AMANGAN,
Uzbekistan, Oct. 28 — The child in a knit cap and two sweaters
insisted on a firm handshake and led the way down an alley. Passing
through a courtyard, he slipped off his shoes and stepped into a room
with women whose husbands are gone.
"No
other men remain here," said his grandmother, brushing fingers
across his head. "There is only him."
His name
is Ibrahim Atakhamov. He is 6 years old and the man of his house.
Throughout his extended family, every other man has been imprisoned —
his father, his grandfather and four uncles or cousins who used to
worship at the nearby Ota Ullohom mosque. They have been away for years.
The
broken Atakhamov household, one set of victims in what human rights
organizations describe as a sustained crackdown on religious freedom in
Uzbekistan, illustrates the risks of an American gamble.
Earlier
this month, President Islam A. Karimov opened his nation's air space and
an airbase to the United States military, an arrangement that made
Uzbekistan an important ally in the war against the Taliban.
But for
all of its military utility, this developing relationship has raised
questions among human rights advocates and members of Congress about
whether the United States risks emboldening a totalitarian government
that unabashedly persecutes its citizens.
In the
short term, they are concerned that cooperation with Uzbekistan lends
legitimacy to the republic's restrictions on faith, as well as a
judicial system that tries people in secret and security forces that
torture suspects and maintain inhumane jails.
In the
long term, there are concerns that supporting a government that
simultaneously represses democratic rights and the practice of Islam
might spread unease in the larger Muslim world.
"To
ignore Uzbek abuses could add fuel to the fire that this is not truly a
war on terrorism, but is a war on Islam," Senator Paul Wellstone,
Democrat of Minnesota, said last week as he introduced an amendment to a
foreign operations bill that would require more monitoring of the human
rights record.
Uzbekistan,
a former Soviet republic, is essentially a nation occupied by its own
army and security police. The countryside is littered with roadblocks,
each with a small bunker nearby. The police search cars at will.
The news
media are state-controlled. Demonstrations are rarely tolerated. Last
week, officials in Namangan restricted the sale of gasoline and closed
cafes to compel citizens into fields to pick cotton, which in Uzbekistan
is done by hand.
Although
religious practice is freer than it was during officially atheist
Communist rule, the government still limits religion. Muslim activity is
allowed only in government-approved mosques, holy books cannot be widely
circulated and only clerics can wear religious attire.
In a
report released last week, the State Department noted that
"arbitrary arrest and detention of Muslim believers is common"
in Uzbekistan, and described the use of torture — sometimes leading to
sexual violence or fatal beatings — during interrogations of people
accused of practicing Islam outside the narrow limits.
The
report further noted that the police routinely planted drugs, ammunition
and religious leaflets on citizens to justify arrests.
At least
7,000 Muslims have been arbitrarily incarcerated in Uzbekistan in recent
years, according to Human Rights Watch, an organization monitoring the
crackdown. In Namangan one of the first places to suffer was the
neighborhood near the Ota Ullohom mosque.
The
Soviet Union had turned the mosque into a winery. On Uzbekistan's
independence in 1991, the families who live nearby restored the mosque
and began building a madrassa, or religious school, next door.
Then the
police came and began taking the men away. Uzbek and foreign human
rights workers say more than 1,000 men affiliated with the mosque have
been imprisoned, in many cases on the strength of planted evidence or
confessions exacted through torture.
Tursonhom
Atakhamova, 47, said her husband, Ahmadhom, 52, had helped in restoring
the mosque until he was arrested in 1994 on what she said were contrived
charges of drug possession. He was jailed until 1996. In 1998 the police
took him again.
"The
policeman promised to come back with him in two hours," she said,
"but it didn't happen. They said it was about drugs, but in
interrogations the things they asked were about building the mosque:
`Who helped you? Who gave money for that?' "
He is
kept in a cell, she said, that is designed for 10 inmates but holds 30.
"The only things they can do is just sit on the floor, producing no
sounds," she said. "Otherwise they will be beaten."
Since her
husband's arrest, her sons — Abbashon and Muhammad, who is Ibrahim's
father — have also been imprisoned. The last time Ibrahim saw his
father was in June. The child recounted the visit, kneading his fingers
and concentrating as he remembered. "He told me to be a good boy
and to behave myself and obey my mother," he said.
Muriddin
Umarova, 40, whose husband was charged with anti-state activities in
1999 and sentenced to five years in prison, noted with bitterness a
national slogan promoted this year by President Karimov. "They
proclaim this is the year of the mother and the child," she said.
"But they do nothing for the mother and child except take away the
father."
In
another household, Makhmuda Kodirova, 47, said her husband, Aklbek
Eshobaev, was arrested on the street in 1994. The authorities then went
to her house, she said, planted marijuana and 13 bullets, videotaped the
contraband and sentenced him to three years in prison. He is still in
jail, she said, because whenever he is due for release they add more
time.
The
surviving man in her house is her son, Otabek, 15, whom she would not
allow to speak because she feared that the police might take him, too.
All of
these women said they hoped that the United States would press the Uzbek
government for mercy.
Mr.
Karimov, through spokesmen, declined requests for interviews for more
than 10 days. In his sole appearance before the Western news media this
month, he said that Uzbekistan had "shortcomings" in its
standards of human rights but that conditions had improved.
"Look
at the dynamics of these issues — who we were in 1991 and who we are
today," he said, adding, "There is movement."
In the
past, the Uzbek government has said imprisoned Muslims supported the
Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan, a terrorist group believed to be
fighting alongside the Taliban in Afghanistan.
But at
the Ota Ullohom mosque and elsewhere, the crackdown predates the known
existence of the terrorist group. The government has produced no
credible evidence of a link, human rights advocates said.
One man
said persecution continued because Mr. Karimov found it an effective way
to control the populace. "The only aim is to keep the throne,"
said Akhmad Abdullaev, a human rights advocate.
Senator
Wellstone, who supports American involvement in Uzbekistan, introduced
legislation that would require the State Department to report regularly
to Congress on aid provided to Uzbekistan, and to its military, police
and security forces, and each force's involvement in human rights
abuses. The amendment was passed by the Senate and is to be submitted to
the House.
Today,
after hundreds of convictions, the Ota Ullahom mosque is an extension of
the state. A quote from Mr. Karimov is painted on a wall, together with
an excerpt from the Uzbek Constitution guaranteeing citizens freedom of
religion. There was also a billboard declaring 2001 the year of mothers
and children.
The
proclamation has produced a catchy anti-Karimov phrase: this is the
year, the underground slogan goes, for widows and orphans.