(Astana, Kazakhstan – March 3, 2026) In Kazakh culture, korimdik is a centuries-old tradition of warmth: relatives or friends welcome a newborn, and people give a small cash gift to share in the joy of a new life. However, for Kapar Akhat, this 20,000 tenge (approximately 45 USD) congratulatory gift has become the latest piece of evidence used by the state apparatus to carry out political retribution against him.
On February 25, 2026, Akhat, who lives in Astana, the capital city of Kazakhstan, was forcibly taken away by police and later received a fine of up to 425,000 tenge (approximately 3,000 USD). His alleged offense was neither bribery nor money laundering, but “financing an unregistered organization.”
The recipient of the money was Akhat’s comrade, Nazigul Maksutkan, a member of Atajurt, a human rights organization. At the time, this “elderly” new mother was under house arrest in a criminal case, wearing an electronic ankle monitor. After enduring four months of intimidation, defamation, and weekly round-trips of about 323 miles (520 kilometers) to court hearings, she had just given birth to a child under great strain. Authorities nonetheless classified this congratulatory gift as financial support for an “illegal organization.”
For Maksutkan, the joy of childbirth was fleeting.
(Photo: ChinaAid, March 3, 2026)
To understand why Kazakh authorities would be so sensitive to a gift for a newborn, one must trace the roots of this repression back to Xinjiang.
For many years, Atajurt has been at the forefront of exposing the truth about China’s re-education camps in Xinjiang. The group is composed mainly of ethnic Kazakhs dedicated to documenting the stories of relatives detained by Chinese authorities, among them truck drivers, farmers, and intellectuals. Following China’s expansion of its transnational control, the Kazakh government, caught between economic dependence and pressure from a powerful neighbor, has systematically silenced domestic voices.
The current crisis facing Atajurt began with a series of criminal prosecutions against its members. Maksutkan and others were drawn into a vague criminal case stemming from the organization’s advocacy for a truck driver detained in Xinjiang. That advocacy sparked protests, which ultimately led to multiple arrests.
Kazakh authorities do not always rely on overt violence; instead, they have become adept at using Article 489 of the Administrative Offenses Code as a precise “financial guillotine.”
Under this provision, leading, participating in, or financing an “unregistered organization” is deemed illegal. However, Article 23 of Kazakhstan’s Constitution explicitly guarantees citizens’ freedom of association. In practice, authorities deny registration to human rights groups, automatically pushing them into illegality and subjecting them to endless fines.
“This is attrition tactics,” a legal analyst noted. “They do not rush to imprison you, but they freeze your bank accounts, prevent you from working, and turn every small donation into a massive fine. They aim to destroy you both psychologically and economically.”
At present, the total fines imposed on Atajurt have exceeded 10 million tenge (approximately 22,000 USD).
Fines issued by the Ministry of Internal Affairs arrive on schedule and must be paid within one week, or the amount is doubled. Authorities have even used the pretext of “complete documentation” to fine every Atajurt member who has assisted, imposing penalties ranging from 3,000 to 5,000 tenge each.
The opacity of legal procedures has further deepened families’ despair. Authorities refuse to disclose when hearings will take place, whether public notices will be given, or on what basis judgments are made. This indefinite delay resembles a slow strangulation.
“Kazakhstan is gradually turning into a country where the constitution is easily trampled and ethnic traditions are no longer respected,” Atajurt wrote in an appeal for help. “When acts of kindness are treated as crimes, and the space for those who pursue justice is squeezed to zero, our voices are disappearing.”
In the bitter winds of Astana, this organization that once fought tirelessly for human rights in Xinjiang now finds itself trapped within another invisible “siege.”
Gao Zhensai, Special Correspondent for ChinaAid
