Archivi tag: RUssia

Kadyrov Calls Chechen Critics in Europe “Traitors” and Says They Have No Way Back

CHECHNYA WATCH · 25 October 2026

Statements published on 23 October have renewed debate over the risks facing Chechen political exiles and their families.

Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov has condemned Chechens living in Europe who publicly criticise his administration, describing them as “traitors” and “pseudo-patriots” and declaring that there is “no way back” for them.

The remarks appeared in a Telegram post published on 23 October 2026 and were reported by independent outlet Caucasian Knot on 25 October. The statements were also reproduced by Chechen state television.

Kadyrov accused expatriate critics of spreading false information and undermining the peace and stability that, he claimed, his administration had established in Chechnya. He asserted that those who had betrayed their people had no place in their homeland.

No specific individuals or organisations were named, and no formal measure preventing their return has been announced.

The statements echo previous warnings against Chechen dissidents abroad. In 2016, Kadyrov publicly claimed that the authorities knew the identities and online activities of expatriate critics.

His latest remarks come amid renewed concerns about European deportations of Chechen asylum seekers. On 21 October, Chechen activists demonstrated outside the German Embassy in Vienna, demanding stronger protection for refugees facing removal.

An investigation published by Radio Liberty on 5 October also documented allegations of continued pressure against Chechen exiles and their relatives remaining in the republic.

Why it matters

Kadyrov’s statements raise further questions about the safety of political opponents who could be returned to Russia.

They are particularly relevant to European asylum proceedings, where authorities must evaluate the individual risks that applicants might face upon return.

The remarks also illustrate the continuing confrontation between Chechnya’s Moscow-backed leadership and its political critics abroad.

Original sources

Chechnya: More Than 80 Explosive Devices Removed from Agricultural Land

CHECHNYA WATCH · 19 October 2026

Decades after the Chechen wars, unexploded ordnance continues to pose a threat to the population and the use of agricultural land.

A bomb-disposal specialist scans a cultivated field for unexploded ordnance in Chechnya.
Bomb-disposal personnel surveying agricultural land in Chechnya. Photo: Grozny TV.

Russian emergency services have reported clearing more than 57 hectares of agricultural land and neutralising over 80 explosive devices in Chechnya between 1 September and 17 October 2026.

According to regional authorities, the operation was conducted in the Achkhoy-Martan district, where a specialised unit of Russia’s Ministry of Emergency Situations has been working to make farmland safe for cultivation.

On 17 October, Russian Emergencies Minister Aleksandr Kurenkov visited the area, inspected the clearance operations and presented awards to members of the bomb-disposal team. Ramzan Kadyrov subsequently thanked the ministry for its work.

The operation also highlights a lasting consequence of the two Chechen wars.

More than three decades after the beginning of the first conflict, explosive remnants of war continue to represent a concern in parts of the republic. Previous reporting by Caucasian Knot has also documented how unexploded munitions have complicated the use of Chechnya’s forests.

The authorities have not established publicly when each device recovered in the latest operation was deposited.

For Chechnya, the removal of unexploded ordnance is therefore more than a technical undertaking: it is part of the long process of recovering land and restoring safe conditions for civilian life.

Sources

Beyond Extradition: How Russia Hunts Chechen Exiles Across Europe and Central Asia

The Kremlin’s campaign against the Chechen diaspora did not end with the wars. It simply crossed international borders.

When people think about political repression, they often imagine arrests, prisons, or torture carried out inside an authoritarian state. Far less visible is what happens after dissidents escape.

For thousands of Chechens who fled Russia over the last two decades, exile has never meant safety. Instead, many have discovered that Moscow’s reach extends well beyond its own territory. Through extradition requests, international police cooperation, administrative deportations, surveillance, intimidation of relatives, and—in the most extreme cases—assassinations, Russia has developed a system designed to ensure that its critics remain vulnerable wherever they seek refuge.

The objective is not merely to bring individuals back to Russia. It is to convince every member of the Chechen diaspora that nowhere is truly beyond the Kremlin’s reach.

The recent case of Mansur Movlaev in Kazakhstan illustrates how this system continues to operate.


Mansur Movlaev

A Legal Request—or Political Persecution?

Officially, Russia rarely describes its targets as political opponents. Instead, extradition requests are almost always framed as ordinary criminal cases involving terrorism, extremism, illegal weapons possession, organized crime, fraud, or other criminal offences. This legal framing is not accidental. If a request appears to concern common crime rather than political persecution, foreign prosecutors and courts are more likely to treat it as a routine matter of judicial cooperation.

Once such a request reaches another country, local authorities may arrest the individual while extradition proceedings begin. Depending on the legal system involved, the refugee may spend weeks or months in detention before the courts determine whether the request is compatible with international human rights obligations. For the individual concerned, the punishment often begins long before any final judicial decision.


The Principle That Should Prevent Extradition

International law contains a fundamental safeguard known as the principle of non-refoulement. Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights and Article 3 of the United Nations Convention Against Torture prohibit states from transferring any individual to a country where they face a real risk of torture, inhuman treatment, enforced disappearance, or grossly unfair judicial proceedings. This prohibition is absolute.

Unlike many other rights, it cannot be suspended for reasons of national security or political convenience. Because of this principle, European courts have repeatedly refused to extradite Chechen refugees when credible evidence indicated that they would face persecution upon their return to Russia or, more specifically, to Chechnya. These rulings reflect decades of documented abuses, including torture, arbitrary detention, enforced disappearances, and extrajudicial killings committed by Russian and Chechen security forces.


Why Do Extradition Attempts Continue?

Despite these legal protections, Russian requests continue to appear across Europe and Central Asia. This apparent contradiction has several explanations.

First, authorities frequently evaluate Russian requests as ordinary criminal matters rather than as instruments of political persecution. Unless the political nature of the charges is clearly demonstrated, prosecutors may initially consider the request legally valid.

Second, not every case reaches the stage of a formal extradition judgment. Administrative deportation procedures, immigration measures, or public-order legislation may expose refugees to removal through alternative legal channels.

Finally, security concerns have increasingly influenced migration policy throughout Europe. Since many Russian requests invoke allegations of terrorism or extremism, authorities may initially prioritize public security over the broader political context in which these accusations arise.

The result is a legal environment in which refugees often bear the burden of proving that apparently ordinary criminal charges are, in reality, politically motivated.


Kazakhstan: The Weakest Link

The contrast between the European Union and Kazakhstan is particularly striking. While European judicial systems generally apply stronger human rights safeguards, Kazakhstan remains deeply integrated into the post-Soviet legal and security framework. Judicial cooperation with Russia is extensive, security services maintain close working relationships and Asylum protections are comparatively weaker. As a result, Russian requests can rapidly lead to detention before effective international protection mechanisms become available.

