundamental winner-take-all element to control over state power. Even if those controlling central power might feel the need to share some power in order to maintain control over the state, this is usually done in an asymmetrical way, with the lion’s share of the benefits of state largesse (in the form of positions, subsidies, state-controlled foreign investment, etc.) going to the region, class or ethnicity in charge of the state. And even when those who have lost central power do not suffer direct economic deprivation, there may well be an issue of the perception of being relatively worse off, and of a lack of control over basic decisions affecting their status and importance. In other words, the strong state, particularly when it can penetrate to the sub-national and local level (e.g., through the central appointment of governors or mayors), creates ‘losers’ who feel disenfranchised by the process – particularly if they have, at some previous time, held central power in the state. Additionally, knowing of the danger that these former powers represent to their continued maintenance of central power, those in charge of the strong state will try to weaken or divide these groups, for example, through selective recruitment of members of these groups into the central state, or the conveyance of economic benefits (which depend on the state) to certain of these members, creating a patrimonial network that threatens to create divisions among the ‘losers’.

Faced with this difficult challenge of confronting a seemingly all-powerful state, what are the ‘losers’ to do? Comparative politics teaches us that there are at least four different responses, all of which may be employed by these groups at one time or another – and occasionally in combination. First, these groups may make an appeal to a universal value that they argue the state is undermining in order to justify their challenge and find allies among other groups in society. Examples of this would include appeals to democratic values, Islam, or nationalism (where it is argued that the central power is being controlled by ‘outside forces’).⁸ A second method, which is particularly effective where the central state may be strong but corrupt, and the economic situation in the country (or among certain groups) is deteriorating, is for the opposition group to rally others around the theme of economic redistribution or the provision of services. In numerous Muslim countries (see below), such as Turkey, Algeria and Egypt, Islamic groups have won much of their support through the services they provide directly to their communities – services which the (national) government either does not provide or that are so infused with corruption as to render them highly ineffective or out of the grasp of those most in need of the services.⁹

While the opposition may itself frequently be divided, and lack the benefits that the central state can bestow, there are often also possibilities for opponents of the regime to encourage and take advantage of fissures within the regime itself, since there are always ambitious elements within the regime which may wish to improve their own positions. This is particularly true where the state is controlled by an ageing strongman, or where there is some very direct challenge (e.g., an insurgency or acute economic crisis) to the top leadership. In such a case, those ‘losers’ who have, at some previous time, controlled state power, can urge the ‘forces of stability’ to rally around them, given their ostensible track record of governance.¹⁰ Finally, and most crudely, the ‘losers’ may recruit the help of an outside power (or powers) to restore them to power. This help ranges from direct intervention by the foreign state to financial, military and political support. Although this strategy is often employed, especially in African countries, it may undermine domestic support for the ‘losers’ if they are seen as carpet-baggers. Additionally, the outside power will always have its own agenda which may well be at odds with the programme that the ‘losers’ attempt to implement when they regain power, leading to possible further unrest and upheaval.

Studies on the formation and rise of Islamic political groups in the Middle East have generally, although not exclusively, centered on the first two theories mentioned above: response to relative economic deprivation, and formation of marginalized class/regional elite responses. Both of these theories can help us better understand the rise of the Islamic Brotherhood in Syria and Egypt, the FIS in Algeria, the Refah Partesi in Turkey, and so on. This author argues that these theories can also have significant explanatory and predictive value for the development of political Islam in Central Asia – all the while taking into account how Soviet rule may have altered some of the basic elements that have caused the rise of Islamic radicals in the Middle East.

In the context of Egypt and Algeria, for example, it is posited that relative economic decline, or the perception thereof, created both the seeds and the fertile soil for radical political movements in those countries. In the first instance, this was used by theorists such as Sayyid Qutb to support the notion that Egypt’s rulers, despite the fact that they were ostensibly Muslims, were actually jahiliyyahs, that is, ‘benighted ones’, who were the product of Western domination and had no place ruling over the Believers. In what might be called an Islamic version of dependency theory, various scholars argued that the ummah could only find satisfaction – economic, political, but above all religious and social – in a Shari’ah-based state.¹¹

Two processes then converged to provide the soil for these movements. First, faced with overwhelming opposition by the state (including the armed forces and ruling groups, as well as the state-controlled media), Islamists realized that directly confronting the state was fruitless. Instead, they began – through neighbourhood organizations, soup kitchens, etc. – to provide desperately needed services that either the state could not provide, or that were being provided in a very corrupt or ineffective manner. Whenever democratic or pseudo-democratic elections took place, Islamic groups took part – even if those playing the most public role were often among the more ‘moderate’ members of those movements. In Algeria, after all, the FIS was able to rise to national prominence after winning local elections – and providing better municipal government to the people in those cities.¹²

