This story first appeared in The Beet, a weekly email dispatch from Meduza covering Central and Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Sign up here to get the next issue delivered directly to your inbox.

With every passing kilometer of bumpy mountain road, the air turns frostier, until the howling wind begins to cut like a thousand little knives. While down on the shores of Kyrgyzstan’s sacred lake Issyk-Kul, summer has only just begun to give way to a golden autumn, 3,800 meters above sea level (more than 12,400 feet), winter is already here. 

This is as far as you can go without a permit. Thirty-seven kilometers (23 miles) up the road, at an altitude of 4,200 meters (more than 13,700 feet), lies the world’s second-highest gold mine, Kumtor. Nestled next to active glaciers in the Tien Shan mountains, Kumtor is Kyrgyzstan’s national pride, accounting for around 10 percent of GDP. 

Developed in the 1990s by the Canadian corporation Cameco, the open-pit mine was initially seen as a symbol of world-class engineering and a new era of corporate foreign investment in the post-Soviet world. But in the decades that followed, it became synonymous with environmental damage, corruption, and corporate exploitation. 

President Sadyr Japarov kick-started Kumtor’s nationalization shortly after he took office in 2021, wresting control from Centerra Gold — a Cameco spin-off that had gained majority ownership of the mine in 2004 as a result of a restructuring agreement. Since then, Kyrgyz gold has seemingly brought Japarov the local people’s unconditional support, even as his rule becomes increasingly authoritarian.

‘Kumtor’s resources are ours’

Where the road splits on the way to Kumtor, you can turn left towards the mine or go right to the pastures. Kumar Beyshaliev has spent his summers here for the past ten years. With the days growing shorter, the 54-year-old and his family are preparing to move back to their village of Orgochor on Issyk-Kul’s southern shore. “It’s getting cold,” Beyshaliev says, his face tanned from the sunny summer months. 

Beyshaliev is one of a few Kyrgyz left who still lead the traditional life of a high-altitude nomadic chaban, or shepherd. Dependent on the changing seasons and the capricious power of nature, his family doesn’t refuse a helping hand. The wood they use to heat the makeshift stove in their hut, where the women cook, was donated by Kumtor. 

Since the nationalization, the mine’s staff no longer bring wood directly to the family, like the Canadians used to do, but leave the logs higher up in the mountains instead. “Sometimes other people take the wood they leave, and if we don’t hurry, we get what’s left over,” Beyshaliev says. But he’s not complaining: this minor inconvenience is a small price to pay for all of Kumtor’s gold being in the hands of the Kyrgyz government and people. 

“Finally, the gold and all Kumtor’s resources are ours. The Canadians were extracting not only gold but all the minerals, for which they did not pay. Previous governments were afraid to stand up to them, only Japarov found the courage to do so — and he won,” says Beyshaliev. (Before the nationalization, Kumtor Gold Company had exclusive rights to “all minerals” in the area around the mine’s central deposit.)

A former lawmaker and longtime proponent of Kumtor’s nationalization, Japarov shot to power straight from prison, where he was serving an 11.5-year sentence in connection with the kidnapping of a regional official during an anti-Kumtor protest in 2013. Japarov, who maintains the charges against him were politically motivated, initially evaded arrest, spending three years living in exile abroad, where he mingled with impoverished Kyrgyz migrants and built a dedicated online following.

Though he was jailed upon returning to Kyrgyzstan in 2017, a revolution in October 2020 catapulted Japarov from prison to the highest echelons of power. Within months of his inauguration as president, he fulfilled his biggest promise and realized the dream that once landed him behind bars: to restore Kyrgyzstan’s control over Kumtor’s gold. In May 2021, a Bishkek court fined the mine’s Canadian operator $3.1 billion for violating environmental laws by dumping mining waste on glaciers; Japarov signed a law temporarily imposing external control over Kumtor soon after.

Centerra launched arbitration proceedings against the Kyrgyz government for allegedly violating “longstanding investment agreements,” but the two sides settled out of court in 2022, finalizing the nationalization. Meanwhile, Kumtor’s former interim manager, Tengiz Bolturuk, and two of his associates were arrested on charges of financial crimes. To the people, this case proved that greedy locals had enabled the plunder of Kyrgyzstan’s wealth.

“These people will try to get rid of Japarov to continue stealing money and resources from the nation,” says Beyshaliev. “Once he’s gone, power will be back in the hands of those who steal and lie.”

The khan from Issyk-Kul

Chynybek declines to share his surname: He seems afraid to talk openly, even though he has nothing but words of praise and support for his fellow Issyk-Kul native Japarov. The 57-year-old worked in Kumtor for 24 years before retiring in 2022, shortly after the mine came under Kyrgyzstan’s control. He appreciates everything he learned thanks to the Canadians — the discipline, the cleanliness, the corporate governance — but believes Kumtor should belong to the Kyrgyz people. 

“All the money now goes to our treasury. But this should have been done much earlier — 15 years ago even,” Chynybek says. “This wasn’t their land, and they didn’t care about protecting our environment. They extracted everything they wanted and left. Japarov was imprisoned for fighting for our mountains and the environment.”

Chynybek sees a lot of positive changes since Japarov took power. The authorities built new roads, factories opened, and young people can take out mortgages to buy their dream homes. The president also promised that Kyrgyz migrant workers will return home, which, Chynybek says, is the most important issue for local families. His own brother has lived in Moscow for years and now plans to return to Kyrgyzstan. The way Chynybek sees it, there’s nothing to complain about. 

