In late 2022, Uzbekistan’s state-owned uranium producer Navoiuran signed a contract worth nearly 9 million euro with the Kazakh logistics company TOO Logistic Centre to supply Uzbek uranium to France via Russian territory. The deliveries are scheduled to continue until the end of the first quarter of 2026, following a route that passes through St. Petersburg and onward to Malvési, France.
Concluded amid France’s renewed interest in Central Asia, the deal represented not just a logistical arrangement but a strategic commitment — one that ties Uzbekistan into a complex web of environmental, economic, and political dependencies.
The route begins in Navoi Region, crosses Kazakhstan, and proceeds through Russia to the port at St. Petersburg, from where the cargo is shipped to Orano — the French nuclear giant formerly known as Areva.
In Tashkent, the contract has been presented as a success of industrial modernization, yet it exposes a range of vulnerabilities — from environmental consequences to geopolitical risks in the context of war and sanctions.
Hidden Costs of Extraction
Since 1994, all uranium in Uzbekistan has been extracted using the acid in-situ leaching (AISL) method — a process in which diluted sulfuric acid is injected deep underground to dissolve uranium ore, and the resulting solution is pumped back to the surface.
This technique is cheaper and visually “cleaner” than open-pit mining, but it leaves behind a long-lasting chemical footprint.
Studies conducted in the Ili Basin (China) and Kurgan Region (Russia) have shown that even decades after operations cease, the underground environment remains acidic and oxidizing, keeping uranium mobile and contaminating groundwater.
According to Andrey Ozharovsky, a nuclear physicist and co-founder of the public program Radioactive Waste Safety, the environmental threat from in-situ leaching is far greater than the risk of transportation accidents.
“Miners dissolve uranium, turning it from a stable solid into a chemically active, mobile liquid,” he explained. “That uranium will never return to its original state, no matter what operators claim.”
Ozharovsky added that while an accident involving solid uranium concentrate can be cleaned up, contaminated aquifers are almost impossible to restore.
“Once acid is injected underground, humans lose control,” Ozharovsky warned. “It’s chemistry unfolding unseen, beneath the surface — forming real lakes of radioactive waste.”
Navoiy Region, where Orano operates, is characterized by water vulnerability and fragile ecosystems. According to Ozharovsky, the injection of thousands of tons of sulfuric acid into such geological layers poses a long-term risk of groundwater contamination. In Russia, similar projects have resulted in radioactive pollution of artesian wells and health impacts — a scenario that could easily repeat itself in Uzbekistan.
“In Mongolia, where Orano also mines uranium, there have been reports of birth defects and mass livestock deaths,” Ozharovsky said. “Same company, same method — the risks are documented.”
Without public environmental oversight and regular water testing, uranium extraction may silently destroy ecosystems and human health.
“The best uranium,” concluded Ozharovsky, “is the one that stays underground.”
Geopolitical and Economic Risks
While the environmental consequences remain largely invisible, the geopolitical ones are evident. Against the backdrop of the war in Ukraine and Western sanctions against Russia, the route Uzbek uranium takes to Europe has become both politically sensitive and strategically risky.
According to Yuriy Sarukhanian, an international relations specialist, Uzbekistan’s decision to ship uranium through Russia reflects both necessity and dependency. He explained that, at present, there is simply no viable alternative route. The Middle Corridor — running through the South Caucasus and Turkiye — depends on sustained peace between Armenia and Azerbaijan as well as on the legal and logistical status of the Caspian Sea.
Sarukhanian noted that transit through Russia allows Tashkent to maintain “good relations” with Moscow while simultaneously fulfilling its contracts with Western partners. It is, in his words, a form of compromise: Uzbekistan demonstrates loyalty to its “senior brother,” avoiding actions that might provoke the Kremlin. Yet the paradox, he stressed, is evident — a strategic raw material destined for France passes through the territory of a sanctioned state. Although this may seem contradictory, Sarukhanian acknowledged that trade routes often operate according to their own logic: even during wartime, Russian gas continued to flow through Ukraine.
