Keywords

Introduction

One Autumn afternoon around a decade ago, I was invited for tea with the director of my institute at the Academy of Sciences. Such informal meetings occurred every few weeks. Usually, my boss would ask me about my research, who I was meeting with and my plans. As a historian who worked with foreign colleagues in Europe, North America and Japan, I was treated with suspicion by my colleagues. I entered my boss’ spacious office and sat down. He poured the tea. Once the piola (Central Asian word for “tea bowl”) was full, his tone changed. He began to angrily accuse me of espionage and cooperation with the intelligence services of foreign states. At first, he demanded that I admit my guilt and repent. When I refused, he came up close to me and, adopting a friendlier approach, asked me to cooperate with the security services as an informant. Seeing that I was not interested, he quickly switched to his more aggressive mode and began to threaten that “if this does not suit you, then you will be held criminally liable for treason”. I objected and said that I had not committed any crime, and I was not going to cooperate with the security services. He responded that if I wanted to continue my work at the institute, I would have to cooperate with the security services and “voluntarily” write a statement that I agree to be a freelancer. I flatly refused. This would not remain the only time the local “organs” (Gentile, 2013, 428) tried to coerce me into working for them.

As my own personal story outlined above shows, although I have never been associated with any opposition group, political party or movement, the government considered me a potential spy and threat to their power. This is nothing new. Referring to China, Perry (2020) analyses the “scholar–state” nexus, exploring how authoritarian rule rests on the suppression of independent academics, the “educated acquiescence” (Perry, 2020, 2) of academia or their incorporation into the “factory of answers” (Roche, 2018, 93). Such methods severely restrict the kinds of research and knowledge local scholars can conduct, put their lives in danger and force many to exercise exit strategies or publicly declare loyalty (Hirschmann, 1970).

Apart from some very rare personal accounts where foreign researchers reflect on their fieldwork under the “watchful eyes” (Sökefeld & Strasser, 2016, 159) of the local authorities in Central Asia (Dall’Agnola, 2023; Gentile, 2013; Trevisani, 2016; Bekmurzaev et al., 2018) or in other “closed contexts” (Glasius et al., 2018; Koch, 2013), reflections of local scholars on their experiences/dealings with security agencies are generally missing, a product of the repression such reflections would undoubtedly describe. This is problematic because, when scholars are from Central Asia and do not have a status in a different country, the power dynamics are different. For that reason, in this essay, I reflect on attempts by the local organs to suppress and silence my voice, as well as to recruit me to spread government propaganda.

I grew up in the capital city of one of the five Central Asian countries.Footnote 1 As an independent-minded individual, I faced the authorities’ pressure from a very early age, starting in 2005, when I first volunteered with an international organisation and later, when I started working with local NGOs as a trainer on youth policy. Moreover, I was a history teacher at one of the capital’s schools and at one of the universities and, in the process of teaching, I urged my students to be critical of history, to develop a critical mind and to, therefore, not just blindly believe and follow the official rhetoric of the authorities and the ideology of the state. Subsequently, the State National Security Committee added me to its blacklist of enemies of the people, revisionists, spies, traitors and dissidents, a list on which I remain to this day. As a result, I fled the country and settled in Europe. While I continue my research, I do so, using a penname.

The remainder of the chapter uses my autoethnographic account to examine the restrictions on academic freedom and threats to researcher safety centred on three forms: repression, cooptation and collaboration.

Repression of Academic Freedom  

Academic freedom is severely restricted across Central Asia. All the countries in the region are in the bottom third of the Academic Freedom Index (Kinzelbach et al., 2023). In this regard, over the past decade, the authorities have made persistent efforts to eradicate academic freedom and independent thought in the region. As a result, over the past few years, most of the critical intellectuals have been forced to leave the countries, among them prominent scientists, journalists and academics. Although there is no universally accepted definition of academic freedom, UNESCO defines it “as freedom of teaching and discussion; freedom in carrying out research and disseminating and publishing the results thereof; freedom to express freely their opinion about the institution or system in which they work; freedom from institutional censorship; freedom to participate in professional or representative academic bodies” (UNESCO, 1997). Thus, academics should have the right to pursue, advance, create and disseminate knowledge through research, not only inside, but outside of academia as well. UNESCO’s definition above implies that scholars should have the freedom to conduct research, teach or communicate ideas or facts without being targeted for job loss, suppression, prosecution or imprisonment. “Our model for academic freedom”, Edward Said wrote, “should be the migrant or traveller […]. The traveller crosses over, traverses’ territory, and abandons fixed positions, all the time” (Said, 2000, 404).

There have been a few headline-grabbing cases of repression of academic freedom in Central Asia. These include the case of Alexander Sodiqov, a Tajikistani citizen studying at the University of Toronto, who was arrested on charges of espionage when conducting research in Khorog, Tajikistan, on behalf of an international team in 2014. He was detained for three months before international pressure and diplomatic efforts secured his release (Clibbon, 2014). In a wave of repression in Kyrgyzstan in April 2021, political scientist Marat Kazakpayev was arrested on treason charges, with no full details of the accusations released (CESS, 2021). He died in prison 14 months later. PhD candidate Gulzat Alieva was arrested for inciting religious discord for a Facebook post supporting Tengrism. She was acquitted in November 2022. But these extreme examples are the tip of the iceberg of more everyday forms of repression that shape the contours of knowledge production by local scholars. I have been victim of these forms of repression.