A second process common to these countries, but especially pronounced in Algeria, was a relatively strong economic decline, coupled with a high birth rate, that led to very high youth unemployment rates. These rates in many cases still exceed 50 per cent.¹³ These numbers, however, do not tell the full story. It is not economic deprivation alone that created this fertile soil. In Algeria and Turkey – just as in Uzbekistan, for example – strong secular states have, over the past decades, developed a strong, universal education system. This system has created higher levels of learning – and higher expectations – among the younger generation. Hence, it is a mistake to portray the ‘footsoldiers’ of these radical Islamic movements as ‘ignorant villagers’ who do not know what they are actually supporting. In fact, these young men (and, to a lesser extent, women) are acting not only to create a different politico-religious order in the state, but also a different economic order. While the supporters’ views on this point are often vague and disparate, the argument is generally made that an Islamic economic order would be more just and equitable, with no corruption or personal greed (yet still based on private property relations).¹⁴

Not everywhere, however, does this socio-economic analysis appear to be a straightforward explanation for the emergence and strength of Islamic political groups seeking to overturn the established order. Raymond Hinnebusch has extensively researched the case of Syria, where the Islamic Brotherhood’s challenge to the Assad regime was supported and, to the extent known, financed by the wealthy Sunni bourgeoisie.¹⁵ In this case, Assad’s efforts to extend economic benefits to his supporters, as well as his regulation of Syria’s economy and isolationist policies brought him into direct conflict with the Sunni middle and upper classes who controlled the economy. These Sunni groups – who under normal circumstances would hardly have been supporters of fundamentalist Islamic groups – found that the Muslim Brotherhood was a convenient banner around which to rally Assad’s opponents, many of whom regarded the Alawi sect (to which Assad and most of his close supporters belong) as heretical anyway. For this, there is striking physical evidence. In 1983, when the Syrian armed forces bombed the city of Hama to destroy the Muslim Brotherhood (apparently killing thousands), the area destroyed was not a poor slum or suburb, but the heart of commercial Hama.¹⁶

Neither of these theories should be interpreted in such a way as to doubt whether the organizers and supporters of these radical Islamic groups believe in their goal of establishing some form of a Shari’ah-based state. In fact, such Believers exist in every Islamic society. These hypotheses do, however, give us possible explanations for when and how these Believers may become a political force, and what their sources of support are likely to be. In addition, they give us strong tools to use for comparative studies of counter-regime movements, not only in predominantly Muslim countries, but across the spectrum of developing states. Finally, these theories allow us more fully understand the interplay between political, sociological, economic and religious factors. For all of these reasons, it is timely, useful and important to apply these theories to Central Asia and see what results they may yield.

Central Asian Reality (or Realities?)

Developments in Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and southern Kyrgyzstan since independence have clearly demonstrated that political Islam has emerged as an important force. At the same time, many of the most fundamental questions remain hotly disputed: How powerful are Islamic radicals in this area? What are the sources, both internal and external, from which they are drawing support? Since there is clearly no monolithic Islamic movement in Central Asia, what are the divisions between these groups? And, finally, what are the goals that these groups hope to achieve? In Central Asia (and abroad, especially in Russia), the answers given to these questions are very heavily influenced by the political objectives who are providing the answers. In other words, it may appear to outside observers that those who assess the power of political Islam to be the strongest are those, for example, President Karimov, who most strongly favour a secular state.¹⁷ By contrast, while some Islamic activists are clearly bent on portraying their movement as having maximum appeal and power, many others, especially in Tajikistan, have been far more circumspect. Tajikistan’s Qazi, Ali Akbar Turajonzoda, for example, has often reiterated – before, during and after the civil war – that, even if the Islamists wanted to impose strict religious rule in Tajikistan, the country would not be ready to accept such a thing for at least 50 years.¹⁸

