This article contains a description of abuse and violence.
On the night of November 9, 2023, Saltanat Nukenova was brutally murdered by her husband, an ex-Minister of Economy of Kazakhstan, Kuandyk Bishimbayev. I feel “brutally” is not enough of a word to describe the torture she went through. As the forensics expert concluded in court: her body was covered in bruises, and her head had bald spots. The cause of death was a brain injury, with 230 milliliters of blood collected between the skull and brain, worsened further by strangulation. The case was the culmination of Kazakhstan’s growing femicide and gender violence problem.
Overview
On the evening of November 8, the couple entered a popular restaurant BAU, owned by Bishimbayev and his mother, and settled themselves in a private booth. Already fighting, Bishimbayev berated her and manipulated her with the jewelry he bought and the clothes he gifted. Out of spite, she undressed and flushed the jewelry down the toilet, proclaiming she was leaving him for good. This is when the first hit came.
In a footage shown in the court, the couple was trying to leave the restaurant, but due to his high level of alcohol intoxication, Kuandyk wasn’t able to drive, and the two returned. In the hallway, Bishimbayev hit and kicked already hurt Saltanat multiple times. When she tried to gain footing, another slap came that knocked her off her feet. Later, he dragged her to a private booth by her hair and what happened there remains unknown.
Adding stupidity to the horror, around 10:30 the next day, Bishimbayev made a phone call. But no, not to an ambulance—to a familiar psychic. The psychic calmed him saying that Saltanat was sleeping and would soon wake up.
Bishymbayev’s cousin and the restaurant director, Baizhanov, who was aware of the abuse in his restaurant, was asked to delete the footage of the beating “out of confidentiality concerns.” He checked on Saltanat multiple times but never reported anything. That being said, messages between Baizhanov and restaurant employees released in court show that the fight and abuse were heard by the entire staff, yet no one reported it to the police.
By 20:00, Saltanat still hadn’t woken up, and neither Baizhanov nor Bishimbayev could feel her pulse. An ambulance was finally called and both were taken in by the police.
What followed was the biggest discussion around femicide and domestic abuse Kazakhstan had ever seen. The court case was the first to be streamed live, with a jury present.
Kuandyk tried to protect his image, portraying himself as a loyal, tired husband. He claimed that Saltanat had led him to this state and alleged infidelity (which was not true). She wasn’t the wife he wanted—he only wanted a warm dinner and a welcome when he came home, but she never appreciated him, started fights, and called him names. She flushed the jewelry he “kindly” gifted her down the toilet, so of course, he would get riled up and upset. And in the moment, he only lightly slapped her.
Later, in court, he would try to explain her injuries by telling the following tale: Saltanat, due to intoxication, “fell and hit the toilet seat very hard twice”, then lost consciousness. As for when he was dragging and kicking her in the restaurant hallway, he was “highly careful” not to touch any life-critical organs. And the slaps in the video that knocked her off her feet? Just “gentle graces” of his palm. His behavior, he explained, was a result of the swiftness of anger and injustice: “She was cheating on me,” and “She was the one who psychologically abused me,” he said.
At the end of the day, Bishimbayev got 25 years in prison with no option of parole. Baizhanov got 4 years.
The Reaction
I remember the trial time being filled with hate and anger. I think it unleashed a wave of rage — I had never seen so many women unite. It was the Kazakhstans equivalent of #MeToo.
Recently, I re-re-re-read an excellent book by Sohaila Abdulali, What We Talk About When We Talk About Rape. This is howI was first introduced to the case of Jyoti Singh, who was brutally gang-raped and murdered in New Delhi, India. One of the theories about why her case shook the nation was because:
“She represented new India, a country where a young rural woman could come to the city with a dream, pursue a degree, have friends and freedom, go out with a friend at night to see Life of Pi, and live to tell the tale. She represented something new and exciting and hopeful, and destroying that was the final indignity that brought long-simmering rage to a boil.”
In that sense, Saltanat Nukenova represented the old Kazakhstan—where the facade had crumbled, revealing the rotten, collapsing structures beneath. Where an ex-Minister of Economy, sentenced to ten years for corruption, got out on parole in just a year. Where he was allowed to continue his lavish life, murder his wife, and be sure he would get away with it. Where the were promises unkept, women unsafe, and people enraged.
