Kyrgyzstan is a land defined by mountains. The Ferghana and Tian Shan ranges, rising up to 7,000 meters, scythe through this Central Asian republic, acting as walls that separate its two most populous regions. In the north is the capital, Bishkek; in the south are the cities of Osh and Jalal-Abad. In between, the terrain is nigh on impassable.
“Right now, between north and south Kyrgyzstan, there is one road – a very narrow, mountainous road,” explained Alibek Mukambaev, an independent researcher based in Bishkek. “In winter it often gets closed due to snow. The alternative is to fly, which is extremely expensive, the minimum cost will be around 40 euro.”
That might sound reasonable to readers in developed countries, but not in a country where the average wage is around $200 a month, and the minimum wage just $26 a month. This makes plane tickets prohibitively expensive for many. Kyrgyz airlines are also deemed unsafe by most international regulators, including the EU, and flight comparison sites like Skyscanner refuse to list them.
Most have little choice but to take a ten-hour minibus – known throughout the former USSR as a marshrutka – along the vertiginous roads that wind through center of the country.
These travel difficulties have been a feature of life in Kyrgyzstan ever since it became independent from the Soviet Union in 1991. Like all the states that were once ruled from the Kremlin, the country inherited a system of infrastructure that was primarily focused on connecting far-flung regions to Moscow.
“The connections between Kyrgyz cities were not deemed a priority because they were part of the wider Soviet economic system. As a result, the north of Kyrgyzstan is well connected to Kazakhstan, and the south to Uzbekistan and Tajikistan,” said Mukambaev.
Indeed, it is still cheaper to transport one tonne of fuel from Omsk (in Russia) 850 miles to the Kyrgyz city of Kara-Balta, than it is to transport it from Kara-Balta to Osh – just 167 miles as the crow flies.
This hasn’t just led to transport difficulties; it also exacerbates a cultural divide between the north and south.
“The southern part of Kyrgyzstan, in the Fergana Valley, has historically shared a common culture with the settled peoples living there such as Tajiks and Uzbeks,” said Cholpon Chotaeva, a professor of history at the American University of Central Asia in Bishkek. “The northern part is close to Kazakhstan, sharing their nomadic lifestyle in the past, and developing a culture similar to Kazakhs and probably Russians during the Soviet time.”
Ask people on the streets of Bishkek about the southern areas of the country and some roll their eyes.
“I’ve never travelled to the south,” said Kunduz Amanbaeva, a graphic designer. “It doesn’t really feel like the same country; it’s a more Islamic region, women go around covered up. The only time I’ve met anyone from South Kyrgyzstan is when I worked in Moscow!” she added, referring to the number of Kyrgyz who work in Russia as migrant workers.
This divide extends to politics. Chotaeva pointed to a tendency in modern Kyrgyz history for power to oscillate between northern and southern leaders of the country.
“The country does not long tolerate northern or southern dominance,” she said. “The 2005 revolution began in the south, against a northern leader, whereas the opposite happened in 2010: We had Bakiyev, a southern leader in power, who was kicked out by the northerners.”
The North-South Alternative Highway
The solution to this has been long-touted: a reliable, fast connection through the mountains that will not be closed by the winter snows. To this end, a new highway from Balykchy in the north to the southern city of Jalal-Abad was announced in 2012, after securing funding from the Export-Import (Exim) Bank of China as well as the multilateral Asian Development Bank (ADB). The design, materials, and much of the implementation have also come from China, with the China Road and Bridge Corporation heading the construction phases of the project. The highway broke ground in 2014 and was expected to take five years to complete.
Ten years on, it has yet to open.
“I think they underestimated some of the difficulties,” said Mukambaev. “There may have been some mistakes at the planning stage, occasional special circumstances like the pandemic, as well as special… let’s say, lies… ”
He’s referring to the inevitable allegations of corruption and petty theft that plague most infrastructure projects in Central Asia.
This year, however, rumors have begun to swirl that the highway might actually be nearing the finish line. Kyrgyz officials have weighed in, too. In May, the President Sadyr Japarov said it would open “soon,” while Temir Sariev, chairman of the Chamber of Commerce of Kyrgyzstan, proclaimed in June that the road would be opened in the latter half of 2024.
Hopes were raised further by the final excavation of the Kok-Art Pass, an almost 4-kilometer tunnel that was completed in July. On September 23, a representative of the ADB, Aibek Kalmamatov, told a Bishkek radio station that work on all sections of the road will be completed by November 30.
Costs and Benefits
The stakes are certainly high. The 415-kilometer road’s initial cost of $860 million means that one kilometer of road, on average, cost over $2 million. Kyrgyzstan now owes a reported $1.7 billion to various Chinese lenders, most notably Exim Bank, which many fear gives leverage to Beijing in gaining mining concessions, and influence over foreign policy decisions.
“There is no real way of paying them back,” said Mukambaev. “Are they going to turn it into a toll road which makes money? Are they going to tax trucks that use it? Or are they just hoping it will magically lead to more economic growth and tax returns?”
On the streets of Bishkek, many share this lukewarm view. Asan Sulaimanov, a businessman from Osh who now lives and works in Bishkek, chooses to fly when he goes home to visit his family. “Even though it’s expensive, I can’t afford to spend ten hours on the road,” he said. “The distance just means I go back less than I otherwise would; the new road is unlikely to change that.”
But some are convinced that the cultural and political benefits are worth it.
“The new road between the southern and the northern part will not just facilitate transportation and communication between both,” said Chotaeva. “It will also connect them politically and culturally. The state and the political center will reach and include the southern region, bringing the periphery into the state- and nation-building process, while on the cultural level, regional differences will begin to merge.”
Mukambaev agrees that there will certainly be some benefits.
“The country is crying out for more infrastructure, and this will be an extra link between north and south, and a dual-carriageway too – the current road is only a single carriageway, which makes it very dangerous.”
However, he’s skeptical that the road presents a silver bullet that will suddenly transform the country.
“I’m unsure about the communication benefits being promised,” he said, raising doubts that the road will be kept open over the winter, particularly for night buses, which he sees as key to regional integration.
“A rail link would have been much better,” he sighed. “That’s something that could have been sold to everyone – you go to sleep in Bishkek and wake up in Jalal-Abad. It could have been used for freight as well. And it doesn’t need [to] have the same high maintenance costs.”
But whether road or rail, he’s doubtful that anything can close Kyrgyzstan’s cultural divide. “It’s been this way for a thousand years. North Kyrgyzstan and South Kyrgyzstan belong to two different cultural areas. Television and the internet haven’t managed to bridge the gap in mentality. I don’t think the road will alter it either.”