Talking political parties and civic action with Uzbekistan's Ministry of Justice

While VOA has interviewed Uzbekistan’s Justice Minister Ruslanbek Davletov in Washington several times and questioned him at media events in Tashkent, it had never visited the Ministry itself. Until now. 

On my most recent visit to Tashkent, I was granted an exclusive opportunity to explore this critical part of the government and, for the first time, was given access to the department in charge of registering non-governmental organizations and political parties. 

I was welcomed to the Ministry’s headquarters by its press secretary, Sevara Urinbayeva, whose office received the highest mark among all press services in the country in the Uzbek National News Agency’s annual survey. Urinbayeva met me accompanied by a young man, thin and tall, who seemed excited but nervous, shy but enthusiastic. He quickly identified himself as Avazbek Madaminov, a thirtysomething bureaucrat, who heads up the Department on non-governmental and non-profit organizations, which also deals with political parties. Somewhat credulously, he told me that he was very happy to see me at the Ministry. “We are happy to answer any questions you may have about our work,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m here for,” I replied. 

To keep things informal and relaxed, we walked to the Ministry’s exterior courtyard, where some staffers were busy preparing sumalak, an ancient dish made of freshly grown wheat, for the Navruz festival, which celebrates the springtime awakening of nature. As cameramen set up for our interview, Urinbayeva invited me to stir the sumalak pot on the fire. We did this together, as she told me how the ministry’s annual Navruz celebration not only involves cooking sumalak but also a luncheon with plov. Navruz, she says, offers the opportunity for a short, in-house retreat.

As I literally stir the Justice Ministry’s pot of sumalak, I consider how to metaphorically stir the pot by pushing Madaminov for answers in our discussion. He stood patiently to the side, waiting to begin our on-camera conversation, which ultimately took place in three distinct parts: an initial, informal discussion in the courtyard, and then two intense segments inside the building.

Under a sign with the Ministry’s motto, “Power in Justice,” I asked Madaminov to start by telling me what “civil society” actually means to the Uzbek Government. It’s a question that Uzbek bureaucrats rarely are compelled to answer, in part because civil society in the country is underdeveloped but also because they tend, by temperament and instinct, to see it either as an extension of the state or else as a threat to its dominance. 

Madaminov begins his answer by referring to the law, not to organic social organization. The laws of the country, he says, define what “civil society” is and isn’t. And this, he says, applies to all non-governmental and non-profit organizations in the country, over 9,000 at this point, which together make up Uzbek civil society. I remind him that there are many people, including independent journalists and bloggers, who also belong to this group—it’s not just something for the state to define by referring to this or that law. He agrees and concedes that freedom is at the core of any conception of civil society.

That’s a striking statement for an official of the Uzbek Justice Ministry, which, after all, enforces laws that have constricted the operating space for civil society and often meet with grumbles and complaints. Broadly speaking, domestic and international analysts argue that Uzbekistan’s so-called “civil society” is not a true civil society as this concept is understood elsewhere. For one, it is neither organic nor independent if the government regards the “non-governmental” system as little more than an extension of the state. And Tashkent created much of what passed for civil society in Uzbekistan under its previous leader Islam Karimov, a window dressing intended to fool the world into believing that the country was “democratizing.”

The Justice Ministry has been the target of much of the resulting criticism.

For decades, Uzbek activists and their allies abroad have complained that the Ministry only registers those who obey the government and promise to function as its agents. They say that instead of regulating organizations, the government is interfering directly, busily going after those that demand better services, transparency, accountability, and the state’s own assurance of “power in justice.”

Tashkent spends a lot of time fielding these complaints from its domestic and foreign critics. Indeed, it gets countless recommendations every year from its Western counterparts and partners, in particular, about how to open the way for the development of a more robust and autonomous civil society.

Pressed, Madaminov calmly argues that Uzbekistan hears the West, understands its international obligations, and has been doing its best to align with global norms while building “its own kind” of civil society, born of the needs and interests of Uzbeks themselves.

The success of Uzbek civil society, says Madaminov, depends ultimately on the will and energy of the people who run these organizations. “Our laws and the system which we’ve been reforming offers opportunities, wide and deep, to work on their missions and make a positive difference in the lives of the Uzbek people.”

But why is registration almost always a problem, I ask, especially if applicants want to defend human rights, promote the rule of law, and serve as watchdogs? Why is the process so complicated and painful, as we hear again and again from both young and old organizations, if the state is truly interested in facilitating an organic civil society? It has taken years for some of these groups to gain the status of official entities, while others are still waiting for registration, constantly getting letters from the Ministry about this or that supposed shortcoming or technical mistake in their application.

Madaminov says the Ministry is meticulous in its review of applications. He does not apologize for this. With twelve staffers in Tashkent and bureaus in every region, the government checks every aspect of an application for accuracy and whether it meets all of the legal and technical requirements. I bluntly ask whether there is a blacklist of issues and people that the government will not consider or approve. He denies this and says laws, decrees, and other legal strictures dictate what his office decides. Madaminov, who has been in his job for nearly two years, says he must be guided by these constraints. 

In fact, he says, “the same applies to the applications from international organizations,” referring to those that aim to set up or maintain local offices in Uzbekistan. “We review each case carefully, analyze and assess, and then make a decision.” 

As we continue our conversation, now sitting inside at the ministry’s reception area, I press for details of the registration process and factors driving the outcomes. Madaminov reverts to legalese, spelling out answers without emotion, while constantly referencing this law and that rule.

“Who has the final say in a decision?”

“The Minister.”

But that sounds to me like a bottleneck, since it implies that an awful lot of decisions must be bumped to the very top.