The detention of Chechen refugee Mansur Movlaev demonstrates these vulnerabilities. According to information provided by his legal representatives and international human rights organisations, Movlaev was arrested in Almaty following a Russian extradition request and remained in custody while extradition proceedings advanced. His transfer was ultimately suspended only after international intervention, including emergency measures before United Nations human rights mechanisms. His case illustrates how international protection often arrives only after a refugee has already entered the extradition process.


Zelimkhan Khangoshvili, murdered in Berlin in 2019

When Courts Say No

Perhaps the most revealing aspect of Russia’s strategy is what happens when extradition fails. For many authoritarian governments, an unsuccessful extradition marks the end of the matter. For Russia—and particularly for Ramzan Kadyrov’s security apparatus—it frequently marks the beginning of another phase. Chechen dissidents living abroad have repeatedly become targets of surveillance, intimidation, attacks, or assassination attempts.

The murder of Zelimkhan Khangoshvili in Berlin in 2019 remains the clearest example. German judges concluded that the assassination had been organised by Russian state authorities.

Tumso Abdurakhmanov, one of the best-known critics of Ramzan Kadyrov, survived an attempted murder in Sweden after facing legal pressure and deportation proceedings.

German courts have also convicted individuals involved in a conspiracy to assassinate another prominent Kadyrov opponent, Mokhmad Abdurakhmanov.

These cases suggest that failed extradition does not necessarily end the campaign against a political opponent. Instead, the methods simply change.


Families Become Hostages

Pressure is rarely limited to the exile alone. Human rights organisations have repeatedly documented intimidation directed against relatives who remain inside Chechnya. Family members may be questioned by security services, threatened, dismissed from employment, publicly humiliated, or forced to denounce their relatives abroad. This strategy transforms exile into a continuing form of psychological pressure. Even when dissidents themselves remain physically safe in Europe, they know that those they left behind may become targets.


Beyond Extradition: Transnational Repression

Taken individually, extradition requests, deportation proceedings, surveillance, assassination attempts, and family intimidation may appear unrelated. Viewed together, however, they reveal a coherent strategy. Researchers increasingly describe this phenomenon as transnational repression—the effort by authoritarian governments to silence political opponents beyond their own borders. Russia’s campaign against the Chechen diaspora represents one of the clearest examples of this practice.

Extradition requests serve not only to recover individuals but also to identify opponents, disrupt diaspora networks, impose financial and psychological costs, and demonstrate the state’s global reach. Even unsuccessful extradition requests can achieve these objectives. A refugee who spends months in detention, pays substantial legal expenses, loses employment, or fears for relatives back home has already experienced part of the intended punishment.


Conclusion

The question is no longer whether Chechen dissidents face risks inside Russia. International courts, human rights organisations, and independent investigations have documented those dangers for years. The more urgent question is whether democratic states fully recognise the broader strategy behind Russian extradition requests.

Each case should not be viewed as an isolated criminal file. Rather, it should be understood within a wider campaign of transnational repression designed to extend authoritarian control beyond national borders. Protecting refugees therefore requires more than refusing unlawful extraditions. It also requires recognising the political logic that lies behind them.

For many Chechen exiles, the greatest threat is not simply being returned to Russia. It is living with the knowledge that, wherever they go, Russia may already be waiting.

The Crimean Tatars and the Long Shadow of Exile

Remembering the Sürgünlik, 82 Years Later

On May 18, Crimean Tatars around the world commemorated the eighty-second anniversary of one of the darkest chapters in their history: the mass deportation of the entire Crimean Tatar people by the Soviet regime in 1944.

For many readers, the story may sound familiar. The Chechens, Ingush, Karachays, Balkars, Kalmyks and several other peoples of the Soviet Union suffered similar fates under Joseph Stalin. Entire nations were accused of collective collaboration with Nazi Germany and punished without trial, without distinction, and without mercy.

Today we remember the Crimean Tatars.

A Nation Condemned

In the spring of 1944, as Soviet forces retook Crimea from German occupation, Stalin’s government accused the Crimean Tatars of collaborating with the enemy. While some individuals had indeed served in German-controlled formations—as happened among virtually every population under occupation—the Soviet leadership chose to punish an entire people for the actions of a minority.

On May 11, 1944, Stalin signed State Defense Committee Resolution No. 5859. The decree ordered the complete removal of the Crimean Tatars from their homeland.

At dawn on May 18, thousands of NKVD troops descended upon towns and villages across Crimea. Families were awakened, given only minutes to gather their belongings, and forced onto trucks headed for railway stations.

Within three days, the operation was complete.

More than 190,000 Crimean Tatars had been deported.

The Journey Into Exile

The deportees were packed into overcrowded cattle wagons and transported thousands of kilometers eastward, primarily to Uzbekistan and other regions of Central Asia.

The journey lasted days or even weeks. Food was scarce, water was limited, and sanitary conditions were almost nonexistent. Many elderly people and children died before reaching their destinations.

Those who survived found themselves living under the harsh regime of “special settlements,” effectively a form of internal exile. Their movements were restricted, their communities were monitored by Soviet security services, and they were subjected to forced labor and severe discrimination.

Historians continue to debate the exact number of deaths caused by the deportation and its aftermath. Soviet records indicate that at least 27,000 Crimean Tatars died by the end of 1945. Other estimates place the death toll considerably higher.

Whatever the precise figure, the human cost was catastrophic.

Memorial of the Deportation of Crimean Tatars, in Sundak

Erasing Crimea’s Indigenous People

The deportation was not merely the removal of a population. It was an attempt to erase a nation from its homeland.

Following the deportation, the Crimean Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic was abolished. Hundreds of Crimean Tatar place names were changed. Mosques, cemeteries, and cultural sites were neglected, destroyed, or repurposed.

Even the very term “Crimean Tatar” largely disappeared from official Soviet language.

The goal was clear: to transform Crimea into a land without Crimean Tatars.

Decades of Resistance

Unlike many deported populations, the Crimean Tatars were not allowed to return home after Stalin’s death.

Although restrictions on their exile were formally lifted in 1956, the Soviet authorities continued to deny them the right to return collectively to Crimea.

For decades, Crimean Tatar activists organized one of the most remarkable civil rights movements in Soviet history. Through petitions, protests, and international advocacy, they kept alive the memory of their homeland and demanded justice.

Only during the final years of the Soviet Union did large-scale return become possible.

