Variations on Uzbek Identity: Strategic Choices, Cognitive Schemas and Political Constraints in Identification Processes 9781782382393

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Variations on Uzbek Identity

Integration and Conflict Studies Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, Halle/Saale Series Editor: Günther Schlee, Director at the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology Editorial Board: Brian Donahoe (Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology), John Eidson (Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology), Peter Finke (University of Zurich), Joachim Görlich (Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology), Jacqueline Knörr (Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology), Bettina Mann (Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology), Stephen Reyna (University of Manchester, Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology) Assisted by: Cornelia Schnepel and Viktoria Zeng (Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology) Volume 1 How Enemies are Made – Towards a Theory of Ethnic and Religious Conflicts Günther Schlee Volume 2 Changing Identifications and Alliances in North-East Africa Vol.I: Ethiopia and Kenya Edited by Günther Schlee and Elizabeth E. Watson Volume 3 Changing Identifications and Alliances in North-East Africa Vol.II: Sudan, Uganda and the EthiopiaSudan Borderlands Edited by Günther Schlee and Elizabeth E. Watson Volume 4 Playing Different Games: The Paradox of Anywaa and Nuer Identification Strategies in the Gambella Region, Ethiopia Dereje Feyissa Volume 5 Who Owns the Stock? Collective and Multiple Forms of Property in Animals Edited by Anatoly M. Khazanov and Günther Schlee

Volume 6 Irish/ness is All Around Us: Language Revivalism and the Culture of Ethnic Identity in Northern Ireland Olaf Zenker Volume 7 Variations on Uzbek Identity: Strategic Choices, Cognitive Schemas and Political Constraints in Identification Processes Peter Finke Volume 8 Domesticating Youth: The Youth Bulge and its Socio-Political Implications in Tajikistan Sophie Roche Volume 9 Creole Identity in Postcolonial Indonesia Jacqueline Knörr Volume 10 Friendship, Descent and Alliance in Africa: Anthropological Perspectives Edited by Martine Guichard, Tilo Grätz and Youssouf Diallo

Variations on Uzbek Identity Strategic Choices, Cognitive Schemas and Political Constraints in Identification Processes

Peter Finke

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD www.berghahnbooks.com

Published in 2014 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com © 2014 Peter Finke All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Finke, Peter, 1963–    Variations on Uzbek identity : strategic choices, cognitive schemas and political constraints in identification processes / Peter Finke.      pages cm. — (Integration and conflict studies ; volume 7)    Includes bibliographical references and index.   ISBN 978-1-78238-238-6 (hardback) — ISBN 978-1-78238-239-3 (ebook)   1. Uzbeks—Ethnic identity. 2. Uzbeks—Social networks. 3. Uzbeks—Cultural assimilation. I. Title.   DK885.5.U9F56 2014   305.894'325—dc23 2013022205 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Printed on acid-free paper ISBN: 978-1-78238-238-6 hardback ISBN: 978-1-78238-239-3 ebook

Contents List of Illustrations

vi

Preface

ix

Acknowledgements Introduction

xvi 1

Chapter 1.  A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks: From Nomadic Conquerors to Post-socialist Farmers

29

Chapter 2.  A Central Asian Melting Pot: The Oasis of Bukhara

65

Chapter 3.  Desperation at the End of the World? The Oasis of Khorezm

112

Chapter 4.  Conflict Inevitable? The Ferghana Valley

152

Chapter 5.  Birthplace of a National Hero: The Oasis of Shahrisabz

194

Conclusion

227

Bibliography

240

Index

264

Illustrations Figures Figure 1.1.  A reminiscence of Qarakhanid rule in Uzgen, Ferghana Valley (Photo: P. Finke)

40

Figure 1.2.  The socialist silhouette of Tashkent (Photo: P. Finke)

50

Figure 1.3.  Heaps of cotton at a local delivery point (Photo: P. Finke)

60

Figure 2.1.  Village scene in the Bukhara Oasis with stripes of salt along the edges of the agricultural fields (Photo: P. Finke)

69

Figure 2.2.  A Kazak nomadic camp in the Qizil-Qum (Photo: P. Finke)

76

Figure 2.3.  Male guests during a religious ceremony (Photo: P. Finke)

85

Figure 2.4.  Pile sorting conducted by Abdulla, 42-year-old man from Hokimullomir (created by Ivana Lakic)

101

Figure 2.5.  Pile sorting conducted by Bahodir, 52-year-old man from Arablar (created by Ivana Lakic)

102

Figure 2.6.  Preparing osh for wedding ceremony (Photo: P. Finke)

105

Figure 3.1.  The Amu-Darya in winter near the highway Tashkent-Nukus (Photo: P. Finke)

113

Figure 3.2.  Group of homesteads near Xo‘jayli (Photo: P. Finke)

126

Figure 3.3.  A Turkmen family in their home (Photo: P. Finke)

137

Figure 3.4.  Ethnic composition of Sarishugul sel’sovieti

139

Figure 3.5.  Pile sorting conducted by Murod, 35-year-old man from Türkmenawil (created by Ivana Lakic)

143

Figure 3.6.  Pile sorting conducted by Hamid, 54-year-old man from Karakalpakawil (created by Ivana Lakic)

144

Figure 3.7.  Pile sorting conducted by Alisher, 37-year-old man from Sawikawil (created by Ivana Lakic)

145

Figure 3.8.  A Karakalpak school in Xo‘jayli tumani (Photo: P. Finke)

149

Figure 4.1.   The road connecting the Ferghana Valley with Tashkent (Photo: P. Finke)

161

Illustrations   vii

Figure 4.2.  Village scene in the Ferghana Valley, Marhamat tumani (Photo: P. Finke)

166

Figure 4.3.  Growing cotton in Marhamat tumani with the help of plastic stripes (Photo: P. Finke)

172

Figure 4.4.  A Kyrgyz family in Shukurmergen in front of their garden (Photo: P. Finke)

178

Figure 4.5.  Pile sorting conducted by Gulnora, 47-year-old woman from Shukurmergen (created by Ivana Lakic)

183

Figure 4.6.  Pile sorting conducted by Shohmurod, 41-year-old man from Yuqori Rabot (created by Ivana Lakic)

184

Figure 4.7.  Pile sorting conducted by Rahmon, 62-year-old man from To’lga (created by Ivana Lakic)

185

Figure 5.1.  The statue of Timur and the gate of Oq Saroy in Shahrisabz (Photo: P. Finke)

199

Figure 5.2.  Settlement patterns in Upper Qashqadaryo (Photo: P. Finke)

207

Figure 5.3.  Male guests of a wedding party (Photo: P. Finke)

213

Figure 5.4.  In the joqchi village of Qaynarbuloq (Photo: P. Finke)

218

Maps Map 1.1.  Uzbekistan: Political Boundaries and Administrative Divisions

61

Map 2.1.  The Oasis of Bukhara

67

Map 2.2.  Chilongu sel’sovieti (compiled by P. Finke)

79

Map 3.1.  The Khorezm Oasis

114

Map 3.2.  Xo‘jayli and Sarishugul sel’sovieti (compiled by P. Finke)

124

Map 4.1.  The Ferghana Valley

154

Map 4.2.  Marhamat tumani (compiled by P. Finke)

164

Map 5.1.  Upper Qashqadaryo

196

Map 5.2.  Kitob tumani (compiled by P. Finke)

204

Tables Table 2.1.  Population of Bukhara viloyati by ethnic group

74

Table 2.2.  Villages within Chilongu sel’sovieti

78

viii   Illustrations

Table 2.3.  Marriage partners in Hokimullomir by village of origin

88

Table 2.4.  Marriage partners in Hokimullomir by language

88

Table 2.5.  Triad test conducted by Abdulla, 42-year-old man from Hokimullomir

99

Table 2.6.  Triad test conducted by Sardor, 32-year-old man from Toshmachit

99

Table 2.7.  Triad test conducted by Bahodir, 52-year-old man from Arablar

99

Table 2.8.  Triad test conducted by Oysha, 47-year-old woman from Galgala

100

Table 3.1.  Population of Karakalpakistan by ethnic group

120

Table 3.2.  Villages in Sarishugul sel’sovieti

125

Table 3.3.  Brigades in Dosliq xo’jaligi

126

Table 3.4.  Triad test conducted by Murod, 35-year-old man from Türkmenawil

142

Table 3.5.  Triad test conducted by Hamid, 54-year-old man from Karakalpakawil

142

Table 3.6.  Triad test conducted by Alisher, 37-year-old man from Sawikawil

143

Table 4.1.  Population of the Ferghana Valley by ethnic group

161

Table 4.2.  Ethnic composition of Shukurmergen sel’sovieti

165

Table 4.3.  Marriage partners in Rabot village by ethnicity

170

Table 4.4.  Triad test conducted by Iqbol, 28-year-old woman from Rabot

180

Table 4.5.  Triad test conducted by Gulnora, 47-year-old woman from Shukurmergen

181

Table 4.6.  Triad test conducted by Asror, 37-year-old man from Sho’rqaqir

181

Table 4.7.  Triad test conducted by Shohmurod, 41-year-old man from Yuqori Rabot

181

Table 4.8.  Triad test conducted by Rahmon, 62-year-old man from To’lga

182

Table 5.1.  Population of Qashqadaryo viloyati by ethnic group

202

Preface

O

ne outcome of the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991 was the establishment of five independent states in Central Asia, the names of which until then had hardly existed in the awareness of the Western world. The former Soviet Socialist Republics of Kazakstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan and Tajikistan had all been created during the so-called national delimitation process in the 1920s and 1930s and corresponded only roughly, if at all, to any pre-existing states. Therefore, many observers in the early days of independence expected ethnic tensions and interstate rivalries to soon break out and endanger regional stability. Fortunately, these prophecies proved, for the most part, to be unfounded. Nevertheless, they have shaped the image of the region as one of imminent clashes and potentially failing states to a large degree. To achieve a more balanced view, however, it is essential to look at the meanings ethnic and other social identities have for people in everyday life, as identity games always take place in the context of national politics on the one hand and pre-existing concepts of identity on the other. The organization of everyday life and local perceptions are often neglected aspects of the current transformation process but of great significance for an understanding of recent events in the larger region. The aim of this study is to examine processes of identity formation in Central Asia and changes therein from an ethnographic perspective. Most studies so far have concentrated on macro-political processes and have neglected the meaning official discourses and mandated patterns of identity have for people in their real lives. This study tries to explain these processes by looking both into the historical context and examining the present situation against the background of changing politics. It does so by looking at the manifestations of Uzbek identity in interaction with other social groups in a variety of settings within the state bearing that name. These settings are four rural areas situated in the oases of Bukhara and Khorezm, the Ferghana Valley, and in the region of Shahrisabz in Upper Qashqadaryo. Each of these settings represents a distinct case in terms of ecological and economic conditions, political configuration and ethnic composition. In each case, mutual demarcations and interethnic relations also differ in response to the respective situation, as both are locally interpreted und negotiated. As numerous studies on ethnicity have shown, identity markers and interethnic relations differ according to the particular setting, as they are shaped by the respective local ethnic configuration, economic options and national politics. The concept of ‘Uzbekness’, so the argument of this study, presents an interesting

x   Preface

case in this respect because the relativity and locality of identity patterns are an explicit part of it. It is based on what will be termed a ‘territorial concept of identification’ indicating that common residence and socialization are conceptualized as key variables in shaping an individual’s personhood and identity. Furthermore, it will be shown that this adaptability is connected with another central feature of ‘Uzbekness’, namely the attractiveness it exerted on members of other social groups over the course of time and which gained a new impetus by being associated with independent statehood in recent years. It may be helpful to add a few words on what this study is not about. I do not attempt to write a history of Uzbek statehood or of the basis of contemporary national identity. Both of these will be touched upon, but others have treated this in much more detail. I also do not wish to find out who the Uzbeks are, genetically speaking, in relation with other Central Asians. Phenotypic distinctions will play a role in mutual differentiation and in some cases seem all too obvious. But as such they do not tell us very much about people’s self-understanding. In connection with rather rigid ethnic boundaries, they may, of course, enforce themselves over time and become ever more prominent in the emic perspective. What this study can also not provide is an accurate account of the way Uzbeks and others have come to live together in those places covered in the book. For this, the chain of events is in each case not well established enough given the highly localized patterns that characterize the history of Central Asia. In theoretical perspective, the study draws on a number of approaches used in the social sciences. It combines classic approaches to ethnicity, usually summarized under the umbrella of primordialism and situationalism, with ideas borrowed from rational choice theory, cognitive anthropology and political economy in an effort to build a more comprehensive model of the motivations of human behaviour. Particular attention is given to the relative attractiveness that social groups exhibit in comparison to others. The underlying hypothesis is that groups owe their existence to the benefits they can provide for individuals, in particular their ability to reduce transaction costs.1 They achieve this by constituting institutional frameworks within which people can make reasonable assumptions about future strategies of other actors. Groups may attract new members when, in particular political environments, they are more successful than others in providing such frameworks. Self-interested strategic behaviour is thus seen as a prime instigating factor for individual and group alliances, along with social constraints and ideological convictions. To switch affiliation may involve substantial costs, and often risks cutting into existing networks, to the detriment of one’s own interests. At the same time, ideological or cognitive factors limit the extent to which political actors can manipulate identities and cost-benefit calculations. In many situations, people are repelled by some of the new prescriptive behavioural patterns that would result from a change of group affiliation. In other cases, such a switch

Preface   xi

may be prohibited or greatly hampered by the requirements that acceptance and membership in other groups entail, such as a tribal genealogy or, more generally, ideas about ‘us’ and ‘them’. Any model of identity is thus also based on people’s cognitive models, or schemas, which are transmitted as part of socialization. What is more, cost-benefit ratios of membership in different groups are never calculated within a neutral space; rather, they are strongly influenced by political configurations. In particular, the state is able to affect the attractiveness of being a member of a specific group tremendously and can also increase the costs of leaving and entering groups by legal provisions and ideological manipulations. These all contribute to what, in a Gramscian tradition, would be called a hegemonic discourse. Cultural schemas, however, cannot be changed and manipulated arbitrarily; thus, they have an impact on both the conceptualization of national ideologies by members of political elites and their reception ‘on the ground’. As will be shown in this book, local identities and concepts of the nation-state stand in a kind of dialectic relationship with one another. The formation of an ethnic group may have the character of a politically induced process and of an ‘invented tradition’, but it has to be grounded in historical configurations in order to achieve plausibility and legitimacy. This book is organized into five chapters with an introduction and conclusion. The introduction provides a review of the major literature on identity patterns in Central Asia. Much of this has been dominated by early fears of the outbreak of violent conflicts and growing Islamic fundamentalism as a result of economic deprivation on the one hand, and the artificial character of ethnic and national boundaries on the other. One main question deriving from this is to what degree categories introduced by the Soviet nation builders were able to replace pre-existing ones, and which position the new independent states were going to take in this respect. The remainder of the introduction establishes the theoretical framework in more detail before turning to a description of the datacollection methods applied and the problems this posed in a location as politically sensitive as post-Soviet Uzbekistan. Chapter 1 outlines the historical background of the study. This is done in some detail, giving credit to the fact that the evolution of the contemporary Uzbeks as a group was shaped by and embedded within processes that characterized the history of Central Asia for at least the past 2500 years. In particular, the ethnogenesis of the Uzbeks can be described as the epitome of two processes that have shaped the history of the region more than anything else: first, the interaction between nomads and sedentaries and the gradual or repeated adaptation and integration of the former into the latter’s social and cultural patterns; and second, the meeting of Turkic and Iranian speakers. In more recent times, the overall ethnic configuration was again fundamentally transformed as a result of the national delimitation that took place during early Soviet times, although, so one argument of this study, its impact on local configurations have probably been

xii   Preface

exaggerated in much of the literature. The chapter closes with a brief analysis of national politics in the new independent state of Uzbekistan. The following chapters each describe one of the four settings in which I have been conducting field research in the early 2000s. Rather than providing a representative cross section of variations on Uzbek identity, these four case studies shall illuminate its diversity as such and the fundamentally localized character that is entailed in the very concept of Uzbekness. The ethnographic present for this account is the mid-2000s. I have later been to Uzbekistan for brief visits, the last one in spring 2012, but the bulk of the empirical material is from the earlier periods of fieldwork. Many things have since then changed dramatically. Perhaps the single most important event in the recent history of the region that is not covered in this study is the mass labour migration of Uzbeks, Tajiks and Kyrgyz to Russia that set in shortly after fieldwork was completed and that has tremendous impacts on social life and interethnic relations. Another major change is that the transfer of land access rights to individual farmers has largely completed, although the basic patterns of a planned economy as described in this book have remained. The first of these sites, discussed in chapter 2, is the oasis of Bukhara and, in particular, the district of Romitan. Certainly one of the most famous spots in Central Asia, the region of Bukhara has always been one of its key players. Within this study, Bukhara represents a close-knit mixture of Turkic and Iranian speakers, which has reached the point where boundaries are not only virtually nonexistent but instantly denied. Bilingualism and mixed ancestry is a central part of local identity, which contrasts strongly with other parts of the country. Other groups settling in the same region are incorporated into this cultural complex to various degrees: Turkmens and Arabs who settled in the oasis several centuries ago are rather more integrated, while others such as Kazaks, Russians or Tatars that arrived at a later date are considered culturally more alien. Chapter 3 deals with the historical oasis of Khorezm, or more precisely with the district of Xo‘jayli, today situated in the southern part of the Autonomous Republic of Karakalpakistan. Historically, Khorezm bears many similarities to Bukhara while mutual relations were often hostile. In contrast to the first site, Turkification had been more or less completed by the thirteenth century and today the oasis is characterized by the coexistence of various Turkic groups that all became official nationalities in Soviet times, namely Kazaks, Uzbeks, Karakalpaks and Turkmens. In contrast to Bukhara, differences are clearly pronounced and assimilation in either direction only takes place on a low level. At the same time, there also exists a strong local identity, partly fostered by a perceived neglect in view of desolate ecological and economic conditions. The third field site, in chapter 4, is located in the Ferghana Valley, in the southern part of the province of Andijon. The valley has in the literature become a synonym for tensions and violence since independence. This was primarily due

Preface   xiii

to a series of bloody conflicts since the late 1980s, and the fact that the valley is divided rather arbitrarily among three successor states of the Soviet Union. In ethnic terms, the region today is profoundly Turkic with sizeable scattered Tajik pockets. The Turkic groups, however, divide into a number of distinct entities. This includes official ones, like the Kyrgyz, as well as non-registered groups like Sart, Qashgharliq or Turks. Some of these consider themselves closer to Tajiks than to other Turkic speakers. Again, a strong regional identity exists that includes the neighbouring provinces within the valley as well. Chapter 5 describes the last field site, the oasis around the twin cities of Shahrisabz and Kitob in the northeastern part of the Qashqadaryo province. In ecological terms, this oasis is not as clearly bounded as the other three, but fades out towards the adjacent steppes and mountain foothills. This difference had important implications for the site’s ethnic composition, as it was much easier for pastoralists to graze their herds in the vicinity of sedentary communities than in other sites. A large proportion of the nomadic conquerors decided to settle here for this reason. In particular, many of those groups that have invaded Uzbekistan since the sixteenth century and given their name to the ethnic group of today have survived culturally and linguistically to some degree in this region. As in the Ferghana Valley, here the old established sedentary Uzbeks often prefer interaction and marriages with Tajiks rather than with Turkic groups with an alleged nomadic background. In contrast, however, the local Tajiks in Upper Qashqadaryo are a rather marginalized mountain population. In the conclusion, a comparative analysis of the four sites and a reflection on theoretical implications is attempted. One result is clearly a strong confirmation of claims made by Fredrik Barth (1969) and others that concepts of ethnic boundaries differ according to the respective others. In each setting, Uzbekness is understood to be something different and, what is more, this internal diversity is part of that very concept. Further, the hypotheses suggested above are shown to be valuable on the whole. Historically, there has been a clear trend for Uzbekness to be adopted by others due to the superior advantages it can provide. The attractiveness is to a significant degree fostered by state politics, but includes other elements like a perception of cultural superiority and an intermediate position between other ethnic groups it implies. At the same time, cognitive schemas will be shown to be important parameters that may impede any change of group affiliation. In particular, the distinction of territorial and genealogical models of identity deserves attention in this respect. Transliteration is a difficult matter in any study dealing with different languages over different time periods. What makes the Uzbek case particularly difficult is not only that its script has changed several times during the last decades, but also that it lacked proper standardization at any time (cf. also Smith et al. 1998: 202f.; Uzman 2010). Both in the Cyrillic script and the recently adapted Latin one, authors use different spellings for the same settlement, often on the

xiv   Preface

same page. In many visited locations, the spelling on the town sign did not correspond to the one used in the local administration. Often, both had not been converted to the new Latin script. I have in these cases used a transliteration that comes close to the spoken variation. A frequent joke in Uzbekistan was that there exist as many variations for the town of Pop in the Ferghana Valley as possible (namely eight) with each of the two sounds in the word having one alternative, b and a respectively. The situation for the earlier history is equally complicated as the toponyms have changed their meaning and spelling over time. Since this is not a philological or historical study, I have tried to keep the spelling system as simple as possible and have abstained from using too many diacritical characters. For all names that have a certain recognition beyond Central Asia, I have used the most common form, e.g. Bukhara, Tashkent or, in fact, Uzbek (which, in the new writing, became O’zbek). Inevitably, this leads to certain inconsistencies, because the same sound or even the same word may be spelled differently within the work. Thus, the traditional religious estate as well as their descendants will be written as khoja, and so will derivates like in the name of the early twentieth century intellectual Fayzulla Khojaev. The same root in contemporary contexts, however, will take the form of xo’ja, as the official writing of today. The same inconsistency applies for other words in kh- (like Khorezm or Abul-Khayr) and x- (like Xalach or Xorazmcha). Some of the difficulties in transliterating stem from the fact that historical as well as contemporary names used do not stem from the same language or dialect within the Turkic world. Thus, the term for lineage or clan would be uruq or uruk in Kazak or Karakalpak (where it is a much more common phenomenon) but urug’ in Uzbek. Historical names for individual groups like Qongrat or Manghit will differ in spelling from the contemporary settlements named after them, in this case Qo’ng’irot and Mang’it. The famous Amu-Darya River contrasts with the district of Amudaryo, named after it. One agricultural farm in Karakalpakistan will be named as Azatlyk in the text (rather than Ozodlik) because it is specifically designated as a Turkmen farm. The district of Jalolquduq in Uzbekistan has a different vocalization than the town of Jalalabad in neighbouring Kyrgyzstan. As a point of reference, I have used Bregel’s historical atlas of Central Asia (2003), although it is not free of inconsistencies either. In general, I have decided to use one and the same term for each of the major regions mentioned in the thesis, although this entails certain historical inaccuracies as they sometimes refer to different time periods.2 In most Turkic words and names I use q to refer to the guttural variant of k (such as in Qarakhanid or Qipchaq), except when another writing is more common (as is the case with Kazak, Kyrgyz or Kokand).3 Analogously, the guttural pendant for g is written as gh (as in Uyghur or Qashghar). In contrast, I have refrained from distinguishing between the velar and palatal versions of the i-sound

Preface   xv

in Turkic languages for sake of easier reading and because the distinction does not exist in literary Uzbek, although it does in some of the dialects. The plural in Turkic words (in -lar/ler and the like) is only marked when necessary.

Notes   1. For more on the concept of transaction costs, see below.   2. For an overview of terminologies, also cf. Soucek (2000: XIIf., 1–29).   3. The ethnonym Kazak is a particularly tricky case and highly illustrative for the problems of transliteration in the region. In Uzbek, it is written as Qozoq, while the correct transliteration from Kazak would in fact be Qazaq. Most commonly used in English is the writing Kazakh, which is, however, in fact a transliteration of the Russian version of the ethnonym.

Acknowledgements

A

lot of people have helped to make the completion of this work possible. First of all, I would like to thank all the people in Uzbekistan who were willing to share time and knowledge with me. This is not always safe in a place like Uzbekistan, and for this reason I had to abstain from naming any of them personally. Without them, the entire project would not have been possible. I also owe a debt of gratitude to Vincent Fourniau and the people at IFEAC (l’Institut Français d’Etudes sur l’Asie Centrale) in Tashkent, who provided me with the necessary infrastructural support during my stays in Central Asia. In Germany, I would like to thank Günther Schlee, director of the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology in Halle, for his support and intellectual stimulus that had a lasting effect on my study. I would also like to thank Bernhard Streck from the Department of Ethnology, University of Leipzig. Another important source of assistance were Jürgen Paul and Wolfgang Holzwarth from the Oriental Studies Centre, Martin Luther University Halle-Wittenberg, who were always willing to share their knowledge and read earlier drafts of this work. My wife, Meltem Sancak, was not only of invaluable help during fieldwork and writing phases, but also a critical reader of the manuscript. Many of my former colleagues at the Max Planck Institute have over the years contributed to this work in one way or another. Among them I would like to mention Andreas Dafinger, Brian Donahoe, John Eidson, Patrick Heady, Azim Malikov and Lale Yalçin-Heckmann. Jutta Turner has helped with designing the maps and Ivana Lakic with the graphics. Finally, I want to thank the Max Planck Society for providing me with the necessary financial means to conduct my study and to transform it into a written account.

