Ironic

Gulnara Karimova, the daughter of Uzbekistan's
president, used to be one of the most powerful
people in Central Asia. Last year she fell from
grace - but remained active online until five weeks
ago. Since then, she has been silent.
The long rambling letter in my inbox is littered
with signs of distress. "I am under severe
psychological pressure, I have been beaten, you
can count bruises on my arms," reads one line.
Another paragraph describes a life under house
arrest, daily threats and constant observation from
cameras and police.
The letter was sent from Uzbekistan, one of the
world's most isolated and repressive states, as an
attachment from an anonymous person who
described himself as someone "trying to restore
justice". The sender said the letter had been
written in the last few days and smuggled out to
him, but refused to give details.
It is unsigned, but the level of detail and insight,
the convoluted style and the neat Russian
handwriting suggests that the author is no
dissident, but Gulnara Karimova, once talked about
as a possible successor to her father, Uzbek
President Islam Karimov.
"How naive I was to think that the rule of law
exists in the country," reads one line of the letter.
An analysis comparing part of the letter with a
sample of handwriting known to be Karimova's
concluded there was a high probability (75%) that
the letter was indeed written by her.
"Working without originals, it is almost impossible
to achieve a 100% match with handwriting, but
there is a very high probability that the two notes
were written by the same person," says Inessa
Goldberg, an Israel-based expert who specialises
in Cyrillic handwriting.
An excerpt from the letter, and (below) a sample of
Karimova's handwriting
The letter sheds new light on the spectacular
downfall of one of Uzbekistan's most influential
figures, and her battle against key members of the
regime, which has unfolded live for the world to
see on Twitter.
For the last 14 months, Karimova, once described
in leaked US diplomatic cables as a "robber baron"
and "the most hated person" in Uzbekistan, has
tweeted about her falling-out with her strongman
father, and its consequences - the closure of her
businesses and TV stations, the shutting down of
her charity and arrests of her supporters.
As Karimova's empire
crumbled she became
openly critical of key
figures in the regime,
and especially her
father's top security
man Rustam
Innoyatov, whom she
accused of trying to
seize power.
From time to time she
and I exchanged
tweets . In a country
where internet and
media are censored,
her Twitter feed
provided an
unprecedented insight into events that could
previously only have been guessed at. But on 16
February she went quiet. Her Twitter account has
since been suspended.
Karimova's last tweet was sent out just a day
before Uzbek police stormed a luxury apartment in
the capital, Tashkent, arresting a group of people
that no law enforcement officer in Uzbekistan
would previously have dared to touch.
The letter provides a first-hand account of the
police operation and its aftermath. "What makes it
all worse, is that it is impossible to live like a
human when you are watched by cameras, when
there are armed men everywhere and when you are
depressed because of what you have seen: special
forces jumping on to the roof, your things in a
mess, broken windows and doors and worst of all:
a blindfolded person who is being dragged along
the floor," it says.
The "blindfolded person" is likely to have been
Rustam Madumarov, Karimova's business partner
and, reportedly, her boyfriend, who was arrested
that night along with two of her closest associates.
The same day the three were charged with
embezzlement, tax fraud, illegal possession of
foreign currency and money laundering.
In fragmented, erratic, at times difficult-to-
understand language, Karimova describes how in
the last few weeks "hundreds, possibly already
thousands" of her supporters and former
employees have been intimidated, arrested and
threatened.
She says she has been isolated from them for
being a disseminator of inconvenient "unnecessary
truth". There is no television, no internet, no
telephone in her house, she says, and she is
worried about her daughter who is ill.
A source in Tashkent who is close to Karimova
confirmed that she is currently under house arrest
and that her 16-year-old daughter, Iman, is being
held with her. The man, who didn't want to be
identified, also said that US embassy staff have
visited Iman, who is an American citizen. (Her
father, Karimova's ex-husband Mansur Maqsudi, is
an American citizen of Afghan origin.)