Beginning in the late 1980s, hundreds of thousands of Crimean Tatars slowly made their way back to Crimea.

Memory and the Present

The deportation remains central to Crimean Tatar identity.

Every year on May 18, known among Crimean Tatars as the Day of Remembrance of the Victims of the Sürgünlik (“Exile”), communities gather to honor those who died and those who endured decades of displacement.

For many Crimean Tatars, the memory of 1944 is not simply a historical tragedy. It is a living experience passed from grandparents to children and grandchildren.

Following Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, many Crimean Tatars have expressed fears that their community once again faces political pressure, cultural marginalization, and restrictions on its representative institutions.

As a result, the events of May 1944 continue to resonate far beyond the history books.

Why It Matters

For Chechens, the story of the Crimean Tatars is more than an episode of Soviet history. It is part of a shared experience.

The deportations of 1944 were built upon the same principle: collective guilt. Entire peoples were condemned not for what they had done, but for who they were.

Remembering the Crimean Tatars means remembering all the nations that suffered under this policy—and recognizing the resilience of those who survived.

Eighty-two years later, the voices of the exiled have not been silenced.

And neither has their memory.

Kazakhstan Must Not Send Mansur Movlaev Back to Chechnya

Chechen activist remains at risk despite UN intervention

A new human rights case is drawing international attention to the ongoing persecution of critics of the Chechen authorities.

Mansur Movlaev, a Russian citizen of Chechen origin, has been held in extradition detention in Kazakhstan since May 2025 after being arrested in Almaty at the request of the Russian Federation. Although Kazakh authorities initially acknowledged his application for asylum and later suspended his extradition following intervention by the United Nations Human Rights Committee, Movlaev remains behind bars and continues to face the possibility of being transferred to Russia.

For human rights defenders, the stakes could not be higher.

A history of persecution

According to his lawyers and multiple human rights organizations, Movlaev has long been targeted because of his criticism of the Chechen authorities.

His supporters argue that a previous criminal conviction on drug-related charges was politically motivated. Following his early release in 2022, Movlaev reportedly disappeared into the hands of Chechen security forces and was detained in an unofficial facility where he was subjected to torture. He later managed to escape and eventually fled through Kyrgyzstan before reaching Kazakhstan.

These allegations fit a pattern that has been documented for years by international organizations, including Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, the Council of Europe and the European Court of Human Rights.

Arrest in Kazakhstan

On 13 May 2025, Kazakh authorities arrested Movlaev in Almaty based on an international request originating from Chechnya.

Initially, Kazakhstan’s Prosecutor General’s Office stated that the Russian request concerned extortion charges. Later reports suggested that Russian authorities were also linking Movlaev to alleged extremist activities.

The exact content of the Russian case remains unclear because neither the full indictment nor the complete extradition file has been made public.

On 21 May 2025, Movlaev formally applied for asylum in Kazakhstan and received official asylum-seeker documentation. Under Kazakh law, this should have protected him from removal while his claim was under consideration.

Nevertheless, at the end of January 2026, Kazakhstan’s Prosecutor General approved his extradition to Russia after his refugee application had been rejected.

United Nations intervention

The case took a dramatic turn on 23 February 2026.

After receiving an individual complaint from Movlaev’s legal team, the United Nations Human Rights Committee requested interim measures and instructed Kazakhstan not to extradite him until the case could be examined.

The following day, Kazakhstan’s Supreme Court suspended the extradition order.

While this prevented his immediate transfer, it did not secure his release. In May 2026, Kazakh courts extended his extradition detention until at least July.

Reports of family reprisals

Human rights advocates are particularly concerned by reports concerning Movlaev’s relatives in Chechnya.

Several media outlets and activists have alleged that members of his family have been abducted, tortured, or forcibly disappeared in recent years. Although some of these claims cannot yet be independently verified, they are consistent with a broader pattern of collective punishment repeatedly documented in Chechnya.

International organizations have long reported cases in which family members of government critics have faced intimidation, detention, destruction of property, and physical violence.

Why extradition would be dangerous

The central issue is not simply whether criminal charges exist against Movlaev.

International law prohibits extradition whenever there are substantial grounds for believing that a person faces torture, enforced disappearance, political persecution, or other serious human rights violations after return.

Kazakhstan is a party to the 1951 Refugee Convention, the UN Convention Against Torture, and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. Under these obligations, authorities must not return an individual to a place where there is a real risk of torture or persecution.

The documented record of abuses in Chechnya—including torture, secret detention facilities, fabricated criminal cases, collective punishment, and enforced disappearances—makes such concerns impossible to dismiss.

A test for Kazakhstan

The case of Mansur Movlaev has become more than a single extradition dispute.

It is now a test of Kazakhstan’s commitment to its international obligations and to the principle of non-refoulement—the cornerstone of international refugee and human rights law.

As long as credible evidence suggests that Movlaev could face torture, disappearance, or death if returned to Chechnya, any forced transfer would raise serious legal and moral questions.

The international community should continue monitoring the case closely.

For Mansur Movlaev, the difference between protection and extradition may ultimately be a matter of life and death.

“Ukraine as a Frontier of Western Civilization.” A report by Prime Minister of the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria Akhmed Zakayev at the ABN Conference in Toronto

Ladies and gentlemen!

Thank you for the opportunity to speak on this important and highly relevant topic.

When we speak about Ukraine today, we often call it the front line of European security. This is true. Ukraine is defending not only its cities, its borders, and its people. It is also defending the security architecture of Europe. However, I would like to offer a broader definition: today Ukraine is not only the front line of European security — Ukraine has become the frontier of Western civilization itself.

By “Western civilization,” I mean a system of principles: national sovereignty, the rule of law, freedom of speech, human dignity, and the right of nations to decide their own future. These are exactly the principles that Russia is trying to destroy. The war against Ukraine is not simply a territorial conflict. It is not only a dispute over borders, and not merely a war between two states. It is a clash between two political ideas. On one side is the belief that every nation, regardless of its size, has the right to exist as a sovereign political community. On the other side is the imperial belief that great powers have the right to dominate their neighbors, erase their identity, choose their alliances, and decide their historical destiny. This is why Ukraine matters far beyond Ukraine itself.

Russia invaded Ukraine not because Ukraine posed a military threat to Moscow. Ukraine threatened the Russian imperial model simply by existing as an independent, democratic, and Europe-oriented state. For the Kremlin, a democratic Ukraine is dangerous not because it is hostile, but because it is an example. It shows that the post-Soviet space is not doomed to authoritarianism. It shows that societies once ruled from Moscow can choose a different path. This is the real threat that Ukraine represents to the Russian imperial system. That is why Moscow’s war is directed not only against Ukrainian territory — it is directed against Ukrainian statehood and political identity.