A most basic example of the issue of defining political Islam is the question of the ‘Wahhabites’. Although there is a ‘true’ Wahhabite order in Saudi Arabia (even there with two main offshoots: those who include the House of Sa’ud, and a more fundamentalist branch that was implicated in the armed attack in Mecca in November 1979,¹⁹ little of this is reflected in Central Asian usage of the term. In the official media, as well as in common parlance, ‘Wahhabism’ has come to represent all fundamentalist Islam – or, even more broadly, anything that could possibly be construed as political Islam. Even the Russian press has adopted this term (which had even been used in Soviet days), unquestioningly following what Uzbek and Tajik officials describe as ‘Wahhabism’. In fact, however isolated and repressed they have become, there are followers of this radical branch of Islam that believe that only the direct teachings of the Prophet represent true Islam. As Mehrdad Haghayeghi and others have documented, this group is often at odds with many of those who have similarly been portrayed as ‘Wahhabites’, since they long eschewed politics and sought salvation in personally following the ‘true path’. According to Haghayeghi, and from sources in southern Kyrgyzstan, it is clear that a number of these Wahhabites fled the Uzbekistani part of the Fergana Valley to settle in Osh and Jalal-abad, where they have set up their own mosques and madrasahs (see also below).²⁰ Others did apparently go to Afghanistan, where some of them fought for Tajikistan’s Islamic opposition, but their number (while highly disputed) would appear to have been small. Interestingly, there is some circumstantial evidence to suggest that Saudi (and to a lesser extent, Pakistani) projects for (re-)building mosques and madrasahs and training clergy – which the Uzbek Government continues to permit, albeit with a watchful eye – has been one of the most effective conduits for disseminating Saudi-based Wahhabite philosophy, often through the illicit distribution of taped sermons by Uzbek-speaking clergy.²¹

Especially in light of the comparative framework outlined above, however, one also needs to examine other developments in these countries that may, at first blush, not appear to be related at all to the formation and strengthening of political Islam in the region. In particular, how did Soviet and early post-Soviet rule in Uzbekistan and Tajikistan affect pre-existing cleavages, be they regional, ethnic, religious or economic, in those countries? How have the processes of post-Soviet nation-building and economic change impacted those cleavages? And finally, how have different groups within these states responded to their changed, or changing, status? Obviously, space does not permit an in-depth examination of all of these questions, each of which merit detailed analysis, here. It is important, however, to draw some preliminary responses to these questions, particularly in the ways that they can be related to the formation and support of radical Islamic groups. Additionally, in this context, just as in any analysis of Central Asia, it is especially crucial to go beyond Soviet-era studies, whether by Soviet or Western analysts, that often suffered both from a lack of accurate, objective data and from the political agendas of the analysts themselves. While some of these problems continue to plague students of Central Asia, there is now a genuine opportunity for greater, in-depth analysis of current and historical issues.

In Tajikistan, regional cleavages have long been studied and documented, and there is now a virtual consensus about their primordial role in causing and perpetuating the civil war.²² While Soviet rule obviously resulted in major changes in the Tajik SSR – including the formation of a ‘national identity’ – it also used and exploited existing cleavages and the vagaries of its own border demarcations to maintain power. Throughout the Soviet period, this meant that Tajik politics (and hence, under the Soviet system, every other aspect of life) was dominated by groups from the northern (Fergana Valley) region of Khujand. Part of this symbiotic relationship between Moscow’s Russian/Slavic lieutenants in Tajikistan and the Khujandis in charge of the republic was, as elsewhere, the suppression of any form of political Islam (especially during the Afghan intervention) and the promulgation of atheism. As a result of this decades-long privileged relationship, northern Tajikistan secured the lion’s share of investment and, by the early 1990s, had a far higher standard of living than the southern regions of the country. Interestingly for this study, however, economic development and the standard of living appear to have been significantly higher in northern Tajikistan than in the adjoining parts of the Fergana Valley belonging to the Uzbek and Kyrgyz SSRs.²³

When Soviet rule ended, so, too, did Moscow’s role as deus ex machina for the Khujandi elite. Beginning during Gorbachev’s policy of glasnost, and becoming increasingly vocal and bellicose with independence, groups from the south began to decry Khujandi dominance of Tajikistan – to the detriment of the south’s economic development. All of this was translated into an ostensibly ‘ideological’ battle over the future of the country that belied the true causes of the conflict. On the one hand, those who supported the established order (hailing from Khujand and the southern Kulyab region, which saw its chance at advancement in allying with the Khujandis) proudly wore the label of ‘communist.’ On the other, the ‘democratic-Islamic’ opposition mainly represented areas of the south that sought to rectify what they perceived as decades of relative disenfranchisement at the hands of the Khujandi-led government.²⁴ While there were clearly some programmatic, ideological differences between the groups that ended up fighting this bloody civil war, both the savage butchery of the war and the subsequent willingness, under the current peace process, to suddenly set aside these ideological differences²⁵ illustrate that ideology played a very malleable role, at least for the leadership of the movements.²⁶ Unfortunately, the issue has been further obscured by certain Western (and Russian) analysts who have misleadingly deemed the conflict to have been ‘clan warfare’, therefore reducing this conflict – which in many ways is a thoroughly modern one – to a tribal, blood-based clash.²⁷