Introduction

W

hen the new government of Uzbekistan declared the medieval ruler Timur the Lame its national hero in 1993, an outcry rocked the academic community. Had Timur’s descendants not been the ones expelled from the region when the Uzbek tribes invaded it and took over? Had not Timur and his descendants, in particular Babur, the founder of the Moghul Empire, despised the Uzbeks as uncivilized and bloodthirsty? Whatever Timur might have been, so went the scholarly creed, he had not been an Uzbek (Allworth 1990; Foltz 1996; Kurzman 1999). Since then, the question of ‘who are the Uzbeks?’ (Critchlow 1991) and the artificial character of the state bearing their name have attracted more scholarly attention and disapproval than any comparable phenomena in the region. A number of studies address the arbitrary nature of Uzbekistan’s borders and the creation of the titular ethnic group by Soviet engineering (Baldauf 1991; Fourniau 1992; Hegarty 1995; Akbarzadeh 1996a; Bell 1999; Yalcin 2002; Sengupta 2003; Adams 2004, 2010; Ilkamov 2004; Abashin 2006). Some authors focus on the historical legacies believed to have shaped the perceptions and values of the present. According to this view, people have been touched only superficially by the Soviet experience, and adhere instead to social patterns, religious beliefs and fuzzy identities inherited from the more distant past, a view partly derived from earlier Sovietologist approaches (Bacon 1980; Bennigsen and Broxup 1983; Allworth 1990). Others take the Soviet period as the starting point and treat contemporary processes primarily as a consequence of that heritage and of the recent founding of the independent Central Asian states (Olcott 1996, 2002; Jones Luong 2002; Collins 2006; Cummings 2012). These studies tend to regard the nation-state as a natural fact and focus primarily on the obstacles that have thus far prevented Uzbeks and other Central Asians from sharing a similar political structure. It is not surprising that the nation-building process that is taking place in Uzbekistan is attracting attention. What is surprising is its perceived anomaly. After all, the German or French versions of the same process do not read all that differently and include many aspects that are just as debatable (Gellner 1983; Hobsbawm 1990). In the Uzbek case, it is certainly true that the contemporary ethnic group is largely a product of Soviet policies. Although the name had existed before, it did not refer to the ancestors of those who are called Uzbeks today. It is also true that the genetic predecessors of the contemporary Uzbeks did not belong to a single named group and possibly lacked a strong sense of belonging

2   Variations on Uzbek Identity

together. Quite to the contrary, the original name referred to a group of nomadic conquerors, who, speaking Turkic idioms of the Qipchaq (or northwestern) branch, superimposed their rule on a population which primarily spoke Iranian and Qarluq (or eastern) Turkic dialects. Today, in contrast, the term refers first of all to the contemporary Qarluq speakers while the few remaining Qipchaq are a marginalized population only grudgingly accepted within the concept of a common Uzbek culture (cf. chapter 5).1 On the other hand, the formation of the Uzbeks can also be interpreted as a continuation of processes that have been ongoing for centuries, namely a linguistic Turkification of earlier Iranian populations and a simultaneous ‘cultural Iranization’ of the Turkic groups that had invaded the region in successive waves since the sixth century. Two factors, it will be argued here, were crucial in this respect. One was the intermediate position that a sedentary Turkic speaker occupied between nomadic Turkic tribes and sedentary Iranians. This allowed for a larger number of partners in economic and social interaction (see also for similar arguments, Allworth 1990; Fragner 1998). The second factor was the permeability of the concept of ‘Uzbekness’. To become a member of one of the groups from which contemporary Uzbeks are descended it was generally sufficient to speak the language and behave in a particular cultural way (which includes, among other traits, being sedentary and being a Muslim). In contrast to this, being a Kazak, Kyrgyz or Turkmen depends strongly on genealogical models, and the transmission of group membership and personal characteristics is regarded primarily as a genetic process (Hudson 1938; Finke 2004). Thus, one cannot become an accepted member of one of those groups that easily. The concept of Uzbekness is more flexible in this regard and includes a definition of locality that acknowledges regional variation and the possibility of membership by voluntary decision. Therefore, almost by definition, it takes on different shapes in various settings, incorporating elements of local languages, cultures and social organizations. Within each locality people share specific cultural patterns irrespective of their ethnic or linguistic affiliation. Thus, as will be shown in chapters 2 to 5, members of other groups living in the same place are often considered closer to oneself than co-ethnics in other parts of the country. The congregation of these various local identities into one entity is indeed largely a product of Soviet engineering. However, in spite of its artificial character and its allegedly malignant motivation, the creation of the Uzbeks has been a relatively successful project. Today, the vast majority of the people officially labelled as Uzbeks also understand themselves this way, despite the fact that many of their parents or grandparents might have firmly objected to such a label. Although earlier categories – such as Qipchaq or Qurama – still exist, they have been subsumed within the larger category of Uzbekness. Members of other groups who have settled in the territory of contemporary Uzbekistan, including Kazaks, Kyrgyz and Tajiks, have also started to assimilate to the titular ethnic group (Aman

Introduction   3

2000). It will be argued that this understanding of being Uzbek correlates with a particular concept or cultural schema of identity and a particular way of transmitting group membership patterns. In contrast to genealogically defined models among the traditionally pastoralist groups, the Uzbek model has been said to correspond to a territorial concept of nationhood (Allworth 1990; Koroteyeva and Makarov 1998; Kurzman 1999). It will be shown that this is true for the conception not only of the understanding of the state but also of Uzbek ethnicity. Common residence and shared cultural expressions, rather than descent, are thus the basis for collective identity.

Setting the Scene: Central Asia at the Dawn of the Twenty-first Century Crisis Scenarios This particular concept of Uzbek identity is, so goes the argument of this study, not only specific within Central Asia where other groups tend to rely much more on genealogical ancestry as a defining category. It also carries implications far beyond purely academic explanations into contemporary social and interethnic relations. The status of minorities who may become Uzbeks if they are willing to assimilate into the mainstream culture is a case in point. On the other hand, or in line with this, the fate of the Uzbek ‘diasporas’ is not a big concern neither in academia nor in politics, in contrast, for example, to Kazakstan where the government has invited all Kazaks living abroad to join their native country. These diasporas are not the result of any large-scale migration during recent times. Rather, the arbitrariness of the boundaries established during early Soviet times resulted in artificial entities that often cut through ethnic as well as geographic units (Vaidyanath 1967; Schoeberlein 1994; Szporluk 1994; Hirsch 2000). Therefore, many observers expected that interethnic conflicts would soon unsettle the region. Drawing on a series of violent confrontations during the late Soviet period, this scenario has lost little of its appeal today among both the general public and academics – in spite of the fact that few cases of violence have occurred since 1991.2 The rather low level of conflict is even more surprising, given the economic hardships faced by people all over the region. The transformation from a socialist planned economy to one driven by market mechanisms has so far fallen short of the expectations of even the most cautious Western advisers, and the majority of the population has suffered a dramatic decline in living standards. However, those states that shied away from serious reforms, namely, Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan, have hardly fared better (Pomfret 1995, 2000, 2006; Howell 1996; Ilkhamov 1998; Kandiyoti 1998; Werner 1998; Rumer 2000, 2006; Kerven 2003; Sievers 2003; Wall 2008; Spoor 2009; Trevisani 2010). On the national level, as in all post-Soviet states, processes of nation building and identity politics are in full swing in the Central Asian republics. In most

4   Variations on Uzbek Identity

cases, the search for criteria to define the respective national or cultural units reverts to symbols and historical figures already promoted during Soviet times. The politics of ‘national in form, socialist in content’ typically involved choosing a few selected symbols – events, monuments, landscapes, artistic styles or leading personalities such as poets or scientists – which were then assigned to specific groups as their property. Since then, these same symbols have been adopted by the new elites (Bell 1999; Adams 2010; Liu 2012). In many cases, the same architectural heritage or medieval philosopher, however, can be attributed to more than one group. This is especially true for Uzbeks and Tajiks, because many of their national heroes were in fact bilingual (Horsman 1999). Internally, all states oscillate between the promotion of one ethnic group, the so-called titular nation, and broader appeals to the richness of a multiethnic state inherited from the Soviet Union. The latter is particularly emphasized in Kazakstan and Kyrgyzstan, both states where minorities form a large part of the population. At the same time, ethnic interaction is characterized more by opposition and distribution conflicts than by assimilation pressure (Svanberg 1994; Eschment 1998; Schatz 2000, 2004; Surucu 2002; Gullette 2010). It is less pronounced in Uzbekistan, where the numerical strength of the titular group seems self-evident in defining the national character. Here, within a multicultural framework, the commonalities shared by all local groups are stressed, under the obvious umbrella of the Uzbek majority. All states, however, carefully avoid questioning existing geographical borders. Except for marginal calls for realignment, the structure inherited from early Soviet times has been readily accepted. Each state is afraid of opening a Pandora’s box, as minorities can be found on each side of every contemporary boundary. Thus, conflicts have been avoided so far, although the closer regional co-operation that many had hoped for has not evolved (Dieter 1996; Kubicek 1997). In recent years, violence has increased in several border regions, often provoked by state action. In almost every instance, Uzbekistan was one of the frontier states involved.

The Study of Central Asian Identity and the Soviet Creation of Nations Understanding processes of identity formation and interethnic relations in Central Asia is therefore of tremendous relevance, as both will have a major impact on the future development of the region. So far, these have been studied primarily on the macro level of national politics and behavioural attitudes of old and new elites (Bremmer 1994; Smith et al. 1998; Abazov 1999; Lubin et al. 1999; Schatz 2000; Gumppenberg 2002; Collins 2006; Cummings 2012). Much less well known is what people in the villages and towns of Central Asia think about the state or how they perceive interethnic relations in a local and national context. Traditions of research on Central Asia have developed primarily in the disciplines of history and philology, resulting in an impressive body of literature.

Introduction   5

In anthropology, an earlier tradition going back to the work by Hudson (1938), Lattimore (1950), Krader (1963, 1966), Bacon (1980) and others was effectively discontinued due to the inaccessibility of the region during socialist times. For many decades, social science research was based on second-hand data and often driven by ideological motives, e.g. to show how the evil of Bolshevism was suppressing the Muslims of the Soviet East. The frequently evoked scenario of a revolt in the Muslim regions, however, proved largely wrong (Bennigsen and Lemercieu 1967; Allworth 1973, 1990; Karklins 1980, 1986; Bennigsen and Broxup 1983; Bennigsen and Wimbush 1986; Bräker 1989; Wheeler 1954). Newer studies on Islam during Soviet times have presented a more balanced view on this issue (Keller 1992; Khalid 1998, 2007; Northrop 2000; Kamp 2006; Kemper et al. 2010). Another common theme in Western Sovietology was scepticism regarding the viability of the assigned identities resulting from the national delimitation process. Many observers thought that these processes did not have a deep impact on the people and that the corresponding national identities could not survive without the authoritarian state that had created them (Bennigsen and Broxup 1983; Allworth 1990: 3–16). Such an approach is problematic, of course, because it implies that there are ‘real’ identities or ethnic groups that are not socially constructed. On the other side of the Iron Curtain, a distinct Soviet school, which remained largely unaffected by changing paradigms in the international anthropological community, evolved out of earlier forms of Russian ethnography. Here, studies on ethnicity operated within the framework developed by Julian Bromley and his colleagues at the Academy of Sciences (Bromley 1973). What they shared with Western Sovietology was a tendency to see ethnic groups and their boundaries as primordial givens that can be objectively determined. This situation has changed only partially in recent years. Detailed empirical studies are still comparatively few, as conditions for conducting fieldwork remain difficult. In recent years, a number of anthropological studies addressing various aspects of the transformation process in Central Asia have been completed, and some have been published. Key issues include the impact of economic change on local communities and social networks (Werner 1998; Zanca 1999, 2011; Finke 2004; Bichsel 2009; Ismailbekova 2011; Jacquesson 2011); the role of traditional institutions such as kinship or neighbourhood organizations (Abramson 1998; Massicard and Trevisani 2000; Pétric 2002; Gullette 2010; Turaeva 2010; Schröder 2011; Liu 2012); and the recurring importance of religion and identity politics and the influence of the nation-state (Schoeberlein 1994; Esenova 1998, 2002; Louw 2007; Reeves 2007; Ruffier 2007; Bellér-Hann 2008; Adams 2010; Sanders 2010; Rasanayagam 2011; Liu 2012). Concerning interethnic relations, in the early years of independence some authors predicted that a reversal of the Soviet hierarchy would lead the formerly

6   Variations on Uzbek Identity

colonized to try to suppress their former colonizers. Accordingly, rising tensions between Russians and the various Muslim groups were anticipated, particularly in Kazakstan (Bremmer 1994; Smith et al. 1998; Schatz 2000; Gumppenberg 2002). Disputes were expected to arise over resource distribution and access to key political positions. Relations among indigenous groups would be another potential source of conflict. Because national and state boundaries had been drawn more or less arbitrarily, creating divisions between segments of groups located on either side of them, ethnic entrepreneurs might be prone to challenge the political status quo. Scholars argued that the implementation and enforcement of national languages would become a key issue in this respect (Fierman 1991; Landau and Kellner 2001), because non-members of the titular nation would ultimately perceive themselves as second-class citizens. In this reading, primordial sentiments based on language, religion, ethnicity or ‘race’ are seen as overwhelming forces, guiding people in contemporary life. These sentiments are thought to have been suppressed during the Soviet period or to have appeared recently as a response to current economic and social crises. A different line of thought points to the generally weak concept of ethnicity in Central Asia. In pre-Soviet times, it is said, people often identified themselves either with larger units (such as Muslim or Turki) or with units smaller than the present ethnic group, e.g. regional or tribal communities (Gross 1992; Schoeberlein 1994; Akbarzadeh 1996b; Roy 2000; Koichiev 2003). Therefore, contemporary boundaries between ethnic groups are no less arbitrary than those between the (often not corresponding) states. For this reason, it is doubted whether these created identities have much significance for people today. This idea is particularly widespread in connection with the traditionally settled groups, i.e. the present-day Uzbeks and Tajiks. In the case of former pastoralists such as the Kyrgyz, Kazaks and Turkmens, scholars cite the destructive tendencies of tribalism in justifying their scepticism towards the possibility of establishing common national identities (Bremmer 1994; Hvoslef 1997; Schatz 2000, 2004; Collins 2006). Other studies, however, point out that clan structures may comprise a unifying dynamic as well as a divisive one (Esenova 2002; Gullette 2010). While there is certainly some truth to arguments citing the weakness of ethnic identities in Central Asia, the picture is somewhat more complicated. Ideas about larger ethnic unity in fact varied across the region. While some contemporary groups, as the Uzbeks, did not exist in their current form before the 1920s, others seem to have had a clear idea of commonality, even if this did not necessarily translate into political unity. Among the Kazaks, a strong concept of relatedness within a by and large linguistically homogeneous population is reported at least for the nineteenth century. According to contemporary authors, people originating from regions as far apart as the Caspian Sea and the Altay Mountains considered themselves to be cognates (Levshin 1832; Radloff 1884; Karutz 1911). Similar patterns, albeit with more internal differentiation, are described

Introduction   7

for other nomadic groups in the region, e.g. Turkmens and Kyrgyz (König 1962; Abramzon 1971; Edgar 2004). Among the sedentary groups, on the other hand, overarching ethnonyms such as Sart, Uzbek or Tajik were of minor significance – if they existed at all. Instead, regional denominations such as Bukharalik or Ferghanalik, which typically included all local groups, were of far greater importance (Chvyr 1993; Schoeberlein 1994; Fane 1996; Finke and Sancak 2002; Malikov 2004; Bellér-Hann 2008; Finke 2010). If and to what extent these categories are significant for people today is an empirical question this study attempts to address. Another prominent view, as mentioned above, attributes the current situation primarily to the Soviet national delimitation process during the early twentieth century. It claims that in a deliberate act of social or ethnic engineering, the central government in Moscow created boundaries and entities that had never existed in that particular form before. Some hold that this destroyed the potential for a larger Turkestani or Muslim unity. Others rather attest the forceful conjunction of heterogeneous groups into national categories like Uzbek. All this is certainly true to some degree, although with variants across the region. In this study, it will be argued that the impact of this nation building during the Soviet period may have been exaggerated and that besides the official labels, people continue to refer to other attachments as well.

The Uzbek Case Because of the size of the Uzbek population and its central location, their case is a particularly sensitive one in Central Asia. They constitute not only the largest indigenous group but also occupy an intermediary geographical and cultural position. In addition to dominating the state that sits in the very heart of the region, the Uzbeks also form a significant minority, often a local majority, in all neighbouring states. These minorities inhabit all major areas that are contiguous with Uzbekistan and usually form larger regional clusters with groups on the other side of the border (Schoeberlein 1994). The recent debates on Uzbekness focus primarily on three interrelated aspects. The first concerns the question of ‘Who were the Uzbeks in the first place?’ Obviously, there is a linguistic and cultural mismatch between the original bearers of the name, the Qipchaq-speaking nomadic conquerors, and the contemporary ethnic group. Advocates of the mainstream Soviet position asserted that the former merely gave their name to an entity that had already been established by the eleventh or twelfth century. Viewed from this perspective, Timur was indeed a kind of proto-Uzbek, no matter how he may have perceived himself. Other scholars have challenged this position, assigning a greater role to the last wave of nomadic conquerors (cf. chapter 1). This implies that the Uzbeks of today are primarily the descendants of the tribes that invaded the contemporary state territory in the early sixteenth century and displaced the previous population but

8   Variations on Uzbek Identity

adopted their cultural patterns (Montgomery 1979; Critchlow 1991; Fourniau 1992). In one of the most detailed (but also most criticized) analyses of Uzbek identity, Allworth clearly makes a case for the latter, not so much because he agrees with the demographic proportions, but because in his view a group is defined first of all by name, not by biological descent (1990: 36–43; 242–59). This also forces him to deny figures such as Timur or the poet Alisher Navoiy a prominent place in Uzbek history, a position shared by other authors as well (e.g. Bell 1999: 205).3 Second, and closely connected with ideas about ethnogenesis, is the fate of the concept of Uzbekness during the period of national delimitation. The process of creating an Uzbek natsionalnost’ (‘nationality’) in early Soviet times has been described as the most artificial in the region and as a deliberate act on the part of the authorities with little justification in pre-existing patterns of identity. As already mentioned, although the name as such had existed before, it had been used for self-designation only by a fraction of the ancestors of the present population. Ingeborg Baldauf (1991) views 1924 as the year in which the Uzbek nation was born, because only by that time had its name, boundaries and cultural content been determined (see also Akbarzadeh 1996b). Until then, hardly anything existed that could be called a common identity, and boundaries among various groups were, at best, fuzzy (Naby 1993; Roy 2000). Because of the ambiguous connotations of the term ‘Sart’ and the Pan-Turkic associations that might have been implied with the term ‘Turk’, the selection of ‘Uzbek’ made political sense, Baldauf suggests, even though it seemed arbitrary with regard to the selfidentification of people. For Allworth, a more convincing and successful choice would have been a common Turkestani identity. This, however, was discarded by the authorities for ideological and strategic reasons. At the same time, Turkmen and Kazak antipathy for ‘Uzbek’ dominance was fostered and the ‘fruitful old Tajik-Sart-Uzbek symbiosis’ was destroyed (Allworth 1990: 208). The strength of this larger Turkestanian identification is, however, highly disputed. The same is true for the extent of Pan-Islamic sentiment in Central Asia directed against the Russian centre (Lubin 1981; Bennigsen and Boxrup 1983; Carlisle 1994). More recent studies throw doubt on the significance of these trans-regional identities (Gross 1992; Schoeberlein 1994; Roy 2000; Koichiev 2003). Thirdly, there is a growing body of literature on contemporary Uzbek identity. Frequently, attention is drawn to the seemingly anomalous case of a nation that precedes the nationalist movement that seeks to promote it. In Uzbekistan, in contrast to most postcolonial settings, nationalist sentiments are created by the state, not against it (Kurzman 1999). In this way, nationalism primarily becomes a tool for elites to legitimize their regime (Akbarzadeh 1996b). The other issue is the degree to which officially prescribed categories have superseded earlier ones (Schoeberlein 1994). Several authors conclude that the very idea of ‘nationality’ for people in Uzbekistan does not refer to an ethnic group as much as to the

Introduction   9

native population in general (Koroteyeva and Makarova 1998). Historically, so says John Schoeberlein (1996: 13), Uzbek as a category had always included the members of the various Uzbek tribes as well as the subjects of an Uzbek dynasty. These findings are in accordance with the argument of this study, although one should remain aware of regional variations (see chapters 2, 4 and 5). Concerning minority relations in contemporary Central Asia, many authors believe that those between Uzbeks and Tajiks are particularly precarious and may prove decisive for the future of the whole region (Subtelny 1994; Foltz 1996; Roy 2000). According to this view, Soviet elites had always favoured the Uzbeks over other Central Asian groups, particularly the Tajiks. Indeed, it is hard to deny that there is some truth in this, in light of the territories assigned respectively to Uzbekistan and Tajikistan in the 1920s – those assigned to the latter were primarily mountainous hinterlands. In order to make the borders look plausible, authorities forced the majority of Tajik speakers in cities such as Bukhara and Samarqand to register as Uzbeks (Allworth 1990; Subtelny 1994). Other authors, however, ascribe the ongoing Turkification or Uzbekization to the ambiguity or fragility of Tajik identity (Atkin 1992; Chvyr 1993; Akbarzadeh 1996b; Fragner 1998; Roy 2000; Wennberg 2002).4 In fact, in most parts of Central Asia, Uzbeks and Tajiks reportedly feel closer to each other than any other two groups do (Kennedy 2000). It will be shown in this study that different regional answers exist to these questions. While in some settings both categories tend to conflate and almost form one bilingual entity, in others they perceive each other as more or less close but distinct ethnic groups.

Theoretical Concepts Defining Identity A part of these disagreements is related to the fact that the term identity itself is often not clearly defined and used rather arbitrarily as a ‘black box’ to be filled with anything vaguely connected with what people ‘are’, perceive themselves to be or are forced to do. Many studies talk about changes of identity in such diverse situations as people migrating, becoming assimilated, or obtaining a new passport. External forces and opportunistic strategies, as well as emotional attachments to others, are all subsumed under the same category. The vagueness of the concept has in recent years initiated a debate on whether the term should be abandoned altogether, without, however, suggesting much of any alternative (Handler 1994; Brubaker and Cooper 2000; Sökefeld 2001).5 For some authors, identity refers to a property of individuals that accounts for their uniqueness and their continuity as persons. This harkens back to an earlier psychoanalytic understanding of identity as a personal attribute, which, buried deep in the unconscious, is both durable and largely unaffected by subsequent events (Eriksson 1959). Identity is thus defined as the ‘subjective sense

10   Variations on Uzbek Identity

of continuous existence and a coherent memory’ on the part of a particular individual (Eriksson 1968: 61). In approaches of a more sociological nature, identity is understood as one’s sense of sameness with respect to others or one’s social surroundings (Jenkins 1996). In this view, identity sometimes becomes the property of a group and refers to commonalities or categories rather than personal orientations. Separately, neither approach can account for the importance that identity has in social life. Nor are they incompatible, but rather complementary (Hogg et al. 1995). As the property of individuals, identities still have to be recognized by others to make them meaningful. And they are often made visible (voluntarily or not) by external markers such as a passport, a particular type of clothing, an accent or skin colour. Identities are thus always social. People may try to develop distinct identities at various points in their lives, but these make little sense as long as others stubbornly resist applying them. Social identity is our understanding of who we are and of who other people are, and reciprocally, other people’s understanding of themselves and of others (which includes us). (Jenkins 1996: 5) In other words, identity is defined as how people locate themselves within the social world in relation to others. It refers to situations in which people believe themselves to be and want to be associated with particular others. As such, it is a constant process of negotiation. For this reason, some authors rather prefer to use the term identification in referring to an individual’s group attachment, because it places emphasis on an ongoing process that is subject to constant change (Schlee 2000, 2003). However, whether and how external ascriptions become internalized – influencing human behaviour and creating an emotional attachment to social groups or categories on the part of the individual – must be explained rather than taken for granted. Ethnicity then refers to a specific type of identity, namely the identification of individuals with particular social groups. Usually, these groups propagate an ideology of shared culture and common origin without necessarily providing genealogical evidence. Ethnicity is thus a process of cultural differentiation into ‘us’ and ‘them’ (Elwert 1989; Eriksen 1993; Orywal and Hackstein 1993). It is based on a plurality of cultural markers such as language and religion, which can be arranged in multiple ways. Ethnicity therefore evades a narrow definition by traits (Schlee 2003). Does this create multiple identities? I believe this term to be unfortunate as it entails a connotation of split consciousness. Obviously, in daily life, individuals often associate with different and sometimes overlapping groups (Schlee 2000, 2004). This may lead to contradictions, because different affiliations seem incompatible, at least in the eyes of the respective individuals and their counterparts. But, more often, complex identities are formed, which do not

Introduction   11

necessarily need to be perceived as separate or contradictory (e.g. being at once a Muslim, a Soviet and an Uzbek).6

Debating Ethnicity: Primordialists and Situationalists The theoretical debates on ethnicity within anthropology are typically subsumed under the heading of primordialism versus instrumentalism (or situationalism). Much of this debate was one of mutual misunderstandings and simplifications. While many of the basic propositions sound somewhat trivial today, they nevertheless form the basis of most later approaches. Therefore, this section starts with a brief summary of my reading of the major issues in this debate that prepare the ground for other approaches to be introduced. The primordialist position goes back to the work of Shils (1957) and was later elaborated by Geertz (1963, 1973) and Isaacs (1975). According to these authors, the attachment to ethnic groups is of overwhelming power because it is based on an idea of common origin and shared culture as a given of social existence. Ethnic identity thus refers to cultural differences among groups that are persuasive and perceived as insurmountable. These differences are more or less shared by all members of the respective group who acquire them quasi by birth (Isaacs 1975). Many critics have certainly overstated the static nature of this approach. Resorting to primordial sentiments to explain the strength of group boundaries does not necessarily imply that these differences are innate – in fact most primordialists would probably deny this – but that ethnic actors perceive them as such (see also Geertz 1973). What is central therefore is the belief in a common origin that implies a particular type of being and behaving, and the similarity if not parity of these characteristics over generations (Horowitz 1985). There exist several variants of primordialist theories relevant in this context. One is the sociobiological approach of Pierre van den Berghe. He argues that it proved adaptive for humans to develop an attitude of exclusion towards others, because, on the whole, co-ethnics share more genes than they do with members of other ethnic groups (van den Berghe 1978, 1981, 1986). Building on this, evolutionary psychologists such as Francisco Gil-White believe that ethnic groups are universally perceived as the equivalent of species that are fundamentally distinct from others. Again, this implies only that primordialism is an emic concept, as Gil-White would say, to describe ethnic boundaries – but one that proves successful in evolutionary terms, as it reduces the risk of ill-fated alliances (Gil-White 1999, 2001). This study will show that we should entertain serious doubts about an universal emic primordialism as part of our genetic makeup. In fact, I will argue that this is only one possible way of seeing the world, which is based on a particular cognitive schema, namely one where group belonging and personhood are understood as having genetic roots. The data presented in this book will indicate that this is not part of a universal human disposition but the result of a specific,

12   Variations on Uzbek Identity

while perhaps widespread, cultural understanding with the territorial concept described for most Uzbeks serving as an alternative model. A different type of primordialism is the ‘ethnos theory’ of Soviet anthropology. Since the 1960s, Yulian Bromley and his colleagues from the Ethnography Department of the Academy of Sciences in Moscow, building on the ideas of Shirokogoroff (1935), have been developing a model that arranges ethnic entities in a hierarchical series based on criteria such as economic development, common territory or sociopolitical organization. According to this model, ethnic groups are more or less fixed entities that develop over time around a stable core of people and characteristics. Economic processes expose them to change but do not affect the ethnos as such, which is largely endogamous. Self-identification plays a rather marginal role in this model. The label ‘nation’ is reserved for the most advanced societies (politically, those which achieve a state or a Soviet republic of their own). The less developed societies are described as ‘nationalities’ (natsionalnost’ ), peoples and ‘small peoples’ (narodnost’ ), and ‘ethnic’ or ‘ethnographic groups’ (Bromley 1973; see also Tokarev 1964; Cheboksarov 1967; Bromley and Kozlov 1989).7 Because it corresponded to the categories of official policies pertaining to nationalities, Soviet ethnographers had to conform to a certain degree to this general model. The classic monographs, therefore, usually treated each group as a distinct and clearly separable unit, as in the works by Zhdanko (1950) on the Karakalpaks, by Abramzon (1971) on the Kyrgyz or by Vainshtein (1980) on the Tuvans. Not only were ethnic groups considered to be ‘natural’ units, as they were in much Western anthropological thought until the 1960s, they also were treated as being more or less unaffected by their relations with the outside world, at least until the arrival of the Russians in the late nineteenth century. In contrast to the various strands of primordialist thought, situationalists stress the ambiguity of ethnic boundaries. Already in the 1950s, Edmund Leach and representatives of the Manchester school had challenged the idea of neatly bounded groups, each with one culture and one identity (Leach 1954; Mitchell 1956; Gluckman 1958; R. Cohen 1978; Epstein 1978). In the following decades, more and more empirical data raised questions about the primordialist paradigm, which seemed to be too rigid. In many settings throughout the world, individuals were recognized as having ambiguous, multiple or changing affiliations (A. Cohen 1969, 1974; Patterson 1976; Eller and Coughlan 1993). On the basis of this insight, a number of diverse approaches have been developed. One line of thought, sometimes referred to as constructivist, focuses mainly on the discursive aspect of identities and their negotiation among actors (Comaroff 1996; Yeros 1999). Those working in a purely instrumentalist tradition focus on the strategic choices that individuals make in pursuit of their own interests, or on the manipulative strategies of members of political elites who are attempting to mobilize a following (A. Cohen 1969; Patterson 1976; R.

