What follows is one part of a cross-blog initiative, which takes the role of Islam in Central Asia and the Caucasus as its central theme:

Mentioning the words “politics” and “religion” in Kyrgyzstan, as with virtually any nominally Muslim country, instantly brings forth a string of negative associations. Islam is portrayed as threatening democratic values at best, and at worst the very existence of the state. Particularly after 9/11 and the start of the official War on Terror, there has been very little space anywhere in the world to discuss the growth of Islamic religious feeling without resorting to the rhetoric of danger and threat. Central Asian governments, including Kyrgyzstan’s, have been quick to hook into the discourse of the War on Terror, keen to demonstrate both their commitment to secular values and their ability to cope with the new threat. What this has meant for both Kyrgyzstan’s domestic and foreign policy is the subject of this post. But before considering some of the issues involved, a quick look at some facts and figures.

Kyrgyzstan, with a population of a little more than 5 million, is about 80 percent Sunni Muslim, with a further 16 percent belonging to Christian denominations, predominantly Russian Orthodox. The Kyrgyz have traditionally worn Islam relatively lightly, due in considerable part to their nomadic background, which prevented more institutional practices from taking root. Nevertheless, the last fifteen years has seen a revival of religiosity as people seek new sources of identity and socio-economic support. Religion, one informant in Bishkek told me, has become fashionable; talking about the social survey I intended to conduct, she was sure virtually no-one would identify themselves as an atheist – and broadly speaking, she was right on both counts. Another tangible sign has been the vast increase in the number of mosques in the country: there are now over 2000 mosques operating, compared to less than fifty in 1991.

Even so, one needs to be careful to avoid jumping to the simplistic conclusion that the growth of religious feeling reflects increasing support for political Islam in the form of Islamic political institutions. Speaking in the broadest possible terms – for the obvious reason that there are certain regional particularities that require further discussion – there is little support for the idea of an Islamic state, either amongst the population or amongst the government. Certainly, there is much coverage of incidents of a “terrorist” nature, particularly after incursions by the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU) in 1999 and 2000 into Kyrgyzstan’s Batken oblast, and most recently on May 12 two attacks on Kyrgyz border points that left ten people dead, including 4 of the insurgents. Interestingly, in this last case, whilst the media has been quick to ask if this is evidence of a new threat from terrorism, there has been little talk of extremism. Although it is still early, this more cautious characterisation and consideration of the threat can be considered a positive development in terms of breaking out of the absolutist War on Terror rhetoric – should those in power wish to use the opportunity; a quick look at Friday’s newspapers suggests we may not be out of the woods yet, with MSN reporting that “Hizb-ut-Tahrir propaganda” was found at the home of one of the dead insurgents, which may strike some as a convenient political deus ex machina to link terrorism and religion once more.

It is here that a consideration of the government’s possible motivations is necessary. Religion is a resource that can be utilised in a virtually endless number of ways for an equally infinite number of aims. Prior to the launch of the War on Terror in 2001, Akaev’s government had been using references to Islam and the country’s Islamic heritage as a theme around which to create a new Kyrgyz identity. Nevertheless, conscious both of the danger of alienating the republic’s Slavic population – already in dramatic decline by the mid 1990s – and more generally of the challenge Islam could pose to their authority, they were careful to keep Islam largely on a cultural level. Indeed, efforts were made to keep Islam out of state life: in 1995, for example, the teaching of religion and atheism in state schools was banned by presidential decree. Similarly, the current (sooner or later to be changed) Constitution states that “religion and all cults are separate from the state” and the founding of political parties on a religious basis is prohibited on the grounds that “religious organisations should not pursue political aims and tasks” and the “interference of representatives of religious organisations in the affairs of the organs of the state” is also banned (Article 8, points 3 and 4). So far, so clear – at least officially.

Yet the problem is that even if Islam has been formally kept out of politics, not least by stigmatising political manifestations of Islam as “extremism” and “Wahabbism”, it has acquired power due to being used as a referent point for the construction of new national identity; Islam may not be explicitly political, but it certainly no longer apolitical. This is especially true as religious identities intersect with other identities, in particular those of the south of the republic (especially Jalalabad and Osh oblasti) and those of the Uzbeks and Uighurs.