Still, Sarukhanian warned that the uranium transit route could eventually become a tool of political pressure. Russia never views economic projects as purely economic; even uranium transit, he suggested, could be turned into a lever of influence through customs delays, logistics bottlenecks, or tariff adjustments. While Europe might not feel such pressure directly, Uzbekistan almost certainly would.
According to Sarukhanian, Tashkent has not yet mastered the delicate balance between Moscow and Brussels. If tensions escalate, Russia could easily use the transit route as an instrument of coercion. As a result, the uranium corridor has become a symbol of limited sovereignty: despite its declared ambition to diversify, Uzbekistan remains dependent on infrastructure controlled by Russia.
According to Pan Yanliang, a researcher specializing in civil nuclear supply chains at the James Martin Center for Nonproliferation Studies, Uzbekistan lacks the economic foundation to develop its own uranium conversion or enrichment capacities. He pointed out that only a few countries — China, Canada, France, Russia, and the United States — possess an industrial base for conversion. For Uzbekistan, he said, such a project would require enormous investment and technology transfer. The country has no domestic demand for uranium, as all of it is exported in concentrate form — a situation typical of resource-producing but non-nuclear states.
Thus, Uzbekistan remains a supplier of raw materials within the global nuclear chain — profitable in the short term but offering little technological advancement. Pan said that Orano’s planned investment of up to $500 million would boost output and create jobs but would not lead to the emergence of processing industries. From his perspective, there is no economic rationale for developing conversion facilities: these processes are resource-intensive, politically regulated, and dependent on infrastructure and markets that Uzbekistan does not possess.
He further noted that reliance on the Russian transit route creates additional vulnerability. Although sanctions do not formally cover uranium transit, financial and logistical constraints may have indirect effects. Dependence on a single route, he argued, exposes the country to both economic and political risks.
Pan also warned that uranium exports could become a new form of mono-resource dependency, echoing Uzbekistan’s historical “cotton curse.” Uranium prices, he explained, are cyclical: while they are currently high, a market downturn could quickly render projects unprofitable. In his view, uranium symbolizes Uzbekistan’s integration into global markets — but also deepens its dependence on them.
Sarukhanian considered France’s interest in Uzbekistan purely pragmatic rather than strategic. He argued that Paris is primarily looking to replace its African uranium suppliers and is motivated by supply security rather than geopolitical influence. In his assessment, the relationship between Presidents Macron and Mirziyoyev represents a transactional model rather than a long-term partnership — a pattern he described as typically French, where honoring a foreign leader and securing raw materials go hand-in-hand before Paris quickly moves on.
Still, he conceded that the European Union’s involvement through Orano could promote greater transparency and environmental accountability. If Western projects encourage Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan to strengthen environmental monitoring and cooperation, he adds, that would already represent a positive outcome.
Climate Contradictions
While uranium is often portrayed as part of the global “green transition,” its extraction in Uzbekistan tells a different story. The in-situ leaching method — the only one used in the country since 1994 — leaves a significant environmental and climate footprint. It requires vast amounts of water and chemicals and indirectly contributes to greenhouse gas emissions through the production and transport of sulfuric acid.
As a result, the process that supplies Europe with “clean” nuclear fuel exacerbates water scarcity and land degradation in Uzbekistan’s regions.
Experts warn that without transparent monitoring, land restoration programs, and climate-responsible investment, uranium mining could undermine the very sustainable development goals it claims to serve.
Uranium exports from Uzbekistan embody the paradox of modern “clean” energy: a resource that reduces France’s carbon footprint while leaving a toxic legacy in Uzbekistan, where it originates. Partnership with France, while diplomatically beneficial, reinforces an old model — exporting raw materials without environmental accountability.
The key challenge for Uzbekistan now is to move from resource dependence to ecological responsibility. Without systemic environmental oversight and political will for transparency, the country risks turning uranium exports from a tool of modernization into a new form of dependency.
Uzbekistan stands at a crossroads. Will it become a responsible participant in the global green transition, or a supplier of “clean energy” at the cost of its own contamination?