Ukraine was often described as a space “between” Russia and Europe. But this very language was part of the problem. Ukraine is not a geopolitical corridor, not a gray zone, and not a bargaining chip in someone else’s security agreement. Ukraine is a nation. Ukraine is a state. And it is precisely for this choice that Ukraine is paying the highest price today.

The Russian imperial model is based on a special understanding of power. In this model, power is not limited by law, society is subordinate to the state, and neighboring peoples are seen not as equal partners but as material for geopolitical expansion. Such a system cannot tolerate democratic institutions near its borders, especially when these institutions exist in a country that the empire still imagines as part of itself.

Wherever Russian power arrives, free elections disappear. Independent courts disappear. Free media disappear. Local self-government disappears. Civil society disappears. Academic freedom disappears. Language and culture become subject to imperial narratives. Therefore, by defending itself, Ukraine is defending far more than territory. It is defending the principle that institutions are more important than force, that law is more important than violence, and that the citizen is more important than empire.

The question today is not only whether Ukraine can survive. The question is whether democratic states are capable of defending the principles on which their own legitimacy is built. If borders can be changed by force, if nuclear blackmail can paralyze political will, if a large authoritarian state can destroy a neighboring democracy, then this crisis is not only Ukrainian — it is a crisis of the entire international order.

For decades, the West spoke about democracy, sovereignty, human rights, and the rule of law. And here I would like to return to the events of the 1990s. At that time, the Chechens accepted all these declarations as sincere and, in accordance with the basic principles and norms of international law, restored their statehood. However, when Russia carried out military aggression against the young independent state, Western countries in practice sided with the aggressor.

The First Russian-Chechen War was compared by international military experts to the Second World War because of its destruction and brutality. After a short break, the Second Russian-Chechen War began, and its consequences continue to this day.

As a result of these two wars, according to official data from the occupation administration, more than 300,000 people in Chechnya were killed, including around 42,000 children between the ages of one and twelve. Today, the entire Chechen people live under a brutal occupation regime led by a Chechen quisling.

Chechens, like Ukrainians, ask a very simple question: were all those declarations by Western politicians about the inviolability of borders and the right of nations to self-determination real values, or were they merely political slogans of the Cold War period?

Today, Ukraine is forcing the democratic world to answer this question not with speeches, but with policy. This is why support for Ukraine should not be seen as charity. It is a form of strategic self-defense. Canada, the United States, the European Union, and other democratic states support Ukraine not only because Ukraine became the victim of aggression. They support Ukraine because the future security of the democratic world is being decided there.

The cost of supporting Ukraine is high. But the cost of Ukraine’s defeat would be far higher.

The defeat of Ukraine would not bring stability. It would create a more dangerous Europe, a weakened NATO, a discredited European Union, stronger authoritarian regimes, and a clear message to every revisionist power in the world: aggression works. By contrast, a successful Ukraine would send the opposite message: imperial war can be resisted, democratic societies can survive, and a post-imperial future is possible.

This point is especially important in the broader context of our discussion about the regional and global consequences of Russian imperial decline.

The weakening of Russia does not automatically mean the arrival of peace. We must not be naive here. Empires in decline often become even more aggressive. They try to compensate for internal decay with external violence. They turn demographic crisis, economic stagnation, and political fear into militarized nationalism. Therefore, Russia’s internal instability may transform into dangerous external behavior.

We already see this logic: the militarization of society, the suppression of dissent, forced mobilization, imperial propaganda, nuclear threats, and the use of instability as a weapon. A state that cannot offer its citizens a positive future instead offers them imperial revenge. An empire in decline does not become harmless — on the contrary, it can become extremely dangerous, especially when it still possesses military power, nuclear weapons, intelligence networks, and propaganda tools.

Therefore, the West needs a strategy that is both firm and wise.

Democratic states must stop viewing Russian imperialism as a temporary deviation or simply as Putin’s personal project. Of course, leadership matters. But the problem is much deeper than one individual. It is historical, ideological, and imperial in nature.

The West must abandon the illusion that stability can be bought at the cost of the sovereignty of nations located next to Russia. This logic has failed many times. Every concession made at the expense of Chechnya, Ukraine, Georgia, Moldova, and other vulnerable states did not satisfy imperial ambition — it only encouraged it.

Canada, the United States, and the European Union must see Ukraine not as a peripheral issue, but as a central pillar of democratic security. Military aid, economic support, sanctions, reconstruction planning, and legal accountability are all strategic responses to the imperial challenge.

Democratic states must listen more carefully to peoples who have direct historical experience with Russian imperial rule: Ukrainians, Poles, Georgians, Crimean Tatars, Chechens, and others. These societies often understood the nature of the threat earlier than many Western capitals. Their historical memory is not emotional exaggeration — it is a form of political knowledge.

This also raises the question of Russian opposition figures living in exile. Dialogue with them may be useful. It is important to speak with people who oppose the regime. However, policymakers should be careful not to confuse opposition to Putin with a full rejection of imperial thinking. Not every anti-Putin voice is necessarily post-imperial. Some may oppose the current regime while still keeping colonial views about Ukraine, the Caucasus, Central Asia, and other peoples once dominated by Moscow.

Therefore, the main question should not only be: “Are you against Putin?” The deeper question should be: “Do you recognize the full sovereignty, political subjecthood, and historical dignity of the peoples once ruled by Russia?” Without such recognition, there can be no genuine post-imperial future.

Thus, Ukraine’s struggle is also a struggle for a new political language. It forces us to move beyond old categories such as “spheres of influence,” “great power compromise,” and “buffer zones.” These categories are not neutral. Very often they reproduce imperial thinking under the language of political realism. True realism today requires recognizing that the imperial idea itself creates war.

Security in Europe will not be restored by giving Russia veto power over the freedom of its neighbors. It will only be restored when the imperial principle itself is defeated — politically, militarily, intellectually, and morally.

Ukraine stands at the center of this process. Ukraine has shown that democratic identity is not weakness. It has shown that civic patriotism can be stronger than imperial nationalism. It has shown that institutions, even under attack, can mobilize society. It has shown that freedom is not an abstract value but a living political force.

In this sense, Ukraine has reminded the West of something the West itself had begun to forget: democracy is not only procedure. It is not only elections, bureaucracy, or legal norms. Democracy is also a civilization of responsibility. It requires citizens willing to defend institutions. It requires states willing to defend principles. It requires alliances capable of understanding that peace without justice is only a pause before the next aggression.

