In the aftermath of the Soviet Union's collapse, President Nursultan Nazarbayev and the capitalist class that rose within his regime impressed upon Kazakh citizens that their personal and national well-being would no longer rely on state policy. Recognizing that the Soviet experiment had failed to achieve a completely just society, Nazarbayev declared in numerous speeches that the most independent Kazakhstan could aspire to was the creation of a narrow wealthy class and a broad middle class. Those outside these groups, he suggested, would need to forge their own paths to join them.

Both President Nursultan Nazarbayev and his successor, Kassym-Jomart Tokayev, have emphasized that the state should focus on maximizing economic growth. By expanding the economic pie, they aimed to address citizens' demands for justice, believing that increased prosperity would satisfy the public's expectations.
Over the past 33 years, Kazakhstan has indeed increased its GDP more than tenfold, reaching $261.4 billion—a surge fueled by rising global demand for oil and soaring commodity prices.

Yet this economic boom has not improved the lives of most citizens. On the contrary, socio-economic inequality has sharply intensified: the wealthiest 10 percent now own more than 60 percent of the nation's wealth. The majority of Kazakhs earn between 150,000 and 190,000 KZT per month ($300 to $400), and several million lack permanent employment.

Despite continued nominal economic growth, experts have been debating for over seven years the dead-end trajectory of Kazakhstan's development. Their discussions, however, have largely been limited to warnings about the imminent depletion of the oil economy and the stagnation of middle-class incomes.

Kazakhstan's current trajectory poses a fundamental question: Within its existing capitalist framework, can true justice—measured by the well-being of the vast majority of its citizens—ever be realized?

This article contends that the answer is no. Rather than focusing on the specific shortcomings of Kazakhstan's economic policies, it delves into the structural reasons that inherently limit the effectiveness of any such initiatives.

Findings by Eastern European sociologists suggest that the emphasis post-Soviet authorities placed on building a middle class was misguided—not because they lacked the political will to foster its growth, but because the capitalist system itself fundamentally prevents non-Western economies from expanding to a scale where a broad middle class is possible.

Non-Western economies are frequently classified as either semi-peripheral or peripheral. Sociologist Agnes Gagyi explains that semi-peripheral countries are characterized by their heterogeneity: they might blend high-tech industries with feudal economic structures, and parts of their population may have access to prestigious Western brands. In contrast, peripheral states are largely viewed as sources of cheap labor and raw materials.

Determining whether Kazakhstan fits into the semi-peripheral or peripheral category is complex, and researchers have yet to reach a definitive conclusion. On one hand, the country's economic complexity index has been declining since the collapse of the Soviet Union, suggesting peripheral tendencies. On the other hand, labor in Kazakhstan isn't necessarily cheap, and a narrow middle class has formed whose consumption levels are comparable to those in Western nations.

The expansion of the middle class in semi-peripheral and peripheral countries faces strict limitations. Most of its members are forced to resort to undemocratic means of wealth distribution to improve their own well-being—such as participating in patronage systems that operate by exploiting or excluding other social groups from access to public resources.

The promise that everyone can ascend to the middle class fosters an illusion of endless development, legitimizing the global capitalist system. Yet this system has inherent limits that deprive the non-Western world of genuine prospects for advancement.

These constraints are evident in the stagnation of corporate investment activity worldwide—a key driver of both global and local economic growth, employment, and personal incomes. When the investment was robust and competition remained moderate, the global economy thrived, boosting prosperity for segments of both Western and non-Western societies.

As investment and global economic growth have waned and competition in international and local markets has intensified, the already slim chances of improving living standards in semi-peripheral and peripheral countries are further diminishing. Consequently, the capitalist model of development is becoming increasingly unattractive and ineffective for non-Western nations. This reality underscores the need to search for a new hegemonic project—a reimagined framework for organizing socio-economic relations.

In post-Soviet countries like Kazakhstan, a global crisis of hegemony is compounded by local turmoil. Following the collapse of the Soviet development model and the faltering of "market" reforms, these nations have struggled to firmly establish a capitalist trajectory. Most citizens are unwilling to accept the sharp socio-economic inequalities that have emerged from these transformations.

The most significant manifestation of this crisis is the rise of Bonapartist political regimes across much of the former USSR. These governments constantly balance the interests of the majority—who have lost out from market reforms—with those of various factions of the ruling class eager to deepen the capitalist system. In essence, these regimes strive to prevent societal conflicts from escalating, aiming to maintain the status quo.