Introduction   13

Cohen 1978). This approach is used in explaining why ethnic identities become particularly vivid in new urban contexts where political and economic resources are scarce and selectively distributed (Mitchell 1956; A. Cohen 1974). In these approaches, comparatively little importance is attributed to cognitive and emotional factors. The single most influential (or at least most widely quoted) work on ethnicity is without doubt Fredrik Barth’s introduction to Ethnic Groups and Boundaries (1969). In this text, Barth argues strongly against understanding ethnic groups as natural entities. Rather, cultural differences may persist in spite of intensive social interaction among groups. In fact, according to Barth, the function of the boundaries is precisely to structure intergroup interaction. Differences may be emphasized or downplayed depending on the relationship envisioned. Thus, the main criterion becomes the self-ascription of actors to specific groups and recognition of this on the part of others. The focus of attention, therefore, should be ‘the ethnic boundary that defines the group, not the cultural stuff that it encloses’ (1969: 15; emphasis in original). It is group membership as such that determines which roles individuals are required to play and which partners they should choose for specific transactions. For this reason, identity markers of an ethnic group are often most clearly articulated not in the ‘centre’ but at the group’s margins, where interaction with others is most intense. Interestingly, while Barth is usually cited as a milestone in the establishment of an instrumental approach to ethnicity, others consider him to be more of a primordialist (e.g. A. Cohen 1974; Banks 1996). Possibly, this is because Barth recognized the deficiencies of both approaches more clearly than some of the later writers. Certainly, the earlier primordialist idea of ethnic units as firmly established and difficult to transcend is empirically untenable (Gladney 1998; Lentz 1998, 2000; Gorenburg 1999; Rao 1999; Ev. Karagiannis 2003). A rigidly instrumentalist approach, however, tends to underestimate the emotional strength that group membership may exert, irrespective of the factual degree of difference. Ethnic boundaries often show remarkable stability, in spite of changes of personnel, and in many cases individuals retain their established identities, even in cases in which it would be both possible and advantageous to change them. One explanation for this resistance is that changes of group affiliation must make sense to other social actors (Schlee 1989). As will be outlined below, apart from the influences of social pressures and political forces, collective identities are based on cognitive models, some of which may be more amenable to change than others. Authors such as Georg Elwert and Günther Schlee have taken up Barth’s ideas and elaborated on them. According to Elwert (1989), many ethnic groups were created by colonial powers, where regional, kin-organized communities or age-sets had previously structured social interaction (see also Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983). Following Barth, Elwert considers the act of drawing boundaries as the prime issue in identity making, and he argues that such processes be-

14   Variations on Uzbek Identity

come more accentuated in times of crisis and rapid change, when individuals seek meaning in a complex social world. Thus, boundaries that separate groups for which different ‘rules of the game’ apply may become more pronounced (Elwert 1989; Waldmann and Elwert 1989). Schlee has written extensively on multiple and overlapping identities in Northeast Africa, where joint clan membership can override ethnic identities if they are more advantageous in a given situation. However, opportunistic self-interest has its limits and claims on relatedness must also be based on actual historical ties. In the East African context, transethnic clans are often older than the ethnic groups they constitute; a fact reflected in common rituals, social networks and cultural patterns. If these entities had no basis in historical reality, appeals for mutual support would hardly be accepted by clan brothers in other ethnic groups (Schlee 1989).

Individual Decisions and Social Institutions Some of the instrumentalists, most notably Abner Cohen and Fredrik Barth, lean towards arguments borrowed (consciously or unconsciously) from rational choice theory. Michael Hechter (1986, 1987) and Michael Banton (1994), however, seek to apply a rational choice approach to ethnicity studies in a much more systematic way. In their view, people make (more or less) calculated decisions concerning their social affiliations based on what they believe will be advantageous for them, with the expectation that any resulting restriction of options will be outweighed by the benefits of long-term and stable relationships. Alternatively, interethnic relations can be analysed primarily in terms of conflicts over the distribution of resources (Banton 1997). The meaning of social groups, according to Hechter (1987), is grounded in the problem of collective action. In situations in which everyone would profit from achieving a particular goal through joint activity, the temptation is high to let others do the work. When goals have the character of public goods, it is difficult to exclude ‘free riders’, who have not participated in its supply, from the resulting benefits. Quite often, the consequence is that the collective action and the public good it was supposed to create do not materialize. Preconditions for overcoming problems of free riding include, according to Hechter (1986, 1987), emotional ties to specific groups and clear mechanisms for excluding outsiders. Identity plays a crucial role here. When group membership is clearly defined and conspicuous, and when mutual relationships are dense and multidimensional, both social pressure and processes of identification can be expected to be relatively intense. This book draws upon Barth, Hechter and others, but follows a slightly different approach. Building on rational choice theory and new institutional economics, I propose to look at social groups first and foremost as institutional frameworks. Apart from being aggregates of individuals, social groups also constitute a kind of charter or a set of general guidelines for proper behaviour both within and outside of their boundaries. The basic assumption is that social groups

Introduction   15

owe their existence to the need for institutional frameworks within which people can interact with a reasonable degree of safety. As such, they prescribe particular forms of conduct (including particular forms of linguistic behaviour) and thus provide a measure of reliability, even though the corresponding rules of conduct will never be followed completely. Conducting trade with a co-ethnic or promising him one’s daughter for marriage increases the probability that certain standards will be followed. In other words, being a member of a specific group lowers transaction costs and fosters the provision of public goods (Hechter 1987; Coleman 1990; Landa 1994). In its most general form, rational choice theory starts from the assumption that individual actors with particular aims and particular resources will try to invest these means in order to optimize their overall outcome (Voss 1985; Coleman 1990; Esser 1990; Becker 1999; Diekmann and Voss 2004). Of central importance is the concept of utility, which describes the subjectively defined aims that humans have and strive for. These do not have to be material but may include social relations or altruistic behaviour. Whatever an actor’s preference, it is assumed that he will allocate resources so as to reach an optimal balance among divergent aims. In the context of anthropology, rational choice theory has been adopted primarily to explain issues of economic exchange, the composition of social networks and the conditions of warfare (Ensminger 1992; Görlich 1993; Schweizer 1996; Finke 2004; Helbling 2006). Ultimately, in this model, social order is the result of repeated interaction among self-interested actors (Coleman 1990; Schweizer 1996; Diekmann and Voss 2004). The choice of specific strategies, however, never takes place in a social vacuum but is exposed to various constraints. Actors usually find themselves in situations of mutual interdependency, which are often characterized by a lack of information about the strategies of others. An optimal investment of resources is therefore usually impossible. In game theory, these situations are modelled as so-called dilemmas (Görlich 1992; Ostrom 1992). Most famous is the prisoners’ dilemma, in which mutual co-operation would lead to the optimal result for all participants, but the lack of information about the strategies of others can lead to a situation where everyone defects because unilateral co-operation would be the worst choice (Axelrod 1984). This is believed to be a fundamental issue in all transactions with strangers. Thus, association with others is fundamental to any social interaction. And as long as people believe themselves to be in an iterated game (as part of a group), co-operation may be the more beneficial strategy and create an equilibrium based on reciprocity (Ullmann-Margalit 1977; Hardin 1982; Axelrod 1984; Taylor 1992; Ostrom 2000). To be able to identify others as potential co-operators – because they disclose themselves as ‘being of the same kind’ – will then greatly decrease the danger of suffering a loss. The argument put forward here is thus that social groups provide benefits to their members, and individuals recognize this. Their size and membership will

16   Variations on Uzbek Identity

change with the relative benefits that a given group can offer when compared with other entities. At the same time, some stability is needed, as sudden changes might endanger identification with the group. It is a precondition of the group’s ability to function that members are recognizable and predictable in their behaviour. In this case, the previous experiences of individuals within the group are to some degree applied to those members with whom no history of interaction exists. In a way, this is a different interpretation of the ‘imagined community’ (Anderson 1983). People believe that members of one’s group will behave in a generally agreed-upon way and therefore adopt specific strategies. A change in group size or composition therefore brings both advantages and dangers. A larger group implies more players applying the same rules of the game and striving for more or higher-valued public goods (or land and property owned by others). At the same time, the larger or less coherent group is more vulnerable to free riding because supervision and incentives for punishment are reduced (Schlee 2003). The consequence may be less binding and less clearly defined institutions, and a lower degree of co-operation within the group (Diekmann and Voss 2004). Therefore, actors often have an interest in keeping the number of members in their groups small. This is clearly the case with lobbies of various kinds or (religiously or otherwise defined) prestige groups in society. In a similar way, kinship is a system that by definition restricts membership in various ways, one important purpose of which is to increase predictability. This is where institutions come into play – the ‘rules of the game’, as they are called by Douglas North (1990: 3). In the different schools that make up the new institutionalism, these come in various forms, ranging from conventions and everyday norms of conduct to highly formalized systems, such as the market economy, property rights, kinship structures, religious systems and the state. It is important to note that institutional frames contain not only the rules but also the extent of compliance and non-compliance, as well as the probability of sanctioning misconduct, which is anticipated by actors and thus constitutes part of their strategic accounts (North 1990; Ensminger 1992; Ostrom 1992). Institutions are ‘standardized patterns of behaviour’, as Schweizer (1996: 31) defines them, that help people to make reasonable assumptions about each other’s strategies and the consequences of one’s own behaviour. At the heart of new institutional economics is the concept of transaction costs, which arise out of the exchange of goods and services among actors. These include the search for information on prices, qualities, measurement and potential exchange partners, as well as the costs for negotiation, supervision and enforcement of agreements (Williamson 1985; Eggertsson 1990; North 1990). Institutions are thus responses to dilemma situations that would otherwise impede the co-operation of self-interested actors. Their main function is to establish expectations about the future behaviour of other actors and to create some degree of predictability in social interaction (North 1990; Knight and Sened 1995), not

Introduction   17

because adherence to the rules is the most beneficial strategy for each and every actor, but rather because their disregard would provoke non-cooperation by others (Knight 1992). Therefore, the stability of institutions is not so much based on a general satisfaction but on the fact that, for the individual actor, non-compliance is the least advantageous strategy, as it may imply the end of the game and exclusion from any repeated interaction with others (Knight 1992; Ostrom 1992). For the same reason, however, institutions have a somewhat ambiguous character. To function, they have to endure, as this is the main mechanism that persuades actors to play according to the rules. At the same time, self-interested individuals always have the incentive to change institutional designs to promote their own interests (Knight 1992). Any change of individual belonging or group boundaries may thus be seen as a disregard of institutional compliance and potentially a change of the overall framework. Therefore, while people may often have good reasons for switching, others equally have an interest in preventing them to do so, as any change in group size and power distribution will affect some others adversely.

The Cognition of Identity Clearly, individual and collective benefits of various kinds, economic as well as non-economic, represent important incentives for people and influence the ways in which individuals attach themselves to others. A change of group membership may, however, often be hampered by social pressures or for ideological reasons. These have been underestimated by most of rational choice theory, as has the importance of norms, values and emotional ties in influencing people’s behaviour.8 Attempts have been made to counter these criticisms by introducing the concept of ‘bounded rationality’ that gives credit to both the limited cognitive abilities of humans and their general preference for risk-reducing (rather than profit-maximizing) strategies (Simon 1957; Tversky and Kahnemann 1986; Eggertsson 1990; Esser 1990). At the same time, in real life, people co-operate much more frequently than game theoretical models would predict (Diekmann and Voss 2004). One promising way to move beyond the limitations of rational choice theory is by complementing it with insights from cognitive anthropology. Here, the focus is on general models of human cognition and how it influences behaviour or the way we actually make decisions. The last decades have seen the rise of schema theory as the dominant stream in cognitive science. Schemas are understood as cultural models that organize the manner in which people experience and categorize the world, and as such provide people with clues on how to behave in particular situations or on how to imagine (ethnic) others to behave (D’Andrade 1996). Although these models are culturally shaped, the idea of a schema is based on a belief in the universal functioning of the human mind (Holland and Quinn 1987; D’Andrade 1996; Strauss and Quinn 1997; Bloch 1998).

18   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Similar to institutions, schemas occupy an intermediate position in the debate over structure and agency. As models of the human mind, they are ultimately properties of an individual, but are shared to a large degree by those who have experienced a similar socialization. As the product of individual life experience, however, they only partly overlap within a given society and reflect internal differentiations. Schemas are built on memories of past events but also generate expectations for the future. They are activated when specific situations are encountered, to which they provide the interpretative frame (D’Andrade 1996). If one had to explain everything at each encounter, human interaction would simply be impossible. People who share a schema can leave out much of the background information for a given event. The job of schemas, then, is to organize related pieces of information into a meaningful image of a situation. Schemas are thus shaped by experience, but they are also sensitive to activity and learning. As such they are not fixed, but vary depending on the context as ‘any given event can lead to different outcomes’ (Strauss and Quinn 1997: 53). The neurological model behind schema theory is called connectionism. Schemas are not sets of sentences stored in the brain but are networks of processing units. In a given event, all neuronal networks with similar features are activated and activate each other. These then send signals to other networks with which a history of connectedness exists. The signals are received, newly combined and sent on to other connected neurons. Meaning comes from thousands of parallel connecting actions until a threshold is reached that will initiate a certain type of behaviour. Because the concrete connections are always dependent on the input in the first place, they are flexible to some degree. With each new experience, the connections between neuronal networks change or intensify, which is why we learn to adapt our knowledge to new situations. In this model, cognition is thus basically patterns of interaction among connected neural units. These take place in the human mind but are initiated by external events (D’Andrade 1996; Strauss and Quinn 1997). There are, however, limits to the flexibility of schemas. In particular, early childhood experiences are difficult to overcome, because they are strongly associated with feelings of security and survival. At the same time, they are often very much related to ideas about ‘us’ and ‘them’, on the one hand, and to appropriate behaviour, on the other. Due to the moral baggage that comes with these childhood experiences, early schemas tend to correspond to very stable goals that people strive for or disapprove of. As the development of ideas about oneself and others begins at a relatively early stage, social identities are not merely pure discourses with more or less arbitrary outcomes; rather, they often contain deep emotional attachments. Schemas are usually organized into larger classificatory systems. That is to say, there may be a schema for ‘table’, which includes different schemas for different types of tables but also is related to a larger schema of ‘furniture’. In contrast to a

Introduction   19

schema, a prototype is an individual phenomenon that is paradigmatic of a larger category, like ‘the table’, ‘the father’ or ‘the Uzbek’. Prototypes serve as points of reference for similar events or material objects that are part of the same schema (Lakoff and Johnson 1980; D’Andrade 1996). As such, they are instrumental in classifying objects encountered according to the memories stored in schemas. They are activated when an event or a person we meet resembles the prototype (D’Andrade 1996). If the event or person does not correspond to an expectation, people may either start to reverse their schema or fill in what is perceived to be ‘missing information’. Schemas that have been studied by anthropologists include such diverse issues as concepts of love and romance, the understanding of economic or political systems and negative stereotypes about members of other ethnic groups (Strauss and Quinn 1997). The latter presents an obvious example of a schema, as do ideas about oneself and those who are similar. The images of a ‘typical’ Uzbek, Kazak or Russian are schemas that people unconsciously have in mind most of the time when they interact with each other. As these schemas usually refer to a prototype first of all, they are not necessarily changed upon meeting an individual who does not totally conform to the schema we have in mind. The network of connectedness upon which they build may be modified but not destroyed. As mentioned above, ‘missing information’ can be added and may thus reinforce an interpretation that fits one’s schema rather than the actual event. This also explains the power of stereotypes when dealing with ethnic or social categories as they fulfil just this purpose (Levine 1999; Brubaker et al. 2004). … by behaving in a way that confirms others’ schemas about them, people often prompt responses from these others that reflect the others’ interpretations and that re-elicit, and thus reinforce, the same behaviour that confirmed the others’ schemas in the first place’. (Strauss and Quinn 1997: 92) The parallels between this definition of schemas and an institution are obvious. Both organize interaction with the outside world: institutions as generally agreedupon rules, and schemas as learned models to categorize phenomena. Both are not properties of groups but of individuals, although shared to some degree with others and ultimately representing the result of interactive processes. Both are thus able to achieve a balance between the obvious variability of human behaviour and the relative rigidity that social norms of conduct entail (Bloch 1998).

Ethnic Groups and the State Rational choice theory and the cognitive sciences tend to place the individual at the centre of attention. Individual decisions, however, are not made in a social and political vacuum. Apart from the cognitive parameters outlined above,

20   Variations on Uzbek Identity

in rational choice theory, concessions to a collective are usually explained as a long-term strategy, because deviance would impose future disadvantages on the individual. Any change of affiliation is thus never a totally voluntary decision in a world of power asymmetries. Variability and switches in identity are limited, because they have to be recognized by other actors, who may or may not be interested in accepting additional group members. In these processes, certain actors have more of a say than others, but there are nevertheless limitations to the extent to which identities can be manipulated. They can be influenced but not determined, as they also correspond to cognitive patterns both in the minds of those who manipulate them and those who are objects of manipulation. However, rational choice approaches as well as cognitive anthropology have a hard time explaining the duration of power asymmetries and ethnic hierarchies. Studies on the relationship between minorities and the nation-state are thus more often inspired by Marxist perspectives analysing the control of resources and the definition of boundaries by dominant groups (Horowitz 1985; Rex and Mason 1986; Toland 1993; Solomos and Les Black 1996; Comaroff and Comaroff 2009). The earlier-mentioned notion of a hegemonic discourse in the work of Gramsci has been frequently applied in such cases. According to this view, people are, more or less subtly, forced to accept a worldview that legitimizes the superiority of some actors by means of a complex structure of economic stratification and ideological indoctrination. But what exactly these mechanisms are, and how we can explain them in terms of individual motivations and the working of the human mind, without assuming that people are merely brainwashed by malicious elites is a different question hardly ever approached. In other words: why do people submit to institutional configurations and cognitive schemas that put them at a disadvantage? With regard to ethnicity studies, the concept of the nation-state is crucial. Relations between the state and ethnic groups are most commonly described through a distinction between majorities and minorities. In many settings these are relatively fixed categories, even if individuals may occasionally be able to switch. The very definition of both categories is, however, fundamentally a political one (Eriksen 1991, 1993; Bates 1994; Thompson 1997). Sometimes, numerical minorities may concentrate power due to the prestige they enjoy or because small groups have a higher degree of internal cohesion. In the context of Central Asia, the royal or religious lineages of töre and Khoja may serve as historical examples. In spite of many parallels, the fields of ethnicity and nationalism studies have remained largely separate realms. There are relatively few authors who try to integrate both topics explicitly (e.g. Smith 1986; Elwert 1989; Calhoun 1993; Eriksen 1993; Banton 1994; Banks 1996). The three authors most quoted by anthropologists studying nationalism, Ernest Gellner, Benedict Anderson and Eric Hobsbawm, do not pay that much attention to the existence and role of identity.

Introduction   21

According to them, nation-states may build on pre-existing ethnic traditions or not, but they are an inherently modern phenomenon. If some groups believe they are disadvantaged within a particular nation-state, incentives arise to strive for a separate polity, since this creates both new elite positions for their intellectuals and possibly industrial jobs as well (Gellner 1983; Hobsbawm 1990). As Anderson (1983) has shown, modern mass media played a key role in the rise of the nation-state, because it enabled people to imagine that they share ideas and experiences with others whom they had never directly encountered. In contrast to these authors, Anthony Smith defends the position of nations as the product of long historical processes and deep ethnic roots, arguing that shared memories and symbols are fundamental aspects of any nation. With a straightforward instrumental approach, as proposed by Gellner and Hobsbawm, it is difficult to explain what people are willing to sacrifice for the state they identify with (Smith 1986). From an institutional perspective, the state occupies an ambiguous position. It introduces new actors with their own utility functions and, particularly in multiethnic settings, has a tendency to favour some groups over others. On the other hand, the state can, once established and reasonably accepted, provide institutions or public goods at relatively low cost. And state elites also have an interest in the production of social order to increase their own revenue basis. If, however, political actors start to appropriate goods in a predatory manner, legitimacy will be shattered and the maintenance of the institutional framework will become more costly (Riker 1986; Eggertsson 1990; North 1990; North and Weingast 1996; Weimer 1997). This issue is of particular relevance in many post-socialist regions where the credibility of the state is low. In situations where formal institutions experience rapid change, they often find themselves in contradictory positions with expectations that persist due to local arrangements. Actors may sometimes be able to use this contradiction as a resource, but more often the consequences are detrimental to the interests of all. Conversely, informal institutions can also provide a source of stability in situations of fundamental social transformation, as is the case in the post-socialist world (Finke 2004). A very powerful argument in this respect comes from Jack Knight (1992). If institutions are the result of interaction among self-interested actors, they also reflect the existing power differences. Any institutional arrangement will therefore distribute costs and benefits unevenly throughout society. Institutions are thus often merely a by-product of distribution conflicts (Knight 1992; see also North 1990; Ensminger 1992; Ensminger and Knight 1997). After all, while interacting with others, people do not seek to create institutions but to achieve unilateral advantages. The aim of rational actors is to influence the decision-making of others in a way that supports their own objectives. They are able to do so depending on their respective bargaining power, which in turn is primarily determined by the actors’ endowment with economic, social and political resources. In particular,

22   Variations on Uzbek Identity

it is those resources that generate the dependency of other actors (e.g. being the owner of the only factory around or being responsible for defining the language of instruction at school) that enables individuals to enforce institutional arrangements favouring themselves (Knight 1992). A change of institutions inevitably implies a redistribution of costs and benefits within society, which will provoke the resistance of those who have profited from the previous regime. It is therefore very difficult to change an institutional setting against the will of existing elites as long as their resources maintain a high value (Knight 1992).9 In terms of identity, the relevant questions are, first, what prevents individuals from switching or groups from redefining boundaries, and, second, who is making the decisions for the maintenance or changing of content or boundaries. For every possible arrangement, there are individuals who benefit more than others. Who can enforce compliance on the part of members who might have preferred a different configuration (Schlee 2003)? It is clear that resource distribution in the widest sense plays an important role here. The possibility of excluding others from membership in particular groups, by ideological or material means, can have a tremendous impact on their livelihoods and force them to make wide-ranging compromises. Some groups in a society can force others to play according to their rules, as Glazer and Moynihan have already described (1976: 14).

