Behind the Curtain of a Kyrgyz Political Drama

Over the last month, a Shakespearean drama has unfolded in Kyrgyzstan. Featuring a defiant former president facing off against his protege-cum-rival successor, a disrespected kingmaker, a crime boss who got out of jail early with a clever ruse, and a dramatic, botched, nighttime raid, Kyrgyz politics this summer has been anything but tame. 

For a country that’s had two revolutions in less than 30 years of independence, the power struggle between former President Almazbek Atambayev and his successor, Sooronbay Jeenbekov, calls up not-so-distant memories of unrest. But the drama this summer was of a different sort than past tumults. This iteration of political struggle in Kyrgyzstan has taken place entirely within the political elite, sans the kind of public agitation that swept both Askar Akayev and Kumanbek Bakiyev, Kyrgyzstan's first and second presidents, from power in 2005 and 2010, respectively.

As my colleague Colleen Wood noted, on social media one hashtag in particular epitomized the sentiment of at least one section of society: #МыПротивТретьейРеволюции (in Russian, “We’re Against a Third Revolution.”) Russian Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev, in Kyrgyzstan on August 8 and 9 to attend a Eurasian Economic Union meeting in Cholpon-Ata, said flatly that “It is obvious that Kyrgyzstan has already reached its limit for revolutions in the 21st century.”

If not a revolution, what happened and why?

The cast of characters is critical, starting with the central players – Atambayev and Jeenbekov – and extending to a fabulously wealthy public servant, Rayimbek Matraimov, and even an ethnic Chechen crimelord, Aziz Batukayev.

In 2013, when Atambayev was president, he oversaw the early release of Aziz Batukayev. Batukayev had been sentenced to 16 years in prison on raketeering and murder charges in 2006 but in 2013 was diagnosed with leukemia. The diagnosis earned him an early release but it was a fraud. Batukayev returned to Chechnya; Kyrgyzstan had been duped. Nothing was done, however, while Atambayev remained president to figure out how Batukayev weaseled his way out of Kyrgyz prison. Remember Batukayev; he’s important later.

In October 2017, Jeenbekov was elected to succeed Atambayev. The two men, both members of the Social Democratic Party (SDPK), had been allies, and Jeenbekov served as Atambayev’s prime minister before resigning to make his presidential run. After serving his constitutionally mandated single six-year term, Atambayev had to step down but losing the presidency didn’t have to mean losing connection to power. He carefully placed allies in prime positions – his former chief of staff, Sapar Isakov, as prime minister and Jeenbekov as president. 

Then, as some analysts view it, Atambayev made a mistake: On his last official day in office, Atmabyev pushed Isakov to fire Rayimbek Matraimov. Matraimov, known derisively in Kyrgyzstan as “Rayim Million” for his family’s ostentatious wealth despite spending an entire career in the public sector, had been deputy head of the customs service. 

Matraimov is something of a kingmaker, a stable force behind the scenes. He rode out the 2010 revolution, retaining his job at the customs service, and was promoted twice by Atambayev before his firing in late 2017. Matraimov then contested his firing as illegal and in July 2018 a court in Bishkek ordered that he be reinstated. 

In the interim, events provided Jeenbekov the opportunity to root out Atambayev’s allies in government and establish his own power structure within the government. Atambayev misjudged his successor to be a pliant ally; Jeenbekov wanted to rule his own roost. 

In January 2018, the Bishkek Power Plant experienced a serious malfunction, plunging the capital into both sub-zero temperatures and darkness. The plant had recently completed a modernization scheme, managed by a Chinese contractor. Kyrgyz looked with cold eyes at the contract and construction, and allegations of corruption soon followed. But the heat, rather than landing on the Chinese contractor for poor work or the Chinese state for all-but-forcing its own companies into projects along the Belt and Road, landed on Sapar Isakov. 

Isakov had been deputy head of the presidential administration and spearheading work on foreign investments when the deal to modernize the power plant emerged during Chinese President Xi Jinping’s 2013 tour of Central Asia, which saw the launch of what we call the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) now. In April 2018, Isakov lost his prime minister post; in May 2018, he was formally charged with corruption; in January 2019 his trial began with a possible sentence of 20 years looming. 

Other Atambayev allies found themselves out of jobs or facing similar charges throughout 2018. Atambayev, never one to mince words, lashed out at Jeenbekov at each turn. He criticized his successor hashly and in March 2018 apologized for helping bring him to power: “I apologize that while all my life fighting against autocratic regimes, I failed to see the true inner self of that person – and seeing only his mask, I brought him and his family to power.” Atambayev also accused Jeenbekov of pairing up with Matraimov to create a “family-clan regime” like those that had ruled Kyrgyzstan under Akayev and Bakiyev. 

Then the Kyrgyz political apparatus finally turned its attention to Atambayev. As a former president, Atambayev technically enjoyed a constitutional right to immunity from prosecution. Lawyers challenged the clause in court in the summer of 2018, arguing that it was a contradiction for the constitution to say that all are equal before the law but also carve out immunity for former presidents. The Kyrgyz Supreme Court agreed and directed the issue to parliament to remedy with legislation. Slowly, the Kyrgyz parliament did just that. In May 2019 Jeenbekov signed legislation that defined a pathway for the stripping of ex-presidential immunity. In June, parliament voted – 109 to six – to strip Atambayev of his immunity.