Although regional differences in Uzbekistan are arguably just as strong as in Tajikistan, they have interestingly been the subject of far less scrutiny. There are at least four reasons for this. First, during Soviet rule, power shifted among leaders from different regions (unlike Tajikistan’s domination by one single group).²⁸ Second, under President Karimov’s rule, a strict lid has been kept on the media and on access to data that might provoke regional resentment.²⁹ Third, while Karimov has clearly cemented his power base in Tashkent and Samarkand, he has also been very successful in splitting the regional elites internally by promoting members of lesser groups and making them beholden to him. Finally, due to events in Namangan, Tajikistan and Afghanistan (and due to Karimov’s own efforts at defining public discourse on the subject), the issue of political Islam has so dominated the agenda that little thought was given to possible regional roots to the conflict – or to the possibility that the rise of political Islam in the Fergana Valley might be intrinsically linked to the very fact that established regional elites from the valley have been excluded from national power.

While hard evidence is difficult to come by, the author has been able to establish, through interviews with exiles in Moscow and elsewhere, that there do appear to be links between members of the pre-Karimov ‘old guard’ of the Fergana Valley elite (especially in Namangan) and Islamic groups that briefly held power in Namangan in 1992 and continue, despite severe repression, to maintain significant influence in the region. While President Karimov has made much of the supposed connections between the Fergana Valley ‘Wahhabites,’ Islamic groups in Tajikistan and various Islamic forces in Afghanistan (where numerous Namanganis reportedly received training), this cannot fully explain the influence these groups were able to exercise before Tajikistan’s civil war had even begun. In addition, in a perhaps counter-intuitive way, Karimov has himself provided a push for moderate, secular oppositionists to join the camp of the Islamic groups, however reluctantly: after all, the Uzbek regime, particularly since the assassination attempt on President Karimov, has steadfastly accused even moderate members of the opposition of being part of what might be termed a ‘vast Wahhabite conspiracy’, going so far as to charge that Muhammed Solih, the only opposition candidate allowed in the last presidential election, had recruited the would-be assassins and trained them in Chechnya, Afghanistan and elsewhere.³⁰ By withdrawing any possibility of legitimacy for a moderate, secular opposition, these groups will, in the long run, only have a choice between being marginalized and organizing under an Islamic umbrella, much in the way that, during and after the Tajik civil war, the opposition became increasingly organized and dominated by the Islamic Renaissance Party.

The result may well be that regional elites in the Uzbek part of the Fergana Valley, as well as other secular opposition groups that have been marginalized by the Karimov regime, will increasingly cooperate with Islamic groups (as Karimov and others are already accusing them of doing) in order to further their goal of seizing power. As in Syria, it may well be that the regime will prevail over a long period of time, but that the conflict will be costly both politically and economically. While it seems highly unlikely to the author that Islamic groups played any substantive role in the assassination attempt on President Karimov,³¹ any truth to those charges might demonstrate the effectiveness of a new coalition between radical Islamic groups, secular opposition leaders, and – perhaps most importantly – members of President Karimov’s inner circle (either among his ministers or in the secret services), without whose help the attempt could never have been made. Here again, if Syria were to be taken as precursor, one should not be surprised if this is only the first of numerous such attempts on the leader’s life.

While this paper focuses mainly on Tajikistan and Uzbekistan, it is also worth discussing the situation in southern Kyrgyzstan, given that events there may have a severe and direct impact on the rest of the Fergana Valley. Radical Muslims may have a freer hand here than anywhere else in Central Asia – including, ironically, Tajikistan. Despite current efforts by the Kyrgyz authorities to crack down on possibly destabilizing Islamic forces – particularly those that might give Uzbekistan a pretext for taking reprisals against Kyrgyzstan – visitors to the region report that several mosques and madrasahs in Osh and Jalal-abad run by clergy who had fled from Namangan in the early 1990s were flourishing.³² The authorities’ reluctance to close these institutions may be related to the fact that they are almost exclusively attended by ethnic Uzbeks, and that the Kyrgyz Government is shying away from any situation that would foment greater dissent and inter-ethnic tension in southern Kyrgyzstan, which many analysts see as an ‘ethnic tinderbox’. Particularly after the Karimov assassination attempt, however, the Kyrgyz authorities may find themselves in an increasingly untenable situation, caught between trying to appease their own Uzbek minority and avoiding the wrath of Uzbekistan’s Government over the Kyrgyz’ lack of resolve in cracking down on radical Uzbek Islamists inside Kyrgyzstan. In this light, it is not surprising that the Kyrgyz authorities, like numerous other members of the CIS, handed over a number of detainees whom the Uzbeks accused of having been implicated in the ‘terrorist action’.³³

