THE CRITICAL ELEMENT: WATER, NOT MINERALS, WILL DEFINE CENTRAL ASIA’S FUTURE

In Central Asia, much of the conversation still revolves around oil, logistics, borders, and geopolitical influence. Yet the most decisive resource of the region’s future is neither hydrocarbons nor transit corridors. It is water. Stripped of diplomatic language, the reality is stark: the region is entering a phase where the Soviet-era water management system – designed for a different climate, population, and economic model – no longer works, while a new system has yet to emerge.

According to the World Bank, up to 75 million people in Central Asia could be living under high water stress by 2050. The issue, however, is not only the physical scarcity of water, but how it is used. Today, roughly 80–90% of all water withdrawals in the region go to agriculture; in countries such as Uzbekistan, the figure is close to 90%. Water here is not an abstract environmental concern – it is the foundation of agricultural output, rural livelihoods, and, ultimately, political stability.

Yet even these figures fail to capture the scale of inefficiency. A substantial share of water never reaches its intended use. According to the World Bank and FAO, up to 40% of water is lost in irrigation canals, with an additional 50% lost at the field level due to outdated irrigation practices. In some systems, total losses exceed half of all available water. In other words, the region is not only water-scarce – it is structurally inefficient in managing what it already has. As FAO notes, improving water-use efficiency could yield greater benefits than building new supply infrastructure – yet such reforms remain politically difficult.
Overlaying this inefficiency is a deeper structural issue: a fundamental mismatch between geography and national interests. Central Asia is a textbook case of a transboundary water system in which upstream and downstream countries depend on the same rivers but require water at different times.

Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, which control the headwaters, rely on water releases in winter to generate hydropower. Downstream countries – Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan – need water in summer for irrigation. This is not a theoretical contradiction. It has already produced tangible crises. During the winter of 2008–2009, Kyrgyzstan increased releases from the Toktogul reservoir to meet energy demand, leaving insufficient water for irrigation in Uzbekistan during the following growing season. The International Crisis Group noted at the time that the existing water allocation system “no longer reflects the economic interests of the region and creates a constant risk of conflict.”

That underlying logic has not changed. It has merely been managed through political accommodation.

The tensions become even more visible in large-scale infrastructure projects such as the Rogun Dam in Tajikistan. For Dushanbe, Rogun is central to achieving energy independence. For downstream neighbours – particularly Uzbekistan in the past – it has long been perceived as a potential threat to water security. In 2012, then-President Islam Karimov stated bluntly that “water resources could become a cause not only of serious confrontation, but even of wars.” While rhetoric has softened in recent years, the structural risk remains. With a total estimated cost exceeding $6 billion, Rogun is not just an engineering project – it is a geopolitical one, where each decision carries regional consequences.

Beyond politics, however, the most profound pressure comes from climate change. Central Asia’s rivers depend heavily on glaciers in the Tien Shan and Pamir mountains, which account for up to 80% of river flow. According to international assessments, the region has already lost around 30% of its glacier mass, with projections suggesting losses of 50% or more by the end of the century. The paradox is that accelerated melting may temporarily increase water availability, creating a false sense of stability. But this is followed by what experts describe as “peak water” – the point after which river flows begin to decline irreversibly. The World Bank warns that once this threshold is crossed, water scarcity will become structural rather than seasonal.

At the same time, a quieter but equally serious crisis is unfolding: access to safe drinking water. In Tajikistan, for example, around 45% of the population lacks access to safely managed water supply. This shifts the issue beyond agriculture and into the realm of social stability, public health, and migration.

The legacy of the Aral Sea remains the most dramatic illustration of what mismanaged water systems can produce – but it is not merely a historical episode. Since the 1960s, the sea has lost over 90% of its volume, and its dried seabed now generates up to 100 million tonnes of salt and dust annually. These particles travel across vast distances, affecting soil quality, climate patterns, and human health. Former UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon described the situation as “one of the most shocking environmental disasters on the planet.” Crucially, the Aral crisis is not an anomaly – it is an extreme outcome of the same water management model that, in part, still persists today.

This is what makes the current situation particularly dangerous. The water crisis in Central Asia is not sudden or explosive. It is gradual, cumulative, and therefore politically easy to postpone. Yet such slow-moving crises are often the most destructive.

For now, the region still manages water scarcity through seasonal agreements, ageing infrastructure, and fragile compromises. But there are growing signs that this balance may not hold. In the coming decades, water will increasingly act not as a managed resource, but as a limiting factor – shaping economic growth, political stability, and regional relations.

This is why water, more than any mineral or commodity, is emerging as the region’s true critical element.

by Taina Kaunis