Convoluted borders are hampering Central Asian integration

THERE WAS jubilation in August in Rishton, a town in the bit of the Fergana Valley that lies in Uzbekistan, when the gates of a nearby border checkpoint with Kyrgyzstan were unlocked for the first time in almost seven years. The opening reduced the length of the journey to Sokh, an island of Uzbek-governed territory surrounded by Kyrgyzstan, from 150km to 50km. As the crossing was reopened, officials from both countries waxed lyrical about a renewed spirit of fraternity. Kyrgyz and Uzbeks—both Turkic-speaking, Muslim peoples—are “like a bird with two wings”, mused Akram Madumarov, the governor of the province on the Kyrgyz side of the border. “If one wing is missing, the bird cannot fly.”

The next day, the bird’s wings were clipped as the border gates were slammed shut again. In early September the road leading out of Rishton towards Sokh ended in a tangle of barbed wire, the Uzbek flag fluttering forlornly rather than festively. “The Kyrgyz are our friends and brothers,” said a cheery Uzbek border guard patrolling the closed frontier, who could not explain why it was sealed. Officials have unconvincingly blamed divergent food-safety standards.