Conclusion

Central Asian Muslim communities are distinctive . . . . In this situation, Central Asian Muslims are no different from Muslims in any place in the world. Each Muslim community or group has distinctive and unique characteristics that set it apart from other Muslim groups. It is possible, for example, to speak in some meaningful way about ‘Moroccan Islam’ or ‘Malaysian Islam,’ but this does not mean that Morocco or Malaysia are not interactive parts of the Islamic world. Similarly, the distinctiveness of Muslim communities does not mean that these communities are outside of the ‘real’ Islamic world or even isolated from it.³⁴

The above analysis strongly suggests that Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, as they become more ‘normal’ states with a large Muslim majority (and shed more of their Soviet-era baggage), will continue to struggle with Islamic radicals dedicated to establishing, in the short or long term, an Islamic state. To the extent that economic conditions, and especially youth unemployment, worsen, radical leaders are likely to find fertile soil in both of these republics, and in southern Kyrgyzstan. Furthermore, a continuation or exacerbation of sub-ethnic, inter-regional struggles for power over the central state authorities in Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan that excludes (or appears to exclude) regional elites from the Fergana Valley is likely to produce ‘marriages of convenience’ between local secular and religious leaders. In Tajikistan, several crucial tests of the peace process will soon illuminate the extent to which the secular authorities are prepared to share power and risk electoral setbacks at the hands of Islamic and other groups. More importantly perhaps, President Rakhmonov’s determination to limit the benefits accruing to his Kulyabi-based supporters will be put to the test, and the results may well shape the agenda of the pro-Islamic forces. Finally, and very importantly, outside players – particularly Russia and the various Afghan factions - will continue to play an important role in influencing the radical Islamists’ rhetoric and potential.

As the quote above indicates, Central Asia’s Muslims are – in their uniqueness – no different than other Muslims elsewhere. Certainly, the Soviet legacy has left its particular imprint on Central Asia’s Islamic development. But the response to colonial rule, the divisions between official clergy and unofficial, or ‘parallel’, Islam, and the struggle over the meaning of Islamic identity in an era of intense Western, secular influence on all aspects of life are all things that Muslims from Indonesia to Morocco, and from Uzbekistan to Nigeria have in common. Central Asia’s uniqueness may lie in the legacy of its explicitly atheist Soviet past, although the strict secularism espoused by leaders as diverse as Turkey’s Atatürk and socialist Egypt’s Nasser reflect that this may be more a question of degree. In addition, Central Asia’s initial secularism was imposed from the ‘outside’, that is, from Moscow, whereas the aforementioned leaders (while clearly adopting Western-based ideas) were undoubtedly products – even heroes – of their nations.

As we grapple with efforts at comparative studies of Islamic movements, it is important to keep in mind that there is no internal coherence to these movements: there is no such thing as one ‘radical Islamic movement’. This is perhaps most vividly illustrated in Afghanistan, where even those mujahedin who risked (and often lost) their lives to defend an Islamic Afghanistan against Soviet intervention, are now accused of being apostates by the even ‘purer’ Taliban. At the same time, the Afghan example, with its conflict between the northern ethnic Tajiks and Uzbeks on the one hand and the southern Pashtu Taliban supporters on the other, should also clearly illustrate the interplay of religious and regional/ethnic factors which are also so important in shaping support for Islamic movements in Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and southern Kyrgyzstan. We must therefore be very careful, especially in the Central Asian context, to differentiate between various movements and their respective motivations, goals and bases of support. This task is further complicated by the fact that official rhetoric, particularly in Uzbekistan, lumps all Islamic groups together, labelling them all ‘Wahhabites’, regardless of the actual content of these groups’ agendas. In other words, as political scientists, our aim must be to carefully research these groups on their own merits and without political prejudice – not to do so could lead to misconclusions that grossly under- or overestimate the potency of these movements and their influence at the local and national level, and misrepresent their actual objectives.

