Kyrgyzstan has found itself among 75 countries for which the United States has temporarily suspended the issuance of immigration visas. This news has caused a noticeable resonance, but behind the emotions lies an important fact: this decision reflects not only Washington's migration policy but also its attitude towards Kyrgyzstan, which once fulfilled more serious obligations to the United States.
At a meeting with John Pommereshime, Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for Central and South Asia, Kyrgyz Ambassador Aybek Moldogaziev emphasized this aspect. He spoke about new visa restrictions, such as the suspension of immigration visas and a return deposit of $5,000 to $15,000 for B-1/B-2 visas, as well as the possible reduction of business and tourist contacts. These figures represent a decrease in human connections that have always been the foundation of Kyrgyz-American relations.
Pommereshime's response was cautious: he noted that the measures mentioned are related to the fight against illegal migration. Formally, this seems logical, but in practice, the list of countries is compiled in a way that does not take into account real relationships and the history of cooperation. Kyrgyzstan has found itself in the same category as other states that are at different levels of interaction with the U.S.
In this context, a sense of injustice arises that cannot be expressed diplomatically, yet is clear to anyone familiar with the history of relations between the two countries.
Since the U.S. asked Kyrgyzstan to open the "Manas" airbase in 2001, the country has been in a zone of strategic risk. Under pressure from neighbors and in a complex internal political situation, Kyrgyzstan agreed to provide its territory for the anti-terrorist coalition. At that time, many in Bishkek and beyond understood the price that would have to be paid for this.
The "Manas" base was not just an airfield; it was a key point for the entire "Enduring Freedom" operation. Through it passed cargo, military personnel, and fuel, as well as refueling operations. For the U.S., it was an important logistical artery upon which the entire mission in Afghanistan depended. Kyrgyzstan gained partner status but also faced pressure, political upheavals, and threats of base closure.
Now, two decades later, it seems that Washington has forgotten all this as easily as it changes old regulations. It appears that the country, where a strategically important U.S. base functioned for a long time, is now viewed on par with many other states with which Washington has far less interaction.
Trump, of course, operates from his own logic: his policy is aimed at limiting migration and reducing costs. But political memory matters. Ideally, Kyrgyzstan, which responded to the U.S. call in 2001, could expect an individual approach and understanding of the context, rather than automatic inclusion in a general list.
There is now a sharp contrast: on one hand, preparations are underway for the B5+1 business forum, meetings are taking place, and words about partnership are being spoken. On the other hand, barriers for people, businesses, and cultural exchanges are increasing. This creates ambiguity: the rhetoric of friendship exists, while practical steps are going in the opposite direction.
All of this is happening against the backdrop of Kyrgyzstan once again finding itself caught between the political currents of major powers. And although this is not the first time, it is important to remember that for a small country, international decisions are never "technical." They always have consequences—economic, social, and symbolic.
If the U.S. continues to view Kyrgyzstan as part of a long list of "risk countries," rather than as a former strategic partner, it will mean that Washington's foreign policy towards the region has become significantly less nuanced. Bishkek, just like twenty years ago, will once again have to decide whether it will be an object of someone else's policy or will attempt to assert its subjectivity.
