Students of the annals of consequential authoritarian stupidity keep a special place in their hearts for Turkmenistan. Ah, Turkmenistan! Nomadic land, desert land, home of skilled equestrians, key way-station along the storied Silk Road. Subjected for decades to the authoritarian Soviet yoke, until finally it could cast off foreign influence and place itself under its own authoritarian yoke–first under Saparmurat Niyazov and, since 2006, under the dynastic regime of Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedow and now his son Serdar. Under all three, the style has been the same: a cult of personality joined (as if they are ever separate) to vast personal corruption.
Niyazov, who started things off, surely takes the prize for dictatorial and egomaniacal impulses–and if there weren’t such a prize, he would no doubt have created one, named it after himself, awarded it, and magnanimously accepted it. This fine article by Paul Theroux recounts Niyazov’s “reign of insanity.” It’s hilarious in the way that articles about countries suffering under lunatic despots can be entertaining, provide they are located far away and you don’t have to live there. It’s titled–I assure you that any coincidences are entirely coincidental–“The Golden Man.” “While he lived,” Theroux begins,
[Niyazov] was one of the wealthiest and most powerful lunatics on earth. He treated Turkmenistan as his private kingdom, a land in which everything belonged to him, including the country’s plentiful natural gas—much of which issued into the air from his own person in the form of interminable speechifying.
As Theroux discovered, the capital of Ashagabat was “an example of what happens when absolute political power, money, and mental illness are combined.” The city was crowded with vulgar gold statutes of the leader, including “a rotating, $12 million, golden statue of himself that always faces the sun.” In keeping with cult of personality custom, Niyazov–known by the self-granted name Turkmenbashi, “Leader of All the Turkmen”–observed the nominal pretense that he had erected them because the simple people demanded that he be celebrated. Likewise, the city was full of enormous portraits of Turkmenbashi. He had the parliament declare him “President for Life,” something that no doubt gave sycophants and jackasses a valuable opportunity to curry favor.
Cults of personality breed arbitrary rules and crudely personal culture; Niyazov “banned beards and ballet.” His urge to name things after himself was so great that he renamed January after himself, with April given as a sop to his mother. To secure personal loyalty and further the cult of personality, his godawful book was made “an entry requirement for colleges and universities and for advancement in the civil service.”
Despite paying lip service to the importance of a market economy and democracy, Niyazov retained a substantially state-run economy and his authoritarianism hardly advanced democratization. He talked about rights but denied them. He stressed the importance of exercise but savaged the health system. His nation, freed from the Soviet yoke, became even poorer and sicker, while Niyazov, operating through the usual fatal combination of personalist authoritarianism and state control of the economy, siphoned off billions of dollars for himself.
Wikipedia enjoys one of its occasional moments of eloquence in summing up:
The eccentric nature of some of his decrees, and the vast number of images of the president[,] led to the perception, especially in western countries, of a despotic leader, rich on oil wealth[,] glorifying himself whilst the population gained no benefit. For these, and other reasons, the US government said that by the time he died, “Niyazov’s personality cult … had reached the dimensions of a state-imposed religion.”
One imagines that some substantial number of citizens subscribed whole-heartedly if ignorantly to the cult of personality but that many or most, schooled by decades of cynical experience of authoritarianism, did not. One imagines, too, that among the intelligentsia, the view was mostly contemptuous but generally silent about behavior it viewed as embarrassing or contemptible–for obvious if, viewed sub specie aeternitatis, morally blameworthy reasons. (Obviously that silence would have been unforgivable if the people, intelligentsia included, had been freer, richer, better educated, and accustomed to life in a liberal democracy.)
Of course a long diet of that kind of half-lying life can breed a sort of amoral cynicism, whose patina of knowing worldliness masks a very real naivete and stupidity about longer-term consequences. Theroux’s article quotes one Turkmen saying of Niyazov, “The statues. The slogans. The five-year plans. We have seen this before. Stalin—and others. This will pass away.” Their reward for being unable or unwilling to say in public what they acknowledged in private was Niyazov’s successor, Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedow. Gurbanguly maintained the authoritarianism and cult of personality, now transferred over to his name, while increasing the amount of oppression and (again abetted by personalist state intrusion into the economy) corruption. It’s an approach that Gurbanguly clearly extended to his son, who was the dynastic recipient of a transfer of power.
One imagines that, between the cult of personality and the slow elimination of dissent, some members of the intelligentsia were delighted. Others no doubt appreciated more fully that they had all but invited the authoritarianism to continue, and that there is little moral difference between being a through-and-through servile coward and being a prudent, knowing, self-serving, cynical coward.
Anyway, a fun bit of history to occupy your time. Meanwhile, I see that as I was writing this stroll along memory lane, the Kennedy Center already managed to change its facade, if you’ll excuse the accidental mot juste. Fast work!
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