Many Kazakhstanis were exposed to the discussion of gender-based violence for the first time. Many learned that domestic abuse was considered a violation of administrative law, with perpetrators merely given a written warning for the first offense. A change in law that feminist activists had been fighting against for years suddenly surfaced for the broader public. A petition calling for the criminalization of domestic violence gained traction, earning 150,000 signatures. In April of 2024, an initiative called Letter to the Senate, which encouraged citizens to pressure the government to criminalize domestic abuse, began. More than 5,000 people sent letters to the Senate in the first few weeks. The petition was later deemed ineligible, but that’s another can of worms.
However, the fight wasn’t futile. That same April, what some called by the public the Saltanat Law was signed by the president. Domestic abuse was now classified under criminal law, with additional provisions regarding the abuse of minors.
The Senseless Critique
Aside from Bishimbayev’s theatrical display in court, the public, as always, came to scrutinize the victim. Saltanat could never hear those words, but her family did.
The comments were filled with:
“Well, she married for money, she should have known.”
“Why didn’t she leave?”
“Beauty, no brains.”
Even the entire defense was built on the claim that Saltanat did not fulfill her wifely duties. That this was a provocation that escalated into a tragic incident. Somehow, attaching a gender to murder changes how people see it. If we say someone was murdered, we feel uneasy and demand justice. But if a woman—specifically a girlfriend or a wife—was murdered, suddenly, the opinions are no longer concrete.
Did she provoke him in some way?
Where did it happen?
What was she wearing?
What time was it?
Her death was no longer a crime—it became a public morality trial. Society debated her virtues, her motives, and whether she “deserved it.”
But what we learned is this:
Rich women die.
Poor women die.
The wives of government officials die.
The wives of alcoholics die.
The universal truth? Women die at the hands of their husbands, no matter their status, salary, or education.
Another absolutely unreasonable critique was her brother—for being too vocal, jumping on the bandwagon of women’s rights just for hype and fame. And even after the case closed, he was just “milking” the situation for personal gain. To those commenters, I only wish they would check their heads. I don’t only remember the name of the perpetrator, I remember HER name. And I remember Saltanat not only as a victim who suffered a gruesome death but as a beautiful and bright woman. All thanks to her brother.
Why don’t we talk? And why don’t men talk?
Leading from that, the question that arises is: why don’t we talk? And why don’t men talk?
Her brother does—not only about his sister but about all victims of domestic abuse. At the moment, he is the founder of a volunteer organization that provides legal and psychological help to victims of domestic violence . However, he is part of a minority, a very, very, very tiny minority of men who are not afraid to bring up the discussion.
Speaking up costs a lot. Dina Tansari, the founder of the famous public fund NeMolchi.Kz (Don’t Be Silent), has been prosecuted many times. At the moment, she is not living in Kazakhstan due to constant threats and prosecutions. The government last alleged her involvement in fraud (ridiculous). It doesn’t stop Dina, though. Her organization routinely exposed cases such as Saltanat’s, which is just one of the many horror stories in the country. Talking using big public platforms is one thing, but there is no proactive conversation among us: friends and families. Oftentimes, cases like Saltanat’s are not brought up at dinner tables with our fathers or even our male friends. There is a general assumption of their disinterest in the topic, which is often true, or a discomfort in sharing some vulnerability. “He won’t understand anyway,” we often say.
But why? Why is it hard to comprehend that murdering a woman is bad?
Looking back at the Instagram stories I have posted starting from November and up until May, they were constantly filled with Saltanat. All the conversations I had with friends were about the case and gender violence. I remember Gera, my friend, watching every court hearing and updating me on new evidence.
I remember, in rage, unfollowing every Kazakh male I knew. What we learned again is that we, women, lived in a completely different media zone. While ours were filled with grief and sorrow, theirs were filled with 433 and EPL. A woman was dead and not a single word uttered by men.
At the time, my female friends fought with their male friends, boyfriends, and parents. I remember writing this letter to my father:
(originally written in Russian)
“It has dawned on me that you have not really raised the issue of Saltanat and everything that has happened. And it is important to me that you know and understand what is happening. The world is already talking about it—they are even talking about it in Italy. I want you to be aware and have the right position because this is happening in your country.
You always say to learn everything, and now you have the opportunity to educate yourself—for free. And it is important to your daughters.
There is nothing shameful in learning and changing your beliefs. You are an adult—and a smart one at that—so continue to grow. You have a son; be an example for him.
