The world, of course, didn’t turn upside down that morning. Few even noticed that somewhere on the fringes of civilization — in a country known mostly for having a lifelong president, a ban on ballet and gold teeth, and free utilities — something had happened.
Even within the country, few understood what was going on. Those who did understand didn’t believe it; those who believed it were too afraid to admit it — and so everyone pretended they hadn’t understood at all.
To explain what really happened in Turkmenistan in late November 2002, and how it shaped the country’s future, we spoke with Bayram Shikhmuradov, editor-in-chief of Gundogar.media and son of Boris Shikhmuradov, the former foreign minister of Turkmenistan and a leading opposition figure. Boris Shikhmuradov was arrested in Ashgabat, accused of organizing an attempt on President Saparmurat Niyazov’s life, and later disappeared without a trace. In 2014, the UN Human Rights Committee declared him a victim of enforced disappearance and held the Turkmen state responsible.
Question: On November 25, 2002, there was, according to the official version, an attempted coup and an assassination plot against President Saparmurat Turkmenbashi. The opposition insists there was no coup at all — that the authorities fabricated the story to eliminate political rivals. You were among the participants in those events. What really happened?
Answer: What happened on November 25, 2002, was a tragedy. Turkmenistan lost, perhaps, its last chance to rid itself — peacefully and without bloodshed — of a sultanist regime and to try to become a normal country, one fit for free people to live in dignity. That’s how we should view it.
For me personally, for my family, and for hundreds of other families in Turkmenistan, it was also a personal disaster. We lost loved ones — some disappeared, others were killed. Few among those hunted by Niyazov’s regime managed to survive. But if you take a broader view, the whole country suffered, the entire nation — including those who, for various reasons, cannot yet recognize it.
As for the so-called truck chases, the gunfire at the presidential motorcade, the “foreign mercenaries” and all the other nonsense Niyazov invented — that was pure fiction and provocation, meant to justify his own brutal cruelty.
Question: Following the supposed investigation into the events of November 25, 2002, Turkmenistan’s prosecutor general, Kurbanbibi Atajanova, read a report on state television. Was there a single word of truth in it?
Answer: There was — more than one, in fact. But the whole truth didn’t suit them. So they mixed fragments of fact with lies, and in the end, what came out was purely fake.
“A question arises: are Shikhmuradov, Hanamov, Orazov, Iklymov, Jumayev, and other worthless political hacks truly the masterminds of this conspiracy? Everyone knows these scoundrels have not an ounce of authority among our people. They are nothing but petty, scheming criminals in politics. It is worth asking: who stands behind these shortsighted politicians? Who manipulates them, and for what purpose are these ‘pawns’ being used? Only the investigation can give concrete answers to these questions. Then it will become clear who is behind these criminals, at whose command they carried out such a heinous act. The people have the right to know what driving force set this group — these so-called ‘democrats’ — into motion. And there is no doubt that the truth about this crime will be exposed. Every one of the plotters and perpetrators of this treacherous assault on the freedom and independence of our people — all the rats hiding behind their backs, all the villains, traitors, terrorists, and power-hungry bastards striving to achieve their selfish political goals — will be brought fully to justice. The cowards, the organizers of this monstrous terrorist act, will not escape responsibility. The masks have been torn from their beastly faces.”
Kurbanbibi Atajanova, Prosecutor General of Turkmenistan on State TV
Question: In your view, did the Turkmen authorities have any legitimate grounds for prosecuting opposition figures? Those people who were rounded up and thrown into prison — did they actually break the law?
Answer: Within the legal framework of authoritarian Turkmenistan — yes, undoubtedly, they did. But beyond that framework, there exist such remarkable things as conscience and personal morality. And there are people who believe they must follow their own moral compass when written laws are unjust — that’s called civil disobedience.
In a normal country, the legal system usually contains mechanisms to address injustice — courts, or the ability to change laws through democratic procedures.
The trials of those accused over the events of November 2002 were pure theater. The defendants had no access to real legal defense. Procedural law was violated in the crudest possible way, and the verdicts were manifestly unjust. And that’s not to mention those who were never tried at all — they were simply “locked away,” as people in Turkmenistan say. Meanwhile, the real criminals remained unpunished.
