The Debate | Opinion | Central Asia

The Gap Between Reform and Local Power in Uzbekistan

One woman’s attempt to stand for election as mahalla chairperson reveals the barriers that remain to inclusive self-government in Uzbekistan.

A welcome sign in Uchkuprik district in Fergana Region.

In Uzbekistan, a mahalla is traditionally a local community comprising the residents of a particular area. Its self-governing body, commonly known as the mahalla committee, is the administrative institution closest to the local population. Although formally outside the state administration system, in practice mahalla chairpersons – those chosen to head the mahalla committee – are closely linked to local authorities such as the district hokimiyat, the lowest official level of government administration, and often carry out their instructions.

The mahalla helps to distribute social assistance, organize community initiatives, liaise with state institutions, and participate in the implementation of state programs. Their chairpersons are required to represent the interests of residents while cooperating with the district hokimiyat.

In the spring of 2026, I learned that the mahalla chairperson in my home of more than 20 years, the Tinchlik mahalla in the Uchkuprik district in Fergana Region, was stepping down. I decided to stand for election to replace him.

Nearly 100 residents in the mahalla signed a petition in support of my candidacy. I have a university degree, many years’ experience in journalism and community work, and, as I believed, all the qualities necessary to stand for election to a position working on behalf of my community.

My name never appeared on the list of candidates. 

The story of why illustrates that while Uzbekistan has made great strides and undertaken efforts to broaden citizen participation, increase the accountability of government authorities, and strengthen local self-government, there remains a gap between the law and the lived reality. 

The testing of a democracy occurs not just as the national level, but at the hyper-local level, in the mahalla, where barriers remain to entry.

In March 2026, I learned that the chair of the Tinchlik mahalla committee intended to step down.

During our conversation, he described a role that differed significantly from what one might imagine when reading the legislation on citizens’ self-government. According to him, the district hokimiyat regularly assigned him additional tasks not directly related to the chairperson’s statutory duties. Carrying out these tasks was not a matter of choice, but in fact a mandatory requirement. The workload became too much for him, and he decided to step down.

For several years now, I have been formally unemployed. Invisible barriers, apparently linked to my civic activism, have prevented me from getting a job at any state institution. For many years, I had worked as a journalist in a local newspaper and been involved in community activism helping my neighbors with their day-to-day problems.

When deliveries of gas cylinders were delayed for several months, I contacted the relevant government authorities until deliveries resumed. When rubbish collection stopped, I raised the issue with local officials. Together with residents, I campaigned for our street to be tarmacked and helped organize the installation of a communal water pump. I also helped low-income families and people with disabilities navigate government procedures and secure the assistance they were entitled to.

The outgoing chairperson agreed that he would formally submit his resignation, while I would appeal to residents for their support in hopes of perhaps succeeding him.

Under the Uzbek law “On the Election of the Chairperson of the Citizens’ Assembly,” candidates are nominated taking into account the views of citizens permanently residing in the relevant area. The law sets out a number of requirements for candidates: they must have a university degree; possess organizational skills, life and professional experience; enjoy respect among the local population; and have been permanently resident in the relevant area for at least five years prior to the election.

I believed that I met these requirements and began talking to my neighbors.

By the end of this process, nearly 100 residents of the Tinchlik mahalla had signed a petition in support of my candidacy. People read the text, made up their minds, and left their signatures and telephone numbers.

On March 19, the incumbent chairperson and I went to the Uchkuprik district administration. He submitted his resignation; I handed over the residents’ petition supporting my candidacy.

At that time, I still held out hope that the rest of the process would play out as governed by the law.

However, the elections, which should normally have taken place within a month of the vacancy arising, were postponed. April passed, then May. When I contacted the district commission responsible for facilitating the elections, I was told that the necessary documents had not yet been received and that the date of the vote was unknown. I received no official explanation for the delay.

On May 18, I received a call from Mashrab Tursunov, chair of the district commission for facilitating elections. He asked me to come to the hokimiyat, as the district hokim wished to speak personally with potential candidates for the vacant mahalla chair.

The meeting lasted only a few minutes. The hokim asked me one question: “What sort of person should the mahalla chair be?”

I replied that,........

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