What then, in the final analysis, does the future hold for Central Asia’s radical Islamic groups? While there are obviously numerous exogenous and endogenous factors that will shape the particular situation at any given time (e.g., the assassination attempt on President Karimov), the evidence we have from the Middle East may suggest some significant signposts we should be watching for. First, continued or increasing economic problems, coupled with such social issues as high youth unemployment and birth rates, deteriorating medical services, and rising crime and corruption, obviously provide fertile soil for Islamic groups eager to change the social – and political – order. It would be too simplistic, however, to suggest that the simple existence of problems means that these movements will arise or challenge the secular powers. Much of that depends on numerous other factors, all of which are currently in a state of flux throughout the region. These other factors include: regime response to the Islamic movement(s) and to other opposition (see below); internal cohesion of the Islamic groups; ability of local Islamic groups to establish mosques, madrasahs, soup kitchens, etc.; ability of the Islamic groups to reach out to other opposition groups; and, in a Weberian sense, the ability of the movement to produce a charismatic leader who can gather both the initial core of founders and then the larger circle of supporters. Interestingly, foreign support rarely plays a profound role in the organization or perpetuation of these groups – though the groups’ vilification by outside media may actually promote their cohesiveness and sense of purpose.

A second point that this author has argued will influence the future of Central Asia’s Islamic groups is their interaction with other groups marginalized by the regime, and the regime’s response to a variety of opposition groups, be they Islamic, secular, regional- or ethnic-based. When taken together with the first issue (i.e., the general and local socio-economic situation), this combination suggests a somewhat surprising path for radical Islam in Tajikistan and Uzbekistan.

First, in Tajikistan, provided the opening of the Tajik system continues through relatively open elections,³⁵ this is likely to lead to a relative marginalization of the more radical Islamic elements in the opposition who held the upper hand during the civil war – when the regime in Dushanbe tried to delegitimize all opposition. This trend will be even more pronounced if the economic situation begins to improve, especially in those areas of southern Tajikistan most devastated by the civil war (and already particularly poor before the war). Finally, to the extent that the regime is willing to extend its base beyond Kulyab, and if (as recently happened) the regime and Islamic opposition forces can find common enemies, such as the forces of Col. Khudoberdiev and former Prime Minister Abdullojanov in northern Tajikistan, this, too, is likely to lead to a softening of the opposition – or even to splits within the opposition between the ‘ideologues’ and the ‘pragmatists.’ Overall, therefore – barring a serious reversal of the peace process – Tajikistan’s Islamists look likely to become a more moderate force, willing to work for a secular Tajikistan in the medium-term, and seeking to distribute tangible benefits to its supporters in the south. While this would obviously be good news for Tajikistan’s overall stability and development, it should be kept in mind that such a direction is likely to lead to splits within the Islamic movement and to the perpetuation of violence as splinter groups attempt to force through their agenda – or as pro-Kulyabi forces attempt to exploit what they may perceive as weaknesses within the Islamic movement.

On the Uzbekistani side, the heavy hand of the Karimov regime’s efforts at total stability seem far more likely to produce a strong, radical reaction. In fact, the zealotry of Namangan-based groups, such as Adolat, already illustrated in the early 1990s that this movement was more radical than the Islamic Renaissance Party (IRP). Here, again, however, the fact that President Karimov immediately banned the formation of an Uzbek IRP prevented the formation of any moderate Islamic opposition. In fact, particularly since the assassination attempt (see above), the push to villainize any opposition, no matter how secularly-oriented, as being Islamist is likely to drive all opposition into the most radical camp. Additionally, while there does not seem to be a drastic economic crisis looming in Uzbekistan, it does seem clear that promises of prosperity made by the regime are ringing hollow, especially in the Fergana Valley, where corruption, drug-running and the extrajudicial use of force have become rampant. It is unclear, however, if Islamic groups outside the official network of mosques and madrasahs will be able to exploit these problems, or the extent to which those working within the official mosques and madrasahs share the goals of their independent, radical brethren. This will be an important question for further study. Finally, to the extent that Islamic leaders avoid arrest and are able to connect with other anti-Karimov interests at the local, regional, and national level, they will be able to provide a coherent message for the opposition and will be able to project power beyond their actual numbers. The probability of this rises substantially if they are able to form coalitions with members in the sensitive power ministries. While the power ministries may be staunchly secular, there may be personnel within the ministries that, while secular themselves, believe that there is a common cause that outweighs the ideological factors which are ostensibly at stake. Uzbekistan, then, despite (or in part precisely because of) the crackdown on all opposition, can expect to see a further strengthening of political Islam within its borders, and especially among the most radical and most committed groups. This is probably a development that will not be visible to the outside world, given the regime’s repressive policies, but may well lead to occasional, spectacular and deeply destabilizing bouts of violence aimed either at the heart of the regime – Karimov and his inner circle – or at the local and regional representatives of that regime, such as hakims, policemen and Interior Ministry officials.

