Anybody who has spent any time in Osh recently knew that this was going to happen sooner or later.
As CA-News reports, shooting was heard in the Cheremushki district Monday night, creating alarm among the rattled inhabitants of one of the city’s most ravaged areas.
But as the Osh region emergency authorities’ press office explained, this was no repeat of the cycle of ethnic violence that first threw the city into chaos:
“In the course of search operations, a Defense Ministry offer was detained. At the time of detention, the officer was drunk and weapons were confiscated from him.”
Police Major-General Bakytbek Alymbekov, in charge of Osh during the state of emergency currently scheduled to last until Aug. 10, says he has demanded that heads of law enforcement agencies tighten control over their officers. Any breach of military discipline will be punished to the full extent of the law, he said.
This is an admirable attempt to instill some sense of order among the ranks in Osh, but it seems to woefully overlook the strained conditions under which many, frankly poorly trained, soldiers and police have had to operate.
Often lacking food, drink and rest, the very people expected to maintain order are themselves the cause of much enduring tension. In many cases, ethnic Uzbeks have borne the immediate brunt of this, with some having food confiscated by weary police.
At the Osh-Nuru Hotel, the former Soviet-era Intourist that became the hub for many journalists reporting on last month’s violence, dozens of armed men, often not even dressed in any kind of uniform, roamed the corridors without any evident purpose other than purportedly protecting the guests.
Like the guests, the police and soldiers were forced to scrabble around as they could for food over the worst days.
It would be nice to think that it is only in times of boredom that Kyrgyz forces resort to drinking in the middle of the day, but the violence has done nothing to diminish that practice. Understandably, if not excusably, nerves have driven many to quaff even more of the heavy stuff than usual.
At one Russian-themed restaurant in central Osh around three weeks ago, a group of at least a dozen soldiers treated themselves to a boozy lunch of borsch, vodka and beer in celebration at the appearance of cooked food in the city. All of them had their customary Kalashnikovs draped over the back of their chairs, as well as a trusty Makarov tucked into their holsters.
As one got up to leave, a Kalashnikov clattered noisily to the ground, pointing in this correspondent’s direction and setting at least one heart racing.
Alcohol abuse by the armed and the uniformed is an old custom in Kyrgyzstan, and if any prospective international police does indeed make it out to Osh, they might consider an instructive seminar or two. But just not over evening drinks.
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