In the mid-2010s, I worked as a senior researcher at the Academy of Sciences. While working at this institute, I came under extreme pressure from the government because of the nature of my work. My research on modern history and on the on-going political slide of the country towards authoritarianism caused irritation and discontent among the authorities. At one of my meetings with them, an employee of the security services told me in a direct context that “I am the most unreliable citizen of my country and an employee of the Academy of Sciences, who has no right to work in this institution”. I was subjected to round-the-clock surveillance; my phone was bugged, my online activities monitored and my life at home and work was tracked via “horizontal surveillance” by my colleagues, the mahalla (community) committee and other informants. In addition, the authorities organised a special examination of my research work. They wanted to accuse me of “slandering the authorities and damaging the country’s image” and undermining the stability of the constitutional system as a dangerous element of society. For security reasons, I was forced to postpone publication and censor my research, which clearly contradicted the official narratives on modern history and government policy. Self-censorship is one of many survival strategies that local scholars use in Central Asia (Janenova, 2019; Sharshenova, in this volume).

In contrast to foreign scholars, for native scholars it is not only their lives, intellectual and academic freedom that is at stake; the safety of their family is also under serious threat. Once, the security service representative in the department told me “today, your eldest son received a good grade in mathematics at school. Your youngest son will not be in kindergarten when you go to pick him up, and we can dismiss your spouse in disgrace. Neither of you will be able to find a job in any higher educational institution or company”. While these remained threats, as a result of this pressure, I opted to leave my country together with my sons and my wife. Even after leaving the country, the remaining part of my family at home is still at risk. This is one of the many reasons why I use a pen name to publish and why I cannot return to my homeland, or even some neighbouring states due to fears of being targeted there via transnational repression (see CAPE, 2018; Furstenberg et al., 2021). Thus, the repression of local academics does not end with the departure from the field and home. It continues in the form of transnational repression. For example, scholars who take part in conferences outside of the country are monitored by state organs. Their presentations are recorded, either by a representative of the embassy in that country or by another participant in the conference who acts as an informant. The latter happened to me at a closed workshop in Germany. No public recording of the event was made and the workshop was not attended by any guests. Yet, when I returned home, my director knew everything I had presented, likely hearing it from a compatriot who was also in attendance. On another occasion, I was told to attend an event on corruption in a neighbouring country and record the proceedings myself. While I refused to collaborate with my authorities, this transnational repression not only continues to affect my ability to conduct research and travel to the region, it also leads me to carefully choose the topics I can present in public and inhibits my ability to become a recognised authority on my subject. It is for this reason that some local scholars see themselves forced to work with the local ‘organs’ to a certain extent, as the following section shows.

Coaptating Academics

Central Asian academics do not only face repression; the organs also try to tempt them into supporting the regime. Half a year after the meeting with my director in which I was accused of espionage, my boss made another attempt to co-opt me. He eagerly asked me to head a group within the so-called “troll factory” and track foreign scientists who criticise the authorities in their articles. Although I would officially become an employee of the security services, this would not be made public. I would be expected to denigrate the opposition and write puff pieces about the regime. Each week, the security services would send a list of topics that I should write about in the coming week. They ordered me to praise the government and criticise the opposition, writing in English, Russian and the local language. For my services to the regime, they offered me 10 GB of paid Internet and the chance to work from home.

My boss promised that this would allow me to eventually become the head of one of the departments at the Academy of Sciences or the dean of the faculty of a university. I thanked him for such a generous offer. When I asked why the government was so interested in what foreign researchers write about the country, my boss said it was none of my business but said that these foreign researchers would not be granted visas and that it was the duty of a patriotic Central Asian scholar to refute their lies.

Local scholars’ collaboration with the security services is common for various reasons. They collaborate out of fear of reprisals against them and their families. Some genuinely believe the government narratives. Others are simply seeking to gain a promotion along with the prestige and financial benefits that this entails. One investigation identified at least five people working in the structures of the Ministry of Education who also worked at a “troll factory”, creating fake accounts on social networks and bombarding various sites with comments. Tasks included creating positive threads about the government and trolling opponents. The investigation estimated that at least 400 people work at the troll factory.Footnote 2

Many academics are part of the factory without actively contributing. In my case, my name was added to articles drafted by the security services that denigrated the opposition and praised the president. When they were published, I messaged my contacts in the opposition to dissociate myself from these slanderous posts. They responded with understanding and compassion.

Even some of my students were recruited as informants by the security services and reported on my teaching. These students are part of pro-government youth movements with close ties to law enforcement who denounce teachers and their classmates as a way of gaining favours. These students expect special treatment and are exempt from taking exams. Immediately after graduation, these students are promised jobs in the Ministry of Internal Affairs or security services. These youth movements organised lectures during my classes on topics related to patriotism and against extremism. A representative of their group would come to my class and write down the names of the students who did not attend the above-mentioned lectures.