Much remains unwritten in the shifting sands of Central Asia’s political, economic and spiritual development. This study does suggest, however, that many of the signposts we may need to find a useful, analytical and comparative way through these sands can be found in the experience of other Muslim countries, especially in the Middle East. These other countries, many of which have been the subject of in-depth studies on the development of political Islam within their borders for the better part of this century, suggest that radical Islam is going to be a force to be reckoned with in Central Asia for generations to come. The strength, agenda and sources of support for these movements will, however, be determined by a host of factors, one of the most important of which is the regime’s own response to these groups and towards other opposition. Politics, to invoke an old cliché, makes for strange bedfellows. As students of Central Asian politics, we will be best equipped to make sense of these ‘strange events’ if we expand the horizon of comparative cases we are willing to consider, all the while clearly noting and analysing what is unique in the development of political Islam in Central Asia – and hence making our own contribution to the comparative study of Islamic movements.

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¹ For example, the Basmachi revolt, often seen as a forerunner to current radical Islam in the region.

² Mufti Sadiq, e.g., was educated at various Islamic universities in the Middle East, where he appears to have furthered his previous informal conservative training. See Martin, K., ‘Islamic Political Movements in Tajikistan and Uzbekistan’, presented to the V. Conference on Central Asia, Madison, Wis., Apr. 1993, pp. 12–13.

³ Karimov tried, very explicitly, to emulate the late Turkish president, Turgut Özal, who sought the same balance. See, e.g., Brill Olcott, M., ‘Central Asia’s catapult to independence,’ Foreign Affairs, vol. 71, no. 3, summer 1992, p. 125.

⁴ See, e.g., Martin (note 2).

⁵ In fact, despite the near consensus on the origins of the civil war, almost all accounts still write about the conflict as having been between ‘pro-Communist’ and ‘pro-democracy and Islamic’ groups, which will only tend to perpetuate the mythology surrounding the conflict.

⁶ In fact, in the author’s experiences in Khujand, there is a strong sense of pride among many in the region about their forefathers’ devoutness and resistance to Soviet secularism, including through participation in the Basmachi rebellion. Interestingly, while many of them espoused a strong personal, conservative Islam – they explicitly expressed the opinion that religious issues should be kept strictly separate from politics.

⁷ See, e.g., Skocpol, T., ‘Bringing the state back in’, ed. P. Evans, Bringing the State Back In (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1985): or Moore, B., Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy (Boston: Beacon Press, 1993).

⁸ In the case of Islam, e.g., there has long been a call among many – usually for specific ends – to unite the ummah, even beyond national borders. See Qutb, S., Milestones, Indianapolis: American Trust, 1990.

⁹ For a general analysis of this, see Heper M. and Israeli, R., eds, Islam and Politics in the Modern Middle East (London: Croom Helms, 1994). A good analysis of the Egyptian case is provided by Sarah Ben Nefissa-Paris in ‘Le mouvement associatif egyptien et l’Islam,’ Maghreb/Machrouk, no. 135, Jan.–Mar. 1992, pp. 19–36.

¹⁰ Two examples, among many, might be the last days of the Mobutu regime in Zaire, and the attempts by Sukarno’s daughter, among others, to succeed President Suharto of Indonesia.

¹¹ Sayyid Qutb (note 8).

¹² See Lamchichi, A., Islam et contestation au Maghreb (Paris: Editions L’Harmattan, 1989).

¹³ Ibid. Since the government routinely underreports the numbers, it is difficult to know the exact number, but most analysts agree that it is well above 50% among young men.

¹⁴ See Saad Eddin Ibrahim’s ground-breaking piece on Egyptian Islamist activists in Arab Society: Social Science Perspectives (Cairo: American University of Cairo Press, 1985), pp. 494–507.

¹⁵ Hinnebusch, R., ‘State and civil society in Syria,’ Middle East Journal, vol. 47, no. 2, spring 1993, pp. 243–57.

¹⁶ When the author visited the site in 1986, high walls still blocked off an area of approximately 10 square blocks in the middle of Hama.

¹⁷ See Mehrdad Haghayeghi’s excellent discussion of the use of the word ‘Wahhabi’ and the reality of Wahhabism in: Islam and Politics in Central Asia (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995).