Yet, history shows that such balancing acts eventually falter. Growing dissatisfaction among the impoverished leads to mass protests with revolutionary intentions. However, these uprisings typically result only in regime change and short-term improvements in corruption. Protesters often prove unable to propose comprehensive programs to transform the social order.

Consequently, the crisis of hegemony intensifies. Without addressing this fundamental issue, the prospects for building a more just society within the current socio-economic system appear very small.

During his 1997 State of the Nation address, President Nursultan Nazarbayev unveiled Kazakhstan's first comprehensive national strategy, "Kazakhstan 2030." By that time, he had nearly concentrated all power in his hands and implemented significant neoliberal reforms: deregulating prices for goods and services, privatizing major municipal and industrial enterprises, and relaxing labor laws.

He reinforced these sweeping changes by declaring that the state would no longer play the guardian role prescribed by Soviet ideology. Efforts to improve the welfare of Soviet citizens through state-led redistribution, he argued, had failed—creating a sense of justice only among the equally impoverished.
From that point forward, Kazakh citizens were instructed to take responsibility for their own livelihoods, with the state receding to a minimal role in their lives.

Nazarbayev defined personal responsibility as learning to manage credit, build businesses, seek investment, and accumulate capital. He dismissed political avenues for demanding social protection and a better life as unacceptable.

"If different factions—regardless of what unites them, whether political ideology, religion, ethnicity, or class interests—are in opposition, it will lead to a dangerous situation where people are distracted from achieving the common good," he said.

He asserted that the state's role should be limited to fostering economic growth by facilitating new markets and removing unnecessary barriers to entrepreneurship.

Economic growth has indeed materialized. Since 1997, Kazakhstan's GDP has nearly twelvefolded to $261.4 billion, propelled by a surge in oil prices in the 2000s and an increase in oil's share of the country's exports to 40-50 percent. Yet this prosperity has touched few, as evidenced by rising economic inequality.

According to a 2022 study by Halyk Finance, Kazakhstan's wealth is heavily concentrated at the top: the richest 10 percent own more than 60 percent of the nation's total wealth, while the wealthiest 1 percent hold about 30 percent. This stark disparity means that an average person in Kazakhstan possesses assets worth $30,000—23 times less than the $690,000 held by the average individual in Norway, another major oil exporter.

Throughout his rule, former President Nursultan Nazarbayev championed the idea that unrestrained economic freedom was the key to national well-being. He maintained that even if prosperity initially favored a small elite, their wealth would eventually trickle down through the economy to benefit everyone else. The expectation was that hard work and professional development were all that citizens needed to improve their lives.

But income inequality data tell a different story. In the first quarter of 2024, the nominal monthly income for the majority of Kazakh citizens was about 198,000 tenge ($440). In September 2023, the National Bank of Kazakhstan reported that nearly a quarter of the nation's total income went to its richest individuals, while the bottom 10 percent earned about $100 per person per month.

Moreover, the state failed to create a sufficient number of jobs even within the resource-based economy. As of early 2024, Kazakhstan had approximately 9 million economically active citizens, with an official unemployment rate of 5 percent (about 450,000 people). However, analyses by firms like KPMG suggest that the real unemployment rate could be as high as 20 percent (around 2 million people) when accounting for the temporarily unemployed and underemployed self-employed individuals.

The issue of "working poverty" has become increasingly pronounced. This trend is particularly evident among the self-employed, who number about 2.1 million. Nearly half of them earn just over 100,000 to 150,000 tenge ($200 to $300), while another 350,000 live below the subsistence minimum of 43,407 tenge (approximately $95).

But could things have turned out differently?

Since gaining independence, President Nursultan Nazarbayev consistently emphasized that the primary focus of economic policy should be the growth of the middle class.

"If Kazakhstan is a nation of a thin layer of the rich... it is doomed to stagnation at best. We have already been a state of the poor. The state should primarily reflect the interests of the middle class—farmers, white and blue-collar workers, intellectuals, the petty bourgeoisie," he declared in 1997.

This direction is not unique to Kazakhstan. The rise and continual expansion of a prosperous middle class, as sociologist Agnes Gagyi notes in her book The Political Economy of Middle Class Politics, was the central promise of the capitalist system that nearly all its member states began to embrace after the Soviet Union's collapse.

