Farmers in Parkent district of Tashkent region face intimidation, unlawful land confiscations and a coordinated pressure campaign
A major tourism development planned in Parkent district of Tashkent region has triggered one of the most alarming land conflicts in recent years, revealing a disturbing pattern of intimidation, unlawful land seizures, and coordinated pressure on farmers by local government leaders, prosecutors and law enforcement officials. According to reports from Radio Ozodlik and direct testimonies collected by the local civic activism initiative “Antikorrupsiya”, the roots of the conflict lie in a sweeping 494-hectare tourism project approved at the beginning of the year. What has unfolded, however, is a much broader, unregulated and coercive attempt to confiscate as much as 3,000 hectares of cultivated orchards that do not fall within the official project boundaries.
Farmers say they were initially reassured. At the start of the year, the Parkent district hokim (head of the district administration), Sardor Isoqulov, promised that any land taken for state needs or tourism development would be fairly compensated. “They told us, if your land falls into the tourism zone, get it valued and we will pay you. We did not object to that,” several farmers recalled. “Those were their own words. But now they act as if they never said it.”
Farmers recount that the hokim, the district prosecutor, Jasur Hayitboyev, and the district police chief summoned them one by one, accusing them of fabricated violations and demanding they “voluntarily” surrender their land leases. “If you do not hand it over on your own,” one farmer said he was told, “you will regret it tomorrow. Nothing will help you.”
Another farmer, Muhiddin Abdullayev, explained that none of the legal procedures required under Uzbek law for enforcing the unilateral termination of the long-term land lease agreement had been followed. “We should have received an official warning. We should have been invited to court or at least notified by post. We received nothing. Instead, they sit us in front of the hokim, the prosecutor, the police chief and the cadastral agency, and they shout accusations at us. If you deny it, they tell you, ‘If you don’t give the land now, tomorrow you’ll be in trouble, you won’t be able to do anything.’ If what I’m saying is wrong, let these farmers contradict me.” More than ten farmers present during the conversation confirmed Abdullayev’s statement.
The pressure, according to nearly every witness, was systematic. Farmers say that officials fabricated alleged violations such as orchards that had not been planted, failure to concrete irrigation canals, or irregular livestock numbers. As farmer Sanjar Otayev put it, “They say, ‘Your inner canals are not concreted.’ I do not even have canals. There is no water here. I irrigate by drip irrigation. What canal am I supposed to concrete when there is no water at all?”
Farmers also say that the district administration not only ignored legal procedures but actively circumvented them. Many court decisions annulling farmers’ land lease agreements were issued in complete secrecy, without notifying farmers. The testimonies reveal a systemic violation of due process. “I have 14 hectares,” said farmer Hamid Soipov. “They called me and said, ‘You must surrender 6.5 hectares of your land.’ I refused, because I have nine workers who feed their families from this land. They told me, ‘If you don’t surrender it voluntarily, we will take your other land too.’ When I left the office, they told me they would sue me. I said let’s talk in court. They never sent any notice. I only learned afterwards that a hearing had already taken place without me, and my lease had been annulled.”
Such cases, repeated across the district, reveal the erosion of the most basic procedural rights. Courts, instead of acting as independent arbiters, appear to be rubber-stamping decisions that benefit district authorities and undermine farmers’ livelihoods.
Farmers also describe the destruction of their property as part of the pressure campaign. In one striking case, orchard owner Zufar Haydarov recounted how he planted apples and pears on two hectares he leased in 2019, irrigating them and fencing the perimeter to prevent livestock from destroying the young trees. When President Mirziyoyev planned a visit to the area, the hokim reportedly ordered the fences to be removed. “They removed the fences, the apples and pears fell, and the horses ate the rest. I could not sell anything. We have photos. Then they ordered us to install new fences which we did. Then they ordered us to remove them again. And now they tell us to surrender the land. They forced me to sign a surrender statement [so-called ‘voluntary’ land lease termination], because they threatened to take another 6.5-hectare orchard of mine if I didn’t. I had no choice.”
The fear among farmers is profound. One farmer who asked to remain anonymous said to Ozodlik, “The prosecutor talks politely in public. But once you are alone with him, he threatens to jail you for five or six years. If you speak out, if you go to Tashkent, if you complain anywhere, they punish you.” After farmers visited the national Farmers Council in Tashkent to seek help, many were individually summoned to the district police station and forced to sign statements promising not to complain further. “I was made to sign such a statement too,” the farmer added.