Local students and scholars are not only recruited to spy on each other, but also on foreign researchers. For example, they are frequently recruited to draft reports about local conferences. Such reports emerged from the June 2022 Central Eurasian Studies Society conference in Tashkent, where local scholars and students at the University of World Economy and Diplomacy reported on the presentations of local and international experts.Footnote 3 I know this happens because I was invited to do this myself. Moreover, when I returned from international conferences outside of my country, I was questioned about specific interactions and things that I said. Such surveillance inhibits local scholars’ ability to express themselves and leads to self-censorship even when participating in conferences overseas. As such, state surveillance not only harms but also silences Central Asian voices.

Collaboration with Foreigners

Since 2006, I have collaborated with fellow researchers from Europe, the USA, Canada, Japan and Australia. Because of this, I was systematically persecuted by the security organs who viewed my interaction with foreign researchers with particular suspicion. One morning, an academic from Europe arrived at my institute. None of the directors was present and so the academic came and spoke with me. He stated that he wanted to establish cooperation with our department/institute. We had a brief conversation and I told him he would need to speak to my seniors.

Despite this brief interaction, the security services point of contact in my department invited me to his office. He grilled me about the interaction. Did I know this scientist before this meeting at the institute? Was I in contact with him by email before the arrival of this scientist? Maybe one of my European colleagues, familiar researchers, gave my contacts to this scientist? He hinted that I was suspected of collaborating, betraying and transferring secret state information to a representative of a foreign state. I answered that I had never met the man before. The representative changed his tone and suggested that the next time I invite any foreign scientist to a teahouse or restaurant for lunch, in order to get to know each other better and learn more “about the purpose of the visit, about the scientist’s research, what he writes what he thinks about the authorities, what cities and regions he plans to go to, whom he will meet”. The curator added that all expenses for lunch or dinner would be paid for by the secret services.

The security services in the Central Asian governments are particularly concerned about foreign researchers. The committee on national security in my country has an office that is tasked with monitoring the publications of foreign researchers and compiling reports on their activities. As Lottholz says, “everything we [foreign scholars] write will be seen by governments and may be followed up on” (Lottholz, 2018, 5). Foreign scholars are viewed as agents of foreign states who are seeking to foment instability and cause “coloured revolutions”, as was typified by the case of Alex Sodiqov described earlier. Collaborating with foreign scholars, then, as my above example shows, can entail certain risks.

Central Asian researchers need to carefully navigate these risks. When organising interviews or meeting with foreign researchers, they should do so in public places to avoid unnecessary suspicion by the organs of being a spy. Moreover, local scholars should consider the consequences of being seen publicly with a foreign researcher or member of a group that has been labelled a threat and evaluate whether a physical meeting is necessary. Foreign scholars also need to be cognizant of these risks and modify their behaviour by less aggressively pursuing collaborations and being cautious about what information they divulge about their activities to the local researcher. Such practices can reduce the dangers that local scholars face.

Conclusions and Recommendations

As I have tried to show in this essay, researchers from Central Asia face a number of dilemmas related to authoritarian suppression that their privileged foreign colleagues do not suffer from. They cannot simply catch a flight out of the country and move on to a different region if they face pressure from the local authorities. Their lives are intertwined with their research, with greater difficulties separating the “field” from home (Kudaibergenova, 2019). Their citizenship, financial precarity and family connections make them particularly susceptible to government pressure or accusations of espionage. Faced with such threats, many academics opt to actively support the regime or understandably self-censor. Others, like me, are forced to leave their country and publish under pseudonyms, managing to disseminate their research, but undermining their ability to build a public reputation for their expertise. Some chose to exit the country, moving to freer countries where they can better exercise their voice. But with that choice comes the weakening of ties with family at home. In short, no choice comes without sacrifice and risk, both of which are qualitatively different from those borne by foreign colleagues.

There are a number of practical steps that local researchers can take to navigate these threats to their security. These should be incorporated into graduate-level education in the region via programs by external donors. First, scholars in Central Asia need to increase their digital literacy. For example, they should only access professional email accounts via secure platforms such as Proton Mail or Signal. These can be used for sensitive emails. As the security services monitors mobile phones as well, they should try to obtain a phone number/SIM card that is unregistered or registered under a fake name. Similar to foreign researchers working on and in the region (Dall’Agnola, 2023), local scholars need to pay greater attention to the physical security of their digital research tools. They should not leave their laptop, Dictaphone or camera at their apartment or hotel where they can be accessed and stolen by security services.

Finally, foreign researcher organisations such as the Central Eurasian Studies Society should provide training to members on research safety, as well as set up a rapid response task force to respond to emergency situations facing local academics, such as the arrest of Alexander Sodiqov. By taking these measures, the scholarly community can demonstrate solidarity and take practical steps to ensure that the safety of every scholar, whether local or non-local, comes before knowledge creation.