¹⁸ In the midst of the civil war, the Qazi was quoted as saying, ‘It will take at least 50 years for the Tajik people to be ready to accept Islamic rule in Tajikistan.’ Martin (note 2), p. 23.

¹⁹ The attackers chose the name Ikhwan for themselves and were led by the son of one of the original anti-Saudi Wahhabite leaders of the 1928–30 rebellion. See Mozaffari, M., Authority in Islam (Armonk, N.Y.: M. E. Sharpe, 1998), pp. 96–97.

²⁰ See Haghayeghi (note 17), pp. 92–95. Research recently conducted for the Council on Foreign Relations has also indicated that these mosques and madrasahs are attracting large numbers of ethnic Uzbek devotees from both sides of the border.

²¹ Interview with Madamin Narzikulov, July 1996.

²² See, e.g., Tadjbakhsh, S., ‘Causes and consequences of the civil war’, Central Asia Monitor, no. 1, 1993, pp. 10–14.

²³ See Abdurahmonov, K., ‘The socioeconomic situation in Khujand’, ASIA-PLUS, Bulletin no. 10, Dec. 1996.

²⁴ There was, in all of this, also a ‘Tajik national’ agenda that many opposition members sought to play up, thereby subtly playing the ethnic card, since the north has a very high percentage of ethnic Uzbeks and mixed families.

²⁵ While space does not permit an analysis here of the role of outside forces in both the civil war and its subsequent cessation, it should be noted that Russia, Afghanistan and Iran all played a central role in determining the ostensibly ideological ‘superstructure’ of the conflict.

²⁶ As in the Middle East, it is interesting that rank-and-file members of Islamic groups, once indoctrinated with a fundamentalist manifesto, may find it much harder than their leaders to find a compromise with secular leaders. In Algeria, for example, this has resulted in deep splits within the FIS, leading to the formation of many armed groups who believe the FIS leadership does not have the tenacity (or tools) to wrest power away from the military.

²⁷ For a better analysis of the local, mahallah-level structures, and the impact of Soviet rule on them, see Polyakov, S., Islam and Tradition in Rural Central Asia (London: M. E. Sharpe, 1992), pp. 56–58.

²⁸ For an in-depth analysis of local/regional factors, as well as the interaction between Moscow (and Slavs sent in to check up on the Uzbek elites) and the native leaders, see Carlisle, D., ‘Power and politics in Soviet Uzbekistan: From Stalin to Gorbachev’, ed. W. Fierman, Soviet Central Asia – The Failed Transformation (Boulder, Co.: Westview Press, 1991), pp. 93–130. It should be noted that Rashidov heaped enormous amounts of largesse on his home region, resulting in resentment in other regions that continues (in private conversations) to this day.

²⁹ In one sign, however, of the trouble that President Karimov has faced, the hakims (governors) of all three Fergana Valley hakimiyats (Andijon, Namangan and Kokand) have been replaced with great frequency – greater than those of other regions.

³⁰ See RFE/RL, 15 Apr. 1999, in which Karimov is quoted accusing external forces and internal militants (including Muhammad Solih).

³¹ As others have commented (see Pulat, A. and Butkevich, N., ‘Who is behind the bombings in Tashkent?’, Mar. 1999, unpublished manuscript), given the strength of the security apparatus and the systematic persecution of anything smacking of political Islam that began in 1992, it seems highly improbable that the forces now accused could have set off a series of bombs in so many different places. A ‘palace coup’ or some staged scenario, while also without solid factual foundation, appear to be more likely hypotheses.

³² Haghayeghi (note 17), p. 95 and Council on Foreign Relations research, 1997–98.

³³ President Karimov confirmed that Kyrgyzstan had detained suspects in connection with the bombings (RFE/RL, 16 Mar. 1999). Additionally, 30 ethnic Uzbeks arrested around the same time in Kazakhstan in connection with the Tashkent events reportedly all held Kyrgyz passports (RFE/RL, 17 Mar. 1999).

³⁴ Voll, J., ‘Central Asia as a part of the modern Islamic World,’ ed. B. Manz, Central Asia in Historical Perspective (Boulder, Co.: Westview Press, 1994), p. 63.

³⁵ The elections will be critical, not so much for the actual outcome but for the conduct of the process. Of particular interest will be the role of Qazi Turajonzoda, in whom the (moderate) Islamic groups have a powerful, charismatic figure completely lacking among Uzbek Islamic groups.