Some Hypotheses Central to an understanding of identity must therefore be a balanced evaluation of the relationship between the flexibility and permeability of ethnic boundaries, on the one hand, and their relative stability, on the other, as well as the political and cognitive factors that account for the way people position themselves in respect to others. The traditional explanation of ethnic boundaries as either primordial, and thus almost impassable, or plainly instrumental, and thus open for nearly indefinite manipulations, is clearly too short sighted. Groups are not merely voluntary associations pursuing interests, but communities bounded by emotional attachments and sometimes forced upon its members by others (Epstein 1978; Eriksen 1993; Barth 1994). It has been stated that the basic hypothesis in this study is that social groups exist because they provide structural advantages for their members. Economically speaking, their function is to lower transaction costs in interactive processes and thus to create predictability in social action. Inevitably, some groups will do better in this and therefore attract members of other groups to join them. Any change of identity, however, is not without consequence and involves social and political as well as ideological or ‘cognitive’ costs, because people believe in the superiority of ‘their’ respective groups and the validity of norms and habits connected with them. The higher these costs are compared to perceived benefits, the lower the number of individuals changing their identity is to be expected. In ad-

Introduction   23

dition to ‘exit’ costs, there are ‘entrance’ costs, which also vary. Becoming an Uzbek involves less expense than, for example, becoming a Kyrgyz, because it does not necessitate an invention or manipulation of genealogical ties that constitute clan-based societies. Other factors that may hamper a change of group affiliation are ideological ones, e.g. perceptions of superiority or backwardness. Competition among identities may, of course, not only take place between groups of the same kind. Ethnic loyalties can often be outrivaled by kinship, physical proximity or class relations. And depending on the issue at stake, different strains of loyalty may be evoked in different constellations. For example, many Central Asians think of their Russian neighbour as a more reliable friend than most of their co-ethnics or kin, but would rarely allow him to marry one of their daughters. A second hypothesis is, therefore, that people will turn to those social attachments that help to reduce transaction costs and increase predictability most efficiently – which are not necessarily the ethnic attachments. This explains why individuals are often involved in mutually overlapping networks that maximize potential interactants, although they occasionally produce solidarity conflicts. In Central Asia, it seems to be the case that the more sedentary a society becomes, the more importance is given to identities based on locality rather than kin or ethnic commonality; conversely, when people move more frequently during the year or across generations, shared territoriality is less significant than genealogical ties. Thus, two characteristics of Uzbek identity, its adaptability and its attractiveness, are of key importance and closely related. It is precisely the flexibility of Uzbekness that facilitates a change of group affiliation. As Uzbekness takes on a different shape in each setting, incorporating elements of other local languages, cultures and social organizations, it is more accessible for those who choose to switch group affiliations, because it does not require that they change their entire way of life (which would result in ostracization from their previous community). At the same time, as proposed above, identities are also cultural models or schemas. A genealogical charter is not only a tool that can be used and dismissed as needed. People believe, and sometimes strongly, that patrilineal descent is the manner in which relations between humans are ordered and individual characteristics transmitted. It is not an easy task to change this perception. In this book, it will be argued that, apart from schemas that describe particular ethnic groups, a meta-schema of ethnicity or identity in general may also exist. Possibly, this is connected to other schemas that deal with kinship, family or territoriality. I will argue that this is why the very idea of what constitutes an ethnic group is different between, e.g. Uzbeks and Kazaks, to the degree that these schemas are shared within society. On the other hand, each schema is made up of connected subschemas: the one for ethnicity or for a particular ethnic group also activates ideas about intelligibility, religious affiliation, marriageability, trustworthiness and the like. How detailed and extensive the connectedness of the schema

24   Variations on Uzbek Identity

for a particular other is depends to a large degree on the frequency of encounters. Not all of these have to be physical. The continuous suspicion in the West that ‘Muslims’ or ‘Arabs’ pose a potential danger has probably created a much more elaborated schema for these people than, for example, for Ghanaians or Ukrainians, even if one has never seen members of any of these groups. State and media exert a tremendous influence on shaping ethnic relations and the images that people hold of each other. The definition of boundaries, of majorities and minorities, all impose costs on actors that influence their decisionmaking process. Depending on personal skills and social status, some individuals have more options to influence and manipulate the agenda of specific groups than others. Ethnic or national entrepreneurs, knowledgeable in the working of schemas and institutions, may use them for their own purposes (Schlee 2003). A manipulation may go as far as preventing people from making decisions by excluding all but one option, though this does not in itself determine the identity that they apply to themselves – people may follow rules without necessarily believing in them. Furthermore, as schemas constitute the background information upon which identities are based, they are not always conscious and thus not open to arbitrary manipulation. It will be argued below that it is not a coincidence that the concept of nationhood is very different in Uzbekistan than in other states in the region and correlates with general ideas about group affiliation and the transmission of personhood that are, to a large degree, shared by the national elites and the rest of the population. One could speculate as to whether the different attitudes that the states of Uzbekistan and Kazakstan exhibit towards their respective diasporas abroad may, at least partly, be explained by recourse to these distinct cognitive models (see chapter 1).

Methodological Approach While these theoretical lines may hint towards a rather rigid methodological procedure, ‘positivist’ as some may call it, this is true only to a very limited degree. One reason for this is that I am fully in line with authors like Maurice Bloch (1998) or Patrick Heady (1999) who see the strength of anthropology irrespective of its analytical objective in the traditional form of participant observation. This is as true for understanding cognitive processes or analyzing rational behaviour as it is for any other aspect of anthropological inquiry. The second reason is political. Carrying out field research in Uzbekistan was not particularly easy, for a number of reasons. One is the country’s regime that tries to control every step taken by foreigners, especially outside the capital and the major tourist centres. Local police and the secret service in these less-visited areas were usually the first to learn of one’s arrival and eager to check passports and other documents. Eventually, they advise foreigners to head for the nearest

Introduction   25

larger town. In light of these constraints, my affiliation with IFEAC, attached to the French Embassy in Tashkent, proved very helpful. But IFEAC’s assistance alone would not have made it any easier to travel and talk with people at my own discretion; the next important step was in most cases an official introduction to the local or regional administrations. All of them were helpful, especially when I explained my interest in their respective districts. The choice of a particular smaller setting within the district was usually a joint one, based on a description of my preferences and the information and access that the authorities were willing to allow. I was then brought into contact with the head of the respective rural community, who helped to find appropriate families to stay with. Political considerations clearly played a role here, but local authorities appeared to be more concerned about the physical and intellectual well-being of their guests. Therefore, the usual choice was an upper-middle-class family with an academic background, i.e. teachers, physicians and the like. For poor families, my stay would certainly have been a major burden, in view of the demands of hospitality associated with having guests in their home. Nevertheless, the police and the secret service kept a close eye on what I was doing, or at least until they were convinced that my research did not pose a serious threat. Several people reported that they were interviewed the day after they had talked to me, to ensure that my research posed no challenge to the integrity of the state. The degree of control varied and was usually more pronounced in border areas. For similar reasons, it was difficult to employ any kind of quantitative or, indeed, any kind of systematic methods because the information had to be recorded in some way, and both interviewees and officials appeared highly suspicious of anything that looked like it could be tracked down at a later date. This applied to taped interviews and to any other kind of visible activity, such as mapping a village or counting households. Most of the interviews and casual conversations were conducted in Uzbek. As I spoke Turkish and Kazak before I started this project, it did not take long to acquire at least passive skills in this language and within some months I was able to express myself as well. In interaction with Kazaks and Karakalpaks in the Xo‘jayli site, as well as with some of the Kyrgyz in the Ferghana Valley, I spoke Kazak. This book benefited greatly from collaboration with my wife, Meltem Sancak, who at the same time conducted research for her PhD thesis on the interrelatedness of economic processes, social identities and the formation or regrouping of solidarity networks in Bukhara and the Ferghana Valley. In a social setting where gender relations are marked by a rather rigid segregation, each of us would have researched little more than a half-society if it were not for the exchange of ideas and experiences we shared. When visiting families together, we were usually separated upon entering the courtyard and did not see each other again until leaving.

26   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Thus, mutual communication over topics of concern to both of us provided a fundamental basis for making each of the studies possible. The four case studies included in this work investigate the way Uzbek identity is formulated within specific local ethnic configurations. Many of the other relevant groups (e.g. Tajiks and Kazaks) live in several sites, so that findings from one place can in turn be contrasted to some degree with those from others. This also allowed for a more systematic comparison of social and cognitive variables and their influence on identity. For reasons of comparability, it was important that all sites were similar in terms of economic, political and social variables. As the research depended on participant observation to a large extent, a rural setting seemed the most appropriate, because it enabled more intimate and repeated contact with individuals who themselves enjoy close interaction with each other. In each district, I focused on one of the former state or collective enterprises (typically, two or three of them made up one municipality). These tended to be multiethnic and thus provided a good research framework. Depending on the respective configuration, neighbouring communities were also visited. In each of the four settings, the main issues examined included three principal levels: • conceptualization of group boundaries within and beyond the respective setting; • spheres of social interaction, including settlement patterns, language use, intermarriage and resource distribution; • change and transmission of group affiliation and identity. In light of the comparative intent of this book, a more systematic collection of data might have been desirable, but proved impossible for the reasons outlined above. Participant observation was a fundamental tool in examining ethnic demarcations and their relevance in everyday life, public as well as private. Intimate knowledge of local circumstances and close acquaintances with people enabled me to collect data of a very different kind than that encountered in most of the literature on this topic to date. Further, participant observation is believed by some authors to be the approach best suited to understanding the cognitive models that underlie the motives of people’s behaviour, because they are not necessarily conscious or memorized in language (Bloch 1998). Besides participant observation, a number of other methods were adopted: Semi- and unstructured interviews proved to be fruitful because informants usually felt much more comfortable in less formal interview situations. This included countless conversations and more or less formal talks with local officials and other villagers, male and female, although contact with the latter was more limited.

Introduction   27

Life histories were one particular type of interview that produced important insights. They were particularly helpful for understanding processes of identity change both on the individual level and within a wider context. They often went hand in hand with village histories and discussions on political and social change as perceived by the interviewees. Again, it was usually not advisable to try to record them, not because this would be refused, which was rarely the case, but because it radically changed the character of the interview. Genealogies helped to check the data collected in life histories in that they provided information on the remembered composition of families and kin networks. They also produced data on the perception and generational depth of kinship structures. For the purpose of this project, they have been particularly helpful, because they indicate the extent of ethnically mixed marriages and families over time. Cognitive tests are supposed to detect patterns in how people categorize their social world in terms of similarities and differences. While triads are particularly helpful in measuring closeness among various categories, pile sorting is used to discover the categories in which phenomena are grouped together.10 Thus, they can aid in determining how the social or ethnic world is organized. For this book, they yielded interesting data on how ethnic boundaries are conceptualized and related to other entities. Due to their very formal character, however, it was only possible to do cognitive tests with a small group of people, with whom I had established a relatively close relationship. In one of the settings, it proved impossible to employ this method at all. The information contained in the cognitive tests is thus of a different kind than usually ascribed to them. Instead of systematic ideas about categorizations of phenomena within a society, here they represent individual case studies. Local statistics provided information on a variety of topics, including demographic changes, marriage patterns and economic performance. In most settings, access was severely limited when the local or national government deemed any of the information to be of a sensitive nature. Furthermore, the available statistics proved to be flawed, insofar as the individual figures that I was allowed to collect often did not add up to the official totals. Archives presented a similar problem, as regional locations in particular were not usually open to the public, although in some places, historical accounts or booklets written by local scholars or journalists were available.

Notes   1. Throughout this study, unless otherwise indicated, the term Uzbek refers to the ancestors of those people who call themselves Uzbeks today. Accordingly, the term Uzbekization refers to the adoption not of the original Uzbek dialect or pastoral way of life but of a

28   Variations on Uzbek Identity cultural pattern that is characterized by a sedentary lifestyle, a non-tribal social organization, an emphasis on Islamic values, and an East-Turkic language. In fact, the Uzbeks of that former time would have been the ones mainly affected by the Uzbekization in the above-mentioned sense (see chapter 1).   2. The prime exceptions to this were Tajikistan, where a devastating civil war took place from 1992 to 1997 (Atkin 1994; Akbarzadeh 1996; Djalili et al. 1998; Dudoignon 1998) and southern Kyrgyzstan, which has seen a series of outbreaks of violence (Ismailbekova and Roche 2010; Pétric 2010; Reeves 2010; McBrien 2011; Megoran 2011).   3. Allworth believes that the Soviet preference for the Timurids over the Shaybanids was due to the fact that the former fought the Golden Horde, the archenemy of the Russian Empire (1990: 242–59).   4. A parallel can be seen in neighbouring northern Afghanistan, where the term Tajik has been similarly vague and ambiguous up to the present day (Roy 1992).   5. For a review of the changing meaning of the term, see Gleason (1983). The most recent – and very inspiring – contribution to overcome the terminological misery of imprecisely used and largely overlapping concepts like identity, personhood or self is an article by Maurice Bloch titled ‘The blob’ (2011).   6.������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ Others have referred to this as dimensions of identity, which may include language, religion or being sedentary versus nomadic (Schlee 2000, 2004).   7. The school of Bromley has been challenged more recently by authors such as Khazanov (1993, 1995) and Tishkov (1997, 1998). According to them, the ‘ethnos’ theory also proved a convenient tool for nationalist rhetoric in many of the Soviet successor states, including Russia.   8. For a critique on rational choice approaches to ethnicity, see Maleševic (2002). For a more general discussion, see Hogarth and Reder (1986), Cook and Levi (1990), Friedman (1996) and Boudon (2003).   9. These ideas partly build on a Marxist tradition within rational choice theory (Elster 1982; 1985; Przeworski 1985; Roemer 1988). 10. In triads, informants are given three events or phenomena and asked to choose the one, which is least similar. Pile sorting tells people to group a larger number of categories into clusters of variable size. This is repeated until the informant believes they cannot be further divided into smaller or united into larger units (D’Andrade 1996; Bernard 2002).

Chapter 1

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks From Nomadic Conquerors to Post-socialist Farmers Nomads and Sedentaries in Central Asia The lack of archival access is particularly regrettable, because in the case of many of the field sites (and other localities in Central Asia), historical knowledge is in fact scanty. While the overall patterns seem to be relatively well established, grounding also on an old indigenous writing culture, regional variations and peculiarities remain largely unexplored and sketchy. Of course, for the sake of this study, a more accurate understanding of these would have been desirable in order to see how larger trends and developments have worked out on the ground in a region as diverse as Central Asia.1 This chapter tries to outline some of the main trends and manifestations of the history of Central Asia, because it is of crucial importance to understand the region’s contemporary ethnic configuration. As most of the history of the Uzbeks is inseparable from the overall situation in the larger region of Central Asia, I will start with a rather broad prospect trying to capture the evolution of this category and group of people in all its shades before gradually confining myself to the developments in those parts today bearing its name as an independent state. The focus, in particular for the earlier periods, hereby will be on population movements and the ethnic reshufflings these initiated. Much of this is still only vaguely known, as the specific circumstances in most localities is surprisingly little studied. Many of these regional peculiarities will be taken up again in chapters 2–5, but this can only give insufficient credit to the great heterogeneity that characterises Central Asian history. One key characteristic of this history is that Central Asia was often a destination as well as a transit route for large-scale migration movements, which contributed to a complex mixture of human populations and languages. It is therefore impossible to trace any of the contemporary groups to a distant past or place of origin. Phenotypical characteristics that seem to be relatively distinctive at first glance do not necessarily correlate with ethnic or linguistic groups.

30   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Often, language was associated with a particular religious belief or economic system and changed accordingly – for example, when people became Muslims or adopted sedentary agriculture (Golden 1992: 39ff.). The ethnogenesis of the Uzbeks presents a paradigmatic case in this respect, as it is the result of a continual mixing of populations from all over Central Asia that displaced, absorbed, superimposed themselves upon and assimilated to one another. Like no other event it epitomises the interaction of nomads and sedentaries, which has already been mentioned as a defining characteristic of the region. It is also representative of another major historical trend stated above, namely the ongoing Turkification of the formerly Iranian population. There is no general consensus on what constitutes Central Asia, its boundaries having changed over time with the movement and intermingling of populations (Sinor 1990).2 Broadly speaking, Central Asia is comprised of the landmasses between the Caspian Sea and the Volga River in the west (thus placing it at the border of Europe), Siberia to the north, China to the east and Iran and the Indian peninsula to the south. For the most part, its boundaries are gradual and marked by increasing humidity rather than by prominent landscape variations. Only in the south are boundaries easier to draw, due to a chain of mountain ranges starting from the Elburz and the Kopet Dagh, crossing the Pamirs and ending at the Karakorum and the Himalaya. These mountains do not form impassable barriers from end to end, and especially in the southwest are relatively low and can be easily crossed. Geography had a major, yet far from determining role in this. The general themes just outlined above played out differently in various settings, and while ecological factors are of utmost importance in shaping the options people have at hand, they set only the frame within which decisions are made. Thus, local differences and similarities within the vast region of Central Asia cannot be explained straightforwardly by the respective ecological conditions. They do, however, constitute a necessary point of reference to be taken into account. The region of Central Asia is further distinguished by a number of geographical peculiarities. The first and perhaps most important is its distance from the sea. Most rivers originating in the surrounding mountain ranges either vanish shortly after reaching the plains or empty into one of the few, mostly saline lakes. Being landlocked has had significant ecological consequences, but, in the long run, its most lasting impact on the region has been the resultant isolation from those maritime developments that have changed the world fundamentally from the sixteenth century onward. The topography is dominated by three types of landscape: deserts, especially in the southwest and southeast (present-day Turkmenistan and western Uzbekistan as well as the Tarim Basin); a steppe belt further to the north (most of Kazakstan and Mongolia); and mountain ranges such as the Altay, the Tian-Shan, the Pamirs and the Kunlun (covering most of Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan and Tibet).

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   31

Sprinkled in between are the oases for which Central Asia is famous and where most of its inhabitants live. The major rivers in the west are the Amu-Darya and the Syr-Darya and their tributaries, which for several thousands of years have provided the water for intensive irrigation in the regions under discussion. Further east, the largest rivers are the Ili to the north and the Tarim to the south of the Tian-Shan. More crucial to irrigation in this region are the mountain ravines that serve the smaller oases dotted along the foothills. In the earliest periods of agriculture, the smaller rivers and deltas were probably more important, because they required less sophisticated techniques of irrigation and canal construction (Frye 1996: 15–18). This was the case, for example, in the Ferghana Valley (see chapter 4). Further east, the territories of Mongolia and Tibet contain a number of larger rivers, some of which flow into Siberia, China or the Indian subcontinent. The climate in Central Asia is characterized by extreme continental conditions with great aridity, especially in the southern regions, and cold temperatures in the north and in the mountain areas. Most of the soils are of limited fertility and produce only a sparse vegetation of bush and grass. Seasonal differences are strongly pronounced. Spring and autumn are usually short, serving merely as transitional periods between summer and winter. During the day, temperatures often vary by more than 30°C. Winters are cold, while summers can become very hot and dry in some areas. Precipitation decreases from north to south, and in the south aridity is exacerbated by higher evaporation due to warmer temperatures. Annual rainfall averages range from 300 to 500 mm in the north and 100 to 300 mm or less in the south. Temperatures are generally lower in the eastern half of Central Asia because of the altitude. For this reason, the critical factors for vegetation are water in western areas and the short growing season (or the long frost period) in the east (Krader 1955; Taaffe 1994). In the southern oases, like Bukhara or the Ferghana Valley, winters are comparatively mild, although temperatures may occasionally fall below minus 20°C. Snow is a regular occurrence but rarely lies for extended periods. These environmental conditions in Central Asia have had a profound impact on economic life. For most of its history, the region has been characterized by two production systems: nomadic pastoralism and sedentary agriculture based on irrigation (Krader 1963; Bacon 1980; Khazanov 1992; Taaffe 1994; Golden 2011). These systems coexist in other regions, such as the Middle East and various parts of Africa, but nowhere has this opposition been more constitutive and nowhere have nomads so dominated the neighbouring sedentaries. This interaction also provided the main impetus for changes in ethnic configurations over time. The relationship was, however, one of disparity. Until the arrival of modern technology and fertilizers in the twentieth century, arable land made up only a small portion of Central Asia. Population density, however, was high in the oases belt, and the total sedentary population probably always exceeded that of the pastoralists, even though the latter occupied ninety percent or more of the land mass. While the

32   Variations on Uzbek Identity

nomads were the ones who conquered and subdued sedentary territories, in cultural terms the oases population always prevailed (Khazanov 1992; Manz 1994; Subtelny 1994). But relations were not necessarily hostile. The sedentary centres served as major stops along the trading routes, and thus were important to the nomads (Krader 1963). Warfare and conquest have been explained rather as a response by nomads to the periodic breakdown of regulated exchange relations with sedentary states (Barfield 1989). Individual nomads had always gained access to agricultural products more easily through redistribution by tribal elites than through exchanging directly with sedentaries on their own (Togan 1999). In cultural and political terms, Central Asia is often defined in a negative sense, when contrasted with the long histories of statehood in neighbouring regions. States in Central Asia emerged in a relatively late period, usually as a result of conquest. In most cases, they were founded by nomads who had conquered sedentary territories, and they were often succeeded by stateless periods, as will be discussed below. The interactions of Central Asians with the wider world were similarly ambiguous. On the one hand, the region could be seen as a barren landmass thwarting trans-regional movement, but on the other, it provided a binding link. Most famous in this respect was the network of caravan routes that came to be known as the Silk Road, which connected China, India, the Middle East and Europe (Hambly 1966; Soucek 2000). Therefore, the prime objective of most conquests and assertions of political dominance was the control of caravan routes and trading posts (Togan 1999). Situated in the centre of the Eurasian landmass, Central Asia was not only a thoroughfare, but also a place where ideas met. Cultural influences from neighbouring regions were most striking in the religious sphere. Many of the world’s religions – Christianity, Buddhism, Islam and Zoroastrism, as well as numerous other faiths – have at some point played a role in the history of Central Asia (Sinor 1969; Heissig and Klimkeit 1987). Although exact dating is difficult, it is safe to say that the region was populated at a very early stage and that agriculture has had a long history. In the southwestern regions, in contemporary Turkmenistan, cultivation may go back to the sixth millennium bc, probably with strong links to Mesopotamia and the Iranian Plateau (Harris and Gosden 1996). Agriculture was gradually extended northwards and by the beginning of the first millennium bc was practised in all the major oases of the region (Khazanov 1992). During this period, the first cities developed, although the ethnic and linguistic affiliation of the population is unknown (Frye 1996: 32ff.). Further north the situation is less clear. The steppes of contemporary Kazakstan and Mongolia certainly played an important role in the development of pastoralism, which emerged sometime during the fourth and third millennia bc in areas marginal to agriculture, probably as a specialization and local adaptation (Khazanov 1984, 1990; Masanov 2003; Anthony 2007). It was, however, not until around 1000 bc that a full-scale nomadic pastoralism based on the utilization of horses appeared in the steppes.

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   33

By the eighth century bc, following the arrival of the Cimmerians and then the Scythians, Iranian languages had become predominant in western Central Asia. The Scythians, including their Saka and Massagete cognates, dominated the steppe region for many centuries, their influence extending east into Mongolia and far west into the steppe belt north of the Black Sea. South of those areas, other Iranian populations settled in the belt of oases between Khorezm and the Tarim Basin, including all of contemporary Uzbekistan. Of these, the Soghdians inhabited the towns and villages in the oases of Transoxania (for that reason also known as Soghdiana) as well as the Ferghana Valley and the western parts of the Tarim Basin, while the Bactrians were located further south in what, in the present day, is northern Afghanistan and southern Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. To the west, the Khorezmians occupied the region that still bears their name, and the same can be said for the Khotanese, who settled in some of the major oases in the southern part of the Tarim Basin. All of these groups, according to Golden, spoke closely related languages and were probably also able to communicate with the northern Scythians and Saka (1992: 46f.). For many centuries, the Soghdians in particular were able to maintain a key position in intercontinental trade along the Silk Road (La Vaissière 2005). They never formed empires or larger territorial states, being divided, rather, among distinct, independent city- or oasis-states. Arts flourished during this period and – at least among the elites – Buddhism, Nestorianism and Manichaeism gained in influence. The majority of the population, however, apparently remained loyal to the local religion, which was a Central Asian variant of Zoroastrism (Frye 1996: 153ff.). This linguistic situation remained comparatively stable for centuries. In the western steppes, Scythian dominance waned in the fifth and fourth centuries with the rise of the Sarmatians, and later the Alans. Just as others before them, these were in all likelihood multiethnic confederations with an Iranian-speaking elite. During the sixth century bc, Transoxania and adjacent areas had come under Achaemenidian influence and in the fourth century were conquered by Alexander the Great (Frye 1996: 77ff.). This initiated the era of the so-called Graeco-Bactrian kingdoms, which were, however, still predominantly Iranian in nature (Golden 1992: 48ff.). Their influence on Khorezm, which was under Parthian domination (yet another Iranian dynasty) beginning in 250 bc, was less pronounced. The Greek kingdoms gradually disintegrated following new nomadic invasions around 130 bc (Bernard 1994; Frye 1996: 99ff.). As important for the future evolution of the Uzbeks was the situation in the eastern steppes of contemporary Mongolia. Iranian groups never made significant inroads into that part of the world where, since the third century bc, the Xiongnu had been the dominant force. Their linguistic attribution is again far from established, and neither is their oft-claimed relationship with the later Huns of Eastern and Central Europe. At their height, the Xiongnu ruled over all of Mongolia, southern Siberia and Jungaria (Barfield 1989; Golden 1992: 60ff.).

