In March of this year, Nursultan Nazarbayev – the leader of Kazakhstan for nearly three decades – made the shocking announcement that he would be resigning his post as president. While many have speculated that Nazarbayev will retain much of his power in spite of this abdication, the transfer of power – whether it be genuine or not – has precipitated a flurry of political activity and ostensible slackening of the government’s previously authoritarian policies. Nazarbayev’s hand-picked successor, the career diplomat Kassym-Jomart Tokayev, has treaded a fine line between placating the public with vague assurances of reform and assuaging the concerns of apparatchiks who fear such change.

As a consequence, policies which seem inimical to the maintenance of party power – such as the adoption of a softer stance against public protest – are promulgated in tandem with affirmations of Tokayev’s reverence of Nazarbayev’s legacy. The decision to rename the capital ‘Nursultan’ in honor of the recently-resigned dictator is the most blatant example of this. The sustainability of this dual-pronged, conciliatory approach is threatened, however, by the ever-looming question of China.

Over the course of the past two decades, Russia has been thoroughly eclipsed by China as the most powerful entity in Central Asia. This seismic shift of power dynamics has ushered in a surfeit of questions and concerns for the future of Kazakh foreign policy. Cooperation with China could prove to be lucrative, as illustrated by the plans to construct 55 industrial facilities with Chinese technical and financial assistance. That being said, domestic opposition to Tokayev’s intentions to deepen business ties with Beijing is pervasive in spite of the potential economic benefits. Nargis Kassenova, a senior fellow at the Davis Center for Russian and Eurasian Studies, wrote the following: “Kazakhstan’s public opinion seems to be in a counter-cycle to that of the government: While the political elites are warming up for a tight embrace with China, ordinary citizens seem to be growing more worried, with discussions of the “China threat” serving as a staple of public discourse on security and the future of the country.”

The origins of Kazakhs distrust for China are twofold. Firstly, as seems to be ubiquitous amongst the countries ostensibly labeled as beneficiaries of China’s controversial Belt and Road initiative, there is a suspicion about China’s motives. While investment of any kind is certainly welcome, there is an underlying fear that the true intent behind China’s massive investment portfolio is to accrue debt by encouraging less-developed countries such as Kazakhstan to bite off more than they can chew, rather than to actually stimulate economic growth. The evidence supporting this fear oftentimes tends to be politically-charged and tendentious at best. 

Regardless, the viewpoint is common amongst Kazakhs, particularly amongst the youth who have been capitalizing on the slackening of restrictions on rallies to protest what they perceive as perfidious Chinese investment. Banners with slogans such as “End Chinese expansion” and “No to Chinese Factories” were held high by protesters during a series of ill-fated rallies this September. The second grievance articulated by protesters pertains to the Chinese persecution of the Uighurs in the province of Xinjiang, which borders Kazakhstan. Ethnic ties between Kazakhstan and Xinjiang are strong – far stronger than those between Xinjiang and the Chinese heartland. Over 400,000 Uighurs live in Kazakhstan as exiles from the infamous “Great Leap Forward” in 1957.

Moreover, nearly two million ethnic Kazakhs also reside within Xinjiang. The atrocities committed by the Chinese government in Xinjiang, therefore, are a subject of extreme salience and passion amongst the Kazakh people, and have served to amplify pre-existing disdain for all things Chinese. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Tokayev has chosen to suppress large-scale anti-China demonstrations such as the ones held this September, in which 57 people were detained. While this authoritarian measure may augur a continuation of Nazarbayev’s repressive policies, one must also remember that liberalization is a slow, incremental process. Nazarbayev’s resignation may not have hastened democratization like some hoped, but the new regime’s acknowledgment of limited political expression coupled with the public’s vociferous opposition to Tokayev’s foreign policy suggests that change is indeed in the air.

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