NEAR the turquoise domes of Samarkand on the Silk Road, well-wishers stream past an elaborate grave covered in fresh flowers. They bow their heads reverently as a grey-bearded mullah dressed in a traditional Uzbek robe and skullcap intones a prayer, before placing chrysanthemums on the tomb and filing out solemnly. The person buried here is no holy man or khan (even if he sometimes behaved like one): it is Islam Karimov, the strongman who ran Uzbekistan for 27 years until his death from a stroke in September.
For his many critics, Mr Karimov was a brutal despot who presided over rife human-rights abuses, including the slaughter of protesters by security forces in the city of Andijan in 2005. But for many of his 30m citizens, his death has left a gaping hole. “He was our grandfather,” sighs Abdumajid, a petrol-station attendant in the capital, Tashkent (nervous of speaking about politics, he gave only his first name). “Now he’s gone,” laments the young man who, at 25, is the same age as his country and has never known another leader.
And yet the death of the 78-year-old president does not feel like the end of an era. This week voters elected a successor, Shavkat Mirziyoyev (pictured), who although 20 years younger, is cut from the same cloth. He was Mr Karimov’s prime minister for the past 13 years, and is considered as repressive as his former boss, if not more so. Optimists had hoped that Mr Karimov’s death would bring change—but all the signs suggest the regime he built is as entrenched as ever.
Mr Mirziyoyev romped home with 88.6% of the vote, not far off the 90% victories Mr Karimov used to enjoy. That was no great feat: with no genuine opposition permitted, he trounced the three stooges included on the ballot to put a democratic gloss on the vote. Far from promising a new start, Mr Mirziyoyev presented himself as the candidate of continuity—the rightful heir to Mr Karimov, who is now being touted to the public as the father of the nation. And far from wishing to vote for change, many Uzbeks were happy to vote for the status quo. Mr Karimov was a strongman, Abdumajid concedes, “but sometimes you have to be tough to hold it all together”.
Uzbekistan has no free press, and the government’s propaganda machine cranks out the message that the only alternative to autocratic rule is political chaos or Islamic radicalism. Many voters accept this notion. “Opposition’s bad,” mutters Shodir, a middle-aged man from Samarkand, who dismisses the regime’s foes as “maniacs”. The government agrees: it has locked up thousands of prisoners on flimsy or spurious charges. Last month the authorities freed Samandar Kukanov, a dissident who had spent 23 years behind bars—but it was his detention, rather than his release, that is typical.
With so little at stake, the election had the air of a fair. Polling stations blared out Uzbek pop music and flew balloons in the blue, green and white of Uzbekistan’s flag. “Everyone to the polls!” proclaimed psychedelic billboards strung over Tashkent’s broad boulevards—but not everyone heeded the call. “They’ll vote him in without us,” grumbled one elderly man. The vote was marred by irregularities including the stuffing of ballot boxes and suspect proxy voting, according to election monitors from the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe. They stressed the absence of “a genuine choice”.
Rumours provided the only excitement. One claimed that Mr Karimov’s disgraced daughter, Gulnara Karimova, had been poisoned and buried in a clandestine grave. Once a powerful politician and rich businesswoman, she has not been seen since 2014, when she was placed under house arrest after becoming enmeshed in international graft probes and a Shakespearean family feud with her mother and sister. Her son, another Islam Karimov, who lives in Britain, says he does not think she is dead yet, but that he fears for her life.
Mr Mirziyoyev has made noises about reforming Uzbekistan’s basket-case economy. He may try to loosen currency controls, thus undermining the black market in which the well-connected few make huge profits. But the rampant corruption, rent-seeking and asset-grabbing for which Uzbekistan is known are unlikely to disappear. Nor are the shortages of jobs (some 2m Uzbeks have moved to Russia to find work), electricity, gas and petrol that blight the lives of ordinary people. It is not even clear how much power the new president has: the real clout may rest with the shadowy security chief, Rustam Inoyatov.