Died Niyazov. Almost 15 years after the death agony of the USSR. "Indestructible" Union of 15 "free" republics.
After the great death of the monster country, mini-monsters were created, where the life of ordinary people did not get any freer. Turkmenistan has become a kind of concentrated absurd theater - with a new calendar, a ban on ballet and free salt.
Will this country change? Or will a new “genius” come to power with old manners and complexes? Or, at last, at least one normal leader in the entire history of Central Asia, who cares not for himself, but for ordinary voters and taxpayers.
The death of Serdar began the era of the inevitable deaths of presidents of independent states. The death of Turkmenbashi on the background of the pre-holiday mood was largely instructive. Yes, we all leave sooner or later. But will the myth created in life be a guarantee after death? Do golden monuments, billions of dollars and tons of flattery help the soul? In the "scoop" we forgot about the persecution of the leaders, but sooner or later, the next death of an ordinary person whom fate put over millions reminded us that "everything will pass." At any moment this can happen in each of our countries - praises, portraits, fear, suddenly - bang - and the symbol, it turns out, has long been naughty about vital organs.
I remember the speech of Saparmurad Niyazov at the Eurasian University in Astana. Before the faculty and the best students, journalists and the security service of Turkmenbashi shone with rings and bikes about the collapse of the Union. Like in the kitchen - naturally and without diplomacy - he told how the Central Asian presidents waited fearfully for the results of the Slavic “party” deciding their fate, were afraid to call Yeltsin and finally persuaded Nazarbayev to make that historic call to find out how sometimes Independence falls on the head.
Then, for 15 years, each of the newly-minted presidents rewarded in its own way with independence — from Moscow, from the Politburo, from having to look more or less decent. After all, in the Union, they were all ordinary, interchangeable functionaries, and they became - who is divine, who is simply uncontested in elections. But after death, they will again become, at best, a piece of formal epitaph.
Niyazov’s death should remind them - flatterers and millions of silent - not only about the idiocy of the personality cult, but also the terabytes of the global memory of people called history. You can stay in it as a banal, ridiculous monument erected to itself, while at the same time providing you as the chairman of a collective farm with a freebie. And it is possible - not a great, but a normal ruler - contrary to our Central Asian masochistic traditions. And to enable people themselves, sincerely, to decide whether you are worthy of the monument.