FOR all that the United States, at the head of a NATO coalition, intends to disentangle itself from its war in Afghanistan by the end of next year, Afghanistan itself will not be at peace. Nor will some of its neighbours. To the east, Pakistan last year suffered more civilian deaths from terrorism and sectarian violence than did Afghanistan itself. To the north, the five former Soviet republics of Central Asia also face instability. The process of ending NATO’s war may make matters worse, as big powers meddle in the region again.

The war itself is part of the problem. The violence, the religious extremism and the warlord-backed drug trade it has fostered do not respect frontiers, especially when, as with the border between Afghanistan and Tajikistan, they are largely theoretical. And ethnic kinship with minorities in Afghanistan has long helped draw both Tajiks and Uzbeks into its civil wars.

The threat posed by Islamist extremism in Central Asia is hard to assess. Secular dictators have an interest in exaggerating the menace. Yet for some the sense of vulnerability is genuine, and dictatorial methods themselves can radicalise. Even without the chaos to their south, the other “stans” would look rocky.

Tajikistan is the closest to a failed state. The writ of the president, Emomali Rakhmon, is weak in some parts of the country where local warlords rule the roost. Kyrgyzstan, which has tried to break the cycle of “strongman” rule, has become a fractured mess, with five governments in four years. Turkmenistan is a closed and unpredictable place, led since 2006 by Gurbanguly Berdymukhamedov, a despot seemingly intent on rivalling the narcissistic nuttiness of his predecessor, “Turkmenbashi”.

Uzbekistan can boast a sort of stability, that of a cruel autocracy, which at least offers strong central control over the security forces. But its dictator, Islam Karimov, in power since the collapse of the Soviet Union, is 75, and his daughter, a possible successor, is loathed. Even Kazakhstan, the richest and most sensibly governed of the five and the one least infected by Afghanistan’s ailments, will one day have to negotiate a transition from the rule of its Soviet-vintage strongman, Nursultan Nazarbayev. Prospects are further clouded by poor relations among the five. Uzbekistan sees itself as the region’s leader. But so do Kazakhstan, and, recalling its Soviet hegemony, Russia. A particular danger is the rivalry between Uzbekistan and each of Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. The three dispute territory in the Fergana valley. And Uzbekistan worries about plans in Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan to build dams upstream on its rivers. Mr Karimov likes to cut off gas supplies and close the borders with both neighbours, aggravating social and ethnic tensions in the region’s two poorest countries. It is through this political minefield that NATO hopes to withdraw most of its men and much of its equipment from Afghanistan. Its exit route is the so-called Northern Distribution Network (NDN) of road and rail routes through Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Russia and Latvia or Azerbaijan, used, since early 2009, to ship goods into Afghanistan. The NDN costs twice as much as going through Pakistan and across the Khyber Pass. But Pakistan is a troublesome ally, and has at times denied NATO use of the route. So the Central Asian states have been able to share a bounty of perhaps $500m a year in access fees (not counting the shipping costs). On the way out, the NATO-led coalition is facing requests for another form of largesse: EDA, or “excess defence articles”, ie, surplus military kit from the war. The kit is unlikely to include lethal equipment. But vehicles, support hardware, training, snooping gear and perhaps unarmed drones, donated or sold cheap, in theory for the counter-narcotic struggle, would still be very handy in a regional war.

It is awkward for NATO and America that, although Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan have EDA wishlists, it is Uzbekistan that has the longest, and that, despite being tyrannised by the regime about which liberals feel most squeamish, it has the most to offer in return. Kyrgyzstan, where the Manas airbase has been a stop for most American troops en route to the Afghan war, has become, like Tajikistan, economically dependent on Russia. Remittances from migrant workers in Russia are equivalent to some 29% of Kyrgyzstan’s GDP and 47% of Tajikistan’s. In both countries Russia maintains big military bases.

If, as seems likely, Russia wants the Americans out of Manas, the United States will almost certainly have to leave when the lease expires in mid-2014. It may move to a base in southern Kazakhstan. Or it may return to Uzbekistan, from which it was forced out in 2005, when America criticised Mr Karimov’s regime over the slaughter of hundreds of civilian protesters in the town of Andijan. But Uzbekistan now seems ready to have the Americans back. Last year it quit, for the second time, the Collective Security Treaty Organisation, a Russian-led club that gives members a veto over new foreign military bases. The region’s rivals also have rival suppliers of military hardware. An analyst in Kyrgyzstan likens this to arming a bunch of squabbling schoolchildren.

Look East

America and Russia both carry the scars of long, draining entanglements in Afghanistan. Neither can be expected to enforce Central Asian peace. America has at least spelled out a more optimistic vision of the region’s future as “the new Silk Road”, linking Asia and Europe. The most powerful influences along that road, however, may flow from the East. China already has three profound interests in Central Asia: in securing supplies of energy; in the land route to Europe; and in ensuring stability in its own, restless part of Central Asia, Xinjiang. In return, its growing economic weight and pragmatic, “non-interfering” foreign policy make it an attractive partner for unappealing governments.

Economist.com/blogs/banyan