The US embassy in Tashkent refused to confirm
the visit, saying in a written reply "as a matter of
policy it was unable to comment on this specific
inquiry". The statement added: "As a general
policy the Department of State and our diplomatic
missions abroad have no higher priority than
assuring the welfare and safety of American
citizens abroad."
Throughout the letter, Karimova makes allegations
against her mother, her sister and some of her
father's closest allies. She accuses them of
racketeering, blackmail and torture.
"The reason for this Pinochet-style persecution is
that I dared to speak up about things that millions
are quiet about," she writes.
But for many, Karimova's attacks about her family
and others will strike a hypocritical note. Gulnara,
as most Uzbeks call her, has long been the
glamorous face of the regime she now criticises.
She ran a business empire, became the country's
best-known pop star (under her stage name,
Googoosha) and its foremost patron of fashion, art
and design, created a perfume line, became the
country's chief philanthropist, and served as its
ambassador to the United Nations in Geneva.
Over the years I have interviewed a number of
Uzbeks who have lost livelihoods to rackets
operating under her name.
In 2012, a group of Swedish journalists uncovered
evidence which led them to conclude that a
Swedish-Finnish telecom company, TeliaSonera,
had paid a $300m bribe in 2008 to enter
Uzbekistan's lucrative mobile-phone market. The
money was traced to an offshore company
registered in Gibraltar and owned by 25-year-old
Gayane Avakyan, who was one of the two female
associates detained along with Karimova's
boyfriend and fellow pop-star Rustam Madumarov
on 17 February.
It has since become the biggest corruption case in
Sweden's history, and on Monday Gulnara
Karimova became an official suspect.
The investigation now involves 10 other European
countries and the US. Two weeks ago, Swiss
authorities announced they had also launched a
money-laundering investigation into Karimova.
Gulnara has always denied any involvement in
TeliaSonera, and the company itself denies any
wrongdoing. In her letter, she once again insists
the campaign against her was headed by her
father's security chief, Innoyatov.
Karimova had a career as a fashion designer,
among other things
"She paints herself as a victim, and her father as
someone who has been manipulated," says Daniil
Kislov, editor of Central Asia's leading Ferghana.ru
website.
Kislov believes no-one but Karimov himself could
have given the order to put his daughter under a
house arrest or detain her closest friends. He says
that the Uzbek strongman is punishing his
daughter for the excesses of her lifestyle.
"The last 15 years have shown that Karimov
couldn't care less about the international criticism
of human rights in Uzbekistan, about torture in
prisons, forced sterilisations in government
hospitals, child labour in cotton fields ," says Daniil
Kislov.
What Karimov does care about, Kislov argues, is
the damage Gulnara's reputation as a robber baron
has done to Uzbekistan's ability to attract foreign
investment, which for a while she appeared to
monopolise. The arrests, Kislov suggested, were
Karimov's way of telling his unruly daughter and
the world that in Uzbekistan, he is the one in
charge.
Islam Karimov and Vladimir Putin in Sochi
Despite a decade of rumours that Karimov suffers
from a terminal illness, the 76-year-old looked
alert and energetic when he attended the Winter
Olympic opening ceremonies in Sochi in February.
There are no signs that he wants to relinquish
power.
But is the decision to lock Gulnara up also a sign
of Karimov's weakness? It certainly suggests he is
worried about the damage that his outspoken and
well-informed daughter could cause.
And despite the fact that Gulnara's internet has
been turned off, she is still managing to get her
voice heard. Since sending her message to me,
she has leaked another to Uzbek media in which
she asks her father to let her leave the country for
medical treatment.
"I never thought this could happen in a civilised,
developing nation that Uzbekistan portrays itself
as," she says in her letter to me.
"But a closer look showed me all the ugliness of
what goes on here, and listening to people whom I
would argue with before, I realise that all of it has
been happening for a long time."
Though few Uzbeks will believe in Karimova's
transformation into a defender of their rights, this
message will resonate with many.