And don’t say that such things are not discussed during Ramadan. They are—because in Ramadan, the cruelty that happens to women in Kazakhstan, the genocide in Palestine, and the war in Ukraine do not stop. In the holy month, we should pray, respect, and say the right things.
You stopped saying the N-word. Yes, we argued, we fought, but you stopped. And that means you are ready to learn and be a better person, citizen, and man.
The rhetoric that says, ‘It’s her own fault for marrying him’ or ‘You need to choose the right person’ is absolutely inappropriate. Because I do not want you to learn from personal experience.
After all, if they kill me, will you say the same?
Remember, your ‘house’ is not on the edge. In your ‘house,’ there are two daughters.
(A Russian idiom—‘house is on the edge’—meaning ‘it’s not my business.’)
Please be the example of a father I tell everyone about with pride and love. The dad who was a ‘real man.’ I grew up like this thanks to you—a woman: educated, confident. You never stopped my interests and always supported my endeavors. I never heard from you that my future is marriage or a place at the stove. You gave me the opportunity to talk about politics, science, business, football, and other so-called ‘male’ topics, and you never shamed me for it. You never shirked responsibilities and always did house chores. That alone is more than 90% of men in Kazakhstan. And from what I know personally, you are 99% better.
Please, continue to be this ‘better’ and not like all men.
Therefore, study this problem and this case. It takes a minute to read one post. It is not difficult to give an hour of your life to show respect for the one from whom it was taken.
Mom and Alua say that we are similar. And it is true. I am my father’s daughter, and I want to be that daughter.
I love you. Please remain the father I look up to and am proud of.
If you need to talk, you have me and Alua—two girls, smart, knowledgeable, and fighting for the ‘New Kazakhstan,’ in which we and our daughters can live peacefully and happily. Again, these are our rights. My rights. THE RIGHTS OF YOUR CHILDREN.
Material for study: [links]”
It is frustrating to talk about it over and over again. Being both a woman and an educator is a hard role. Women often dismiss bringing up the topic of gender violence by saying “It’s not my place to educate,” or “ If he wanted to learn, he would.” Unfortunately, the world is not that simple. Many don’t care and many don’t want to. This doesn’t mean that talking about it is pointless. Isolating conversations to only the interested parties further divides us into different echo chambers.
Confronting men and having comfort in discussing such important matters is necessary. Because silence is another form of conformity to patriarchal standards.
My letter was full of mistakes—it was overly simplified and very emotional. And I find nothing wrong with that. Afterward, my dad and I had a nice phone call. What I mean is that we don’t always need to educate people by intellectualizing everything. On the contrary, I think we should “dumb down” information.
At the end of the day, we care about the impact, not the means. Most internet users, our male friends, and even many women themselves don’t read academic papers, opinion articles, etc. Many women don’t even have the words to properly explain what they went through but a lack of words does not undermine what happens.
Some sacred intellectual agenda when it comes to feminism and educating people should be abolished. Such personal, sensitive, and emotional information should be approachable and accessible—not something that scares people away due to complete confusion.
Oftentimes, even if it means teaching people, for instance, about consent using a tea analogy—so be it. Yes, consent is not as simple as drinking tea; there are far more nuances. But if it’s effective, let it be. If it creates a layer of understanding, then there is a chance to further teach the narrative.
Conversations about gender-based violence need to be active and welcoming. Once again conversations, not lectures. Let them reflect, ask, argue. Sometimes, it might result in the most anger-inducing words or dumb, stuck sentences that make you want to look at an imaginary camera and raise an eyebrow. But at the end of the day, what matters is awareness—that it is an issue. If their beliefs are challenged, it makes them think. It makes them aware of opposition.
Sohalia’s book has one of my favorite slaps in the face—a statement that is both hilarious and undeniably true:
“Here we are in the twenty-first century, surrounded by miracles of our own making. We’ve figured out how to see each other on tiny little screens we carry around in our pockets. We’ve figured out how to make a seventeen-year-old heart beat in a sixty-year-old chest. How to trade monarch butterflies from Manitoba to Michoacán. How to map galaxies we can’t even see. As a species, we can be pretty awesome. So why is it so hard to figure out where you should or shouldn’t put your penis? Or understand that nobody asks to be raped?”
To follow her line of questioning—why is it so hard to understand that beating, torturing, raping, and murdering your wife, girlfriend, mother, daughter, or any woman is not OK?