Lacking immunity, Atambayev’s days were numbered. Throughout July and July, supporters of the former president amassed at his home in the village of Koi-Tash, about 12 miles south of Bishkek. Atambayev set up a press center, boasted of having weapons on the grounds, and waited, defiantly. 

In late June parliament and the prosecutor-general approved a list of charges relating to the unlawful release of Batukayev (remember him?), corruption, lobbying on behalf of a Chinese company involved in the ill-fated modernization of the Bishkek Power Plant, involvement in supplying coal to the plant, and illegal receipt of a plot of land (in fact, the plot on which Atambayev’s Koi-Tash home sits).

The Jeenbekov administration had all along couched its firing and jailing of Atambayev’s allies as part of a fight against corruption. The ease with which Matraimov returned to his position gives the lie to the overall anti-corruption drive. Meanwhile, the Batukayev case easily lent itself as a way for Jeenbekov to target Atambayev.

In early July, the Kyrgyz Interior Ministry summoned Atambayev as a “witness” in the investigation into the unlawful release of Batukayev in 2013. Atambayev, knowing well the justice system he had overseen as president and used in similar ways, knew the summons to be a ruse. He ignored it. The state issued a second subpoena; it was also ignored by Atambayev, who continued to claim ex-presidential immunity. But under Kyrgyz law, ignoring two subpoenas permits the state to forcibly detain a person for questioning. The Interior Ministry issued a third subpoena on July 22. 

Instead of staying put in Koi-Tash, Atambayev again ignored the summons and opted for a flight on a private jet out of the Russian military base in Kant to Moscow on July 27. In Moscow, he met with Russian President Vladimir Putin and then flew back to Kyrgyzstan. He returned, triumphant, to his compound. 

Although many analysts viewed the trip and Atambayev’s return as Russia putting the kibosh on the feud and siding with the former president, Putin’s post-meeting comments showed Russia’s hand quite clearly: “The country is in need of political stability and everyone should unite around the sitting President and help him in developing the state.”

Atambayev had a different interpretation: “We talked about the situation in Kyrgyzstan and the region, about the need for political stability in the country, that both parties of the conflict should make efforts for this. And we also believe that this is a two-way road.”

A week and a half later, Atambayev was shaking hands with his supporters in his courtyard around 8 in the evening when shouting went up at the gate. The Kyrgyz special forces shortly thereafter crept out of the trees. The August 7 raid didn’t go well: Atambayev was spirited away into his house and the scene descended into chaos. By the next morning, the special forces had been forced to retreat. One of their number was shot and later died and six were held overnight as hostages. The entire evening played out on camera, as Kyrgyz journalists were present at the compound when the raid began and filmed through the night. 

On August 8, the Kyrgyz authorities tried again. Sending in busloads of police, the authorities cut communications in the area and kept journalists at bay. Atambayev eventually surrendered, though the car taking him to Bishkek was blocked by his supporters and a helicopter had to be called in to whisk him away. In the evening, bands of men reportedly roamed about Bishkek looking for trouble. But the police were out in force and most people kept inside.

On August 9, Atambayev was charged in the Batukayev case – the first of many charges to come. By August 14, the charge sheet had grown to include using violence against state representatives, organizing mass unrest, murder, and attempted murder (all stemming from the botched August 7 raid), and also corruption related to the Bishkek Power Plant saga and the illegal privitization of a building in Bishkek. 

As summer cools, Atambayev sits in jail. His remand on the initial charge ran to August 26, a strangely short period, but then was extended to October 26.

Aside from an escape from prison – not unprecedented; in 2010 Atambayev was sprung from jail as the revolution kicked off – Atambayev is headed for a trial, likely conviction, and a long prison term. 

Jeenbekov has firmly established himself at the top of Kyrgyz power pyramid, but the nature of Kyrgyz politics remains the same. Jeenbekov’s state policies, besides privileging his allies over Atambayev’s, have run fairly close to those of his predecessor. The country’s foreign policy has remained stable and there are no grand domestic plans at hand beyond the targeted anti-corruption drive. Like Atambayev, Jeenbekov has one term to serve. He’ll be out of office in 2022. If precedent holds, Jeenbekov – like every other man who has served as Kyrgyzstan’s president – may very well find his own successor as unforgiving as himself. Only Kyrgyzstan’s lone female president – interim President Roza Otunbayev, who served from 2010 to 2011 – has managed to leave office and stay away from significant charges of corruption, though Atambayev had his share of nasty things to say about her as his own term approached its end. 

Kyrgyzstan is scheduled for a parliamentary election by the end of 2020, with the date tentatively set for sometime in October 2020. Despite Kyrgyzstan’s parliamentary democracy being unique in Central Asia, the body has proven easily led by the powers-that-be. 

As Atambayev was taken to jail, a key political rival – Omurbek Babanov – returned to the country. Babanov had been Jeenbekov’s top challenger for the presidency in 2017 and the victim of an Atambayev-Jeenbekov smear campaign. There was an investigation ongoing, alleging he incited ethnic hatred in a campaign speech and plotted a coup, when he fled the country shortly after the election. His return signals an intent to step back into the political ring. Babanov may not be Jeenbekov’s ally, but with Atambayev off the board there’s room for a new man in the ring of Kyrgyz political elites.