“One of Issyk-Kul’s forefathers once said: ‘If there is a khan from Issyk-Kul, better times will come.’ I think the times our ancestors once spoke of are here,” he says. “Japarov has 95 percent support among the people. I’m sure of that.” (According to a national poll from the International Republican Institute, 88 percent of respondents expressed a “very” or “somewhat” favorable opinion of Japarov.)

Up at Kumtor, things seem to be running smoothly, as well. The company employs around 3,400 people full-time, 99 percent of whom are Kyrgyz citizens. Foreign specialists holding most top positions at Kumtor was one of the reasons why Issyk-Kul natives resented the mine’s Canadian management. With the nationalization completed, this is no longer an issue. 

The Beet’s reporter wasn’t allowed to visit the mine for this story. Kumtor Gold Company’s press office also did not reply to repeated inquiries. The mine’s website provides few details about how the company monitors environmental damage to the mountain’s glaciers, manages waste, and controls water quality — the very grounds for nationalization — and the last available environmental report is from 2022, so it’s unclear if things have improved. But the company continues to invest in regional development, sponsoring local kindergartens, soccer fields, and other facilities. 

Though Kumtor’s dealings are as secretive as ever, the open-pit mine remains fully operational. However, it produced less gold in 2023 than the year before. The company’s website says gold ore processing will continue until 2026, after which Kumtor will reportedly begin to mine tailings. This February, Kumtor also began mining gold underground, a method that’s more expensive but less damaging to the environment. 

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‘A ticking bomb’

The Kumtor Gold Company claims that the recent drop in gold production is temporary, and the mine’s management hopes to restore annual extraction levels gradually to 17 tons. But the question remains: what will happen after the gold is gone?

“I’m very concerned about what will happen when the mine nears its end,” says Amanda Wooden, an environmental studies and sciences professor at Bucknell University, who spent years researching environmental activism in Kyrgyzstan. 

Wooden cites the potential for accidents, the intersection of climate change and mining at this elevation, and the ongoing damage to the Ak-Shirak glaciers as causes for concern. “It’s a dynamic ecosystem, and it’s changing rapidly,” she explains. “The cost and effort that will be needed to maintain that mine site and tailings pond in the years to come is what I’m very concerned about. It’s like a ticking bomb that people living downstream worry about.”

Local activists express similar fears. “They simply buried a big mountain from top to bottom. If no action is taken now, it will fill with water. We have reserves left, so we need to extract them and start reclamation efforts as soon as possible,” says Zamirbek Mendibaev, a 44-year-old environmental activist from Saruu, a village on the lake’s southern shore.

Like Japarov, Mendibaev took part in the 2013 anti-Kumtor protests and spent six months in prison as a result of his activism. He stores his souvenirs from his activist days in a little hut in his back garden: two leather suitcases filled with documents, photographs, and a megaphone are reminders of how he fought for justice for Kumtor, for freedom from environmental degradation, and against foreign rule over Kyrgyzstan’s gold. 

Like other locals The Beet’s reporter interviewed, Mendibaev says he supports Japarov wholeheartedly. But the fight for justice and transparency runs deep in his veins. “For 10 years, we couldn’t live and work like normal citizens. We were always wiretapped, always under the control of the security services. I don’t want our people to face such situations anymore,” he says. (The Kyrgyz authorities have a reputation for mass wiretapping.)

“Our mining organizations [and] communities must be transparent,” Mendibaev continues. “There should be communication with the people to explain the consequences of mining, what will happen, and how it will happen.” 

That said, there’s little reason to expect transparency from the current government. Since ascending to the presidency, Japarov has worked in tandem with the all-powerful security services chief, Kamchybek Tashiev, to tighten their grip on power. With the authorities clamping down on the opposition and claiming to have foiled multiple alleged coup attempts, dozens of critics, journalists, and ordinary citizens have ended up behind bars. 

Earlier this month, a Kyrgyz court sentenced two journalists from the investigative outlet Temirov Live to five and six years of jail time on charges of instigating mass riots. Bolot Temirov, the media outlet’s founder, was forced into exile in 2022. Similarly, in February this year, a Bishkek court ordered the closure of the award-winning investigative outlet Kloop. Following pressure and threats, almost all of Kloop’s journalists left the country. 

“Tashiev has been able to centralize power in his hands, but he needs Japarov because of his charisma and popularity,” explains Erica Marat, a professor at National Defense University. “Japarov has positioned himself as both the son and the father of the nation, and [as] connected with the rural population. He’s seen as close to the people and speaks Kyrgyz better than his predecessors.”

“The consensus among experts in Kyrgyzstan is that those two will not give up power as a result of elections,” she continues. “They’re there to rule for as long as possible. And, [once] again, they’re creating a situation when the only way to change power at the top is through demonstrations and forceful ouster.”

According to Marat, going after corrupt officials and crime bosses has allowed Japarov and Tashiev to present themselves as honest and principled. This, together with reclaiming Kumtor, has helped solidify their positions in the political landscape. There is currently no political force in Kyrgyzstan that could challenge their rule. But discontent may arise sooner than expected.

“Centerra is no longer responsible for what happens after [Kumtor] shuts down or for the huge burden the reclamation of the mine presents,” Wooden warns. “Now, this is all on the Kyrgyz government.”

Hello, I’m Eilish Hart, the editor of The Beet. Thanks for taking the time to read our work! Our newsletter delivers underreported stories like this one to subscribers every Thursday. Like all of Meduza’s reporting, it’s free to read but relies on support from readers like you. Please consider donating to our crowdfunding campaign.