34   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Military pressure from China and decreasing revenues from raids and trade led to a breakup of the confederation and the westward migration of some groups. Remnants of the Xiongnu established a series of short-lived dynasties in northern China in the second to fifth centuries ad. By then, the majority of them had been pushed further west by famines and rival groups, incorporating speakers of Iranian as well as Germanic and Slavic languages along the way (Golden 1992: 86ff.). During the ensuing centuries, a series of nomadic confederations succeeded the Xiongnu. Their linguistic origins are uncertain, but, in most cases, scholars argue that they were either Turkic or Mongolic (Golden 1992: 69ff.). In the second century ad, the Xianbi filled the vacuum, followed by other tribal confederations such as the Tabghach who ruled parts of Northern China until the sixth century. The most important group to emerge was the Joujan (also written as Juan-Juan or Rouran). The self-designation of this tribal confederation is unclear, as is their connection with the European Avars. The Joujan achieved hegemonic power in the steppes during the early fifth century, encompassing roughly the territory of the former Xiongnu state. Their relations with other nomadic groups such as the Tabghach were characterized by frequent warfare that caused numerous migrations and regroupings in the steppe (Golden 1992: 76ff.). These events in the eastern steppes also had far-reaching impacts on other areas of Central Asia. In the Tarim Basin, the Tokharians had been settled for several centuries. They spoke a western (or Centum) Indo-European language that contrasted with those of the Iranian groups further west. During the second century bc, the Tokharians were attacked by the Xiongnu and as a result moved west to conquer Bactria from the Greeks. Here, they incorporated the remnants of earlier Iranian confederations such as the Saka and Alans, most of whom had moved into territories that belong today to either Iran or Russia. In Bactria, the Yuezhi, as the Tokharians are called in the Chinese sources, founded the Kushan Empire in the first century bc (Golden 1992: 50ff.; Frye 1996: 121ff.). The Kushan also held northern India, Afghanistan, parts of Transoxania and the Ferghana Valley as the last and perhaps most successful polity dominated by Indo-European nomads (although undoubtedly many of them had become sedentary by then). During this same period, Buddhism gained a stronghold in the southern parts of Central Asia and expanded eastward into China. In the middle of the third century ad, Kushan rule was ended by the Sasanids (Golden 1992: 55ff.; Frye 1996: 133ff.; Dani and Litvinsky 1999). The language of the Kushan – in contrast to their Tokharian roots – was Iranian, a continuation of the old Bactrian, and is believed by some scholars to have been identical to the language of the Zoroastrian Avesta (Harmatta 1994). The Kushan were followed by the Heph­ thalites, or ‘White Huns’, who also had moved because of events in the eastern steppes. By 350 ad, the Hephthalites appeared on the borders of Soghdiana and established themselves as its overlords during the fifth century. The state collapsed

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   35

in 557 as a result of combined attacks from the Turks and the Sasanids, although petty dynasties continued to exist. The majority of the population, and soon also the Hephthalite elites, spoke east-Iranian Bactrian languages (Golden 1992: 79ff.; Frye 1996: 169ff.).

The Turkic Arrival Nomadic-sedentary encounters continued to shape the history of the region. By the sixth century ad, a new player had arrived on the scene who was to fundamentally change the ethnic and linguistic design of Central Asia. As is the case with the groups discussed thus far, the origins of the Turks are far from clear. According to Golden, they may have first settled in a forest-steppe zone such as the Trans-Baykal area or further west in the Altay region. Linguistic unity among the Turkic speakers came to an end sometime during the first millennium bc; from then on, various groups moved in different directions (Golden 1992: 123ff.). Possibly as early as the fifth century bc some Turks migrated into Mongolia and adjacent areas, where they became part of the Xiongnu confederation. As such, they probably also joined in the campaigns into western Central Asia, where the Iranian nomads were gradually replaced and assimilated. It is likely, so says Golden, that the Turks became pastoral nomads only upon their arrival in Mongolia, which also entailed the adoption of a particular cultural pattern that had been developed in the steppe region (1992: 40ff.). The first mention of the term Türk, however, dates back only to the sixth century ad in the so-called Kök- or Orkhon-Turkic runic inscriptions in central Mongolia and southern Siberia, which also represent the earliest written appearances of a Turkic language (or, indeed, of the language of any nomadic group in Central Asia) discovered to date. It is unclear if the term originally referred to an ethnic or tribal group. Possibly, as Golden suggests, it came into being only with the first Qaghanate and owes its universal adoption to the stereotypical usage of the term by Muslim authors in referring to all Turkic-speaking nomads (1992: 115ff.). The first Türk Qaghanate, which began with a revolt against the Joujan in 552 and endured, with some interruptions, until 744, was a state that united most of western and eastern Central Asia for the first time in history. In common with earlier nomadic statehoods, it succeeded in enforcing the payment of tribute and favourable trade conditions on China in exchange for a cessation of raids. For most of its history, the Qaghanate was divided into a dominant eastern and a subordinate western wing, the latter stretching from the Altay range to the Aral and Caspian Seas. Thus, for the first time in history, this part of the world came under Turkic rule, initiating a process that has shaped the region culturally and politically up to the present day. This dual organization, with east controlling west, had already existed in a rudimentary form among the Xiongnu, and it would continue to characterize

36   Variations on Uzbek Identity

subsequent Turkic and Mongolian states. Ideally, a younger brother ruled in the west; but this arrangement frequently caused succession wars that eventually led to the founding of an independent western Qaghanate towards the end of the sixth century. Taking advantage of this split, the Chinese T’ang dynasty made the eastern Turks their vassals in the early seventh century (Golden 1992: 127ff.; Soucek 2000: 51ff.). A few decades later, the western branch also came under Chinese rule, and for some fifty years, China claimed sovereignty over most of Central Asia. Revolts in the 670s and 680s, however, resulted in the re-establishment of the Türk Qaghanate in the early eighth century, when the Orkhon inscriptions were created. Not long afterward, internal struggles re-emerged, and in 742 the Qaghanate was toppled by an alliance of other Turkic-speaking groups, the Basmil, Uyghur and Qarluq. For the future evolution of the Uzbeks, the fate of the western Qaghanate came to be highly relevant. It survived the eastern one for a few more years, now under the rule of the Türgesh. After the Qaghanate’s final disintegration, the Turks founded petty states governing the local oases but were soon absorbed by the local Iranian population. The population of the Qaghanates, Golden writes, consisted of nomads, sedentaries and ‘people of the forest’. Some of the nomads would later take part in the empires of the Oghuz, the Kyrgyz, the Qitan, the Tatars or the Uyghurs (though their relationship to later groups of the same name is unclear). Further west, the Iranian nomads were incorporated and assimilated by the Turks, while their sedentary contemporaries, the Soghdians, Bactrians and Khorezmians, usually became their vassals (Frye 1996). Thus, the northern steppes of what is present-day Kazakstan had started to become more thoroughly Turkified, and some of the nomads also settled in the fertile regions of Transoxania and the Ferghana Valley (Bosworth and Bolshakov 1997). As with the Xiongnu and the Joujan states before it, the Türk Qaghanate had a lasting influence on the history of Central Asia, serving as a model for following polities. The economy was based on pastoral nomadism, although limited agriculture was practised where conditions were favourable. Trade flourished, as a ‘Pax Turcica’ allowed the free flow of goods. The revenues from the Silk Road were of great importance, making Eurasia a commercial as well as a cultural bridge between Europe and China. As for religion, the tengri or ‘heaven’ cult, with its adoration of a supreme goddess, had probably been adopted from the Xiongnu. Shamanism, the worship of mountains and trees, and ancestor cults also existed (Roux 1984). During the Qaghanate period, Buddhism, as well as Nestorianism and Manichaeism, which were imported by the Soghdians, gained some adherents (Golden 1992: 142ff.). Turkic rule continued in the eastern steppes for centuries. The Uyghurs, who became the ruling dynasty in 744, presumably also included different tribal confederations (Golden 1992: 151ff.). In contrast to earlier polities, the Uyghur state gained renown for an increasingly sedentary lifestyle. The capital of Qarabalgasun, built along the Orkhon River, was larger than any previous (and

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   37

most of the later) settlements in Mongolia, and its ruins attest to the capital’s impressive size. The Uyghurs did not extend their domain to the former western Qaghanate but established control over parts of the Ferghana Valley and southern Siberia. Even more than previous dynasties, they established close relationships with China, which was undergoing a period of decline. From China, they received regular tribute in the form of silk and other luxury goods. Agriculture increased in importance, but the majority of the population probably remained nomadic. The most striking differences to earlier states were the cultural attitudes of the Uyghurs, who were influenced by the Soghdians serving as their tutors and bureaucrats. They adopted the Soghdian script, although the earlier runic one, used in the Kök-Turkic inscriptions, continued to be used as well. Remarkably, in 762, the Uyghur state became the first and only state in world history to accept Manichaeism as its official religion (Golden 1992: 159ff.). In 840, the Uyghurs, weakened by internal frictions, were displaced by another Turkic group, the Kyrgyz, who, however, did not show any marked interest in ruling Mongolia and, for reasons unknown, soon retreated to southern Siberia (Golden 1992: 176ff.). Both the emergence and the fall of the Uyghur state led to major reshufflings of populations that would have tremendous impact on the Turkification of Central Asia. Already their rise to power in the eighth century had resulted in the migration of their former allies, the Basmil and the Qarluq, into the territory of the former western Qaghanate. Both groups first settled in Semirech’e, but their influence also extended into the Ferghana Valley and neighbouring areas of the Tarim Basin, incorporating many elements of the former western Qaghanate. With the fall of the Uyghurs in 840, new waves of migration out of Mongolia began. Some fled west to where their former allies, the Qarluq, resided. Others settled in the northern Tarim Basin and the oases around Turfan further east. It was at this time that the Turkification of the local population, by then for the most part eastern Iranians and Tokharians, began to take shape. By 924, when the Kyrgyz were driven out of Mongolia, the Uyghurs were firmly ensconced in their new residences and refused the Qitan’s invitation to return to Mongolia (Golden 1992: 163ff.). As mentioned, in the steppe region of northwestern Central Asia, other Turkic tribes had started to absorb the local population beginning in the Xiongnu period. Among these tribes were the Kimek, Qipchaq and Pecheneg, all closely related linguistically. By the eleventh century, they dominated a territory from the Danube to western Siberia and Central Asia. Besides language, these groups shared a decentralized form of political organization; they did not create formal states but participated jointly in raids into Russian territory for booty. None of them was able to re-emerge as a Qaghanate, although, for some time during the tenth and eleventh centuries, the Qipchaq confederation controlled most of contemporary Kazakstan, then referred to as the ‘Dasht-i Qipchaq’, i.e. the Qipchaq steppe (Golden 1992: 194ff.; Agajanov 1997). Further south, the Oghuz, who

38   Variations on Uzbek Identity

had been settling along the lower Syr-Darya since the ninth century, started to encroach into Khorezm and Transoxania, putting additional pressure on the remaining Iranian population. According to Mahmud al-Qashghari, they all had a similar nomadic lifestyle and spoke similar languages, which differed from the Qipchaq dialects in the north (Agajanov 1997). Their contribution to the local variant of the Uzbek language and ethnie will be discussed later (see chapter 3). The rise of Turkic states coincided with another crucial event in the history of Central Asia: the arrival of Islam. Within a few decades of the death of the Prophet Muhammad, Arab troops had conquered much of the Middle East and become neighbours to the Soghdian city-states in Central Asia. Although the Arabs first crossed the Amu-Darya (called Oxus in Greek and Jayhun in Arab) in 674, the actual conquest of Transoxania (or the land beyond the Oxus) began in the early eighth century. Soon all of the major oases were under Muslim rule. Scattered rebellions took place in alliance with the Turks, but all were easily suppressed due to a lack of co-operation among inhabitants of the Soghdian regions (Frye 1996: 202ff.; Bosworth and Bolshakov 1997; Litvinsky et al. 1999). By the ninth century, the majority of the urban population had adopted the new religion, while in the countryside earlier beliefs survived for some time (Frye 1996: 223ff.). Among the Turkic groups, those settling along the northern edges of the belt of oases were the first to become Islamicized. By the ninth century, this had affected the Qarluq, who ruled over much of eastern Transoxania, Semirech’e, the Ferghana Valley and the western Tarim Basin (Golden 1992: 196–9). The nomads further north were ambivalent in their attitudes towards Muslim encroachment. Their conversion, a process that took several centuries, was fostered to a large degree by wandering Sufis, in particular members of the Yassawi order (Paul 1991; DeWeese 1994). The early ninth century also saw the rise of the Samanids, who would become the first indigenous Muslim, as well as the last Iranian, dynasty in Transoxania. They made Bukhara the centre of a state that also included parts of Khorasan and Afghanistan. The rule of the Samanids coincided with a flourishing economy and a cultural blossoming that reached its height in the works of Ibn Sina, AlKhorezmi and Al-Beruni. As such, it is still a main point of reference for Tajik intellectuals today. Linguistically, however, the Samanids were not the direct continuation of earlier populations in Central Asia. During this time, New Persian – a Western Iranian tongue that was unintelligible to speakers of Soghdian and Khorezmian, who still inhabited much of the countryside – started to become the lingua franca of the region (Soucek 2000: 70ff.). While the process is not entirely clear, it is possible that the older East Iranian languages became associated with the pre-Islamic period, and thus fell out of favour and were replaced by the new idiom (Bosworth and Bolshakov 1997).3

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   39

We do not know much, however, about the speed of this process in individual localities and the continuing role that the Soghdian or other related language may have played in some of them. Also, previous linguistic and identitary distinctions within the Eastern Iranian world are largely unknown. Much of the history of Central Asia, as has been mentioned, has to be understood as highly localized patterns that have so far been little studied. Particularly in mountainous regions as Tajikistan, but also in the Ferghana Valley or the Shahrisabz region described below, strong mutual differentiations between neighbouring valleys and villages have often survived until the present day (see chapters 4 and 5). The Samanid state was destroyed in concerted attacks launched by the Ghaznavids and Qarakhanids at the end of the tenth century, which shifted political dominance finally into the hand of the Turks (Bosworth 1997; Frye 1997; Negmatov 1997). The Ghaznavids, who had served as local governors under the Samanids, contained elements of various Turkic tribes such as the Qarluq and the Qipchaq. Towards the end of the tenth century, they succeeded in achieving independence and founded a state around the city of Ghazna that encompassed most of Afghanistan, Khorasan, southern Transoxania and parts of northern India. Soon, the Ghaznavids were able to extend their influence to Khorezm, where a branch founded a new dynasty of Khorezm-Shahs. By the 1040s, the western Ghaznavid territories had been seized by the Seljuks, but in the eastern areas, a smaller successor state survived until the late twelfth century (Golden 1992: 189ff.; Bosworth 1997). Of even greater importance were the Qarakhanids, who had achieved a dominant position within the Qarluq confederation by the beginning of the tenth century. As with others preceding, the state they created had a dual organization: its eastern wing had its centre at Qashghar and Balasagun, and its western wing was based first in Uzgen in the Ferghana Valley and later in Samarqand. The history of the Qarakhanids is one of continual infighting, as well as conflicts with the Ghaznavids and the Samanids, whom they defeated in 999 when they conquered Bukhara (Barthold 1928; Davidovich 1997; Paul 2002). The Qarakhanidid period was crucial to the future history of Central Asia for several reasons. First, during this period, large numbers of Turkic tribes converted to Islam. Second, these converts accelerated the Turkification of the local Iranian population. According to al-Qashghari, this process was far advanced in the Ferghana Valley, Semirech’e and Qashghariya by the eleventh century (Subtelny 1994). Third, similar to the Ghaznavids during the same period, the Qarakhanids were among the first Turkic tribes to enter into a symbiotic relationship with the sedentary population. This, in turn, was enabled by their previous religious conversion (Soucek 2000: 83ff.). During the same period, a similar process occurred further to the east, where the Uyghurs absorbed speakers of the local Iranian tongues during the eleventh century. In contrast to the Qarakhanids, however,

40   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Figure 1.1.  A reminiscence of Qarakhanid rule in Uzgen, Ferghana Valley (Photo: P. Finke)

the Uyghurs opted for Buddhism, thus distancing themselves from their cousins to the west. Both, the Uyghurs and the eastern Qarakhanids would later participate in the ethnogenesis of the contemporary Uyghurs, while the western Qarakhanids played a major role in that of the Uzbeks (Gladney 1990; Golden 1992: 214ff.). Another Turkic ingredient in this process was the previously mentioned Oghuz. Out of them the Seljuk dynasty had gained control of the southwestern corner of Central Asia in the eleventh century, growing out of a confederation of Turkic tribes that had begun to settle near the oasis of Khorezm about one hundred years earlier. Linguistically and historically, this was also the nucleus of those Oghuz groups who later gave rise to the Ottomans and the Azeri Turks. The overall influence of the Seljuks within Central Asia tended to be secondary compared to the groups already mentioned, but their impact on the ethnic history of Khorezm was profound. By the mid–eleventh century, the Seljuks controlled Khorasan and Khorezm; thereafter, they turned west to conquer Iran and Anatolia (Golden 1992: 216ff.). Following their move southwest, another Turkic state, which was influenced by earlier Iranian and Ghaznavidian traditions, emerged in the Khorezm region. This new dynasty of Khorezm-Shahs had extended its rule over much of Transoxania and Iran by the early thirteenth century. During its heyday, the state of the Khorezm-Shahs was one of the most powerful in the Muslim world. It was a sophisticated mixture of Iranian and Turkic elements, with the latter having become more important than in other regions (Subtelny

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   41

1994). Within a few years, however, this state fell victim to events that changed the face of Central Asia once and for all, the invasion of the Mongols.

The Evolution of the Uzbeks The era of the Mongol Empire was certainly the outstanding single event that irrevocably transformed the outlook of Central Asia (and far beyond). Some have described this as the breakdown of nomadic-sedentary relations. Yet despite its devastating effects, especially in the early stages, it also created an enduring legacy of political and cultural developments. Furthermore, it resulted in a tremendous recomposition of populations that were scattered all over the empire and among a variety of confederations. Most contemporary ethnic groups, including the Uzbeks, owe the origin of their present configuration to this period and its aftermath (Fletcher 1986; Rossabi 1994). In particular, it greatly fostered the Turkification of the region. It is not well known where Mongolic-speaking groups first settled and when they entered those regions later attributed to them. Certainly, the large-scale migration of Turkic tribes southward and westward, described earlier, had paved the way for Mongolic groups to take over the eastern steppes. This shift in population was accelerated when the Kyrgyz were replaced by the Qitan in the early tenth century. The Qitan, in all likelihood, originated in the Manchurian borderlands and were Mongolic speakers, although their confederation may have included Turkic groups as well. Declining revenues and factional strife, together with attacks by the Jürchen, destroyed the state in the early twelfth century. Remnants of the Qitan fled westward and established the state of the Qara-Qitay. Here, they achieved formal control over a number of Turkic states, such as the Qarakhanids, the Khorezm-Shah and the Uyghurs further east, but did not interfere in their internal affairs, and thus Mongol influence remained minimal (Barfield 1989; Sinor 1997; Biran 2004). While these groups in all likelihood spoke Mongolian languages, the rise of the Mongols proper is inevitably connected with the name of Temüchin, who began as a small-scale adventurer and the head of a few dozen households. His remarkable skill in attracting followers and creating alliances enabled him to subdue other opponents, until in 1206 he was declared the supreme ruler of the steppe and given the title Chingis Qan. This seemingly minor event presaged the birth of the largest empire in world history. Within a few years, Chingis Qan was able to unite all the nomadic groups in the steppe region, both Turkic and Mongolian speaking, and extend his rule towards the sedentary regions of northern China. In 1219, he launched the invasion of Transoxania and the war against the Khorezm-Shah, razing cities to the ground and slaughtering millions. At the time of his death in 1227, the empire included much of northern China, southern Siberia, the Tarim Basin and most of western Central Asia up to Khorezm.

42   Variations on Uzbek Identity

This pattern of conquest and destruction continued during the rule of his immediate successors, Ögödey, Güyük and Möngke, affecting large areas of Russia and Eastern Europe, southern China and the Middle East. However, centrifugal tendencies steadily intensified, and after Qubilay Qan transferred the political centre from Mongolia to northern China, the state was effectively split into four separate realms. Two of these would become crucial to the ethnogenesis of the Uzbeks. One was the northwestern domain of the empire, which included most of Russia and western Siberia as well as Khorezm. This had been allocated to the line of Chingis Qan’s eldest son, Jochi. The official language of the Golden Horde, as this domain came to be known, remained Mongolian for some time, although Turkic was equally widespread. Among the latter, Qipchaq dialects were dominant. Most of the early Qaghans of the Golden Horde were ambivalent about matters of religion, but with the conversion to Islam of Berke (1257–67) and Özbek Qan (1312–42), ties with the Muslim world became stronger. By that time, the Golden Horde had split into several hordes, all of which were ruled by various lines of Jochids quarrelling for supremacy (Golden 1992: 297ff.). South of the Golden Horde, the Ulus Chagatay, named after Chingis Qan’s second son, comprised Transoxania, Bactria and the Ferghana Valley as well as most of the Tarim Basin. Throughout its history, this was the least stable Mongol polity, due to its division into sedentary Muslim populations, primarily in the southern and southeastern parts, and the nomadic realms of Semirech’e and Jungaria further north. The latter came to be known as Moghulistan, or land of the Mongols (Golden 1992: 302f.; Soucek 2000: 117ff.).4 With regard to cultural change and ethnic composition, the Mongol period resulted in a major reconfiguration of populations and, ultimately, the final Turkification of western Central Asia (Fletcher 1986; Morgan 1986; Allsen 2001; Di Cosmo et al. 2009). The invading army had consisted of a multitude of tribal groups, only a relatively small proportion of which were linguistically Mongols. Many others are assumed to have been Turkic speakers who, upon their arrival, intermingled with those groups already settled in the region. Contributing to this had been the policy of Chingis Qan to break up existing tribal units to prevent future resistance. After being absorbed into the Mongol army, these clans and lineages were redistributed within the overall territory and mixed with local populations, thus taking part in the ethnogenesis of several contemporary groups. Some of the names, such as Qipchaq, Merkit, Kerey and Nayman, have survived and today are found among Kazaks, Kyrgyz and Karakalpaks as well as among Bashkirs, Tatars, Nogay and Crimean Tatars. In the oases, the situation was different. When settling there, most pastoralists not only became farmers, but also abandoned their Qipchaq language for an eastern Turkic dialect that was spoken by those groups that had already become established in the pre-Mongol period, namely the Qarluq and the Qarakhanids. Here, Islam also had more of an influence, and the dividing line between differ-

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   43

ent economic activities constituted a strong cultural border. Further to the west, the Oghuz tribes also avoided major reconfiguration. Many of them followed the earlier Seljuk migration westward as a consequence of the Mongol invasion (Golden 1992: 291ff.). In the eastern oases, the Uyghurs as Buddhists found themselves in increasing opposition to other Turkic groups. Apparently in connection with their later conversion to Islam, the ethnonym Uyghur fell into disuse, as it became associated with ‘paganism’ (Gladney 1990; Bellér-Hann 2008). During the second half of the fourteenth century, Transoxania nominally remained under Mongol rule, but power had begun shifting gradually into the hands of a local Turkic ruler named Timur, also known as Tamerlane or Timur Lenk (the Lame). He was a member of the Barlas tribe that spoke an eastern Turkic dialect and had been settling in the region for some time. Timur himself was born in a village near Kesh, close to the contemporary city of Shahrisabz (Manz 1989). For people in this region, he is still a major point of reference (see chapter 5). By the time of his death in 1405, Timur had created an empire that included most of western Central Asia, Iran and the Transcaucasus. His armies had invaded and plundered parts of India and had demolished the Ottoman army, nearly stifling this rising power. The new state, however, was largely a personal creation and proved to be less stable than the preceding ones. The following decades saw an ever-increasing number of changes in leadership and the rapid decline of the empire, both militarily and socio-economically. At the end of the fifteenth century, the Timurid state was less an empire than a confederation of competing fiefdoms (Manz 1989). Timur was the last great Central Asian conqueror, but he was also very much the product of a sedentary culture. In fact, it was during this period, suggests Manz, that a distinct Chagatay identity emerged. While partly based on tribal genealogies, it was also the result of an advanced acculturation process, in which an Islamic-Persian heritage combined with a Turkic-Mongolian legacy (Manz 1992). This did not extend to the Moghuls in the eastern part of the former Ulus, who clung to a nomadic way of life. Chagatay identity, asserts Manz, still included the idea of nomadic superiority, but also evolved through close interactions with local culture. Political legitimacy rested on earlier steppe traditions influenced by Islam and on a dual administration of Chagatay military leaders and Persian bureaucrats. In sharp contrast to the Mongols, the Timurids did not behave as foreigners or invaders. They did not conquer an alien world, but one with which they were already familiar, and they ‘aspired to rule not over the steppe, but over the sown’ (Manz 1994: 1). They saw themselves not primarily as a confederation of the steppes, but first and foremost as an opponent of the nomadic groups further north. This puts them indeed in one line with the self-image of contemporary Uzbek identity. In many ways, the period of Timur and his successors repre-

44   Variations on Uzbek Identity

sented the initial culmination of the symbiosis of Turks and Iranians, nomads and sedentaries that had begun with the Qarakhanids and the Ghaznavids and would become an essential part of Transoxanian culture and society (Rossabi 1994; Finke 2006). This entailed a growing importance of Islam in the political discourse, a more or less sedentary lifestyle, and widespread bilingualism (Manz 1992). It was during Timurid rule that Chagatay Turkic became the second court language alongside Persian and would remain as such until the Soviet takeover (Fierman 1991; Manz 1992, 1994). To the north of the Timurid realm, the eastern Qipchaq, as Golden calls them, came to be known as Uzbek (or Özbek in the original dialect) during the second half of the fourteenth century. They accounted for most of the soldiers in the Golden Horde, which had been ruled by the above-mentioned Chingisid of this name a few decades earlier. Perhaps the name was adopted after increasing numbers had converted to Islam (as Özbek Qan had done earlier). During the late 1420s and 1430s, Abul-Khayr became the leading figure within this confederation, but tribal chiefs were too powerful and growing discontent initiated its decay. This seemingly minor event was to have a great impact on the future history of the region. Among those who opposed Abul-Khayr were Janibeg and Girey, both also of Chingisid origin. With their followers, they separated from the Uzbek confederation and took refuge in the eastern part of the territory. These groups would become the nucleus of the Kazaks a hundred years later (Hambly 1966; Olcott 1987; Golden 1992: 330ff.). In 1500, a grandson of Abul-Khayr, Muhammad Shaybani, reorganized the confederation and, at the head of groups that continued to call themselves Uzbeks, invaded Transoxania and put an end to Timurid rule. By 1507, Muhammad Shaybani had also taken Khorasan and established the Uzbek khanate that ruled over most of Transoxania and beyond (Soucek 2000: 144ff.).5 The most prominent of the last Timurids, Babur, fled to Afghanistan before proceeding to India to found the Moghul dynasty (Foltz 1998). As Timur himself, he has become a major point of historical reference in independent Uzbekistan and is held in great esteem particularly in his home region of Andijon (cf. chapter 4). With the occupation of Transoxania and Khorezm by the Uzbeks, the establishment of the main entities seen in Central Asia today was complete, although not necessarily corresponding to contemporary ethnonyms. The Shaybanids soon started to mix with the local population, but for many years retained a more pronounced Turkic and nomadic character than the Timurids (Manz 1989). The new dynasty was also firmly Sunni, which put them in opposition to the Shiite Safavid state in Iran that was established during the same period. This isolated Central Asia somewhat, as it was cut off from developments in the Sunnite realms in the Ottoman Empire and the Arabian Peninsula (Golden 1992: 332ff.). The Uzbek state was, however, unstable from the very beginning. It never again extended into Khorezm, after a different line of Jochids had established

