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WORLD BRIDGE BLOG
Kyrgyzstan Voices: Stateless
Mon, 01/07/2008 - 12:57
Squeezed shoulder to shoulder on a bench in a chilly concrete office, three local Turkish women explain their situation to Refugees International. They live and work in a rural community near Kyrgyzstan’s border with Uzbekistan where cotton fields stretch in all directions and where RI has been told one out of ten people are stateless.
First to speak is Nila whose name has been changed to protect her anonymity. She begins her story by describing the unprofessional treatment she encountered during her most recent attempt to regularize her status in the country and then explains the bigger problem.
“At the moment I am a stateless person.” Nila was born in Uzbekistan but later married a Kyrgyz man. She left Uzbekistan in 1996 on an old Soviet passport, which was still recognized at the time, and registered as a Kyrgyz resident shortly after arrival. However, she was unable to acquire a passport because she arrived after the adoption of the 1994 law on citizenship. When the government of Kyrgyzstan ceased to recognize Soviet passports, Nila was left with nothing but a souvenir and a conundrum. “I can’t get a passport in Uzbekistan or Kyrgyzstan because neither country acknowledges me as a citizen.” According to a law that became active in May 2007, however, she should be considered a citizen. “Why aren’t I?” Nila asked.
Nila’s recent attempt to renew her passport was not the first time she tried to get a Kyrgyz travel document. She says she tried several times before the new law was adopted but was refused. Nonetheless, even though there is a new law in place, the instructions on how to implement it have yet to arrive at the passport desk.
Life without a valid passport means no foreign travel, no medical insurance, and no benefits for her children. “I don’t exist to the government,” she says. And while Nila’s lack of effective documentation does not keep her children from attending public school in the village, when they have to produce the passports of their parents in order to acquire their own, her problem will become theirs.
Nila’s eyes fill with tears that spill onto her cheeks. The other women lower their heads as if doing battle with their own pain. Nila regains her composure and explains, “Sometimes our situation makes us want to cry. People blame us for getting married to foreigners. They say we should have known better.” A human rights worker accompanying RI reassures her, “The problem is built into the law and you couldn’t have foreseen it.”
And yet they must live with it. “We can’t participate in political life or local elections. What’s worse, we can’t own land. Since every citizen in Kyrgyzstan receives some land from the government, we only have the land of one person --- our husbands --- to utilize in feeding our families.”
Stateless people also face the problem of possible deportation. “During political events and political emergencies, the passport police appear and check documents,” Nila reports. “We rarely travel to Osh or Bishkek, where the chance of being asked for our documents is greater. I feel limited to my community.” When asked if she knows of any recent deportations, Nila says she hasn’t heard of any because the police profit from their vulnerability. The price of staying in the country for stateless people is a bribe.
And yet each woman continues to carry her expired passport. When asked why, Nila smiles. “At least it’s something.”
Senior Advocate Maureen Lynch, accompanied by consultant Nathan R. Cox, recently assessed the situation for stateless people in Central Asia.
First to speak is Nila whose name has been changed to protect her anonymity. She begins her story by describing the unprofessional treatment she encountered during her most recent attempt to regularize her status in the country and then explains the bigger problem.
“At the moment I am a stateless person.” Nila was born in Uzbekistan but later married a Kyrgyz man. She left Uzbekistan in 1996 on an old Soviet passport, which was still recognized at the time, and registered as a Kyrgyz resident shortly after arrival. However, she was unable to acquire a passport because she arrived after the adoption of the 1994 law on citizenship. When the government of Kyrgyzstan ceased to recognize Soviet passports, Nila was left with nothing but a souvenir and a conundrum. “I can’t get a passport in Uzbekistan or Kyrgyzstan because neither country acknowledges me as a citizen.” According to a law that became active in May 2007, however, she should be considered a citizen. “Why aren’t I?” Nila asked.
Nila’s recent attempt to renew her passport was not the first time she tried to get a Kyrgyz travel document. She says she tried several times before the new law was adopted but was refused. Nonetheless, even though there is a new law in place, the instructions on how to implement it have yet to arrive at the passport desk.
Life without a valid passport means no foreign travel, no medical insurance, and no benefits for her children. “I don’t exist to the government,” she says. And while Nila’s lack of effective documentation does not keep her children from attending public school in the village, when they have to produce the passports of their parents in order to acquire their own, her problem will become theirs.
Nila’s eyes fill with tears that spill onto her cheeks. The other women lower their heads as if doing battle with their own pain. Nila regains her composure and explains, “Sometimes our situation makes us want to cry. People blame us for getting married to foreigners. They say we should have known better.” A human rights worker accompanying RI reassures her, “The problem is built into the law and you couldn’t have foreseen it.”
And yet they must live with it. “We can’t participate in political life or local elections. What’s worse, we can’t own land. Since every citizen in Kyrgyzstan receives some land from the government, we only have the land of one person --- our husbands --- to utilize in feeding our families.”
Stateless people also face the problem of possible deportation. “During political events and political emergencies, the passport police appear and check documents,” Nila reports. “We rarely travel to Osh or Bishkek, where the chance of being asked for our documents is greater. I feel limited to my community.” When asked if she knows of any recent deportations, Nila says she hasn’t heard of any because the police profit from their vulnerability. The price of staying in the country for stateless people is a bribe.
And yet each woman continues to carry her expired passport. When asked why, Nila smiles. “At least it’s something.”
Senior Advocate Maureen Lynch, accompanied by consultant Nathan R. Cox, recently assessed the situation for stateless people in Central Asia.
