The secret son of a dictator: how the firstborn of Uzbekistan’s president, Petr Karimov, was forgotten while his sisters consolidated power

30 октября 2017 г., 19:10

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Official accounts of Uzbek President Islam Karimov’s life, including those published by government outlets and on his website, do not include any information about him having a son.

The head of state refers only to his wife Tatyana Akbarovna and two daughters — Lola and Gulnara. Only occasionally is it noted that this is his second marriage.

The first marriage ended in 1969. Islam Karimov’s wife at the time was Natalya Kuchmi, a biologist who later worked at the Institute of Botany of the Academy of Sciences of the Uzbek SSR. She was the daughter of the general director of the Tashkent Aviation Production Association named after V. Chkalov. It was this father-in-law who later arranged a job for his son-in-law as a design engineer, although Islam Abduganiyevich had specialized in agricultural machinery. However, that did not matter much, because from that moment the career of the young man from Samarkand began to take shape.

For ethical reasons, I cannot disclose the cause of the divorce, as Natalya Petrovna herself told my mother about it during their frequent phone conversations. I will only say that Islam Karimov paid attention to his former wife only when it suited him. For example, when the Andropov purges began and the so-called “Uzbek case” was launched in Uzbekistan, the party-state elite hurried to shed their image of the “privileged class” and tried to demonstrate loyalty to communist principles. It was at that time that Islam Karimov, then First Secretary of the Kashkadarya regional committee of the Communist Party, came to Natalya and demanded that their son go to serve in the army.

“Otherwise they will start saying that I helped Petr avoid military service, and that would already be corruption and abuse of office,” he insisted, ignoring the pleas of his ex-wife that the party leader of a provincial region had nothing to do with his first family anymore and lived separately with his second one. Moreover, Petr was unfit for service due to health issues. Nevertheless, this did not influence Islam Abduganiyevich’s decision to send his son to the Soviet Army.

I do not know how Petr served, but I believe he went through it with dignity. At least I never heard bitter memories about the army from him. There was, however, a small scar on his chin. He once admitted shyly that while on leave in Leningrad he got into a fight with some hooligans near a pier after he refused their demand for cigarettes, saying he did not smoke.

He was my fellow student — we studied together at the Tashkent Institute of National Economy. Although our specialties were different (mine was “planning of the national economy,” his was “industrial planning”), we attended large lecture courses together and often spent time outside the institute. He studied quite well, though sometimes we had to rely on typical student tricks. In our first year, higher mathematics was taught by an unmarried lecturer named Tamara — strict and merciless, loving only numbers and formulas. Hardly anyone passed her tests on the first try, and Petr and I were no exception. I managed after several attempts, but Petr once told me with a smile that he had even confessed his love to the teacher, to which she replied that marriage was impossible because of their age difference. In the end, we both had to work hard to pass the exam.

In 1983–84 it was no secret at the faculty that his father was the Minister of Finance. In Uzbek society of that time, which was highly sensitive to power and wealth, this almost meant being untouchable or considered someone with powerful connections. Yet Petr never once used his “privileged” status. Perhaps this was also because he rarely sought support from his father and tried to make his own way. Meanwhile his half-sisters were under their father’s patronage, and their later careers in diplomacy, business, and politics unfolded under the protection of presidential influence. As personalities, neither Gulnara nor Lola distinguished themselves, although public opinion about them was extremely negative. But this story is not about them.

Petr lived with his mother in an old house near the Pedagogical Institute, right by the highway. It was a modest three-room apartment on the first floor. There were no luxuries. In the late 1980s the family bought an “Elektronika VM-25” VCR, which was probably their most significant possession. Petr also dreamed of buying a car and was building a garage near the house for it, though he fulfilled this dream much later.

We sometimes discussed politics and history. He once mentioned that his grandfather had served in Denikin’s army, while mine had served in the Red Army. But that never created any antagonism between us.

In 1984 Petr left for two years of military service and returned when I was finishing my fourth year. We remained friends afterward, as I stayed at the institute as a lecturer. After graduation, Petr was offered a position at the Department of International Economic Relations and enrollment in postgraduate studies, which he accepted. In the early 1990s he often traveled to Moscow and later studied at the Plekhanov Institute. When he came back to Tashkent, he would visit me and speak with my father, who considered Petr a close person. I did not see him again until 1996, when I was already working in Moscow at the Uzbek embassy.

By then he had become deputy representative of the National Bank for Foreign Economic Activity of Uzbekistan (later transformed into Asia-Invest Bank). He rented a room in the guesthouse of our diplomatic mission on Kazachy Lane. He was cheerful and energetic, driving his official Volga through Moscow’s night streets so recklessly that I had to close my eyes in fear. He told me that he had defended his PhD dissertation on entrepreneurship in Saint Petersburg.

“Does your father know about this?” I asked.

“No,” he replied.

From what I understood, Petr still did not have frequent contact with his father, although I suspect that Karimov continued to support him in some way. After all, not everyone could obtain such a position.

Our first serious quarrel happened there in Moscow. We argued about the disintegration of the post-Soviet space. I insisted that Uzbekistan should not reduce economic and political cooperation with Russia because that would harm us more than the Russians. Petr believed that Tashkent had to move away from the influence of the “older brother” and orient itself more toward the West. I heard familiar tones in his voice — the same tone I had once heard during Islam Karimov’s meeting with Georgian President Eduard Shevardnadze. The same rigidity and unwillingness to listen to another opinion. It was as if Petr had changed.

Eventually we drifted apart and met again only in 2000 at Tashkent airport. He had just arrived from Moscow while I was leaving for Urgench with a group of journalists. In the deputies’ lounge we sat in a café with mineral water and talked about various things, nothing specific. He did not say much, and neither did I — by then I had become an open opponent of the Karimov regime. I did not want to tell the dictator’s son what I really thought about his father, because Petr probably would not have understood.

Later someone hinted to me that Petr had been considered for the post of Minister of Finance and had come to Uzbekistan for that reason. I am convinced that Petr refused the position, even though it promised enormous prospects.

Petr was already outside the Uzbek environment. He did not know the state language or the traditions, and he was not particularly drawn to Tashkent. He considered himself almost Russian, and I would not be surprised if that were already the case. But that is not the point. Such a position determined the level of informal relations, because state resources had to be distributed according to corruption rates. In other words, it was possible to profit, but at the same time to become deeply entangled in the games of clans, mafia groups, and shadow power brokers. One could easily become a “useful insider” who could later be discarded.

Gulnara and Lola Karimova have long been playing such games, and that is why their personal fortunes are estimated in the billions of dollars. Public attitudes toward them range from cold contempt to outright hatred.

By the way, once my mother told me that Natalya Petrovna asked Petr: “Why don’t you introduce Alisher to your sisters?” To which he replied with disdain: “What sisters? I would never wish that on my friend...” Petr is very different from them. If he earns a high income, it comes only from his position and his work in the bank. Fraud and corruption are not in his nature — or perhaps I simply do not know him well enough. I did hear various rumors about his life, but I will not repeat them because I never sought confirmation. He himself never tried to contact me. I am sure he knows that I am an enemy of his father. But did that make me his enemy as well? Only Petr himself knows the answer.

Yuriy Lobachev