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   45

themselves as rulers there in 1515. By 1598, the Shaybanids in Bukhara were replaced by the Janids (Astarkhanids), also of Jochid origin. They ruled until the Manghit dynasty took control in 1785. The latter were the first non-Chingisid rulers since the Timurid period and had been functioning as majordomos since the 1740s. During the same period, members of the Qongrat tribe also replaced the last Chingisid rulers in Khorezm. By the end of the eighteenth century, another independent khanate had emerged in the Ferghana Valley, named after the capital of Kokand (Becker 1968; Soucek 2000: 177ff.). The three Uzbek states, the Amirate of Bukhara as well as the Khanates of Khorezm and Kokand were all multiethnic in nature, and for much of their existence were violently opposed to one another. Their populations were differentiated according to a number of partly overlapping criteria. The main dividing line was between the nomadic pastoralists (including Kazaks, Kyrgyz and Turkmens) and the sedentary agriculturalists, the predecessors of modern Uzbeks and Tajiks, concentrated in the central heartland of Transoxania and Khorezm. At that time, the terms Uzbek and Tajik both existed as appellations for different communities, but their meaning varied regionally. In some areas, Uzbek was applied exclusively to Turkic-speaking sedentaries (as is the case in present-day usage). In other areas, all sedentaries were called Tajik, while Uzbek was reserved for those groups still dependent on pastoralism, internally organized according to clan segmentation, and speaking a Qipchaq dialect (Fragner 1998; Holzwarth 2005). Ethnographic reports of this period also mention a third group in the oases, the Sart. Originally, this was probably a (somewhat derogatory) generic label used by nomads to designate sedentary groups irrespective of their language (Baldauf 1991; Fragner 1998).6 As such, it was often used synonymously with Tajik. Following the Shaybanid invasion, Sart began to be applied to the settled Turkic population in Transoxania (Barthold [Subtelny] 1997). In some parts of Central Asia, namely in Khorezm, Tashkent and the Ferghana Valley, it was apparently also used as an ethnonym (Olufsen 1911; Schuyler 1966; Bregel 1978). In the southern areas, like in Bukhara or Samarqand, the term was less popular. Parallel to this quasi-ethnic division, the Turkic-speaking population, or those elements of it that would later become the nucleus of the Uzbek nationality, comprised three segments: non-tribally organized populations, the majority of whom were former Iranian speakers who had assimilated; descendants of the earlier tribes who had settled in the region prior to the Uzbek conquest; and, third, the tribal groups who had arrived after the Shaybanid took possession of the land – primarily speakers of Qipchaq dialects (Karmysheva 1976; Shanijazov 1978; Zhdanko 1978; Baldauf 1991; Fragner 1998; Ilkhamov 2002, 2004).7 As was mentioned in the introduction, a debate on the impact of the Shaybanid invasion took place during Soviet times. Some scholars considered the impact to be negligible – thus supporting the conceptualization of the modern Uzbeks as heirs primarily of the old sedentary population (i.e. the first two segments), while

46   Variations on Uzbek Identity

others believed it to have been significant (Karmysheva 1976; Shanijazov 1978; Allworth 1990; Subtelny 1994). The number of invaders has been variously estimated from 240,000 to 360,000, or about one fourth of the original Uzbek confederation (implying that the other three fourths remained in the steppes and took part in the ethnogenesis of the Kazaks).8 The settled Turkic speakers – whose descendants call themselves Uzbek today – had by then largely given up their tribal organization. Identity and social relations were characterized primarily by common residence and spatial closeness. Apart from the extended family, important social units were village and regional communities. As mentioned earlier, overarching ethnonyms such as Uzbek and Tajik were of minor significance; regional – and for that matter supra-ethnic – appellations such as Bukharalik and Ferghanalik prevailed (Becker 1973; Matley 1973; Schoeberlein 1994). Even those who retained remnants of a genealogical ordering could hardly be referred to as tribal societies. The so-called ‘ninety-two Uzbek tribes’ did not produce a genealogical structure and were only loosely linked to one another. Even further apart were such groups as the Qipchaq, Qurama, Laqay and Turk, each of whom represented a separate entity (see also chapters 4 and 5). Only later, during the 1920s and 1930s, were they subsumed into the ethnic category Uzbek (Schoeberlein 1994). Linguistically, yet another distinction can be made. In the modern era, differences among Uzbek dialects can be explained in terms of their closeness to Turkic linguistic subgroups other than Qarluq, to which the literary language belongs. This differentiation process had already been in progress during the Türk Qaghanate, and upon the arrival of the Mongols in the thirteenth century became more overtly discernible. Thus, the origins of southeastern dialects in present-day Turkmenistan and in Khorezm can be traced to Oghuz groups that also included the Seljuks and the later Turkmens. To the east, in much of present-day Uzbekistan and the Tarim Basin, the descendants of the Qarluq, Qarakhanid, Uyghurs and numerous other tribes spoke languages that were in some way the predecessors of contemporary Uzbek and Uyghur. The steppe regions in the north, as well as areas within the oasis belt, were inhabited by linguistically related groups often subsumed under the label Qipchaq. This is also the modern name for that branch of the Turkic languages that includes, among others, Kazak and Kyrgyz (Dörfer 1987; Golden 1992: 238ff.). Historically, however, the evolution and differentiation of the various Uzbek dialects is far from clear; a topic that will be taken up again in the four case studies to be discussed later. Scholars agree that social and economic relations within the oases were highly stratified. Most peasants had little land of their own and were often consigned to the status of serfs and subjected to exploitative sharecropping arrangements (Khazanov 1992; Poliakov 1992). Many conflicts, sometimes violent, were caused by attempts to free ride on water (Bacon 1980; Poliakov 1992). Irrigation for the growing of grain, vegetables and fruits for home consumption had always been of

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   47

primary importance to the peasants of the oases; only richer households were also able to keep animals for milk and meat (Bacon 1980). Systems of pastoral production, on the other hand, were based on the extensive use of natural pastures and therefore required extensive tracks of land, usually held in common by larger kin groups. Winter quarters typically were situated in the southern semi-desert areas, where temperatures were milder, while summers were spent further north to take advantage of seasonal variations in climate. Most nomads, therefore, lived closest to the agricultural population in winter, and over time eventually settled there.9 Subsistence production played an important role in the pastoral economy, but was never sufficient. Therefore, the interaction with the ‘outside world’ was of fundamental importance (Khazanov 1984).

Central Asia under Russian and Soviet Rule At that time, dramatic change loomed on the horizon, both economically and politically. While trade relations had existed for a long time, beginning in the eighteenth century, the Tsarist Empire started to encroach on territory used by Kazak nomads. During the second half of the nineteenth century, Russian troops moved further south, and within a short time had captured most of western Cen­ tral Asia or, as it came to be known, Russian Turkestan. Tashkent was taken in 1865 and Samarqand in 1868. In the same year, the amir of Bukhara was forced to accept Russian suzerainty, as was the Khan of Khiva five years later. The third political entity, the Khanate of Kokand, was annexed in 1876 and directly incorporated into the state structure. It was combined with territory seized from Bukhara and Khiva to form the General Government of Turkestan (Becker 1968: 25ff.). The Uzbek-populated areas of Central Asia had thus become part of a colonial empire that would, again, change the social and ethnic outlook of the region. This would culminate in the national delimitation process during the early Soviet period that asked every individual to decide on one ethnic category to be attached to and thus introduced fundamentally new patterns of classification and mutual relations. Comparatively little is known, however, to what degree these prescribed identifications were accepted and internalized by people. In later chapters, I will show that cultural models or schemas were still as much influenced by concepts inherited from the past as from the new state-defined categories and that the popular image of the Soviet national engineering as a total restructuring of traditional identity patterns is grossly overstated. Initially, however, although the colonial officers in Central Asia perceived themselves as the bearers of civilization, they did not interfere significantly in local affairs, and thus life did not change much at first for the native population. Russians established their own quarters in some of the larger cities, but there were few rural settlers, and cultural contacts remained superficial (Becker 1968; Bacon 1980; Allworth 1990). However, an initial drive to increase cotton production

48   Variations on Uzbek Identity

was an indicator of future transformations. The pastoral areas, in contrast, were considered to be more or less unutilized and were firmly integrated into the Russian administrative structure. For the Kazaks and Kyrgyz in particular, life was altered fundamentally – and not for the better – with the seizure of extensive pasture lands for arriving Russian settlers (Demko 1969; Kendirbai 2002; Rottier 2003). Towards the end of the nineteenth century, colonial incursions also increased in the oases, encroaching on the states of Khiva and Bukhara, which, although officially still independent, were becoming more and more dependent on Russia (Becker 1968: 125ff.). This primarily affected trade in agricultural products, cotton, grain, fruit and livestock, while industrial production remained poorly developed. Trade was by no means a new phenomenon, but its volume increased significantly, particularly in the former Khanate of Kokand, where cotton became almost the sole export. At the same time, Russian settlements were increasing in number and size (Becker 1968: 169ff.; Bacon 1980; McChesney 1996). In the steppe zone, the situation deteriorated further for local populations. The most fertile pastures were appropriated by Russian settlers, and the livestock sector declined to crisis levels (Demko 1969; Olcott 1987). Famines were the result, forcing hundreds of thousands to flee to China. Some Kazaks apparently also moved into the steppe and desert belt of what would become Uzbekistan (see chapter 2). Further upheavals followed the decision by the Tsarist regime to recruit the Muslims of Central Asia for military service during the First World War. Again, the pastoralists in the steppe were affected the most, but the policy left its mark on all Central Asian societies, causing deep resentment and suspicion towards the regime. Therefore, when the Bolsheviks gained power in late 1917, they expected to win the hearts of Muslims easily throughout the empire. This proved to be largely an illusion. Although the old regime was certainly disliked, enthusiasm for building a new society – atheist in nature and aimed at toppling the existing social order – was comparatively low (Northrop 2000; Keller 2001; Kamp 2006). During the following civil war, a countermovement, the Basmachi, fought the Red Army troops, and remnants of that group survived in the mountains of Tajikistan until the late 1930s. Due to lack of organization and a failure to collaborate with other opposition forces, however, the Basmachi never posed a serious threat to the establishment of Soviet rule. At the same time, hundreds of thousands of Central Asians left for Afghanistan, China, Turkey and other destinations (Shahrani 1979; Shalinsky 1979; Svanberg 1988). A major goal of the new regime was the transformation of economic structures and property rights. After an initial drive towards collectivization, which met with scant approval among the peasants, the regime adopted the so-called NEP (New Economic Policy), which allowed for more entrepreneurial freedom and the liberalization of market transactions. It was only after Stalin gained ul-

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   49

timate power in the late 1920s that collectivization was implemented with ultimate force. Land, animals and other property were confiscated, but the new state and collective farms were not sufficiently equipped to enable adequate food production. An estimated 1.5 million Kazaks (or nearly 40 per cent of the population) died in famines deliberately tolerated by the authorities (Olcott 1987). Yet again, hundreds of thousands fled to Afghanistan and China, and some presumably took up residence in Uzbekistan. In the sedentary areas of Central Asia, collectivization was less brutal, because these regions were considered more immediately vital to the economy. Nonetheless, many wealthy and well-off peasants were deported as kulaks, or alleged enemies of the working class, and never seen again (Fierman 1997: 362f.). With the creation of small co-operatives (kolkhozes) beginning in the 1920s, control over production and consumption was increasingly transferred to the state and peasants became employees. In later decades, these smaller co-operatives were merged into larger units or transformed into state farms (sovkhozes). From that time on the vast majority of agricultural land in the oases belt was devoted to growing cotton. Only a small portion was allotted for other products, such as grains and vegetables. As part of an overall plan, cereals were imported by Uzbekistan and Tajikistan from other republics (notably Kazakstan) and most vegetables and fruits were grown in the small private plots that people were allowed to tend. Production was firmly integrated into a centrally planned economy, which assigned specific quotas to every individual kolkhoz and its constitutive brigades according to local environmental conditions. The state’s role was to provide these entities with the necessary resources, including seeds, fertilizers, machinery, fuel and labour force.10 During my fieldwork, most people described the socialist period in very positive terms, particularly with reference to consumption and living standards. The work was often hard, it was said, but goods were cheap and readily available. Access to school education and regular health care were also much appreciated. After an initial reluctance among the population, the socialist system met with a great deal of overall approval.11 Besides promoting economic transformation, authorities of the early Soviet era also established ethnically defined administrative units, which were embedded within the state hierarchy. For this reason, every individual had to be assigned to one particular ethnic or national group. These groups, in turn, had to be defined in terms of territory and cultural distinctiveness. The process of national delimitation started soon after the takeover in the 1920s and was more or less completed by 1936. In Central Asia, it resulted in the creation of five Soviet Socialist Republics (SSR), namely Kazakstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and Tajikistan. Ethnic territories of a lower order were the Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic (ASSR) of Karakalpakistan, originally a part of Kazakstan but later transferred to Uzbekistan, and the Autonomous Region of Gorno-Badakhshan within Tajikistan. In fact, these Central Asian republics and regions were ad-

50    Variations on Uzbek Identity

Figure 1.2.  The socialist silhouette of Tashkent (Photo: P. Finke)

ministrative units with limited autonomy (see also the discussion of the national delimitation process and Soviet ethnos theory in the introduction). Some observers have concluded that the process of national delimitation in Central Asia was more or less arbitrary, but the strategic nature of other elements of Stalinist politics might suggest a grander plan. With this in mind, others have suggested that the process of national delimitation was intentionally malign, insofar as it assigned major segments of titular ethnic groups to other territories without strict necessity.12 This purposeful separation, at least in the opinion of western Sovietologists, was intended to counter local sentiments in favour of a larger political unity, such as Pan-Turkism or Pan-Islamism (Zenkovsky 1960; Landau 1995). The policy attracted a portion of the early local elite in Soviet Central Asia, many of them former Jadids and early communists, such as Khojayev and Fitrat (Hisao 1989).13 For some, the decision to join the communists was primarily strategic, with an aim to overthrow the old regime and facilitate the introduction of a liberal or nationalist type of government. Not only did these hopes go unfulfilled, but nearly the entire first generation of local elites perished during the Stalinist purges in the late 1930s (Becker 1968: 301ff.). It seems doubtful, however, that the political unity of Turkestan had ever been a viable option, considering that the mutual opposition of the major groups in the region usually outweighed their common interests (Landau 1995). It is also known from archival material of the period that local and regional negotiations, not exclusively initiated from above, played an important role in determining ethnic and administrative boundaries (Vaidyanath 1967; Baldauf 1991; Slezkine

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   51

1994; Keller 2001; Martin 2001; Suny and Martin 2001; Edgar 2004; Hirsch 2005).14 Of the five republics, Uzbekistan had territorial boundaries that seemed to have been drawn in a particularly arbitrary way. It contained the southern part of the former General Government of Turkestan (by then an ASSR) and most of the states of Khiva and Bukhara, which had been formally independent People’s Republics until 1924 (Becker 1968). Parts of eastern Bukhara and some of the western and southern estates of the former Khanate of Kokand were established as the ASSR of Tajikistan within Uzbekistan, until in 1929 Tajikistan ascended to the status of a separate republic (Vaidyanath 1967; Roy 2000: 54ff.). The debate on the meaning of Uzbekness formally established during that period has already been touched upon. It has also been suggested that the Uzbeks were favoured above other groups, particularly with regard to the Tajiks, because the Soviet regime wanted them to function as a quasi Big Brother in the region. Certainly, the ethnic boundaries of Uzbekness were generously drawn, and many people were forced to register as Uzbeks precisely to make these borders appear to make more sense (Allworth 1990; Schoeberlein 1994; Subtelny 1994). This included not only the incorporation of distinct groups such as the Qurama and the Turk (as well as the highly ambiguous category of Sart) but also numerous Tajiks, Kazaks and Turkmens. Not all of this, however, came about as the result of force. Some groups adopted the label of Uzbek for opportunistic reasons (Baldauf 1991). At the same time, as elaborated above, the Soviet definition of Uzbekness clearly favoured the sedentary elements claiming that Uzbek ethnogenesis had more or less been completed by the twelfth century – although some scholars, as also noted, tried to stress the relevance of the Shaybanid invaders (Shanijazov 1978). Despite its artificial character, the Soviet creation of nations was a relatively successful process and readily accepted. Among the mechanisms that contributed to this acceptance was the creation of literary languages, usually on the basis of those dialects that were most distinct. In the case of the Uzbeks, these were the Iranianized dialects of the Ferghana Valley, which lack – in contrast to other Turkic languages – vowel harmony (Allworth 1990: 237; Soucek 2000: 33f.). The practise of stating one’s national or ethnic affiliation on passports and identity cards also played a role, as will be discussed below. Such affiliations also had an impact on one’s professional life, as it allowed both discriminative and affirmative actions (Khazanov 1993: 187). National culture as defined by the state was highly celebrated, which not only contributed to stronger feelings of separateness but also to the degradation to folkloric traditions. The question remains what the actual rights of the republics during the Soviet era were. It was certainly an exaggeration by the totalitarian school in Soviet Studies to assert that the state, or the government in Moscow, was the only real holder of power. The few anthropological studies conducted during that period

52   Variations on Uzbek Identity

convincingly describe a society of intensive bargaining on the ground (Humphrey 1983). Conversely, it is equally clear that the meaning of republican sovereignty or autonomy was not to be taken literally. By law, each SSR had a separate constitution and a parliament as well as the right to secede from the Soviet state, but in fact all major decisions were taken in Moscow. During the first decades of socialist rule there were few local cadres, and most positions were occupied by immigrant Russians (some of them earlier settlers, others delegated by the state). An initial movement towards korenizatsiya, or indigenization, constituted a deliberate attempt to increase the number of local functionaries and members of the communist party (Martin 2001; Hirsch 2005). During the 1930s, this policy was reversed and replaced by the ruthless extermination of the local intelligentsia accused of nationalist orientations. It was revived, however, and experienced its heyday during Brezhnev’s rule. As long as the demanded amounts of cotton and other raw materials were delivered, there was little interference in local affairs (Critchlow 1991: 19ff.). The results were not exactly the ones envisaged, as the new elites tended to become highly corrupt. During the Brezhnev period, when each of the five Central Asian republics was headed by one person for nearly thirty years, the region became infamous for accusations of nepotism and the illegal appropriation of collective property. The cotton scandal in Uzbekistan in the early 1980s, when thousands of local and regional leaders were arrested for alleged fraud, was the most glaring example. It shocked Soviet society as a whole and led to the displacement of the indigenous party leaders throughout Central Asia (Critchlow 1991). At the same time, the undisputed aim of socialist ideology was the merging – albeit in the distant future – of all ethnic or national groups into one entity, vaguely referred to in the literature as ‘homo sovieticus’ (Critchlow 1991). The predominance of the Russian language in all aspects of public life was certainly a major indication of this intention. How much of this was deliberate policy and how much was in response to the demands of realpolitik is difficult to determine. It is clear that there was great reluctance on the part of Russians, wherever they lived, to learn local languages, and many of them preferred to cast themselves in the role of the more knowledgeable ‘older brother’, willing to lend a guiding hand to the less developed nations (Khazanov 1993). Even today, many can hardly greet their neighbours in the latter’s native tongue. The overcoming of religious bonds was another centrepiece for the creation of a homo sovieticus. Since the 1960s, there has been an ongoing debate about the degree to which the attacks on Islam were successful (Bennigsen and Broxup 1983). Frequent claims have been made about the survival of various religious rituals, even among high-ranking party officials (Critchlow 1991: 167ff.). Much of that debate was and still is guided more by ideological conviction than by the careful collection and analysis of empirical data. What seems clear is that Soviet

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   53

attitudes towards Islam went through several periods of rigidity, but overall were not more repressive than actions against Christianity (Krämer 2002: 57ff.).

Independent Uzbekistan: Political and Economic Transformations A well-documented problem in the socialist planned economy was that resources scheduled to be provided by the state often did not arrive on time or arrived short of the promised amounts, thus making it impossible to meet production targets. At the same time, the system provided incentives for kolkhoz workers and officials to cheat. This often involved the appropriation of collective goods, as in the example of the cotton scandal, when the central government in Moscow paid at least a billion roubles over the years for cotton that had never been produced (Critchlow 1991: 40f.).15 Ultimately, such deficiencies forced the regime in Moscow to initiate reforms. In the West, these reforms became known as the politics of perestroika and glasnost, which occurred under Gorbachev. Many people in Central Asia, however, perceived these policies as attempts to deliberately destroy the achievements that had enabled them to enjoy a relatively secure way of life (Werner 1997; Zanca 1999; Finke and Sancak 2007). The leaders in the Central Asian republics showed little enthusiasm for the reforms, but the momentum of history overrode their reluctance. In step with the rest of the dissolving Soviet Union, the Central Asian republics declared their sovereignty in 1990, but the final push towards formal independence was made only in late 1991. By that time, with the withdrawal of the Russian Federation, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics had de facto ceased to exist. On 31 August 1991, Uzbekistan declared its independence officially and in December joined the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS). As in other Central Asian republics, the new elites were recruited for the most part from former communist functionaries who were determined to hold on to their power. Islom Karimov, the first president of independent Uzbekistan, had been the general secretary of the Communist Party of Uzbekistan and as such the leading figure in the republic since 1989 (Akbarzadeh 1996b; Fierman 1997). The late Soviet period and the first years of independence witnessed cautious democratic reforms in Uzbekistan. Two popular organizations, Birlik and its offspring Erk, were able to attract followers, but after a short period of tolerance, the government banned them (Fierman 1997; Capisani 2000). Other organizations evolved to protect the rights of the Slavic and Tajik populations, but lost official recognition because they were viewed as threats to the internal harmony of the fledgling independent republic. In their place, cultural centres, each representing a single minority, have been opened at the initiative of the government (Fierman 1997: 370ff.). In 1991, the former Communist Party of Uzbekistan became the People’s Democratic Party of Uzbekistan, with little change in leadership and or-

54   Variations on Uzbek Identity

ganization. Islom Karimov continued as head of the party and steadily expanded his power base within and beyond the party. In the presidential election of December 1991, he received 86 per cent of the vote, while the only opposition candidate allowed to run, Muhammad Solih from Erk, received 12 per cent (Fierman 1997; Capisani 2000). By the mid-1990s, Karimov’s authority was essentially unchallenged, with most of his opponents leaving the country to escape imprisonment. The situation worsened after 1992, following the eruption of civil war in neighbouring Tajikistan and outbursts of violent unrest in Andijon and Namangan, which provided the government with an excuse to suppress opposition groups. In 1995, Karimov had his presidency extended until 2000 by a referendum supported by 99 per cent of the reported ballots (Kangas 1994; Akbarzadeh 1996b; Fierman 1997). With similar unanimity, his presidency was renewed several times and he has given no indication of stepping down at any time in the near future. His internal power has reached heights that extend far beyond those of Soviet times (Spechler 2008). He is in charge of appointing the provincial governors, who in turn appoint the officials who occupy the lower administrative levels. The members of parliament are nominated by the parties, all of which are under the president’s control, and by the provincial committees, all headed by governors installed by him. Karimov also appoints ministers and the highest-ranking judges, and serves as the commander-in-chief (Fierman 1997: 384ff.). While the constitution provides for some semblance of a democratic system, this is in effect circumvented, with the president exerting total control over legislation and the execution of laws. In a similar way, the media is by and large under tight control, with the police and military serving as willing enforcers of this policy (Freedman and Shafer 2011). Reports of abuse and torture have abounded, especially after the assassination attempt on the president in February 1999 (Capisani 2000; Sagdeev and Eisenhower 2000). It is estimated that more than several thousand suspects were put in jail, many without a fair trial or access to legal support. More recent events, as, for example, when several hundred people were killed during demonstrations in the city of Andijon in 2005, reflect a continuation of this policy of control (Megoran 2005; Fumagalli 2006). Equally affected are the country’s external relations. In the early years of independence, many hoped for the development of some kind of regional integration among the Central Asian states, but this has proved to be largely illusory. It would certainly be unfair to blame this solely on Uzbekistan. Nonetheless, the government in Tashkent has been (and remains) particularly un-cooperative in this respect. Amid allegations of the influx of Islamic terrorists, which Uzbekistan uses to justify its stance, the situation vis-à-vis Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan is especially tense. Relations with Turkmenistan are hardly any better. Further, the powerful neighbour Kazakstan continues to be perceived as unfriendly, with the Uzbek media accusing it of ‘economic aggression’, when goods across the border are often cheaper.

