Month: September 2025

As the war in Ukraine continues to drag on, fighters from across Central Asia have found themselves on both sides of the frontlines. In Kyiv, Kazakh national Zhasulan Duysembin has traded his past life as a sales agent for a rifle, sporting a tattoo of Kazakhstan’s flag on his back as he battles to defend his adopted home. He now fights, he says, to protect his children and believes that “Russia will not stop in Ukraine, it will go further. We must make every effort to ensure that our Kazakhstan does not suffer.” Alan Zhangozha, an ethnic Kazakh who grew up in Kyiv and now serves as a public relations officer in the Ukrainian Army, echoes this sentiment. “Ukraine’s victory will also be a victory for my Motherland,” he told The Diplomat.

But as the war drags on, in Kazakhstan, families mourn men like 22-year-old Kiril Nysanbaev – a labor migrant in Russia coerced into signing up for the war who only came home in a coffin. His sister recalls how her brother told her that Russian officers beat and forced him to enlist while he was detained on dubious charges in Chelyabinsk. Nysanbaev was killed in Ukraine’s Donetsk region in March 2024, news that only reached his family three months later.

Citizens of all five Central Asian countries have been pulled into the conflict since Russia’s invasion in 2022. Some have volunteered to fight for Ukraine, driven by personal ties or ideals, while others, mostly labor migrants, have been recruited, enticed, or pressured into fighting for Russia. These parallel currents reflect the complex impact of the war on a region that remains officially neutral but was historically deeply entwined with Moscow. While a handful of Central Asians now wear the blue-and-yellow insignia in Ukraine’s defense, far more have ended up in Russia’s ranks, often as expendable foot soldiers.

From Bishkek to Bucha

In November 2022, a Kyrgyz former labor migrant, Almaz Kudabek uulu, announced the creation of the Turan Battalion, a volunteer unit of Turkic-speaking fighters formed to assist Ukraine. “Kyrgyzstan is my homeland; I will always love it. But Ukraine is my home now; I am fighting for Ukraine,” he told reporters. The battalion, joined by volunteers from Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, and elsewhere, operates as a semi-autonomous unit supported by private donations and allied Ukrainian brigades. Back in Kyrgyzstan, however, the authorities opened a criminal case against Kudabek, punishable by up to eight years in prison, and local media that covered his story faced pressure.

Others have supported Ukraine in tangible, humanitarian ways. Early in the war, members of Ukraine’s Kazakh diaspora erected traditional yurts in cities like Bucha and Kyiv as heated shelters dubbed “Yurts of Invincibility.” These spaces provided food, tea, and electricity during blackouts, a gesture of solidarity that irritated Moscow but drew only a muted response from Kazakhstan’s government.

Moscow’s Migrant Recruits: Coercion and Casualties

Far greater numbers of Central Asians have ended up fighting for Russia, which hosts millions of migrant workers from Central Asia, creating a vulnerable pool for recruitment. Reports have detailed raids on dormitories and markets in Moscow, where migrants are detained and told to either sign military contracts or face deportation.

Yusuf, a migrant from Uzbekistan, told RFE/RL he was beaten by the police after refusing to enlist. He escaped only by threatening to alert his embassy. Others had no such choice: Nysanbaev, the young Kazakh killed in Donetsk, was forced to enlist after a fabricated robbery charge and buried in Russia.

Despite these abuses, recruitment has accelerated. A 2022 decree from President Vladimir Putin offered fast-track Russian citizenship to foreigners who serve a year in the army, an incentive for migrants seeking stability. Cash bounties are also offered, though many recruits never live to collect them. By September 2024, at least 47 Uzbeks had been reported killed fighting for Russia.

The Ukrainian-run project “I Want to Live” has identified more than 3,000 Central Asians who have signed Russian contracts since 2022, including over 1,100 Uzbeks and 900 Tajiks. Hundreds have already been confirmed killed. President Volodymyr Zelenskyy has also claimed that citizens of Uzbekistan and Tajikistan are among the foreign mercenaries fighting for Russia on Ukraine’s northeastern front, alongside recruits from Africa and Pakistan.

Among these, Tajiks appear to suffer a disproportionately high casualty rate. By late 2024, 51 Tajik nationals had been reported dead, though the real toll may be higher. Kyrgyz citizens have also been swept up: in the first half of 2025 alone, 327 Kyrgyz signed contracts with Russia, nearly equaling the total from the previous two years combined. Bishkek has arrested several recruiters, including one from a Russian government agency.

Even Turkmenistan, the most closed of the region’s states, has been affected. At least 122 Turkmen citizens signed Russian contracts in the first six months of 2025. According to the I Want to Live project, they are often thrown into dangerous units for expendable “meat assaults,” and rarely receive the passports or payments they were promised.

Although Central Asian governments have largely maintained their neutrality, some have permitted limited public demonstrations in support of Ukraine. In March 2022, Kazakhstan allowed thousands to gather in Almaty for a peace rally condemning the war, one of the largest pro-Ukraine events in the region. Around the same time, the authorities in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan also allowed smaller anti-war protests and civic initiatives to collect aid for Ukraine, reflecting both public sympathy and the authorities’ balancing of foreign policy pressures.

Central Asian governments have worked to preserve this neutrality by making deliberate policy choices rather than remaining on the sidelines. Kazakhstan, for instance, has tightened customs oversight and closed branches of sanctioned Russian banks to protect access to Western markets while signaling that it will not be used to circumvent sanctions. These steps illustrate how neutrality is a matter of active management, designed to safeguard sovereignty and economic stability.

At the same time, leaders have pursued quiet diplomacy to keep channels open with both Kyiv and Moscow. Kazakhstan has sent humanitarian aid and hosted high-level discussions aimed at promoting dialogue, while Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan have issued repeated warnings to their citizens against joining the conflict. No Central Asian state has recognized Russia’s claims to Ukrainian territory. Kazakhstan, in particular, has stated it will not recognize the “quasi-state territories” of Luhansk and Donetsk.