That is why the Ukrainian lesson is not only military. It is civilizational.

Ukraine teaches us that freedom survives only when it is defended. Sovereignty survives only when it is respected. Institutions survive only when people are willing to protect them. And democratic civilization survives only when it understands the nature of those who seek to destroy it.

Allow me to end with the following thought.

Ukraine defends the West not because it is a passive outpost of Western power. Ukraine defends the West because Ukrainians chose the political principles that define the West at its best. They defend the idea that free nations have the right to exist. They defend the idea that democracy is not a privilege reserved for old and wealthy states. They defend the idea that empire has no moral right to decide the fate of other peoples.

That is why Ukraine is not only the front line of European security. Ukraine is the frontier between law and force, between citizenship and empire, between democratic institutions and imperial domination.

And if the democratic world clearly understands this, support for Ukraine will no longer be seen as a burden. It will be understood for what it truly is: the defense of the political meaning of Western civilization itself.

Thank you for your attention.

Ukrainian Intelligence Claims Infiltration of Akhmat Unit

The Main Directorate of Intelligence of the Ministry of Defence of Ukraine (GUR) has announced what it describes as a successful infiltration of a unit belonging to the Akhmat forces, one of the formations associated with Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov.

According to statements released by Ukrainian intelligence and reported by several media outlets, an undercover operative was able to gain access to the unit and provide information that contributed to Ukrainian military operations. Ukrainian officials have also suggested that the operation led to significant losses among Russian forces.

At present, the details of the alleged infiltration remain limited. Ukrainian authorities have not disclosed the identity of the operative, the duration of the mission, or the exact role played within the Akhmat formation. Independent verification of the operation has not been made publicly available.

If confirmed, the case would represent one of the most significant intelligence penetrations of Kadyrov-linked forces since the beginning of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

The Akhmat units, named after former Chechen pro – russian leader Akhmat Kadyrov, have played a visible role in Russian military operations in Ukraine. While often portrayed by Russian media as elite formations, they have also faced criticism regarding their battlefield performance and have been the subject of repeated allegations concerning internal rivalries, discipline issues, and defections.

Such factors may increase the vulnerability of military formations to intelligence penetration, although no independent evidence has yet emerged to confirm the specific claims made by the GUR.

The announcement comes amid continued fighting along several sectors of the front and reflects the growing importance of intelligence operations in the ongoing conflict. As with many wartime claims, a full assessment of the operation may only become possible after additional evidence becomes available.

For now, the reported infiltration should be regarded as a claim made by Ukrainian military intelligence, albeit one that appears plausible in light of the broader context of the war and previous reports of tensions within pro-Kadyrov formations.

Starye Atagi, December 2001: When “Normalization” Meant Fear and Disappearances

An examination of eyewitness testimonies from one of the darkest periods of the Second Russo-Chechen War.


A Village Under Occupation

At the end of 2001, Russian authorities repeatedly claimed that the situation in Chechnya was improving. Official statements spoke of “stabilization,” “normalization,” and the restoration of constitutional order throughout the republic.

For many residents of the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria, however, reality looked very different. One of the most revealing accounts from this period comes from the village of Starye Atagi, southwest of Grozny. Between late December 2001 and early January 2002, local residents described a climate of fear marked by military raids, arbitrary detentions, extortion, disappearances, and constant harassment by Russian federal forces. Their testimonies provide a rare glimpse into everyday life during one of the most difficult phases of the war.


A Village Already Scarred by War

By the end of 2001, Starye Atagi had already endured years of military operations. Since the beginning of the Second Russo-Chechen War, the village had repeatedly been subjected to raids, searches, and so-called “counter-terrorist operations” conducted by Russian forces.

Residents had previously appealed to international organizations, describing a pattern of punitive sweeps that had affected dozens of local families. Many villagers reported losing relatives during these operations, while others continued searching for family members who had disappeared after being detained by Russian troops.

Far from experiencing the promised normalization, the population found itself living under a permanent state of uncertainty.


The December Raids

According to testimonies collected at the time, between 26 and 30 December 2001 Russian troops carried out a series of operations in the village. Residents alleged that soldiers entered homes, conducted arbitrary document inspections, demanded money from civilians, and confiscated property under various pretexts. Witnesses described scenes of intimidation and humiliation affecting numerous families throughout the village.

Among the incidents reported was the case of a young mother who was allegedly forced to hand over money after soldiers questioned her personal documents and family status. While individual details remain difficult to verify more than two decades later, the broader pattern described by witnesses corresponds closely to practices documented elsewhere in Chechnya during the same period.


Arbitrary Detentions and Ransom Payments

The most serious allegations concerned the detention of dozens of local residents. According to villagers, Russian forces detained more than forty men during the operation, including elderly civilians and members of several well-known local families. Detainees were reportedly accused of assisting the fighters of the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria, although no formal charges were presented.

Witnesses claimed that many of those arrested were subjected to beatings and ill-treatment before being released. Families reportedly secured the release of relatives only after paying sums ranging from 2,000 to 5,000 rubles. Such allegations were not unusual during this stage of the conflict. Throughout the early 2000s, numerous human-rights organizations documented cases in which detainees were released only after relatives paid money to members of military or security structures.

For civilians living in villages such as Starye Atagi, the greatest burden was often uncertainty. Men of military age lived with the constant risk of detention. Families feared nighttime raids. Mothers worried that sons, husbands, or fathers could disappear without explanation and never return. The absence of legal safeguards meant that ordinary civilians often had no effective mechanism through which to challenge abuses or seek information about detained relatives. As a result, fear became a permanent feature of daily life.

February 2000 – Russian soldiers inspect Chechen men standing along a wall in the prison of the Chechen village of Chernokozovo. 

A Pattern Seen Across the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria

The events reported in Starye Atagi were not isolated. Throughout the Second Russo-Chechen War, villages and towns across the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria experienced similar operations. International human-rights organizations repeatedly documented allegations of enforced disappearances, arbitrary detention, torture, extrajudicial executions, and collective punishment carried out during security sweeps.

Russian authorities maintained that these operations were necessary to combat the armed forces of the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria and their supporters. Human-rights advocates, however, consistently argued that civilians were frequently subjected to abuses that violated both Russian law and international humanitarian norms.

The experiences of Starye Atagi therefore form part of a much broader historical pattern that affected thousands of Chechen families during the conflict.