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   55

In spite of its reluctance to implement serious economic and political reforms, the regime has at the same time tried to eliminate reminders of the Soviet past. Throughout the country, streets, villages and kolkhozes named after socialist heroes or international friendship have received new, more ‘Uzbek’ labels. This process has gone hand in hand with the transformation of public spaces. In 1992, the statue of Lenin in the central square of Tashkent was removed, and the area itself renamed Independence Square. Soon afterward, in 1993, Karl Marx gave way to Amir Timur (Hegarty 1995), who three years later was honoured with a museum commemorating his 660th anniversary. Architecture, which, in Soviet times, was an important expression of national identity, is also used by the current government to represent the new Uzbekistan against the backdrop of regional history (Akbarzadeh 1996b; Bell 1999). As is true with other republics in the region, Uzbekistan has a population that is far from homogeneous and largely a product of Soviet politics. Many of its newly refurbished old heroes and national symbols have also been claimed by other Central Asian nationalities. At the same time, minority languages have been increasingly pushed to the margins as education becomes more and more ‘Uzbekized’. Parents prefer to send their children to an Uzbek school because this increases their opportunities for the future. Tajiks are particularly affected by this shift in emphasis, because studying in Tajikistan is no longer a promising option. Uzbekistan does not recognize degrees acquired there, and permanent settlement in the poverty-stricken country still recovering from a deadly civil war does not appear particularly attractive either. The situation is somewhat better for Kazaks, due to the more favourable environments the respective states offer. The status of the Uzbeks in relation to other minorities is just one issue in this regard; equally crucial is the question of who the Uzbeks actually are. Many of the historical figures that are celebrated in contemporary Uzbekistan do not seem to be particularly Uzbek at first glance. The decision to place the medieval ruler Timur at the nucleus of Uzbek statehood has already been mentioned. He is honoured less for being a conqueror than for being a just ruler who made Uzbekistan the centre of power in the larger region and liberated it from Mongol dominance (see also Hegarty 1995: 95). In a similar way, other persons and cultural events have been incorporated into the concept of Uzbekness. Among these are the tenth-century scholars Ibn-Sina, Al-Khorezmi and Al-Beruni (none of whom was a Turkic speaker). The celebration of the Avesta, the sacred texts of Zoroastrism, as having originated in areas of present-day Uzbekistan has also been a major public event in recent years (Sievers 2002: 118). This points yet again to a state-induced attempt to influence the cultural models or cognitive schemas of people regarding their self-identification and their loyalty towards larger social entities. It should be emphasized, however, that these historical figures and events are not necessarily declared to be Uzbek in an ethnic sense; rather, they are put forward as a legacy that is bound to the territory

56   Variations on Uzbek Identity

of the state. Analogous to that, majority-minority relations in Uzbekistan are more characterized by assimilation trends than by sharp ethnic boundaries and competition. Thus, while the objective of the current political elite is recognizable in terms of shaping the loyalty of its citizens in a specific way, these patterns also reflect the fundamental understanding of Uzbekness as a territorial rather than a genealogical concept. In contrast, or rather in line with this, comparatively little reference is made to the first Uzbeks in the literal sense of the term, i.e. Muhammad Shaybani and his Qipchaq-speaking followers – who, in contrast to the Timurids, were indeed conquerors from outside – nor to the early intellectuals of the twentieth century, such as Fayzulla Khojayev, who played an important role in the design of the Uzbek SSR (Kurzman 1999: 83). The only major figure of recent history that has achieved renewed fame is the previous party secretary Sharof Rashidov, who is infamous for his involvement in the cotton scandal. The most debated issue in contemporary politics and international academia regarding Uzbekistan is, however, the threat of growing Islamic fundamentalism or, indeed, terrorism. The government in Tashkent has taken a firm stand by prohibiting the Islamic Renaissance Party, a CIS-wide organization particularly strong in Tajikistan, and by cracking down repeatedly on alleged Islamists. The seriousness of the danger from such groups has been much debated. Most of the Western media and policy advisers worldwide seem to be convinced that the threat is real (Rashid 2002), a view shared by many academics (Naumkin 2005; Em. Karagiannis 2010; McGlinchey 2011). Others have taken a more cautious stance and have observed that forceful suppression by the government may actually create rather than deter the fundamentalist threat (Schoeberlein 2001; Zanca 2005; Khalid 2007; Louw 2007). Many claim that allegations of Islamism are being used as an excuse to crush oppositional movements, but its antiterrorist position has allowed the regime to gain credit with both the US and Russian governments. Uzbekistan became a firm supporter in the international fight against terrorism – and host to a military base for US operations in Afghanistan.16 At the same time, relations with Russia warmed following Vladimir Putin’s rise to power, perhaps due to the many similarities with his approach to governance. It is beyond doubt that some members of the IMU, the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan, headed by Juma Namangani, had established contacts with the Taliban regime in Afghanistan and that many of them died following the invasion of 2001. Other Islamic movements, such as the Hizb-u-Tahrir, are much less clear in their ideological orientation and political practises. It is also doubted whether a radical movement aimed at establishing some type of Sharia-based policy could gain widespread support among the population (Schoeberlein 2001). Some authors believe that while Islam might not have the potential for political transformation, it at least represents a defining moment in Uzbek identity (Hanks 1994; Khalmukhamedov 1999). According to those holding this view, Islam did not necessarily lose significance during Soviet times; rather, its role changed, as it

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   57

became a part of Uzbek cultural identity that could be embraced even by atheistic party functionaries. Consequently, in the early 1990s, the re-establishment of mosques and madrasa was supported by the government, which also called for a revival of Islamic values, at least until it decided to change course. This is not necessarily in contradiction to the otherwise profoundly secular character of the region, because it was seen as part of a ‘re-traditionalization’ of society (Akiner 1996). In a similar way, the mahalla, or neighbourhood organization – one of the most discussed phenomena in post-socialist Uzbekistan – can be interpreted both as a return to pre-socialist institutions and as an attempt by the modern nationstate to tighten its control over its subjects (Abramson 1998; Koroteyeva and Makarova 1998; Massicard and Trevisani 2000; Geiss 2001; Pétric 2002; Sievers 2002). Traditionally, the mahalla was primarily an urban institution that regulated both residence and social conduct within cities. As a residential unit, it was not necessarily based on kin relations, and outsiders were admitted (by way of purchasing property) on the basis of consensus (Geiss 2001). According to Sievers (2002), the mahalla was the primary supplier of public goods, while the state often interfered in the life of its citizens only through taxation. During Soviet times, the mahalla was adopted by the state, and its usage was even extended to include socialist apartment complexes. Still, the term was mainly confined to residential areas with non-Slavic populations. The new government has continued along the same path, both to consolidate political control and to bolster the image of the state as one devoted to the revival of traditional Uzbek culture (Massicard and Trevisani 2000). Today, the mahalla is both a governmental structure and an informal institution within which neighbours support each other and pool resources for various purposes. Its appropriation by the state meant the introduction of formal positions, which are filled by the district governor. They became, as Sievers puts it, ‘grassroots state agencies’ (2002: 143). As such, the mahalla are intermediaries in the relationship between the state and its citizens as well as means of supervision. According to Massicard and Trevisani (2000), the state has thus appropriated this traditional institution by formalizing it in order to gain access to local society. This may also foster the Uzbekization of society, as Sievers believes (2002: 120; see also Koroteyeva and Makarova 1998). Most publications claim that the institution has been extended to all regions within Uzbekistan and that every citizen is thus a member of a mahalla. As will be shown below, however, in most of rural Uzbekistan, the mahalla as an institution has only recently been introduced and is gradually gaining relevance (see chapters 2, 3 and 5). The mahalla is part of a larger administrative structure inherited from Soviet times, the upper levels of which consist of provinces (Uzb.: viloyat; Russ.: oblast’) and their constitutive districts (Uzb.: tuman; Russ.: rayon). In the Soviet Union, the viloyat functioned as the primary link within political and economic chains of

58   Variations on Uzbek Identity

command. With regard to production, the government and its ministries handed down the major plan quotas to the viloyat, each of which in turn distributed them among its constituent districts and farms. This arrangement has not changed significantly. Every fall, broadcasts on television news focus on reporting cotton output statistics and on the order in which the different provinces have met their prescribed goals. The viloyat authorities continue to forward the plan quotas to the various tuman, which in turn allocate them among the constitutive units, the collective or the private farms. As in the case of the viloyat, the long-term survival of the governor (hokim) is dependent on the fulfilment of plan quotas within the respective unit. The tuman, in turn, are comprised of townships and rural municipalities (qishloq fuqarolar yig’ini), which were called sel’soviet in the past and still are frequently referred to by that term today.17 Just as the administrative structure has remained relatively intact from Soviet times, so has much of the socialist economic organization. Many political and economic decisions in contemporary Uzbekistan appear to be designed to enable the former elites to maintain their power monopoly by controlling both the production process and the allocation of resources. The economy is still largely based on agricultural products and their processing.18 To make the country less dependent on grain imports, the government shifted away from a nearly exclusive concentration on cotton. By 2000, approximately 30 per cent of the agricultural land formerly devoted to cotton production was now cultivated with wheat. Since then, this percentage has increased to its current level of approximately 50 per cent. Animal husbandry is of minor significance in Uzbekistan, although an estimated 80 per cent of usable land is for pastures, mainly in the western regions. In 2000, livestock numbers included 5.3 million cattle and 8.9 million sheep, most of them of the Karakul breed (Capisani 2000: 112; Makhmudovich 2005). The impact of ongoing price controls and state intervention on general economic development proved disastrous. These policies created an economy that neither attracted outside investors nor provided incentives for people to increase productivity (Bartlett 2001), resulting in a declining GDP, rising unemployment and galloping inflation. Some authors believed that Uzbekistan would eventually follow a ‘Chinese’ path towards transformation – although less consistently than the latter – that would secure greater social and political stability. A milder recession compared with other states in the region seemed to prove this (Zettelmeyer 1999; Pomfret 2000), but it is also possible that the apparent mildness of the recession should be attributed not to the superior performance of the economy in comparison to Kazakstan or Kyrgyzstan but to a higher level of fraud in the economic statistics released by the Uzbek government.19 In 1993, the government introduced its own currency, the so’m, which, since then, has suffered from the lack of convertibility.20 To eliminate reminders of the old system, the terms kolkhoz and sovkhoz were replaced by a multitude of labels, such as shirkat xo’jaligi, dehqon xo’jaligi

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   59

and fermer uyushmasi. Officially, each of these designations was intended to imply a particular legal status, but nobody seemed to be able to tell the difference, and in everyday life they are still referred to as kolkhoz and sovkhoz. Some of these enterprises, however, have grown or shrunk, due to amalgamations or splits (Ilkhamov 1998). In some areas, formally in line with demands for the transition to a market economy, beginning in the early 2000s, the Uzbek government introduced the option for individuals to leave collective enterprises and establish private farms. The procedure was usually that, first, people seeking an allotment of land submitted applications to the local authorities. Following this, a committee consisting of district officials and kolkhoz representatives would try to establish guidelines for the distribution of the land. The final decision lies, however, with the respective tuman hokimi (Sancak 2012). In most cases, the people who received land had occupied key positions in the previous system. As they were supposed to form the nucleus of the midto large-scale farming sector, most fermer, as these new rural entrepreneurs are called, received between ten and thirty hectares. Although the size of the fields may sound small compared to farms in the United States and Western Europe, the process has had a significant impact on the total land still available – little remains for the bulk of the rural population. Thus, a new local landed aristocracy has begun to emerge, but one that is totally dependent on the district governors responsible for selecting the individual landholders, because these allocations are only in the form of medium- or long-term leases, and land not properly used (at least according to the district governors) may be taken away before the lease expires (see also Ilkhamov 1998; Trevisani 2010; Sancak 2012). The basic procedure for production and distribution among the ‘private’ fermer is very similar to that for state and collective enterprises. As in Soviet times, a state plan is handed down via provincial and district authorities to the individual landholders, who are required to produce a specific amount of cotton from the allotted land. The cotton must be sold at a prearranged price to the nearby factory, which serves as the immediate trading partner (Sancak 2012). With regard to grain, farmers ostensibly are allowed to sell a potential surplus on the market; in practise, however, the district authorities often try to persuade or force them to deliver all of it at fixed prices to the local collection points to help insure that the district fulfils its total plan quota (compensating for other enterprises that fail to meet their numbers). The agricultural workers – the former kolkhozchi – are employed by the larger enterprises or the fermer. The major difference is that now they usually wait months for their salaries – that is, if they receive their pay at all. Often, the only cash income is for picking cotton; however, cotton yields have been steadily decreasing due to decades of heavy fertilizing (Critchlow 1991: 66; Capisani 2000: 116f.). Many of these employees work only for the (semi-legal) right to use the land after the official harvest in order to grow potatoes and vegetables for their own consumption and sell a possible surplus in local markets (Sancak 2012).

60    Variations on Uzbek Identity

Figure 1.3.  Heaps of cotton at a local delivery point (Photo: P. Finke)

The other main source of income comes from the private plots that have been assigned to each family. Private plots are of two kinds: small gardens in the courtyard and additional fields outside of the village. Officially, the government has declared that every household should receive a certain amount of land to make a living from. In practise, the amount of land allocated to newly founded families outside the village has continually decreased in recent years (Ilkhamov 1998; Sancak 2012). This small-scale agricultural production revolves around potatoes, carrots, onions, spinach, cabbage and various types of beets. Many people have also started to produce their own wheat. During socialist times, this was not necessary because flour was much cheaper to buy in the shops than to produce at home. Private agriculture is, however, highly dependent on the formal sector, especially with regard to the supply of water. Of course, private plots are not very high on the agenda of central water distribution, which serves, first and foremost, to ensure that grain and, especially, cotton quotas are fulfilled. However, to prevent public unrest, it is essential that a sufficient proportion of the total water supply be at the disposal of the households. Thus, the majority of the rural population has suffered a dramatic decrease in living standards following the demise of the socialist system. In 2002, those who have been able to remain employed, for example teachers and doctors, received salaries of US $15 to $20 a month – not enough to buy sufficient flour for a family of four – and these rarely were paid on time. In contrast, pensions

Map 1.1.  Uzbekistan: Political Boundaries and Administrative Divisions

62   Variations on Uzbek Identity

were usually paid in a timely manner, although by 2004, complaints about irregularities were also increasing. Nevertheless, for many households, pensions represent the only predictable source of monetary income. Most rural families subsist primarily on the sale of surplus produce from their private plots, but the resulting income is, in almost all cases, too low to pay for basic necessities, not to mention the additional, usually quite large expenses associated with important social events such as weddings and circumcision parties. Thus, further sources of income include legal and semi-legal activities, such as rearing cattle and engaging in petty trade, and outright illegal ones such as the smuggling of cotton into Kazakstan or Kyrgyzstan, where it can be sold at world market prices (Kandiyoti 1998; Sancak 2012). Trade is of minor importance in the rural context. Many villagers sell some of their agricultural surplus at nearby markets, but few engage in buying and re-selling foodstuffs, clothing and other commodities. In recent years, labour migration to Russia and Kazakstan became additional loopholes for impoverished villagers (Reeves 2011, 2012). As a consequence of the precarious economic situation, which in many regions has been exacerbated by severe ecological degradation, state legitimacy has begun to deteriorate in Uzbekistan. Amazingly, this has yet to cause a serious rise in ethnic or social tensions. It has, however, had an impact on the configuration of social networks and thus, at least indirectly, on interethnic relations. In the following chapters, I will show how environmental, economic and other factors have influenced the ethnic configuration in the four regions selected for this study. While this book will not demonstrate any ultimate causality, it will show that historical circumstances, environmental setting and economic structures have had a significant impact on how patterns of mutual association and differentiation have developed.

Notes   1. This is not the work of a historian. The following survey is based for the most part on secondary sources. It relies heavily on a work by Peter Golden with the excessively modest title An Introduction to the History of the Turkic Peoples (1992). Other recent introductions to the history of the region or major areas of it include Sinor (1990), Christian (1998), Soucek (2000) and Golden (2011). Earlier compendiums that I have utilized over the years include Grousset (1970) and Hambly (1966).   2. The definition of the term Central Asia has been inconsistent across disciplines and academic traditions. Not only has its meaning changed over time, but it has been blurred by a number of alternative designations such as Inner Asia and Middle Asia (in the German and Russian traditions). Throughout this work, I use the term Central Asia in a rather broad sense encompassing the five former Soviet republics of Kazakstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan; Mongolia; and the three autonomous regions within the People’s Republic of China – Xinjiang, Inner Mongolia and Tibet (for a variety of definitions of these terms, see Hambly 1966; Sinor 1969, 1990; Poliakov 1992; Bregel 1995; Humphrey and Sneath 1999; Soucek 2000).

A Historical Sketch of the Uzbeks   63   3. According to some scholars, New Persian was, in fact, first developed in the eastern Iranian   4.   5.   6.   7.

  8.

  9. 10. 11. 12.

13.

14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

world, in Khorasan and at the Samanid court, before it became the modern tongue of Iran (Atkin 1994; Fragner 1998). The other Mongol polities, the Yüan Dynasty in China and the Il-Khanate in Iran, had little impact on the ethnic history of western Central Asia and are not discussed here (Morgan 1986; Soucek 2000). On the genealogy and life history of Muhammad Shaybani, see Allworth (1990: 41ff.). The term is probably derived from Sanskrit, where it meant ‘merchant’ (Barthold [Subtelny] 1997). Karmysheva (1976) describes the three segments as ‘Uzbeks without tribal traditions’, ‘early tribes’ and ‘late tribes’ (see also Baldauf 1991). However, it is safe to say that many, if not the majority, of the first category were Iranian speakers at some point, as the original population could not have disappeared without a trace. It is, however, impossible to draw any conclusions from this number with regard to present distribution. Birth rates may have differed between sedentary and nomadic groups, and the same must be said for the proportional number of casualties in the bloodshed of the following centuries, which may have been substantially higher among those tribal groups that continued to form the backbone of the army. This may also be inferred from the fact that the Uzbek term for village, qishloq, originally meant ‘winter quarter’. For a general analysis of the functioning of socialist systems, see Kornai (1992); for an account of everyday life in the Soviet Union, see Humphrey (1983). In contrast, most Western sources describe Soviet Central Asia as a poor and backward hinterland of the Soviet Union, plagued by population growth, unemployment and low wages (Rywkin 1979; Fierman 1991; Patnaik 1995). Although such a policy was detrimental to the creation of ethnically homogeneous territories, Kazakstan, Kyrgyzstan and Turkmenistan were provided with urban centres, which were traditionally dominated by Uzbeks. Examples include the cities of Osh and Jalalabad (Kyrgyzstan), Charjuy and Dashoghuz (Turkmenistan) and Chimkent (Kazakstan) (Capisani 2000: 107ff.). A different case was the establishment of island territories within Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, such as So’x and Shohimardon, which were assigned to Uzbekistan for reasons not clearly understood (Reeves 2007). The Jadids were proponents of a reform movement that took shape towards the end of the nineteenth century, building in part on earlier pan-Turkist visions. As is evident in their name, they advocated a ‘new method’ (usul-i jadid ), especially for the development of a modern educational system. To some degree, recent scholars have questioned the modernist appeal of the Jadids, whose ‘new method’ may have been more about gaining power than transforming education (Khalid 1998). In particular, the allocation of the Tashkent and Chimkent regions was hotly disputed between Uzbekistan and Kazakstan, just as Tajikistan and Uzbekistan vied for sovereignty over Bukhara and Samarqand (Vaidyanath 1967; Allworth 1990: 200ff.). For a discussion of incentive structures in socialist regimes, see Kornai (1992), Verdery (1996) and Finke (2004). In 2005, the government of Uzbekistan cancelled the agreement after criticism by the United States of its handling of the events in Andijon. Sel’soviet is an abbreviation of sel’skiy soviet, or rural soviet. In the following, this will be used, as it was the much more common label in all field sites rather than qishloq fuqarolar yig’ini. Major mineral resources include gas, oil and gold, which are found primarily in the western provinces of Navoiy, Bukhara, Qasqhadaryo and Karakalpakistan (Capisani 2000: 111).

64   Variations on Uzbek Identity 19. For an overview of economic reforms, see Craumer (1995), Biermann et al. (1996), Kaser (1998), Rumer (2000), Pomfret (2006) and Sartori and Trevisani (2007).

20. At times, three different exchange rates were valid in Uzbekistan, two of them official and the third based on the black market. During the period of my fieldwork, the black market rate fluctuated between 100 and 150 so’m for US $1.

Chapter 2

A Central Asian Melting Pot The Oasis of Bukhara The Regional Setting Apart from Samarqand, the oasis of Bukhara is probably the best-known locale in Central Asia and has been one of its political and cultural centres for millennia. The numerous architectural monuments, mainly from the Islamic period, are vivid expressions of this stature. One of the oldest continuously inhabited places in the world, the contemporary city of Bukhara celebrated its 2,500th anniversary some years ago, but several other sites in the oasis may have preceded it by centuries. In the context of this study, Bukhara represents the close intermingling of Uzbeks and Tajiks – i.e. Turkic and Iranian speakers, respectively – that continues to the present day. More than any of the other areas discussed, this intermingling has advanced to where differences are almost unrecognizable. In Samarqand, which has a similar ethnic composition, Uzbeks and Tajiks live side by side, are bilingual, and intermarry. Other regions also claim a peaceful coexistence of the two groups. But only in Bukhara have Uzbeks and Tajiks become a single, inclusive bilingual entity where internal differentiations are basically non-existent and insistently denied. Other groups in the area have also become integrated, depending on their perceived closeness to the Uzbek-Tajik amalgamation. Ecology plays something of a role in this. The oasis of Bukhara, approximately fifty kilometres wide, is located in the midst of a vast desert area that stretches from the Amu-Darya in the south to the Syr-Darya in the north, and from the Aral Sea in the west to the western foothills of the Turkestan Range in the east. The area is almost entirely flat lowlands, with few natural elevations and abrupt boundaries where the oasis ends and the desert begins. To the north and west, the Qizil-Qum (‘Red Sand’) desert is home to a small number of nomads, as is the area south of the Amu-Darya in the Qara-Qum (‘Black Sand’) desert. To the southeast and northeast, the oasis is surrounded by somewhat more fertile desert steppes (see map 2.1). The larger neighbouring oases are each several hundred kilometres away, namely Khorezm, which is located almost four hundred kilometres to the northwest, Samarqand some two hundred kilometres to the east, and Qarshi one hundred and fifty kilometres to the southeast. The closest

66   Variations on Uzbek Identity

neighbour is the smaller oasis of Charjuy, now Turkmenabat, about fifty kilometres southwest, which today is a part of Turkmenistan but historically and culturally had close cultural ties to Bukhara. Rivers and lakes are few. The great Amu-Darya, flowing from the Pamir Mountains to Khorezm, circumvents the oasis in the south. The only major river within the oasis is the Zarafshon. It originates in the mountains of what is now central Tajikistan, in the Turkestan Range, and in terms of oasis culture it may have played a more significant role in the history of Central Asia than the larger Amu and Syr-Darya. Many of the most famous cultural centres were located along the Zarafshon, in particular Panjakent, Samarqand and Bukhara. However, according to reports from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the Zarafshon, once a tributary of the Amu-Darya, had by then already lost all of its water long before it reached Bukhara due to extensive irrigation demands (Khanikoff 1845; Olufsen 1911). As was described for Central Asia as a whole, the climate of the Bukhara oasis is arid and continental. Compared with other parts of Uzbekistan, average temperatures are somewhat higher. Winters are moderate, with temperatures rarely dropping below minus 10°C. In January, the monthly average is 2–3°C, although temperatures may vary as much as twenty degrees in one day. Starting in March, warming trends raise temperatures to 25°C and above. Summers can become extremely hot, reaching 45°C and monthly averages around 35°C (UNEP 1999). Spring and autumn are relatively short seasons, each lasting only a few weeks. Temperatures are moderately warm, although during the day they may well exceed 30°C. In most parts of the oasis and the surrounding desert, precipitation is less than 150 millimetres annually, often dropping below 100 millimetres. Most of the precipitation occurs in winter and spring. Occasionally, for a few days, the desert is blanketed lightly with snow. Due to hot summer temperatures, overall evaporation is high, causing plants to dry out before fall arrives (Makhmudovich 2005). Corresponding to the climatic conditions, natural vegetation is sparse. There are no trees except for those that have been planted by man. Beyond the irrigation zone only a few bushes survive. These lands are traditionally utilized by pastoralists who herd camels, sheep and goats, although in recent years some villagers have also been investing in livestock grazed outside of the oasis territory. The soil is mostly loam, which is very fertile and contains almost no rocks. Rain transforms the ground into mud within a few hours, and unpaved back roads often become impassable. The importance of Bukhara, like that of other oases in Central Asia, has always been based on its irrigation system. Some of the canals have been in use since pre-Islamic times without even changing their names (Barthold [Frye] 1986: 1295). A second source of wealth was Bukhara’s location along important early trade routes such as the famous Silk Road. Caravans from China, Russia, the Middle East and Europe converged here, bringing with them a variety of

Map 2.1.  The Oasis of Bukhara

68   Variations on Uzbek Identity

influences that helped contribute to an enduring political and cultural heyday for Bukhara (Frye 1997). Life in the oasis has always relied on maintaining a rather delicate ecological balance, as it is totally dependent on the waters that descend from the mountains further to the east. There are no mountain ranges nearby, unlike the case in the neighbouring oasis of Samarqand or in the Ferghana Valley, where smaller ravines can provide additional sources for irrigation. Rainfall on its own is never sufficient to support cultivation. Despite these vulnerabilities, Bukhara has long been one of the most productive oases in Central Asia. Grains, vegetables and fruits have always been the main staple of the population. Cotton has been cultivated for a long time, but its production was greatly increased in colonial and Soviet times. Tending mulberry trees for the production of silk is also a long-established industry (Bacon 1980). As in other oases, the distribution of wealth has been characterized by huge inequities, with a large segment of the population living in poverty. Poorer peasants usually worked the land on the basis of sharecropping arrangements (Frye 1996). Apart from producing food for home consumption, the peasants also marketed some of their produce to obtain other needed goods such as tea, salt and clothing. Some of the wealthier households kept livestock for milk and meat. Fodder plants were therefore an important crop as well. Extensive livestock rearing was never an option, however, because specialized pastoralists had no viable grazing lands nearby. Most of the surrounding Qizil-Qum is extremely sparsely vegetated and often interspersed with salt pans. Human and animal populations have always been small. Therefore, nomadic-sedentary relations were never very close in Bukhara. Trade relations did exist, but there were probably never more than small groups of pastoralists who seasonally settled in the vicinity of the villages of the sedentaries; this had a profound impact on the history and ethnic configuration of the region, as will be discussed below. The rising demand for water due to population growth, as well as the increase in cotton production, began to put even more pressure on the major rivers already in colonial times. In the 1930s, the Amu-Bukhara canal was completed, drawing water from the Amu-Darya and redirecting it upland to the northwest to replenish the water supply of the oasis. In later decades, the situation deteriorated dramatically. In order to develop some of the poorer regions of Uzbekistan and to increase overall cotton output, a network of new channels was created. These channels provided irrigation for some of the former pasture areas. The increase in production and the expansion of arable lands into the surrounding desert areas reduced the Zarafshon to a small, brackish runnel. Further south, the AmuDarya lost much of its impressive size due to irrigation projects in Turkmenistan and Afghanistan that fed from it. The consequences for Bukhara have been disastrous. Salinization, always a problem, has increased dramatically in recent times; with less and less fresh