Hidden Losses, Complex Identities

The Central Asian governments’ neutrality, however, has not shielded their societies from the conflict’s effects: families grieve for sons killed in Russia’s ranks, migrants face pressure to enlist under threat of deportation or lost livelihoods, and remittance dependency in Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan gives Moscow leverage. Although some citizens have chosen to fight for Ukraine, far more have been swept into Russia’s war, their experiences underscoring how deeply the conflict’s repercussions extend into the region.

Meanwhile, the bodies of Central Asian recruits continue to return quietly. Many funerals are held without publicity, as families fear stigma or legal consequences. “I think people should not go to Russia,” Kamilla Nysanbaeva, Kiril’s sister, told RFE/RL. “Many people go to Russia on their own accord and then complain about what has happened to them… I warn them to avoid going.”

According to the 2021 Russian Census, there were 591,570 ethnic Kazakhs living in Russia, primarily in regions along the Kazakhstan border, such as Astrakhan, Volgograd, Samara, and Orenburg. In contrast to labor migrants from Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan – who often retain their home citizenship – demographers estimate that well over 90% of those ethnic Kazakhs are historic residents who hold Russian citizenship. Yet when they are killed in Ukraine, media reports often identify them only by their ethnicity, obscuring their Russian citizenship and highlighting the complex identities caught in the war.

Caught Between Laws and Loyalties

Most Central Asian countries have laws forbidding their citizens from serving in foreign conflicts, with penalties ranging from fines and travel bans to prison terms. In December 2023, a court in Qaraghandy, Kazakhstan, sentenced Aleksei Shompolov to six years and eight months in prison for joining Russia’s Wagner group and fighting in Bakhmut. His payment was also confiscated. In July 2025, the Romitan District Criminal Court in the Bukhara region sentenced two Uzbek nationals found guilty of mercantilism for Russia to five years and three years, respectively. In the city of Osh, a Kyrgyz court sentenced an unnamed man to five years in prison for fighting for the Russian forces in Ukraine.

These are not isolated incidents. Together, they highlight how Central Asia’s citizens – whether volunteers, coerced migrants, or returnees facing prosecution – have become entangled in a distant war, leaving governments to walk a precarious line between enforcing the law, protecting their people, and preserving neutrality. The war’s frontlines may be in Ukraine, but its shadows stretch deep into Central Asia.

Mexico Commemorates “Grito de Dolores” Amid Reflections on Independence

On the night of September 15, Mexico commemorates the “Grito de Dolores,” a call to arms issued by parish priest Miguel Hidalgo in 1810 that sparked the independence movement. More than 200 years later, this ritual remains a fundamental aspect of national identity, intertwining civic ceremony with enduring questions of sovereignty, justice, and identity, reports 24brussels.

The Grito originated in a society rife with inequality. Under colonial rule, power and wealth were concentrated among Spaniards born in the mainland, while criollos faced exclusion from significant positions despite their local influence. Indigenous communities and mestizos were particularly burdened, subjected to tribute, debt, and exploitation in agricultural, industrial, and mining sectors. In regions like Bajío, many “indios laboríos” lived without legal protections and endured cycles of enforced labor and indebtedness, exacerbated by strict fiscal controls implemented by the Spanish Crown in the late 18th century.

Prior to Hidalgo’s famous call, various networks of dissent were emerging throughout the region. Conspiracies in Querétaro and other towns illustrated a growing desire for self-rule, inspired by Enlightenment principles and revolutionary movements like those in France and Haiti. When these plots were uncovered, urgency replaced careful planning. At dawn on September 16, 1810, Hidalgo rang the church bell in Dolores, rallying the populace to revolt. His proclamation, now known as the “Grito,” encapsulated the frustrations of a divided colony and set off a war for independence that would stretch over a decade.

The aspirations of the uprising included abolishing Indigenous tribute, ending slavery, alleviating burdensome debts, and granting greater autonomy to local communities. While some changes occurred in areas controlled by insurgents, many goals remained unmet. Independence, while politically significant, did not eliminate entrenched inequalities or foreign dependencies that persisted into the newly formed republic.

Today, the Grito is formally reenacted annually from the balcony of the National Palace in Mexico City, where the president tolls the bell from Dolores. Similar events occur in public squares nationwide and among Mexican communities abroad, particularly in the United States, reinforcing its role as both a domestic and diasporic ritual.

Yet the significance of the Grito extends beyond a ceremonial act; it permeates popular culture, reflected in mariachi music, folk dancing, and traditional dishes like pozole, tostadas, and chiles en nogada. Families come together to celebrate, town centers become communal stages, and fireworks brighten the night sky. This dynamic interaction ensures that history is not merely remembered but actively enacted through sounds, flavors, and shared experiences.

Throughout history, successive governments have reinterpreted the Grito to align with prevailing political narratives—from nationalist spectacles during Porfirio Díaz’s regime to mass rallies in the 20th century, and present-day ceremonies carried out on national broadcasts. This political appropriation highlights its dual identity as a mechanism for state validation and a cultural symbol embraced by citizens.

From a global South perspective, the Grito resonates with other independence movements aimed at dismantling colonial control throughout Latin America. It also symbolizes the ongoing struggles for social justice, equality, and true cultural autonomy, emphasizing that the fight for independence endures beyond mere celebration.

More than two centuries after Hidalgo’s declaration, the Grito remains both a celebration and a critique. It brings together Mexicans in joy and remembrance, while simultaneously addressing the unresolved issues of sovereignty that continue to shape the nation’s trajectory in the broader context of Latin America and the global South.