It was a strange event. At a closed conference in the Uzbek capital on media freedom this month, speaker after speaker depicted Uzbekistan as a veritable paradise of free speech. Ordinary Uzbeks might have been surprised to hear it. Those who try to tell the truth in Islam Karimov's country are liable to be thrown behind bars.
In some ways even more disturbing, however, is the fact that European policymakers seem ready to treat the empty rhetoric as though it represents real change. At a meeting of EU foreign ministers this week, some want to cite this Alice in Wonderland meeting as proof that Uzbekistan is moving in the right direction. The failure to distinguish between words and deeds is a cocktail of cynicism and naivete. Uzbekistan has indeed made a few minor concessions in response to limited international pressure in the past year, including the release of a handful of human rights defenders, in a bid to stave off the renewal of targeted sanctions. But its repressive approach remains fundamentally unchanged - not because of too much pressure, but too little.
Take the case of journalist Salijon Abdurakhmanov, who this week received a 10-year jail sentence for drugs charges. Most observers agree that his real crime is that he addressed human rights and justice issues in his writing. Akzam Turgunov, a human rights defender and opposition activist now on trial, suffered from severe burns after scalding water was poured down his back. (The UN notes that torture in Uzbek custody remains "routine".) Even outside the country's borders, Karimov's critics are not safe. In neighbouring Kyrgyzstan, Alisher Saipov, an independent Uzbek journalist who wrote for the website ferghana.ru, was murdered last year; before his death, official Uzbek media branded him "a traitor".
Ask Uzbekistan's embattled human rights activists if they believe things are getting better, and the answer is an unequivocal no. But European governments, eager to co-opt Uzbekistan as an ally once more, are impatient to reach a different conclusion (Germany, for example, has an air base in Uzbekistan, a staging post for Afghanistan).
In 2005, the European Union imposed limited sanctions, including an arms embargo and a visa ban for senior officials, after a massacre in the eastern town of Andijan. After armed insurgents seized several government buildings, Uzbek troops opened fire on crowds, the overwhelming majority of them unarmed, slaughtering hundreds. As documented in a Human Rights Watch report published immediately after the massacre, the killing was calculated. After the main shooting was over, soldiers fired bullets point blank into the heads of some of those who survived the first onslaught. Those who speak of the massacre, or even those whose crime is to have witnessed it, have been hunted down and arrested.
Uzbekistan has from the start portrayed the massacre as a justified response to a terrorist uprising. European governments initially rejected that obvious lie. Now, however, they have begun to suggest that the cold-blooded slaughter of large numbers of civilians needs to be seen in "perspective". That perspective appears to be: look the other away.
Some diplomats argue that the very fact that Human Rights Watch and a few other non-governmental organisations working on Uzbekistan were - at the request of the European Commission - allowed to speak at the conference is a significant step forward. And yet the Uzbeks made that concession in the hope that it would deflect the pressure for any real change. It would be absurd to reward them for the inconvenience of listening to the truth for a few hours.
Real change is nowhere to be seen. For all the talk at the conference of the burgeoning internet, the Human Rights Watch website is blocked, as are other websites which report on the reality of life in Uzbekistan. Human Rights Watch has had a presence in Tashkent for more than a decade; this year, our Uzbekistan researcher was told that he can no longer work in the country.
Confronted with these facts, Uzbek speakers at the conference continued blithely with yet another presentation on the marvels of life under Islam Karimov, or complained at the rudeness of visitors who dared cast doubt on the official narrative. And yet, it was notable how many attendees - despite the obvious risks, and including those whose job titles might imply the need to proclaim undying loyalty for the government - offered whispered thanks outside the conference room for the simple words which those of us protected by foreign passports could speak on their behalf. Dialogue is valuable if it leads to change. But dialogue whose main purpose is to avoid the truth is an insult to the people of Uzbekistan.
Those who risk their lives for a more just Uzbekistan want more pressure on the government, not less. They argue that consistency will pay dividends. "They mustn't stop. Water wears down the stone," says one Uzbek human rights defender. Meanwhile, however, "constructive engagement" is fast becoming the new European buzzword. The policy is not just immoral, but dangerously shortsighted. If the repression continues, instability is likely to grow. When Uzbekistan shows real openness - with a genuinely free press, an end to show trials, and full accountability for the crimes of Andijan - that will be the time to offer the government rewards. Any other approach would be a shameful failure.
Steve Crawshaw is UN advocacy director at Human Rights Watch
