I push her on the stranglehold she has on much of the media, a disturbing convenience for her powerful father. She laughs and recounts meeting a member of France’s parliament who told her that if he became president and his daughter had such good control of the media, he would be happy.

“So is your father happy?” I ask, but she ignores the question.

“Are you conflicted that you’re both a journalist and the president’s daughter?” I continue. Her press assistant shoots me a disapproving glare, as though I had just spilled caviar on her boss’s dress. Dariga reflects for a moment, then nods. “Yes, there is a conflict. Sometimes. Absolutely.” But she says that, as with all fathers and daughters, there are tensions, even stormy discussions sometimes.

The more they argue, Kazakhs might say, the better. When Tolstoy wrote that all happy families are alike, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way, he may not have had ruling families in mind. But in Kazakhstan, one powerful family’s squabbles could give journalists some breathing space, and make its citizens much happier indeed.