Each post-Soviet economy was expected to contribute something to the established production and supply chains of the capitalist world—whether raw materials, labor, manufacturing capacity, or infrastructure.
Kazakhstan became integrated into the global economic system primarily as a source of accessible resources—especially oil, metals, and grain—and eventually as a market for high-quality, high-tech Western products.

But this integration came with conditions: a retreat from state-led redistribution of social benefits and an agreement to open domestic markets to international trade and foreign capital.

This approach starkly contrasted with the development strategy adopted by many less affluent countries after World War II. Their goal was to create a mass consumer society based on a strong industrial economy—a vision pursued by protecting domestic markets and embracing an active redistributive role for the state.

The capitalist model presumed that open markets and a withdrawal from state-led redistribution of social benefits would cultivate economic sectors, professional environments, and jobs to expand the middle class. Yet the potential for such expansion proved finite.

These constraints were imposed by the very financial and economic system into which post-Soviet countries sought to integrate. The roles allotted to semi-peripheral and peripheral nations within this system were largely fixed.

At the heart of these limitations lies the reality that the leadership and prosperity of some countries directly depend on others occupying less favorable or subordinate positions within the international hierarchy. A nation's place in this hierarchy determines which industries will dominate its economy and how far its development can progress.

Until the 1980s, less affluent nations enjoyed greater mobility in their global economic standing. An alternative system to capitalism allowed these countries to prosper by integrating organically into regional production chains, complementing rather than competing with one another.

In contrast, the capitalist system eliminated the possibility of restructuring the global economy so that each nation could assume its rightful place and receive returns commensurate with its contributions.
Because semi-peripheral and peripheral economies have limited development potential under capitalism, focusing on building a middle class has led to structural imbalances among different segments of their populations.

In non-wealthy countries, the middle class—aspiring to the lifestyles of their Western counterparts—seeks greater gains within a constrained economic environment. This drives fierce competition with other social groups, especially the less affluent.

Often, this escalates into the creation of undemocratic methods for redistributing public resources. By cultivating informal relationships with officials, bureaucrats, and big businesses, they leverage administrative influence to access privileges and sources of rent without facing any competition.

In Kazakhstan, the initial class of rentiers—owners who generate steady income through asset ownership—leveraged their positions within the Soviet-era nomenklatura, along with connections and industry expertise, to acquire resources and assets in sectors ranging from mining and metallurgy to telecommunications. This process is detailed by researchers Elmira Satybaldieva and Balihar Sanghera in their book Rentier Capitalism and Counter-Movements in Central Asia.

Other rentiers, as political scientist Eric McGlinchey notes in his book Chaos, Violence, Dynasty, capitalized on their proximity to President Nursultan Nazarbayev's family and participated in patronage networks—elite circles where loyalty to a higher authority in the power structure is rewarded with privileges. In some instances, assets were obtained through fraud, corruption, racketeering, or even outright violence.

Ágnes Gagyi develops this theory from her analysis of middle-class formation in Hungary and Romania. While its applicability to Kazakhstan awaits comprehensive empirical studies,

Moreover, it does not necessarily lead to a just society with a more equitable distribution of public goods—especially in the aftermath of the 2008 global financial crisis, from which the middle class in many countries has yet to recover.

Yet the very promise that every individual in semi-peripheral and peripheral nations can ascend to the middle class—with all its associated consumption norms—grants legitimacy to the capitalist system, allowing it to perpetuate itself even in countries where it has demonstrably faltered.

But this illusion may not endure much longer.

In 1997, amid the surge of capitalist globalization, President Nursultan Nazarbayev delivered an address that echoed the prevailing global sentiment. Nations worldwide were fixated on the promise of economic growth, anticipating widespread increases in employment and income—a hope that, at the time, seemed well-founded.

Following the inflation and debt crises of the 1970s and 1980s and the neoliberal shift that ensued, Western countries began actively relocating production to semi-peripheral and peripheral nations. Concurrently, they suppressed their own labor and trade union movements, which—aligned with other progressive forces—had been advocating for substantial public spending on social welfare.

By undermining the working class and restructuring political systems to favor big business, corporations gained access to abundant cheap labor and relieved themselves of high tax burdens. This strategy not only helped overcome economic crises but also sparked a new cycle of growth in global and local economies.

The resulting economic expansion fueled investment and business activity among major corporations, ultimately contributing to increased wealth for citizens in many countries. Kazakhstan's own economic recovery after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the implementation of neoliberal reforms—bolstered by an oil boom—can be attributed to this dynamic.