The south of Kyrgyzstan is widely perceived to be more traditional and conservative than the more economically developed and Russified north. In addition to a number of socio-economic factors such as higher levels of poverty and unemployment and the relatively greater absence of the state, the ethnic composition of the region has contributed to this characterisation and is supported by view expressed by local people. Uzbeks are seen to be more traditional and more strictly “religious” in terms of formal religious practices. From the point of view of the authorities, this stereotype has been extended to make a sometimes explicit connection between the Uzbeks and so-called “Wahabbis”, as in the case of an open statement made by a kaziyat official in the government-owned newspaper Slovo Kyrgyzstana in 1997. Similarly, official pronouncements seem to have linked Uighurs to religious extremism by portraying them as supporters of the East Turkestan Movement, which the USA added to a list of terrorist organisations shortly after opening the Ganci Airbase near Bishkek, thus lending weight to the supposed connection.

This fact brings the debate about religion in politics directly to the question of what the impact of such an absolute approach to religion could be domestically. Obviously, a major concern of both Akaev’s and Bakiev’s governments has been to ensure international support, which has meant openly opposing “fundamentalism” and “extremism”. Yet among the population – and amongst many more liberally-inclined analysts and commentators – there is a perception that the danger has been exaggerated in the interests of maintaining a firm hold of power and keeping any potential challengers down. Figures from the recent IPI national opinion poll reflect this attitude: only 23% of respondents evaluated the threat of religious extremism in Kyrgyzstan as high, with 38% feeling the threat was moderate and a further 38% evaluating it as low (the final 1% either didn’t know or did not respond). The danger in this case stems more from the loss of state authority in the face of growing cynicism amongst the population, which is in danger of pushing people towards religious groups that are felt to be unfairly and harshly targeted.

The case of Hizb ut Tahrir (HuT) is an apt example. Despite professing a doctrine of non-violent methods, arrests of supposed HuT members have been a relatively regular happening since 2001, as well as the use of more unofficial methods to keep people from joining the movement. As one informant recently recounted, he formally left HuT a couple of years ago fearing for his family’s well being as people thought to be members were being targeted by law enforcement officials. Even so, the label remains a useful one; as a result of a work-based dispute, he found himself taken in for questioning by local police and threatened with being “uncovered” as an extremist. As the police said, they’d find everything to prove the charges - grenades, weapons, pamphlets if necessary. Thus, the line between being a devout Muslim (his interpretation) and a potential extremist (the authorities’ interpretation) is a very fine and flexible one.

The problems of trying to accommodate the principles of religious freedom and secularism are also highlighted by a case reported by RFE/RL’s (Un)Civil Societies list (vol. 7, no. 8, May 18) this week: an imam from the south of Kyrgyzstan has publicly stated that his permits HuT members to pray at his mosque. His argument in many ways seems entirely reasonable – if inevitably a matter of interpretation:

Kamoluddin is quick to say that he does not support Hizb-ut-Tahrir’s ideology, and has no interest in joining. But he is sympathetic to their plight as fervent Muslims. “Firstly, I am not a member of Hizb ut-Tahrir,” he said. “I don’t read their literature, and don’t want to [read it]. There have been offers made to my family — to my sons and daughters — from Hizb ut-Tahrir, but I strictly forbid them [from joining]. But I also do not support the view that Hizb ut-Tahrir are terrorists, enemies of the government, or enemies of the people. And to those who say they aren’t Muslims — they are Muslims. They are a particular group, but they want Islam and they serve Islam.”

His statement is very unlikely to win him favour with the government, but is likely to get a sympathetic hearing from many people. Indeed, it appears a growing number of people are increasingly sympathetic to HuT, and, according to one Bishkek-based analyst who has been studying the spread of support for the organisation, people are beginning to move from passive to active forms of support. This in some ways reflects the fact that HuT activists may now be operating in a less directly ideological way, but are relating their activities to the socio-economic issues concerning people as the government is seen to be failing to improve the living conditions of its citizens.

This in many ways is the key question for the future relationship of politics and religion in Kyrgyzstan: if religion continues to gain social and popular legitimacy, will it be possible to keep it out of politics? It seems unlikely, and may be even undesirable. As a recent respondent noted with some frustration, religion could be a very positive resource for Kyrgyzstan, if the authorities wanted it to be, rather than seeing it as a threat to be at least restricted if not completely muzzled. A more nuanced and open approach on the part of the government would seem very wise, both to assuage fears internationally and nationally that religious freedom is under a sustained assault, and to avoid further alienating a population that is increasingly willing to support any organisation or person who seems to offer the possibility of tangible improvement to their lives. This in itself would be a vital first step in opening the debate on religion and its interpretation and place in society – something that is required worldwide, as well as in Kyrgyzstan and the other Central Asian states, since all forms of extremism thrive on a lack of knowledge and debate.