Preserving Historical Memory

More than twenty years later, testimonies from villages such as Starye Atagi remain an essential part of the historical record. They preserve voices that were rarely heard beyond the borders of Chechnya and document the experiences of civilians caught between the struggle for the independence of the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria and the overwhelming military power of the Russian Federation.

Whether examined by historians, researchers, journalists, or future generations, these accounts serve as a reminder that behind official statements and military reports stood real communities struggling to survive under extraordinary circumstances. Remembering their stories is not only a matter of historical accuracy.

It is also a matter of justice.


This article is based on testimonies published in January 2002 and on the broader body of documentation concerning human-rights violations committed during the Second Russo-Chechen War.

Land, Sovereignty, and the Unfinished Question of Privatization in Chechnya

The Chechen Republic of Ichkeria from Soviet Collapse to Postwar Re-Bureaucratization

Introduction

The question of land privatization in Chechnya cannot be understood as a merely technical issue of post-Soviet economic transition. In the Chechen case, land was never simply an asset to be registered, transferred, leased, or sold. It was a national patrimony, a source of historical memory, a foundation of communal identity, a battlefield of state-building, and, after 1994, one of the many casualties of war.

Between 1991 and 1999, the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria did not develop a liberal land market comparable to that emerging in the Russian Federation. Nor did it complete a coherent agrarian reform. The available evidence instead points to a more complex and internally contradictory model: a sovereignty-first economic doctrine, constitutionally open to private property in general, but deeply reluctant to commodify land, natural resources, or strategic assets.

This article argues that the failure of land privatization in independent Chechnya was not merely the result of administrative weakness or wartime destruction. Those factors were decisive, but they came later. At the origin of the process stood a political choice. Dzhokhar Dudayev and much of the independence leadership regarded rapid privatization, especially of land and strategic resources, as a danger to national survival. In their view, privatization risked opening the republic to speculation, corruption, external penetration, and the fragmentation of national wealth before the Chechen state had consolidated its sovereignty.

The result was an unfinished land regime: neither Soviet collectivism, nor Russian-style privatization, nor a fully restored customary order. It was a hybrid system, suspended between national patrimony, emergency administration, communal expectation, and the collapse of state capacity.


1. Historical Background: Land, Deportation, and the Moral Economy of Return

Chechen attitudes toward land were shaped long before the fall of the Soviet Union. Traditional Vainakh society was organized through family, teip, and tukkhum structures, in which land was tied to lineage, locality, honor, and collective survival. Customary law, or adat, regulated property disputes alongside social obligations and communal authority. In the mountain and foothill regions, the idea of land as a purely alienable commodity had only limited roots.

The Soviet period transformed these relations through collectivization. Beginning in the late 1920s, private and communal forms of landholding were absorbed into collective and state farms. For Chechens, collectivization was not experienced simply as modernization. It was remembered as another episode in the long history of imperial interference with the native relationship to land.

The trauma of the 1944 deportation deepened this perception. When Chechens and Ingush were exiled to Central Asia, their republic was dissolved, their villages emptied, and their homes and lands redistributed. Upon return after 1957, many found themselves effectively “immigrants in their own homes.” Housing, farmland, and administrative control had passed into other hands. The struggle for land was therefore inseparable from the struggle to recover historical dignity.

This memory mattered in 1991. The national movement did not approach land as a neutral sector of economic reform. Land was part of the historical body of the nation.


2. The Soviet Inheritance and the Structural Crisis of Agriculture

By the late Soviet period, Checheno-Ingushetia had a distorted economic structure. Oil, refining, and petrochemical industries dominated the economy, while agriculture remained weak, dependent, and undercapitalized. The countryside was largely Chechen, while Russians were disproportionately represented in industry, administration, and urban employment.

The agricultural sector was especially fragile. It had long depended on Soviet subsidies, controlled prices, access to fuel, machinery, and lubricants, and centralized procurement systems. Once the Soviet framework collapsed, the sector faced a structural crisis. Agricultural enterprises accumulated enormous debts; much of this debt was not accidental but systemic, arising from dependence on fuel, lubricants, and state support.

In principle, three policies could have addressed the crisis: agrarian reform, land privatization, and the elimination of subsidies. But this was exactly the path Dudayev opposed. This point is essential. The Chechen leadership was not unaware of the agricultural problem. On the contrary, the problem was known and discussed. The state simply refused to resolve it through the Russian-style market solution.

This refusal distinguished Ichkeria from the Russian Federation. In Russia, land reform and privatization were part of a broader project of economic liberalization. In Chechnya, the leadership feared that liberalization without consolidated sovereignty would produce not freedom, but predation.


3. Sovereignty Before Privatization

The earliest Chechen political texts placed land and natural resources within a national-patrimonial framework. The sovereignty discourse of 1990–1991 described land, subsoil, airspace, water, and natural resources as the property of the people. This formula did not exclude private economic activity, but it subordinated it to the collective ownership of the nation.

The 1992 Constitution of the Chechen Republic introduced a more differentiated property regime. It recognized private and state property, and it guaranteed economic freedoms. Yet it continued to define land and natural resources in their natural state as the patrimony of the people, to be granted for possession and use according to law. This was not a straightforward constitutionalization of private land ownership.

The distinction is crucial. Private property could exist. Enterprise could exist. Trade could exist. But land and strategic resources were not simply objects for unrestricted market circulation.

This made the Chechen model fundamentally different from the Russian one. The question was not whether Chechnya would have a market economy. It was whether the national territory itself could be turned into a market before the state had secured its independence.


4. Dudayev’s Anti-Privatization Position

The strongest new evidence from the broader research archive concerns Dudayev’s position. He did not merely delay privatization. He opposed it as a political danger. Dudayev and many others feared that privatization would allow “small profiteers” to parcel out national wealth for private advantage, leaving the country in poverty. This interpretation helps explain why the Chechen leadership resisted the liberal reform path even when economic conditions were deteriorating.

Dudayev’s position was not irrational in context. Chechnya’s economy was heavily concentrated around oil and refining. Other sectors, especially agriculture, required investment that the state did not possess. If privatization had been implemented quickly, it could have produced the same oligarchic dynamics seen in Russia, but in a much smaller and more vulnerable republic.

There was also a geopolitical concern. A weak, unrecognized Chechen state could not guarantee that privatized land, infrastructure, or industrial assets would remain under genuinely national control. Privatization could become a mechanism for Russian economic re-penetration. Thus, Dudayev’s anti-privatization stance must be understood as part of a broader doctrine: sovereignty first, market later.