To make the process more efficient, Madaminov says that online applications are accepted now. But the requirements, whether online or on paper, remain the same: to be registered, an NGO or a party’s mission and strategy cannot ”go against the interests of the nation” or threaten the peace or constitutional system of the country. 

“Do you really get applications that do that?” I ask incredulously. If a group aimed to threaten the system or act against the interests of the people,” logically they would not even apply.

“Of course not,” he replies. “But in any case, we won’t allow that.”

I ask whether any group, on Madaminov’s watch, has ever applied and then been assessed as a “danger” to the country?

He says no. “But still, we are vigilant and do our best to ensure that it never even happens in the first place.”

Madaminov adds that the denial of registration should not be seen as the end of the road for an applicant.

“When any group is denied registration, it can appeal our decision and challenge it in court.”

It can also rework the application and re-apply.

Madaminov argues that the mere fact that thousands of NGOs operate legally around the country, are funded through the Uzbek parliament and other sources, including by foreign donors and supporters, “proves that Uzbek civil society is growing and prospering day by day.”

Each organization must regularly report on its activities, keep the ministry updated about its funders, and obtain timely permissions to hold major events.

Madaminov contends that the government’s requirements are logical, legally sound, and a means to regulate, not control, civic groups. The critics, he says, are wrong when they charge the state with having an impulse to “control.”

“We never see our work as ‘controlling,’ them,” he claims. “Instead, we want to assist them. We don’t just register a group and then forget about these organizations. We want to hear about their progress. We want to help them, so that they make progress and achieve their goals. We communicate with them, hear their grievances, and take action to solve their problems. But we are neutral. We act based on facts and proof.”

Madaminov points to recent amendments, new laws, and presidential decrees that, he says, will create a more favorable environment by protecting civil society from any pressures and threats. He says that no one, including the government or private actors, can dictate to NGOs—even though his own ministry monitors their operations. “Cooperation and engagement based on common goals and interests are what bring us together,” he argues.           

Throughout our interview, Madaminov maintains his cool, even when we switch to a discussion of the sensitive topic of registering political parties. The Ministry now has two groups talking to it about registration. One of them, the “Truth and Development” Social Democratic Party, submitted its application package within days of our interview but at the time of my conversation with Madaminov, it was busily protesting against the ministry. The ministry, it charged in online video statements, had handed its confidential information, such as the names of its founders, over to the security services.

Madaminov dismissed these and other assertions by the leader of “Truth and Development,” Khidirnazar Allakulov. But in my separate interview with Allakulov on this visit to Tashkent, he argued that the Ministry should have no more than a limited role in matters pertaining to his party: “They must review our application and respond accordingly … We’re not asking for ‘permission’ from them or anyone else in the government to exist, to voice our opposition to current policies, or to express our dissatisfaction with the country’s leadership.” 

When I press him on this party’s application, Madaminov reminds me of the basic requirements for registration as a political party, including the need to collect signatures from 20,000 supporters in at least eight regions of the country.

That’s a high bar for most groups. And if the founders, unlike Allakulov, are located outside Uzbekistan, it sounds impossible to clear. “What if they are currently abroad?” I ask.

Madaminov stresses that the signatures a party collects must be from those with permanent residence in country, even if they are overseas now. 

“We go through each signature, examine each in detail, study what is in the application documents, and then make a decision.”

Again and again, Madaminov claims to me that there is no “bias” or “anti-liberal” attitude reflected in its judgements against any group or applicant. “We are neutral. We don’t advocate for anyone or act against anyone. We work based on the laws of this country.”

But that explanation doesn’t wash with some of the applicants themselves. Take Allakulov. He complained to me about harassment and barriers to political entry, adding that he has not gone to the General Prosecutor's Office because he does not trust it, or any part of the government to see justice done.

Madaminov denies that claim:

"If these allegations have any basis, this group should file a formal complaint. If we receive it, we will pass it to the relevant entities to investigate."

Allakulov is incredulous about that, accusing the ministry of being in cahoots with the security services, who, he says, have bullied him and his followers for months. "The government has done everything it can to block our way and try to distract us from our mission." Again, Madaminov describes these assertions as baseless.

An early test of who is right, Allakulov or Madaminov, will come with Uzbekistan’s October 24 presidential elections. Campaigning will start three months before that day, so prospective aspirants will need to be registered as soon as possible if they are to legally compete. 

Would Uzbekistan actually register a new political party that wants to contest the election as a real opposition, something Uzbekistan has not had for decades, if ever?

Madaminov deflects the question. He argues that it is not the Ministry’s role or goal to offer the country such a party. He says his office registers parties not because Uzbekistan should have an opposition but because this or that group qualifies to be a party according to the law. The rest, he says, is just politics, which is not within the ambit of the Ministry.  

“We know we are criticized for this,” says Madaminov “and we approach it constructively … The government has been working on recommendations from the international community that flowed from the last parliamentary elections. We know that the upcoming presidential election will also be monitored and evaluated.” 

But does the Ministry feel any pressure to ensure that Uzbekistan has an opposition party this year—to be seen as truly reforming and democratizing? If there is still no political competition among parties, the election might easily be described as a sham. 

“We don’t accept the notion of pressure or operate based on any such presumptions. We do our job based on documentation and legal requirements.”

“What if you get an order from above,” I ask, “in effect telling you to register or not register an opposition party?”

“We don’t get such orders,” Madaminov retorts. And he prefers not to discuss possibilities and probabilities, involving anyone, especially from above.

Like the lawyer he is, Madaminov reverts to the safe harbor of legalese: “If the application meets all the requirements, the decision should be positive for the applicant.”

But that hardly seems like the end of the story in a country where everything, from the role of the state to the obligations of the citizen, has become politicized.