Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Panic in the Streets of Bishkek, Pt. 1
Last Friday (March 31) saw a dramatically energetic change to the usual "we'll get there when we get there" pace of life here in Bishkek. This was mostly due to a large number of people (anywhere from 200 to 2000 in the news reports we've read) gathering in the central square demanding that Ryspek Akmatbayev be allowed to run for a vacant seat in Parliament. (Ok, it was entirely due to that, but with a little dose of the subsequent flashback to last year's Tulip Revolution immediately drawn into everyone's mind thrown in for good measure as well.)
This story really starts last October, when Ryspek's brother, Tynychbek Akmatbayev, a member of Parliament and political rival of the current Prime Minister, Feliks Kulov, was killed in a prison riot outside of Bishkek. Why was a member of Parliament at a prison riot? you ask. I haven't the slightest idea. There are rumors (very loud ones) that Kulov, who himself spent time in prison and is said to have connections with the underworld and its imprisoned cohorts, planned the riot in order to lure Tynychbek there in order for him to be killed. That doesn't explain what an elected official is doing inside a prison during a riot, but it does get points both for upping the drama and moving the plot of our story along nicely. Following the murder, Ryspek led the chorus in blaming Kulov for his brother's death. Of course, he (Ryspek) has ties to organized crime as well (he is rumored to be whatever the Kyrgyz equivalent of a don might be; think John Gotti in a kolpak) and was very recently tried on murder charges (though subsequently acquitted due in large part, if one were to believe the rumors, to a series of well-timed, very firm, very rewarding handshakes), but it would seem the pain of losing his sibling overrode any sense of hypocrisy that may have bubbled up inside him alongside the accusations.
After the furor of the murder subsided a little, Ryspek declared that he'd be running to fill his brother's vacant seat in Parliament. Naturally, people weren't so keen on the idea. The Kyrgyz equivalent of "We don't cater to their kind 'round here" was heard with some frequency around the capital. But after a few months of handing out money and televisions and food to the voting public in his district, the people came around to Ryspek's side. Or some of them did, anyway. The ones with the new money, televisions, and food. Everyone else seemed to continue either not caring or actively cursing his name, depending, of course, on where they stood before the Santa Claus routine.
So for a while there, during the quiet moments between cups of tea or during the walk home from the bazaar, the country was braced in a contemplative calm, quietly concerned about the future of Parliament, wondering what could be done to stop a known criminal from running and essentially buying his way into government (he wasn't, after all, convicted; and even if he had been, the sitting PM was very recently in jail, so where's the line in the sand?). The question was put before Parliament (via the Central Election Committee), which, if anything like the rest of the world's elected bodies, is just brilliant at policing itself. Early last week they announced that Ryspek was out on a technicality: it seemed he did not meet residency requirements, as he has not lived in Kyrgyzstan continuously during the past five years. That announcement was followed on Thursday by his followers blocking all of the main roads in the area along the northern shores of Lake Issy-kul, where he would be running from, as well as blocking the mayor's office there. As that went so splendidly (sarcasm aside, it did work to disrupt commerce and traffic and local governance and in that sense was a brilliantly executed bit of political demonstrating), Ryspek and his posse decided to up the stakes and move things to Bishkek. And that brings us to Friday, which, as this has gone on long enough for a single post, I will get to tomorrow. I will leave you only with this: Where's Buddy Cianci when you really need him?
Tags: Kyrgyzstan, Central Asia, Politics, Bishkek, Protest
This story really starts last October, when Ryspek's brother, Tynychbek Akmatbayev, a member of Parliament and political rival of the current Prime Minister, Feliks Kulov, was killed in a prison riot outside of Bishkek. Why was a member of Parliament at a prison riot? you ask. I haven't the slightest idea. There are rumors (very loud ones) that Kulov, who himself spent time in prison and is said to have connections with the underworld and its imprisoned cohorts, planned the riot in order to lure Tynychbek there in order for him to be killed. That doesn't explain what an elected official is doing inside a prison during a riot, but it does get points both for upping the drama and moving the plot of our story along nicely. Following the murder, Ryspek led the chorus in blaming Kulov for his brother's death. Of course, he (Ryspek) has ties to organized crime as well (he is rumored to be whatever the Kyrgyz equivalent of a don might be; think John Gotti in a kolpak) and was very recently tried on murder charges (though subsequently acquitted due in large part, if one were to believe the rumors, to a series of well-timed, very firm, very rewarding handshakes), but it would seem the pain of losing his sibling overrode any sense of hypocrisy that may have bubbled up inside him alongside the accusations.
After the furor of the murder subsided a little, Ryspek declared that he'd be running to fill his brother's vacant seat in Parliament. Naturally, people weren't so keen on the idea. The Kyrgyz equivalent of "We don't cater to their kind 'round here" was heard with some frequency around the capital. But after a few months of handing out money and televisions and food to the voting public in his district, the people came around to Ryspek's side. Or some of them did, anyway. The ones with the new money, televisions, and food. Everyone else seemed to continue either not caring or actively cursing his name, depending, of course, on where they stood before the Santa Claus routine.
So for a while there, during the quiet moments between cups of tea or during the walk home from the bazaar, the country was braced in a contemplative calm, quietly concerned about the future of Parliament, wondering what could be done to stop a known criminal from running and essentially buying his way into government (he wasn't, after all, convicted; and even if he had been, the sitting PM was very recently in jail, so where's the line in the sand?). The question was put before Parliament (via the Central Election Committee), which, if anything like the rest of the world's elected bodies, is just brilliant at policing itself. Early last week they announced that Ryspek was out on a technicality: it seemed he did not meet residency requirements, as he has not lived in Kyrgyzstan continuously during the past five years. That announcement was followed on Thursday by his followers blocking all of the main roads in the area along the northern shores of Lake Issy-kul, where he would be running from, as well as blocking the mayor's office there. As that went so splendidly (sarcasm aside, it did work to disrupt commerce and traffic and local governance and in that sense was a brilliantly executed bit of political demonstrating), Ryspek and his posse decided to up the stakes and move things to Bishkek. And that brings us to Friday, which, as this has gone on long enough for a single post, I will get to tomorrow. I will leave you only with this: Where's Buddy Cianci when you really need him?
Tags: Kyrgyzstan, Central Asia, Politics, Bishkek, Protest
