Waiting for the Big One in Central Asia

Ashgabat’s Halk Hakydasy Memorial Complex, which opened in 2014, hosts a trio of monuments relocated to the site from elsewhere in the Turkmen capital. One marks the 1881 Battle of Geok Tepe, in which thousands of Turkmen died in a one of the final large-scale efforts to resist Russian domination of Central Asia. Another commemorates those who died in World War II, or the Great Patriotic War as it was dubbed by the Soviet Union.

A final monument in the complex is dedicated to the victims of the 1948 Ashgabat earthquake, a 7.3 magnitude quake that struck at 1:12 a.m. on October 6, 1948. The earthquake's epicenter was just 25 km southwest of the capital city. The monument features a massive bronze bull tossing the world, littered with the dead, on its horns. On top of the globe a woman desperately reaches for a golden infant. 

The symbolism is clear. The monument was built at the initiative of Turkmenistan’s first president, the eccentric Saparmuart Niyazov, who was orphaned by the 1948 earthquake. The future president’s father had been killed in World War II, and his mother and siblings died in the earthquake, alongside an unknown number of others. Historians estimate the death toll may have ranged from 10,000 to 110,000. The Soviet Union’s censorship of reporting on the earthquake shrouded its devastation from the world.

Almost 20 years later, another large earthquake rattled Central Asia: A 5.2 magnitude earthquake shook the largest city in the region, Tashkent, at 5:12 a.m. on April 26, 1966. With the epicenter directly under the city, the destruction was significant – an estimated 80 percent of the city’s buildings collapsed, including nearly half of the ancient Old City area. Again, the Soviet Union’s secrecy and censorship cloud the reality: Only 15 were officially reported killed in the quake, though more realistic death toll estimates range from 200 to 50,000. Modern Tashkent, with its avenues of Soviet-style buildings and apartment complexes, owes its look to the devastation and the reconstruction.

In 1976, a monument was unveiled in Tashkent commemorating the 1966 earthquake. A cube displays the time of the first tremor and behind it a crack in the earth widens. Farther behind, a stern Soviet-style monumental man shields a woman and child from the earthquake. The woman’s hand reaches over the man’s shoulder as if trying to stop the quake with sheer willpower.

And so, when on February 4 a magnitude 7.8 earthquake shattered the pre-dawn hours in central and southern Turkey and northern Syria, followed nine hours later by an equally massive magnitude  7.7 aftershock, Central Asia gasped in horror and moved quickly in solidarity. Turkey, in particular, is a popular destination for Central Asians, for work, education, and vacation. As stories of Central Asians killed in the earthquake filtered back to the region, people moved swiftly to mobilize donations and governments dispatched rescue teams to assist in the herculean effort to save people trapped in the rubble. 

By February 7, for example, Kyrgyzstan’s Ministry of Emergency Situations dispatched 67 personnel and two search dogs to the city of in Kahramanmaras. On February 12, another batch of 80 search and rescue personnel, plus three doctors and teams to assemble at least 78 yurts, flew to Turkey. Additional doctors and yurts were scheduled to follow. In the first week, Kyrgyz authorities reported that their teams had rescued four people alive, including a pregnant woman and a 16-year-old boy, and had recovered more than 100 bodies.

Uzbekistan dispatched a search and rescue team numbering around 100 people from its Ministry of Emergency Situations to Turkey’s Hatay province, where an estimated 15,000 Uzbeks live. Kazakhstan sent more than 100 rescue personnel as well, and Tajikistan dispatched 50 people to aid in recovery efforts. Turkmenistan also sent personnel.

Government efforts have been matched and in some ways been exceeded by public efforts including fundraising and marshaling donations to the doorsteps of regional Turkish embassies. Kyrgyz citizens delivered six tons of donations – including winter coats, blankets, and hygiene products – to the Turkish Embassy in Bishkek. 

Many are mindful of the parallels evident between the disaster in Turkey and the potential catastrophe when (not if) another significant earthquake rattles Central Asia. 

As of writing more than 50,000 are confirmed dead across Turkey and Syria, many crushed in collapsed apartment buildings. The BBC examined three newly constructed apartment buildings that collapsed in the quake. Despite being completed in the last year, with developers claiming their constructions were “in compliance with the latest earthquake regulations,” the buildings – and many others – were flattened. David Alexander, an expert in emergency planning and management at University College London, told the BBC, “In part, the problem is that there’s very little retrofitting of existing buildings, but there’s also very little enforcement of building standards on new builds.”

Particularly egregious in Turkey is a system in place in various ways since the 1960s of offering “construction amnesties” exempting developers from certain safety regulations after the payment of a fee. The real estate boom over the last decade certainly has not helped. The earthquake laid bare the fact that the inability or unwillingness of a government to enforce building codes and the latest safety standards can have catastrophic consequences. 

Many of the apparent systemic failures that have magnified the tragedy in Turkey and Syria are present in Central Asia. Regional governments have in place modern building codes, but there’s little confidence that these are strictly enforced. As in Turkey, autocratic governments tend to breed exceptions to rules if money finds the right pockets.

Two days after the earthquake in Turkey, Uzbek President Shavkat Mirziyoyev announced his intention to enact a moratorium on new construction in Tashkent until there is a master plan set for the city. Although Mirziyoyev has previously expressed his opinion that construction in the capital needs to slow down, and he did not cite the Turkey earthquake as motivation, the timing is nevertheless notable. Since Mirziyoyev came to power in 2016, Uzbekistan has undergone it own construction boom, typified by the quick eviction of residents from older neighborhoods and new apartments soaring up over the rubble. The capital’s population is believed to have swelled to nearly 3 million.

Turkish construction companies have played a significant role in Central Asia, most prominently in Turkmenistan, but in the rest of the region as well. This ought to be cause for concern. If such companies were not constructing buildings in Turkey up to code, why would they do so in Central Asia? 

In addition, corruption magnifies these issues, clouding the ability of governments to catch and punish those who violate safety standards. The region’s abysmal ranking in Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index – with all five countries below, some well below, the global average score of 43 out of 100 – only amplifies the risks.

In all earthquake-prone regions, people and governments wait, and fear, the “Big One.” Earthquakes, unlike typhoons, cannot be seen coming. Central Asia may not experience a massively destructive earthquake for decades – or one could happen tomorrow. The question Central Asians need to ask their governments is an important one: Are we ready?