These patterns raise serious concerns that the land confiscation process is not merely mismanaged but deliberately manipulated to create a “state reserve” far larger than the one authorized for the tourism project. Lawyers reviewing the case, including the Republican Farmers’ Council legal expert Chorixon Qodirov, argue that the actions of the hokim, prosecutor and courts violate the Presidential Decree, which clearly limits the scope of land seizures for tourism development. Qodirov’s legal assessment is unambiguous. He states that prosecutors have no legal authority to participate in lease termination processes, and that pressuring farmers to sign “voluntary surrender” statements constitutes abuse of office.
According to Qodirov, the orchards being seized are not listed in the presidential tourism map or the relevant resolution project outline. “If the prosecutor is standing next to the hokim during these unlawful acts, then he is aware of them and is participating in them,” Qodirov emphasized. He argues that only an independent inquiry by the Prosecutor General’s Office can clarify the extent of violations and whether corruption networks are driving the land claims. The fear among farmers is that the seized orchards will later be redistributed through opaque schemes. Some mention names of individuals who present themselves as relatives of influential officials, raising concerns about nepotistic allocation of land once it is forcibly taken from legitimate land lease holders.
The project itself, marketed as the “Oltinbel” recreation zone, has not yet demonstrated any concrete benefit to local communities. The orchards threatened with demolition represent years of labor, investment and steady livelihoods for families. Whether the tourism project will attract the “tens of thousands of foreign tourists” officials claim remains speculative. What is not speculative is the destruction already unfolding: trees planted on barren land, nurtured with scarce water, and protected through enormous personal investment are being placed under threat, while families’ incomes are jeopardized.
A Case Study in Structural Abuse: When Courts, Prosecutors and Hokims Act in Unison
The Parkent crisis illustrates the fragility of property rights in Uzbekistan and the vulnerability of farmers who face powerful local authorities operating without oversight. Farmers repeatedly describe a sense of being trapped between forces they cannot oppose. “The hokim, the prosecutor and the judge,” one farmer said, “they speak with one tongue.” When courts issue decisions without hearings, when prosecutors join hokims in pressuring citizens, and when administrative acts contradict presidential decrees, the entire legal framework safeguarding land use collapses.
This is not merely a local misunderstanding but the result of institutional imbalance. Farmers rely on the courts and prosecutor’s offices to protect them from administrative abuse. Instead, these institutions appear aligned with the district hokimiyat. The absence of transparency, the refusal of the hokim to answer phone calls, invalid contact numbers on official websites and the lack of accessible leadership information all reinforce the perception of an institution hiding from scrutiny. Even the regional hokimiyat’s press office did not answer calls of Ozodlik, and only one unnamed official admitted that a special working group had been formed to examine the issue, giving no further assurances.
Farmers insist that the land seizures stretch far beyond the territory legally allocated for the tourism zone. The suspicion is that the district leadership aims to expand the “state reserve” far beyond its authorized boundaries in order to redistribute valuable orchards later under the guise of development. “One arrow, two rabbits,” a farmer observed bitterly. “First, they will take the land needed for the project. Then they will take our orchards outside the project, simply because they want them.”
If these testimonies are accurate, Parkent stands as a stark example of how a development initiative, theoretically intended to support economic growth and regional tourism, can be weaponized against the very citizens it is meant to benefit. The human impact is devastating. These orchards represent not just economic assets, but years of labor, family income and community stability. Losing them means losing the foundation on which generations have relied.
The only path towards justice, according to legal experts, lies in decisive intervention by the Presidential Administration, the Prosecutor General’s Office and the Ministry of Justice. Without an external review of the legal violations, threats, forced statements, fabricated allegations and unlawful court procedures, the trust between rural citizens and the state will be irreparably damaged. Farmers have already begun to lose faith. “If the courts, the prosecutor and the hokim stand together,” one said, “what hope is left for us?”
Yet this case also highlights a broader national dilemma. Uzbekistan’s ambitious development agenda risks being undermined by local elites who exploit state programs for personal gain. Tourism zones, industrial parks, and construction projects—initiatives promoted as engines of progress—can easily become vehicles for land theft and corruption unless the institutions responsible for oversight are genuinely independent. The Parkent story is a clear warning that reforms on paper mean little without accountability in practice. It is also a reminder that sustainable development cannot be built on the ruins of citizens’ rights.
This article is based on a report published by Ozodlik, November 24, 2025