5. Institutional Ambiguity: The State Committee on Privatization and Its Liquidation

The documentary record shows that the Chechen authorities dismantled or reorganized the institutional machinery that could have implemented classical privatization. In February 1992, the State Committee on Privatization and Antimonopoly Policy was liquidated, and its documentation was transferred to the Ministry of Economy and Finance.

This does not mean that no private economic activity existed. On the contrary, the early 1990s saw an explosion of informal trade, private initiative, smuggling, and local appropriation. But it does mean that the state moved away from a standardized privatization apparatus.

This point changes the interpretation of Ichkeria’s economic history. The issue was not simply that the Chechen state was too weak to conduct privatization. It was also that the leadership did not want to reproduce the Russian privatization model.

The result was a paradox: the formal privatization process was blocked, but informal appropriation flourished.


6. Agriculture: The Unresolved Core of Land Reform

The agricultural sector reveals the contradiction most clearly. Soviet collective and state farms were no longer functioning efficiently, but they were not replaced by a coherent private land system. Subsidies continued in one form or another. Debts mounted. Productivity fell. Machinery deteriorated. Fuel shortages worsened.

The population increasingly retreated from Grozny and other urban centers toward villages and rural networks, where land could provide subsistence. But the collapse of the collective farm system did not automatically produce orderly land ownership. Instead, it opened the way to looting, local redistribution, customary claims, and semi-formal occupation.

In some northern plains districts, mechanized agriculture survived in reduced form. Elsewhere, the decline of state farms created a vacuum filled by family networks and local power.

This is where the Chechen land question becomes especially difficult to classify. The republic did not maintain the Soviet system intact. But neither did it create a legal market in agricultural land. The countryside moved toward de facto decentralization without de jure privatization.


7. The Role of Customary Law

Customary law did not replace state law, but it became increasingly important as state capacity weakened. The collapse of collective farms and the absence of a clear privatization regime allowed local communities to rely on familiar mechanisms of allocation, mediation, and legitimacy.

This did not necessarily mean a romantic return to an ancient order. Customary structures could stabilize disputes, but they could also reinforce local hierarchies, clan influence, and unequal access. Still, they offered a form of social regulation where formal institutions were absent or contested.

The independence period therefore produced a layered land regime:

  1. constitutional patrimony of the people;
  2. state administration of strategic resources;
  3. partial or informal private use;
  4. customary allocation and recognition;
  5. growing coercion by armed actors.

No single model prevailed.


8. Oil, Land, and Strategic Control

Although the article focuses on land privatization, Chechnya’s land question cannot be separated from oil. Oil wells, pipelines, refineries, storage areas, and transport corridors were all territorial assets. Control over them was control over the fiscal basis of the state.

Since late 1991, Dudayev placed oil exports under direct presidential authorization. This was part of the same logic that shaped his position on land: strategic resources had to remain under national control. In practice, however, the government struggled to enforce this control. Theft from pipelines, illegal withdrawals, looting of tankers, and collusion by guards became endemic.

The Dudayev government responded by centralizing production and distribution. One major refining facility, the Lenin Refinery, became the core of production, while other plants were closed. Storage and distribution were also centralized in a guarded zone near Grozny’s Zavodskoy district. This produced some short-term success: theft reportedly decreased, and the state regained access to revenue.

But centralization also had political costs. The opposition accused Dudayev of treating oil as a personal asset and using strategic resources to strengthen presidential power. Whether or not the accusations of personal enrichment were justified, the political effect was real: economic sovereignty became inseparable from accusations of authoritarianism.

This dynamic helps explain land policy as well. If land and resources were too important to privatize, they also became too important to leave outside presidential control.


9. Parliament, Presidency, and the Political Economy of State-Building

The land question was embedded in a broader institutional conflict between the presidency and parliament. Dudayev sought to centralize authority in order to defend independence and prevent Russian penetration. Parliamentary critics accused him of violating constitutional procedures, duplicating institutions, appointing loyalists, and replacing elected local authority with presidential structures.

This conflict mattered for land administration. A functioning land reform would have required stable institutions, local authorities, cadastral bodies, courts, and enforcement mechanisms. Instead, the state was torn between competing centers of power.

Dudayev also dismantled parts of the old Soviet administrative system and replaced them with prefectures. Parliament objected, since the Constitution provided for elected regional governors. The executive justified centralization as necessary for state survival. The legislature saw it as authoritarian drift.

In such a context, land privatization was almost impossible. The legal question “who owns the land?” could not be answered while the political question “who represents the state?” remained unresolved.


10. The State Commission for Land Resources and Management

One important institutional detail is the existence of a State Commission for Land Resources and Management. During the Russian-backed Hadjiev administration in 1995, Ibragim Dzhandarov was listed as chairman of this commission, and the source notes that he had held the same post under Dudayev.

This is a significant clue. It shows that the land question was not absent from the state apparatus. There was a dedicated institutional structure responsible for land resources and territorial management. Yet the available evidence suggests that this institution did not succeed in creating a stable land regime.

Its continuity from the Dudayev period into the Hadjiev government is also revealing. Moscow-backed authorities did not simply invent land administration from scratch. They reused personnel and structures inherited from the independence period. This suggests that despite political rupture, administrative continuity existed at least in fragments.

However, under wartime occupation, such institutions could hardly operate as neutral organs of land governance. They functioned within competing claims: Ichkerian legality, Russian federal authority, collaborationist administration, military occupation, and local survival economies.


11. War and the Collapse of Property Order

The First Russo-Chechen War transformed the land question. From December 1994 onward, land reform ceased to be a policy problem and became part of wartime survival.

Russian bombardment destroyed cities, villages, archives, infrastructure, and administrative continuity. Grozny, the center of bureaucracy and record-keeping, was devastated. Property claims became difficult or impossible to verify. Many people fled, leaving houses, plots, documents, and livestock behind.

The destruction of records had long-term consequences. Even where ownership or use rights had existed, they were often no longer documentary. Claims survived through memory, witnesses, family networks, or force.

The war also militarized property relations. Vehicles, buildings, fuel, and other assets were requisitioned for the war effort. Dudayev’s orders included the expropriation of vehicles that had once belonged to the government but had been privatized in the early 1990s. This demonstrates that even the private property that had emerged before the war remained vulnerable to emergency state claims.

In wartime Ichkeria, property became conditional upon survival.


12. Occupation, Collaborationist Administration, and Land Governance

The Russian-backed Hadjiev government attempted to reconstruct civilian authority in occupied areas. Its cabinet included figures from the old Soviet nomenklatura, anti-Dudayev opposition, and former Dudayev officials. It also included a chairman of the State Commission for Land Resources and Management.

