Natalia Alenkina is an associate professor at the American University of Central Asia. This post is based on a presentation given at the ICLRS 32nd Annual International Law and Religion Symposium, 7 October 2025.
In societies where formal institutions are weak, justice often depends less on the codified enforcement of laws and more on the ability of communities to sustain trust, moral responsibility, and social inclusion. The courts of aksakals in Kyrgyzstan—community-based bodies composed of respected elders—embody this ongoing search for balance between legality and morality, state authority and community cohesion, and secular justice and religiously informed values.
Aksakal Courts: Between Law and Tradition
In Kyrgyzstan, aksakal courts are constitutionally recognized non-state institutions for conflict prevention and resolution at the local level. Their jurisdiction extends to minor civil, family, labor, and property disputes. To resolve cases, aksakal courts can use not only legislation but also moral and ethical norms, folk traditions, and even religious norms. Their sanctions range from public reprimand and apology to small fines. While their decisions can be appealed or enforced through state courts, their moral legitimacy often carries greater practical weight than formal legal authority.
Over the past three decades, these courts have undergone significant transformations. Externally, changing social values, state oversight, and community skepticism have reshaped their functions. Internally, they face generational shifts in attitudes, evolving perceptions of justice, and the declining personal authority of elders. This evolution has produced a new rural-urban divide in their operation and jurisdiction. The types of cases have also shifted: while domestic violence cases have decreased, disputes rooted in religious norms (such as triple talaq, dowry division, or polygamous marriages) are increasingly common. Moreover, more women and community organizations are now approaching aksakal courts to resolve conflicts.
Who Are the Aksakals?
The term aksakal literally means “white beard” in Kyrgyz, symbolizing wisdom and age. Yet in practice the term also connotes moral standing, apart from strictly demographic criteria. To serve, one must be more than 50 years old, possess a secondary education, reside locally for at least five years, and be recognized as a person of integrity and respect. Currently, approximately 84% of aksakals are men and 16% are women. Despite this gender imbalance, aksakal courts possess a symbolic legitimacy derived not from formal qualifications but from community trust—a form of social capital that often surpasses state authority.
The tradition of elders considering and resolving disputes traces back to biys—customary legal institutions that functioned in Kyrgyz society until the 1920s, when they were abolished under Soviet rule.[1] Nonetheless, traditional dispute resolution persisted informally, especially in rural, ethnically homogeneous communities. During the Soviet era, while formal courts operated in cities, elders continued to mediate conflicts based on moral authority and communal values.
The post-Soviet legalization of aksakal courts revived this tradition, blending it with Soviet-era “comrades’ court” regulations and modern alternative dispute resolution (ADR) mechanisms such as arbitration and mediation. This hybrid structure, where traditional and institutional meet, illustrates how legal systems adapt to both global models and local moral orders.
The Sokuluk District
A striking example of the operation of an aksakal court is a 2021 case of the rape of a minor girl in Kyrgyzstan’s Sokuluk district in the northern Chüy region. The court of aksakals ruled that the perpetrator’s family be expelled from the village. Such an act may appear extra-legal, yet it reflected deep community outrage and distrust in state institutions. The accused had previously received only probation for similar crimes, and the community no longer believed the police or courts could deliver justice. As a consequence, the moral and religious authority of the aksakal court replaced or substituted for the state judiciary in a moment of institutional crisis. In this capacity, the aksakal court manifested itself not as a remnant of tradition but an instrument through which society renegotiates its sense of justice and legitimacy.
More generally, the Sokuluk case shows how the operation of informal institutions such as aksakal courts can reshape peoples’ understanding of social justice and legality on the periphery of the state:
First, informal courts often compensate for the failures of the formal system—the inefficiency of courts, bureaucratic red tape, and lack of public trust. While critics, particularly gender and human rights specialists, see aksakal courts as patriarchal or “delegalized,” their resilience lies in their ability to fill the vacuum left by weakened state institutions. They bridge the gap between the law as written and the law as lived.
Second, the system of aksakal courts increases access to justice. With approximately 795 registered aksakal courts—compared to only 71 state courts—in Kyrgyzstan, these community institutions are 11 times more numerous and handle around 3300 cases annually. These courts are local, free, and procedurally simple. The elders receive no salary; their work is viewed as public service. For many citizens, aksakal courts represent the only realistic avenue for resolving disputes, especially in rural areas where formal courts are physically or financially out of reach.
Third, the operation of aksakal courts demonstrates that the formal/informal dichotomy in law is more porous than it seems. Before 1996, aksakal courts were officially part of the state judicial system. Many members of the aksakal courts are retired police officers or civil servants. But does this make these courts formal? Aksakal courts are regulated by a special law, yet their procedures remain oral and flexible. Does this mean that the aksakal courts are an informal way of resolving disputes? One may conclude that they operate within a grey zone of legality— formal in recognition, informal in function. What sustains them is not institutional power but community trust.
Conclusion
Aksakal courts stand at the intersection of social justice and legality. They represent both continuity and transformation, the persistence of moral order in the absence of institutional strength. In contexts where the state’s monopoly on law is fragile, these institutions redefine what counts as legitimate justice. Their existence challenges the classical view of legality as a purely state-centered domain. Instead, they show that legality can emerge from below—from shared moral understandings, communal practices, and the collective search for justice on the periphery of the state.
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[1] I do not in any way equate biy courts with aksakal courts. They operated at different times, handled different types of disputes, and followed different procedures. Rather, I emphasize (1) the persistence of the tradition of clan elders resolving disputes and (2) the tradition as precedent and model for modern alternative dispute resolution institutions.