Turkmenistan is not a normal state. There, civil disobedience is treated as treason, while obedience and sycophancy are celebrated as patriotism.
Question: But civil disobedience implies peaceful protest and nonviolent resistance. Do you really believe the opposition had any realistic chance of bringing people into the streets and forcing Niyazov to give up power?
Answer: No one was planning to bring people into the streets. First, it would have been pointless; second, it would have been impossible, given the population’s political apathy and total lack of civic engagement. Mass demonstrations in Ashgabat are like imaginary horses in a vacuum — they simply don’t exist.
To speak seriously of such things is the domain of either romantics or provocateurs. Because whatever else Niyazov lacked, he certainly never lacked the will to kill and terrorize indiscriminately. In all other respects, however, his regime was extremely fragile.
That’s why the opposition believed that through consistent, methodical work, it could eventually push the regime into a critical situation from which it would be unable to recover. Street protests had nothing to do with it.
Question: What do you mean when you speak of the regime’s instability?
Answer: In 1968, the American historian, economist, and political strategist Edward Luttwak wrote a book titled “Coup d’État: A Practical Handbook.” In it, he systematically examined — with historical examples — the mechanics of revolutions and coups, which were at the time a fairly common means of political change, not only in the newly independent states of Asia and Africa but also in advanced, “civilized” nations of Europe and South America.
Luttwak identified three conditions that make a coup possible: economic backwardness, political sovereignty, and a lack of unity within the ruling elite. Early-2000s Turkmenistan perfectly met all three.
“In countries without a developed economy and the prosperity that accompanies it, the general condition of the population is characterized by disease, illiteracy, high birth and death rates, and periodic hunger. Average citizens in this state of deprivation are virtually cut off from the wider society outside their village and clan. They have little to sell. They have little with which to buy. They cannot read the forms, signposts, and newspapers through which society speaks. They cannot write, nor can they afford to travel, so that a cousin living as a city dweller might as well be on the moon. They have no way of knowing whether a particular tax is legal or merely the exaction of the village bureaucrat; no way of knowing about the social and economic realities that condition the policies they are asked to applaud.”
Edward Luttwak, “Coup d’État: A Practical Handbook” (1968)
The country’s distorted economy was hanging by a thread. Independence it had in abundance — unity it did not. Not only was there no cohesion among the elites, there was none even inside the skull of the “supreme leader,” who had become the sole decision-maker in every aspect of state life. You couldn’t have designed better conditions for a takeover.
Moreover, in the spring of 2002 came the so-called “Case of Muhammed Nazarov.” Following it, nearly the entire leadership of Turkmenistan’s National Security Committee, headed by Lt. Gen. Nazarov, was purged, along with some 300 officers from the security and defense ministries — not counting rank-and-file and civilian staff. That, too, was an argument in favor of the timing: the opposition had chosen the right moment to move from preparation to action.
Question: What did the Turkmen opposition actually look like at that point? How was it organized?
Answer: Until 2002, the Turkmen opposition certainly existed, though it was more disorganized than organized. Abroad, it consisted of small groups — calling themselves parties or movements — centered around intellectuals and former officials living mainly in Russia, Northern and Central Europe. They kept relatively active, publicly criticizing the regime and appearing in the media. But their endless debate about “uniting the opposition” went nowhere.
Inside Turkmenistan, any legal political activity by opponents of the regime — a label the authorities extended, absurdly, to journalists, human rights advocates, and even civic activists — was nearly impossible. Nevertheless, despite the constant threats from law enforcement and intelligence agencies, there were quite a few dissenters, mostly isolated individuals. Some eventually fled abroad to join the opposition; others stayed, passing information to the outside world; a few even managed to move between the exile centers and Turkmenistan itself, serving as crucial links in a fragile network.
The situation changed dramatically when, in late 2001, Boris Shikhmuradov (former foreign minister), Hudaiberdy Orazov (former head of the Central Bank), and Nurmuhammet Hanamov (former ambassador to Turkey and Israel), along with several other diplomats and officials, publicly declared their opposition to Niyazov’s regime. They set out a clear plan: 1) No political party-building abroad; 2) Creation of an underground resistance movement inside the country; 3) Active consultations with the international community: 4) The overthrow of Niyazov and a phased transformation of Turkmenistan into a democratic, market-oriented state.