This government was politically weak and widely discredited, but it reveals Moscow’s preferred model: not immediate liberalization, but administrative restoration under Russian control. Oil infrastructure, reconstruction funds, housing, and land administration were all tied to the attempt to build a loyal Chechen authority within the Russian state.

However, corruption, looting, military impunity, and black-market activity undermined this effort. Reconstruction resources were misappropriated. Warehouses were looted. Oil infrastructure was exploited by both official and unofficial actors. Land governance could not be separated from the broader breakdown of legality.

Thus, by 1995–1996, Chechnya contained overlapping property regimes:

  • Dudayev’s wartime Ichkerian authority;
  • Russian military occupation;
  • Hadjiev’s collaborationist administration;
  • local customary control;
  • black-market appropriation;
  • armed requisition.

The land question had become fragmented beyond institutional control.


13. Interwar Ichkeria, 1996–1999: Victory Without Reconstruction

The Khasavyurt Accords ended the First Russo-Chechen War but did not create the conditions for stable land reform. Ichkeria regained de facto independence, but the state was exhausted. Institutions were weak, the economy shattered, armed groups powerful, and international recognition absent.

The Maskhadov government inherited an impossible problem: how to rebuild a country without money, secure borders, functioning courts, reliable archives, or a monopoly of force.

Land privatization under such conditions would have required an administrative capacity the state did not possess. It would also have risked igniting disputes among displaced families, returning refugees, armed commanders, local elites, and communities whose prewar claims had been destroyed or transformed by war.

The interwar state therefore failed to settle the land question. It could not restore Soviet collectivism, could not implement liberal privatization, and could not fully regulate customary or armed control.

This was not merely policy failure. It was the consequence of attempting state reconstruction in the ruins of a war fought against a vastly superior power.


14. Interpretation: Why Chechnya Did Not Privatize Land

The evidence supports five main conclusions.

First, independent Chechnya did not follow the Russian privatization model because its leadership did not trust that model. Dudayev saw privatization as a mechanism through which national wealth could be captured by profiteers, criminal groups, or external interests.

Second, land privatization was discussed as a possible solution to agricultural collapse, but it was rejected. This means the absence of land reform was not simply accidental.

Third, Chechnya’s constitutional framework recognized private property but preserved land and natural resources as the patrimony of the people. This created a hybrid doctrine: private economic activity without full commodification of the national territory.

Fourth, institutional conflict between the presidency and parliament, followed by war, made coherent reform impossible. Even if political will had existed, the administrative machinery was too unstable.

Fifth, after 1994, war transformed land from an economic problem into a survival problem. Displacement, destruction, requisition, looting, and the loss of records destroyed the practical basis for orderly privatization.


Conclusion

The history of land privatization in Chechnya is the history of an unfinished state.

In the early 1990s, the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria stood at the intersection of three possible futures. It could have followed Russia into rapid privatization. It could have preserved a modified Soviet system. Or it could have built a distinct national model rooted in popular ownership, limited private property, and strategic state control.

Dudayev chose the third path, but he never had the time, institutions, recognition, or peace necessary to make it work.

The result was not a coherent alternative economy, but an unresolved hybrid. Land remained symbolically national, administratively contested, socially communal, economically underproductive, and increasingly vulnerable to informal seizure. Agriculture collapsed under debt and subsidy dependence. Oil was centralized but also looted. State institutions multiplied but weakened. Parliament and presidency clashed. Then war destroyed the remaining foundations of legality.

The central conclusion is therefore precise: the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria did not fail to privatize land simply because it lacked capacity. It also refused to privatize land in the Russian sense because its leadership feared that privatization would destroy the very sovereignty independence was meant to secure.

After 1999, Russian rule restored legal bureaucracy but not genuine property security. Land ceased to be the patrimony of a self-proclaimed nation and became part of an authoritarian system of administrative control, reconstruction patronage, and political dependency.

The land question in Chechnya was never merely about property.

It was about sovereignty, memory, survival, and the right of a people to decide whether its land could be sold before its state had even been allowed to exist.

Biographies: Olkhazar Abdulkarimov – From Ichkeria to Kadyrov, following the river of oil

There are very little information about him in the press, and we were unable to find a personal photo of him. All we know about him is that he was born in 1954, that he graduated from Voronezh State University with a degree in law, and that, according to our sources, he is still alive.

Before Chechnya’s independence, Abdulkharimov worked as a law enforcement officer in the Chechen-Ingush Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic.​ During the period between 1991 and 1994, he had the opportunity to establish himself in the oil business, acquiring skills and contacts that earned him the government’s interest.

It is not known what his political position was with respect to the issue of Chechen independence, and whether or not he participated (and if so in what form) in the defense of the country during the First Russo-Chechen War. It is known, however, that after the withdrawal of Russian troops from the country, he moved closer to government positions, beginning a notable political rise.

Institutional roles

Presidential Advisor for Oil Production (since 1996): After the end of the First Chechen War and the election of Aslan Maskhadov, Abdulkharimov was appointed Presidential Advisor for Oil Production, taking on a key role in managing the country’s energy resources.

Minister of Oil Production and Energy (03/07/1998 – 10/10/1998): During this short period, he headed the ministry responsible for energy policies, in a context of reconstruction and political instability.

First Deputy Chairman of the Cabinet of Ministers with responsibility for oil production (since 10/10/1998): Subsequently, he was promoted to First Deputy Chairman of the Cabinet of Ministers, maintaining responsibility for oil production.

Director of the State Enterprise “ChechenTEK” (since September 1998): He took over the management of ChechenTEK, the state enterprise responsible for the management of the oil sector, at a time when Chechnya was trying to consolidate its economy.

Member of the collaborationist government

After the conquest of Chechnya by the Russian army and the installation of the collaborationist government of Ramzan Kadyrov, Abdulkharimov was appointed Minister of Industry and Energy, by nomination of Kadyrov himself, replacing Amadi Temishev.

Temishev had repeatedly criticized the policy of “plunder” carried out by the Russian state oil company, Rosneft, complaining about the systematic violation of the contractual agreements signed in 2002 between the company and the collaborationist government, at the time led by Akhmat Kadyrov, Ramzan’s father, the disinterest of the Russian administration in the economic and environmental fate of the Republic, and the lack of investment in the restoration of Chechen industrial infrastructure. His last public interview, dated October 11, 2006, was an explicit indictment of Moscow. It is not surprising, therefore, that in April 2007 Ramzan Kadyrov (newly elected President of the Chechen Republic by decree of Vladimir Putin) decided to remove him from government, replacing him with a figure supposedly less cumbersome and more “available” towards the Russian imperial center.