This is how capitalist hegemony took hold: a system of social organization principles established by successful nations and adopted by semi-peripheral or peripheral states—often willingly, though sometimes under subtle pressure—in hopes of achieving similar socio-economic outcomes.

However, after the 2008 financial crisis, this global economic model began to lose momentum. Sociologist Dylan Riley, in his article "Capitalism and Democracy" and his lecture "The End of Democratic Capitalism," observes that during the crisis and the subsequent years, big businesses worldwide increasingly leveraged political mechanisms to generate profits and accumulate capital.

Beyond tax breaks, the corporate sector received cheap government loans and opportunities to privatize assets below market value. In critical situations—such as stock market bubbles or widespread mortgage defaults—governments were quick to extend substantial financial aid packages to companies and banks.

Yet as competition intensifies in both local and international markets, corporations find it increasingly difficult to amass capital. This challenge hampers investment opportunities globally and, as a result, negatively affects people's livelihoods—including those in non-Western societies.

In Kazakhstan, this crisis is further complicated by the collapse of the Soviet hegemonic regime, which had aspired to create a classless communist society. However, as sociologists Vladimir Ishchenko and Oleg Zhuravlev note in their article "The Post-Soviet Vicious Circle," the capitalist system that replaced it has not been embraced by the majority of people in post-Soviet countries. Primarily because they are unwilling to accept the inequality that emerged after the redistribution of public assets in favor of the wealthy, as previously discussed.

The intricate crisis of hegemony in post-Soviet states has led to the rise of Bonapartist political regimes in most countries that haven't joined the European Union. These regimes are headed by leaders who attempt to balance the inherently conflicting interests of various factions within the ruling class and subordinate groups among the populace.

Rather than relying on leadership rooted in socio-economic success over competing elite factions and other classes, Bonapartist regimes depend on the passive consent of the majority—secured through electoral manipulations and various forms of coercion. By constructing systems of patronage, they effectively "purchase" compliance from the bureaucracy, big business, small entrepreneurs, and the middle class.

Despite widespread distrust of these ruling regimes, many inhabitants of post-Soviet countries tend to support them out of fear of losing even this fragile stability. Bonapartist leaders frequently invoke the specter of instability, reminding citizens of the hardships of unemployment, low incomes, and domestic turmoil experienced in the 1990s.

However, by perpetuating this fear, these leaders deepen the crisis of hegemony without offering a comprehensive solution—namely, replacing the capitalist order with a progressive alternative. This leads to ongoing inter-class conflicts, undermining the primary source of legitimacy for Bonapartist leaders: stability.

In several post-Soviet countries—including Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, Armenia, Georgia, Kyrgyzstan, and Kazakhstan in 2022—the populace has opposed these regimes by engaging in mass protests with revolutionary aspirations. Yet in none of these instances have protesters succeeded in fundamentally changing the social order.

Many demonstrators hope that mass protests alone will transform their lives. But without proposing ambitious, socially oriented programs to reorganize society, such transformations remain elusive. Their political demands often focus on integrating into the core of leading capitalist nations and eradicating corruption.

Even when protesters have ousted Bonapartist leaders and sought to prosecute members of their inner circles, they have often left opportunities for other members of the ruling class to seize power. As a result, discontented citizens in post-Soviet countries have only managed to temporarily reduce corruption and secure minor concessions for the middle class.

These protests are likely to recur precisely because they leave the fundamental issue of hegemony unresolved. A mere change in political leadership does little to alter the underlying dynamics, as Kazakhstan's experience shows; successor regimes largely remain committed to the institutions and practices of their predecessors.

Replacing one Bonapartist leader with another only exacerbates the crisis of hegemony. Without a fundamental shift, the chances for post-Soviet countries to build a more just social order for the vast majority of their citizens seem slim—if not altogether impossible.

The path forward, in my view, lies in re-infusing the concept of justice with ideological meaning—a dimension deliberately stripped away after the collapse of the Soviet Union. With capitalism and liberal democracy seemingly triumphant over all alternative ideologies, the need for ideological self-definition was dismissed.

Yet in the post-Soviet realm, we see that capitalism and liberal democracy have yielded only inequality and the rise of Bonapartist regimes, failing to resolve a protracted social crisis.

It is crucial to restore justice to its original meaning of "well-being for all." This principle should be embraced by civil society in its broadest sense to develop programs for a new social order, and by dissenting social movements to make these programs their fundamental demand.