Thanks to this clear program, Shikhmuradov and his allies bypassed endless talk of “unity” and moved straight to practice. Their domestic and international outreach not only strengthened anti-Niyazov sentiment at home but also gained the sympathy of progressive foreign actors.
By late 2002, the opposition represented a real — not hypothetical — threat to Niyazov. Above all, he could no longer fully trust anyone around him. The influence of Shikhmuradov and Orazov among Turkmen political and regional elites was immense — both had spent years inside the government and cultivated extensive networks. Niyazov’s paranoid purges of the security services and the Defense Ministry, his constant witch hunts in the cabinet, and his frantic search for “traitors” among regional leaders all suggest one thing: he was genuinely frightened. But every move he made only deepened his crisis.
Question: Given Niyazov’s well-known personality, it seems doubtful that even under threat he would have negotiated with the opposition or relinquished power voluntarily.
Answer: We now know he didn’t. But in late 2002, such doubts were less persuasive. There were several realistic scenarios — some inspired by history — in which Niyazov’s consent to negotiate would not even have been necessary.
Question: Then perhaps the main question: you’ve said the planning was almost flawless, the situation critical for Niyazov and highly favorable for the opposition. Why did it fail?
Answer: Many of us — myself included — have long avoided talking about this because it’s deeply painful. We still don’t know all the facts, since none of the direct participants in Ashgabat have ever had the chance to tell their story.
Still, I’ll share my view: the failure came down to the human factor. We lost focus — or, to borrow a football term, we didn’t play the episode to the end. We believed too early that success was within reach, and allowed ourselves to relax. That’s the truth — and it hurts.
Observers and analysts often argue that the opposition’s failure stemmed from its lack of mass support or inability to confront the security apparatus. I disagree. Neither of those was necessary. On the contrary, a coup was nearly inevitable — fueled by the general apathy, economic stagnation, and growing infighting among the ruling elite.
The instrument for a successful coup was embedded within the Turkmen state itself — and five years later, that very mechanism was used by the forces that brought Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov to power.
The destruction of the opposition in 2002 became Niyazov’s Pyrrhic victory. He indulged his sadistic instincts by tormenting his enemies, but his regime continued its slow collapse. In the end, the appearance of a drunken officer in his bedroom, scarf and heavy gold snuffbox in hand, was only a matter of time.
Question: Finally — what happens next?
Answer: Political science teaches that, in most cases, regimes and societies evolve according to the principle of inertia: unless something extraordinary occurs, tomorrow looks much like today.
Turkmenistan will drift through time, quietly degrading while superficially maintaining itself. The repression of basic rights and freedoms will continue; human capital will keep eroding; education levels will decline — until the country hits a critical point, after which only two outcomes are possible: collapse or revolutionary transformation.
Beyond that, I see two relatively realistic scenarios for a qualitative change of regime. I use “qualitative” in the philosophical sense — the new order may not be much better than the old one, at least not immediately. Even under the most optimistic scenario, Turkmenistan won’t become a truly decent place overnight. But the sooner it begins that long and difficult path, the better.
The first possible transformation is internal — through a series of palace coups. One, as we saw in 2006, solves nothing; it merely postpones the inevitable. For that scenario to work, however, the younger generation must realize that it’s time to correct the mistakes of their predecessors. Sadly, I see little sign of that awareness today.
The second possible route — and perhaps the only one capable of saving Turkmenistan from total collapse — is foreign intervention, under the humanitarian principle of “the responsibility to protect.” This concept of international law rests on the idea that sovereignty is not a privilege but a responsibility. When a state proves unable to protect its own people, that responsibility passes to the international community.
Such an intervention, as a catalyst for Turkmenistan’s transition from barbaric authoritarianism to any more acceptable form of existence, should not frighten anyone. It would not mean foreign invasion. Rather, it would be a moment when, having driven the country to the brink, the Berdimuhamedovs themselves call for help.
History shows that authoritarian rulers who boast of their sovereignty and insist on “their own path” rarely hesitate to sacrifice that very sovereignty — if it helps them cling to power for just a little longer.