A Central Asian Melting Pot   69

Figure 2.1.  Village scene in the Bukhara Oasis with stripes of salt along the edges of the agricultural fields (Photo: P. Finke)

water reaching the oasis, higher concentrations of salt and pesticides washing down from the upstream oases have built up. Today, all agricultural fields must be leached at least once or twice each winter and spring to reduce the salt content of the soil before seeding. Without the leaching, nothing would grow, and the fields would turn white (Smith 1992). After the salt has been washed out of the fields, the leached water is collected and drained off further downstream, where part of the original Zarafshon now serves as an outflow (Sancak 2012). Additionally, the drying up of the Aral Sea has led to a rise in temperatures and aridity in surrounding areas as far as four hundred kilometres away.1

An Ethnic History of the Bukhara Oasis The general environmental conditions of the oasis, as will be shown below, certainly did not determine economic and social life but have had a profound impact on Bukhara’s history and ethnic configuration. Put differently, they shaped the cost-benefit ratios that various alternative modes of living and acting had for people, this way promoting and discouraging others over time. To understand the current situation, it is therefore essential to take a closer look at the history of the region. The oasis has been populated for a very long time and urban centres have existed since around 1000 bc (Frye 1997). The city of Bukhara was first mentioned in the seventh century ad, but had probably existed for several centuries prior to

70   Variations on Uzbek Identity

that. Its name is usually explained as deriving from the Sanskrit vihara, meaning ‘monastery’ (Barthold [Frye] 1986: 1293). In contrast to many other cities in Transoxania, it was never relocated but always rebuilt in the same spot (Barthold [Frye] 1986: 1294; Nekrasova 1999). As for the rest of Transoxania, at least since the sixth century bc eastern Iranian languages clearly prevailed in the oasis. Most belonged to the Soghdian branch, which was probably also intelligible to the Scythian nomads further north (see chapter 1). The Soghdians by that time represented the majority of the rural population and controlled much of the trade passing through Central Asia by occupying key locations all the way through the Ferghana Valley and into the Tarim Basin. In addition, the Soghdians became a major cultural broker among different world regions (Frye 1996). The first Turks arrived in the vicinity of Bukhara during the sixth or seventh century ad when the Transoxanian city-states became vassals to the western branch of the Türk Qaghanate. A wall, built to keep the nomads out, was no more effective than its more famous Chinese counterpart (Barthold [Frye] 1986: 1295; Frye 1997). The relationship with the local population is not well known. Apparently, the Soghdians did not seriously challenge Turkic sovereignty, instead adapting to a system that in fact benefited their commercial interests, since the unification of large tracts of the Central Asian land mass made long-distance trade much safer and more lucrative. With this began an extended history of Iranian-Turkic interaction in the oases. At first, this was primarily a coexistence based on tributary relationship. The Turks did not interfere significantly into local affairs. After the fall of the Qaghanate, petty states with Turkic rulers persisted for some time (Frye 1997). During the same period, Bukhara was among the first places in Central Asia to become Islamized. Arab troops first entered the city in 674, and by 710, the oasis was subdued and incorporated into the province of Khorasan. It was soon to become a spiritual centre for Islam in the larger region. Acceptance by the population was not immediate, however, especially in the rural areas, and the early Islamic history is one of frequent rebellions against the new rulers and their religion (Frye 1997: 14ff.). Islamic rule became more localized with the rise of the Samanids in the later ninth century. It also initiated a linguistic switch from the older East-Iranian tongues to the New Persian language that forms the basis of contemporary Tajik. The Samanids left behind numerous architectural monuments and re-established Bukhara as a major cultural and political player (Barthold [Frye] 1986: 1294). With the conquest of the city by the Qarakhanids in 999, Bukhara lost its preeminent position. This also opened up the region to a more extensive encroachment by Turkic groups (Frye 1997: 138ff.). The population in the oasis, however, seems to have remained dominantly Iranian. Many of the Turks who finally settled there, adopted the Tajik or New Persian language, while in other areas local Iranians switched to Turkic. The trend was far from univocal and continued to

A Central Asian Melting Pot   71

vary according to local circumstances and power configurations. In some rural areas, also the Soghdian language apparently persisted for several centuries (Frye 1997). Soon, Bukhara would suffer the same fate as the rest of Central Asia. In 1141, the city was captured by the Qara-Qitay and, after a brief episode of Khorezmian rule, the Mongol army of Chingis Qan appeared at the city gates in 1220. After its seizure, the city was almost completely destroyed. The Mongols in their westward campaign laid waste to much of the rest of the oasis. As in other parts of Central Asia, some cities were never resettled. Bukhara was more fortunate, and after a few decades of decay was able to recover (Barthold [Frye] 1986: 1295; Frye 1997). Technically, Bukhara and the rest of Transoxania belonged to the realm of the Chagatayids, the descendants of Chingis Qan’s second son. This region of the empire, as outlined in chapter 1, was far less cohesive than the other successor states. As described above, the Mongol invasion generally represents a turning point in the Turkification of Central Asia because the majority of the common soldiers were Turks, but this appears to have had less of an impact on Bukhara than on other parts of Transoxania. One key reason may have been environmental, since, as mentioned, the deserts surrounding Bukhara could not sustain large numbers of livestock, and in particular could not provide grazing for large herds of horses. This did not allow a close interaction between the tribes and the sedentary population as occurred in other regions, except when nomads became sedentaries. Settling down was not an uncommon event as can be deduced from the many village names with tribal etymologies, as will be described below. Those, however, who retained a pastoral way of life had to do so at some distance from the oasis. The prosperity of Bukhara did not improve significantly during the following Timurid period. Other cities, above all Samarqand, where the dynasty’s centre was located, were clearly favoured (Frye 1997). This would, again, change with the conquest of Transoxania by the Shaybanids in 1500, however, which altered the destiny of Bukhara fundamentally. By 1550, the city had become the main seat of the new dynasty – perhaps to avoid the pronounced legacy of the Timurids in Samarqand. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, the Shaybanid dynasty was overthrown by the Astrakhids, another Chingisid or – to be more precise – Jochid line. Bukhara remained the dynastic seat, although central power often extended only to the surrounding territories, while more distant provinces retained their autonomy (McChesney 1996; Burton 1997). During this time, Iranian speakers remained in the majority, but by then had started to merge with now sedentary Turkic groups into one bilingual entity. Intermarriage was very common. Over time, Turkmens and other Turkic tribes also entered the oasis and settled on its edges or in small enclaves around the older villages. However, the influx of new Qipchaq tribes accompanying Muhammad Shaybani was not as extensive as in other regions because of the lack of good pasture land (Golden 1992: 336).

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During the middle of the eighteenth century, Kazak tribes invaded the region in successive waves, with devastating consequences for the peasants and causing significant repercussions overall. Within a few decades, the last Chingisid dynasty in Bukhara had been displaced, and the Khanate of Kokand had split off. These changes may have occurred in part due to the association of the former rulers with their nomadic background, which had become discredited (Holzwarth 2005). The new dynasty in Bukhara, the Manghit, was the first non-Chingisid group to rule in Central Asia since the Timurids. They took a different approach, establishing themselves into a deeply rooted sedentary tradition (von Kügelgen 2002). Following Timur’s example, these rulers did not refer to themselves as khans but as amirs. The later history of the Amirate of Bukhara was one of stagnation and decline, if one accepts the consensus of the literature, which paints a picture of rising religious fanaticism and cultural as well as economic backwardness. Relations between elites and peasants became more and more exploitative without guaranteeing the same degree of security that some of the earlier rulers had been able to provide. Being cut off from trade routes by hostile forces, including the other two khanates and Persia, deepen the decline. Travellers described the markets of Bukhara as filled with slaves captured in Iran by the Turkmens (Vambery 1979). Recent studies, however, present a more balanced and sympathetic view of the amirate (von Kügelgen 2002). During the Russian incursion into Transoxania, Bukhara was defeated in 1868. The amir put up little resistance, and the local troops were defeated within days. While the northern regions of Samarqand and Jizzax were attached to the General Government of Turkistan, the rest of Bukhara was not formally incorporated into the Tsarist state but became its vassal (Barthold [Frye] 1986). The amir remained in power but had to accept orders from Russia. One such order demanded the release of all slaves, Russians as well as Persians, and the admission of European settlers who were primarily engaged in industry and trade. At the same time, internal affairs in the amirate were left more or less untouched (Becker 1968). Ethnically, the current terms Uzbek and Tajik – for Turkic and Iranian speakers, respectively – still hardly existed in the minds of the people or had a profoundly different meaning. If applied at all, Uzbek locally referred to tribal and semi-nomadic groups, of whom there were few in the immediate vicinity of the oasis. The term Sart was apparently not used as a self-designation in Bukhara very often but mainly by Russian officials and travellers. Most people preferred to classify themselves with local terms such as Bukharalik or, depending on their origin within the oasis, G‘ijduvonlik, Vobkentlik and the like (Schoeberlein 1994). Bukhara’s formal independence continued during the early twentieth century. While other parts of Central Asia were soon integrated into the Soviet Union, Bukhara was declared a People’s Republic of its own, which lasted until 1924,

A Central Asian Melting Pot   73

when it was dissolved and incorporated into the newly founded Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republic. Perhaps for this reason, Bukharians were not at the forefront of resistance against the new regime. As during Tsarist times, such resistance was concentrated further east, in particular in the Ferghana Valley (see chapter 4). When the Soviets finally took control, the amir and his court fled to Afghanistan where they lived henceforth as exiles in Kabul (Becker 1968). This same era saw the implementation of the national delimitation process, which was particularly complicated in Bukhara due to the only vague differentiation between Turkic and Iranian speakers. As neither of them had been accustomed to using strictly ethnic labels, many found themselves forced to adopt one more or less arbitrarily. Cases where brothers ended up with different ethnicities have been reported for Bukhara in particular (Naby 1993). It is not entirely clear to what degree this arbitrariness was due to political pressure or to an indifference towards the offered categories. Many Tajik intellectuals continue to assert that the cities of Bukhara and Samarqand, which were (and are) predominantly Iranian speaking, should have been assigned to Tajikistan (Atkin 1994; Foltz 1996). In the early days of Soviet rule, the influence of Bukharians – mainly Jadids – was substantial within Uzbekistan. One of their leading figures, Fayzulla Khojayev, was one of the most important Uzbek intellectuals during this time. He and his generation were able to shape the new Uzbek entity to a significant degree.2 In later decades, Bukhara became a less important player within Uzbekistan and remained as such until today. After the transfer of the capital from Samarqand to Tashkent in 1930, the latter became the centre of power, with Samarqand and the Ferghana Valley retaining a significant influence (Carlisle 1986).

Groups and Boundaries: The Local Configuration Today, Bukhara is, first of all, the name of a province in western-central Uzbekistan, and secondly the name of its capital. The current population of Bukhara viloyati is 1.4 million, one fifth of whom live in the capital (see table 2.1). It is divided into ten tuman and the city of Bukhara. The majority of the district centres are located within a range of ten to twenty kilometres from the provincial capital. For some time, Bukhara viloyati coincided closely with the natural boundaries of the oasis and a large area of its pastoral hinterland in the Qizil-Qum. In the later socialist period, it had become the largest province within Uzbekistan. During the early 1990s, however, areas in the northeast were combined to form a separate administrative unit, the province of Navoiy (where much of the natural resources of Uzbekistan are concentrated). This reapportionment represents the only major administrative change in post-Soviet Uzbekistan. One can only speculate as to the reasons behind this, but it could be argued that the government used the newly established administration to assert better control over Navoiy’s mineral wealth.

74   Variations on Uzbek Identity Table 2.1.  Population of Bukhara viloyati by ethnic group

Bukhara G‘ijduvon Jondor Kogon Olot

Uzbeks 71,142 139,431 87,168 40,661 53,156

Tajiks 2,419 163 2,706 207 33

Kazaks 77 2,571 77 2,898 562

Turkmens 3,845 22 34 1,248 346

Russians 487 2,046 261 1,675 305

Tatars 416 595 316 562 397

Bukharian Jews 0 0 6 6 0

Peshku Qorako’l Romitan Shofirkon Vobkent c. Bukhara c. G‘ijduvon c. Kogon total

45,015 87,383 62,361 82,234 73,226 177,169 27,801 23,956 970,703

14,251 64 6,611 9,532 735 5,795 60 3,424 46,000

2,440 82 7,781 377 63 1,033 33 286 18,280

305 245 50 14 32 1,428 13 241 7,823

87 409 995 162 157 25,536 474 13,143 45,737

137 703 773 261 494 11,314 848 2,512 19,328

0 0 21 0 0 4,233 32 51 4,349

Source: Aman (2000); c. stands for cities with the status of a district.

In linguistic or ethnic terms, the region of Bukhara is still renowned for its Tajikness, and outside the region sometimes everyone originating from there is depicted as a Tajik. This seems at odds with official statistics, which, in the year 2000, count more than 70 per cent of the provincial population as Uzbeks. The number of Tajiks is given as 46,000 – or a scant 3.1 per cent of the population (Aman 2000: 40). Russians and Kazaks are listed as the next largest groups, which may have since changed due to the ongoing migration of the latter to Kazakstan. Smaller minorities include several Turkic-speaking groups (Turkmens, Meskhetian Turks and Tatars) as well as Ukrainians, Armenians, Chechens, Koreans, Bukharian Jews and Ironi – the latter referring to Persian-speaking Shiite Muslims presumed to have come from Iran at some point. Allegedly, the province also hosts some Arabs. Scattered around the oasis are villages with names such as Arabxona or Arablar (the former means ‘home of Arabs’, the latter is the Turkic plural of Arab). In most cases, their language and ethnicity is debatable and few of their inhabitants would self-classify as Arabs as will be discussed in detail below. There are a few villages in the northern tuman of G‘ijduvon where the Arab language is said to persist (as well as in villages in the western part of neighbouring Qashqadaryo viloyati). With the exception of the Turkmens, Kazaks and Arabs, these minorities live primarily in Bukhara city and other larger settlements. The Jewish and Gypsy populations have been in Bukhara for centuries, while the other minorities arrived after the annexation by the Russian Empire or, in the case of the Turks and Chechens, as a result of the Stalinist deportations in greater numbers. While

A Central Asian Melting Pot   75

some Tatars have settled in rural areas and for the most part assimilated into the local community, the majority live in the provincial and district centres. Most came from the Kazan region, although there are also some Crimean Tatars and a few Bashkirs, locally considered a variant of the Tatars, among them. The number of Russians in the countryside has never been significant, although in the early decades of socialist rule a few individuals lived as teachers, physicians and mechanics in most of the settlements. I have no data on their numbers within the village and district administrations in those years, but presumably there were members of the communist party sent to educate the local elites. The official figures rely on the ethnicity that people report (or have to report) to the local administration. They do not necessarily present an accurate account of people’s identities or preferred language. This is especially true regarding Tajik speakers. In the city of Bukhara, the ubiquity of Tajik is obvious to the most casual visitor. Even in social situations among strangers, such as on buses or when talking on the phone, Tajik is usually spoken. Many Uzbeks have reported learning or improving their Tajik after they moved to town. Foltz believes 90 per cent of the population in Bukhara city to be Tajiks (1996: 213), although this number may include Ironi, Bukharian Jews and the local Gypsies or Luli. All three speak dialects closely related to Tajik, but none are recognized as such nor have any close relationship with Tajiks, due mainly to differences in religious affiliation.3 In contrast to many reports, this situation is true not only for the provincial capital. Tajik is also spoken in many of the rural areas, particularly in the north and west of the oasis. The tuman of G‘ijduvon (where officially a total of merely 163 Tajiks resides) and Shofirkon as well as Bukhara tumani, on the rural outskirts of the provincial capital, are predominantly Tajik speaking. In Vobkent, Peshku, Jondor and Romitan, the distribution is more balanced, while Kogon has a sizeable Tajik minority. Only the southern districts of Qorako’l and Olot and the eastern Qorovulbozor are predominantly Uzbek – or Turkmen, according to some views. Overall, it is difficult to estimate the total number of Tajik speakers, but they probably comprise at least half of the population of the viloyat. Local historians and ethnographers estimate their number as high as 60 to 70 per cent – a striking difference to the above-mentioned 3.1 per cent in the statistics.4 On paper, the largest Turkmen communities in Uzbekistan live in the Autonomous Republic of Karakalpakistan and in Qashqadaryo viloyati. Located between these two areas, it is no surprise that Bukhara also hosts a sizeable Turkmen minority.5 In addition to the two southern tuman Olot and Qorako’l, which some people consider Turkmen, there are a number of village names usually attributed to a Turkmen origin like Urganjiyon or Chandir. Settlements with this name exist in almost every tuman in the oasis and will be discussed in detail below. Similar to the case of the Tajiks, however, the exact number is difficult to establish. Figures are disputed in both directions. A few Turkmen intellectuals I spoke with believed their number to be much higher than the official 7,800, because

76    Variations on Uzbek Identity

people were forced to register as Uzbeks or anticipated serious disadvantages if they did not. One civil servant in the provincial government, whose name is not mentioned here for obvious reasons, estimated the total number at fifty to sixty thousand Turkmens. On the other hand, the position of most local authorities is that even those registered as such are not really Turkmens in an ethnic sense, considering that most of them speak Uzbek with a slight accent. Most Kazaks live outside the oasis territory as pastoralists in the Qizil-Qum desert, where they are joined by some Turkmen families. Information on the history of the local Kazaks is scarce. Some officials claimed that they had come from Kazakstan around 1930, which would coincide with the collectivization period. Some of the Kazaks interviewed confirmed this for themselves or their immediate ancestors. A majority, however, claimed that their families had been around for a long time. In fact, it can be assumed that some Kazaks have inhabited the desert steppes around the oasis for centuries. When Olufsen (1911) travelled Bukhara during the first years of the twentieth century, Kazaks appeared to be the primary group of pastoralists in the Qizil-Qum. This is confirmed by several other authors for the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Radloff 1884; Schuyler 1966: 18ff.). Many members of minority groups – in particular Russians and Ukrainians but also Bukharian Jews – have emigrated in recent years in search of better opportunities in the places where they or their ancestors once lived. Members of Central Asian groups have so far rarely chosen the option of resettling in the new neighbouring states, except for the Kazaks, who have left in large numbers.

Figure 2.2.  A Kazak nomadic camp in the Qizil-Qum (Photo: P. Finke)

A Central Asian Melting Pot   77

Spheres of Interaction Patterns of Settlement The tuman of Romitan, where most of the field research was conducted, is located in the northwest of the oasis. It borders on the districts of Peshku (also called Yangi Bozor) to the north, Jondor to the south and Bukhara tumani to the east and southeast.6 It is one of the largest districts in the province, primarily because it includes a major portion of the Bukharian Qizil-Qum. In between are stretches of land belonging to Jondor and Peshku, so that Romitan does not have a continuous territory. The population is concentrated in the east, while most of the western parts are only seasonally used as pasture lands (cf. map 2.1). Along with Vobkent and G‘ijduvon, Romitan is one of the more important regional centres. Locals claim that the town predates that of Bukhara by centuries (see also Halidov and Kobilov 1997). The original site was located about fifteen kilometres to the south, but eventually abandoned due to a change in the water’s course. The tuman is comprised of two urban settlements and seven sel’soviet. Each of them contains about ten to twenty villages and has an average population of about fifteen thousand. Separated from the oasis itself are the township of Gazli and the village of Qizil Rabot in the far west of the province.7 Internally, the towns of Gazli and Romitan are each subdivided into neighbourhoods (mahalla). In contrast to a view frequently encountered in the literature (Massicard and Trevisani 2000; Sievers 2002), no mahalla existed in most of rural Uzbekistan until recently. In Romitan, they were only introduced in 2003 and 2004, and are only beginning to play a role in the life of people. As discussed in the previous chapter, the mahalla traditionally is an urban phenomenon and used to exist only in rural areas with semi-urban structures, such as the Ferghana Valley (see chapter 4). The population composition of Romitan tumani is typical of the north and west regions of the oasis. In 1989, out of 78,627 individuals, 62,361 were officially registered as Uzbeks and 6,611 as Tajiks (see table 2.1). The percentage of those speaking Tajik as their main language, however, is probably around 60–70 per cent, or about 40,000 to 50,000 individuals. The largest other rural populations are Turkmens and Kazaks. The latter live primarily in the distant settlements of Gazli and Qizil Rabot or as pastoralists in the Qizil-Qum. In Gazli, the proportion of Kazaks is approximately 60 per cent, with Russians, Uzbeks and others making up the rest. Many have left Gazli in recent years, because the land does not support adequate agriculture or animal husbandry to compensate for the absence of regular incomes from the state. Qizil Rabot is almost exclusively Kazak. In contrast, the few Russian, Tatar and Ironi families live mainly in the district centre. Within Romitan tumani, the sel’soviet of Chilongu was the primary research site. It consisted of three former kolkhozes, which have later been renamed as

78   Variations on Uzbek Identity

shirkat xo‘jaligi and in the meantime been dissolved.8 Two of them had been named after Marx and Engels during socialist times, and became Chilongu and Fayzi Qurbonov after independence. Fieldwork was concentrated on Chilongu, named after one of the constituting villages, while Fayzi Qurbonov was an early local socialist hero. The third, named Bukhara, is located about ten kilometres from the centre along a minor road leading to the provincial capital. In the past, it specialized in honey production, which no longer appears to be a prosperous business. This xo‘jalik consists of only one village, Sufilar, although the inhabitants could not remember any members of a Muslim tariqa having resided here.9 In contrast to other villages, the houses were built by the state and most look quite run-down today. Chilongu, the former Karl Marx kolkhoz, at one time consisted of seventeen brigades, each identified with a single village, except for Urganjiyon and Toshmachit, the largest settlements that each contained two brigades (see table 2.2). At the northeastern edge of Chilongu, Chandir 1 and Chandir 2 are separated from the other villages (see map 2.2). Both are situated along the major highway of Uzbekistan that runs from Tashkent via Samarqand and Bukhara to Khorezm and Karakalpakistan. They are in turn separated from one another by that highway. What distinguishes them from the other villages, more than their geographical location, is their alleged Table 2.2.  Villages within Chilongu sel’sovieti Turkmen background, which will be Families Individuals discussed below. They are both loChandir 1 99 407 cated along the Zarafshon River, alChandir 2 108 438 though it is little more than brackish, Chandir 3 49 219 standing water at this stage near the Chilongu 94 394 end of its course. As mentioned earGalgala (incl. Arablar) 138 566 lier, it is used primarily as a basin for Hasanobod 120 449 salt leached from the fields, and has Hokimullomir 89 367 little value as an irrigation resource. K. Ko’lipalos 76 387 Many settlements have merged Yu. Ko’lipalos 52 201 in recent decades due to population Mulkixolis 54 185 growth. The lack of adequate land Qoraxona 202 514 has caused villages to grow towards Toshmachit 258 926 each other until physical boundaries Toshrabot 100 458 have become undetectable, at least to Urganjiyon 264 1,068 outsiders. The villagers, of course, reXalach 119 459 main well aware of those boundaries, total 1,822 7,038 which typically are marked by smaller Source: Administration of Chilongu sel’sovieti. Note: The number of families is not identical with irrigation channels. Most of the setthat of households. Statistically, every nuclear family tlements are very old and have been is listed separately. If sons do not leave their paternal populated for several hundred years house after marriage, they are nevertheless registered (or at least this may be assumed, since as independent households.

A Central Asian Melting Pot   79

Map 2.2.  Chilongu sel’sovieti (compiled by P. Finke)

inhabitants were unable to explain the origin of the settlement names). Although there has been some encroachment into the desert, the majority of the population still lives within the old oasis territory. Artificially created settlements, established in other regions of Central Asia during the Soviet era, are rare here, because the fertile lands had already been extensively farmed. Instead, several neighbouring villages have evolved into clusters. More isolated villages, like Ko’lipalos, have been able to maintain their distinct character, although they also have intimate economic and social ties with the core villages. The arrangement of villages by ethnicity is very distinctive. Most municipalities have a Tajik-Uzbek majority, with individual villages inhabited by Arabs, Turkmens and others. One of the sel’soviet in Romitan, Qurgon in the southwest, is almost exclusively Tajik. This is also the only one with a Tajik school. Sometimes, within a sel’soviet, one segment, equivalent to a xo‘jalik, is Tajik, and another is Uzbek, such as in Shurcha and Hazorbog. Again, within the xo‘jalik, which often consists of several village clusters, one cluster may be more Uzbek and another more Tajik. In other cases, two neighbouring villages were subsumed into a smaller unit that shares a school like Pinjon and Ko’kishtuvan, the former a Tajik, the latter a Turkmen village. To what degree these configurations reflect a conscious policy of the authorities is debatable, since many of them are undoubtedly not new. Uzbeks and Tajiks also form the majority in Chilongu sel’soviet. While the northern xo‘jalik of Fayzi Qurbonov is almost exclusively Tajik, Chilongu proper is more mixed. The two languages dominate all the villages in the centre of the

80   Variations on Uzbek Identity

xo‘jalik, between Hasanobod and Urganjiyon. The individual villages, however, are usually monoethnic or monolingual. In spite of the close interaction and frequent intermarriage (to be discussed later), Uzbek and Tajik speakers in most cases do not live in one village but in neighbouring ones as the sequence Urganjiyon (Uzbek), Hokimullomir (Uzbek), Galgala (Tajik), Arablar (Tajik), Chilongu (Tajik), Toshmachit (Uzbek) and Hasanobod (Tajik) demonstrates (Finke and Sancak 2012). Many villages outside the cluster, however, have either a Turkmen or a tribal Uzbek background, or at least this may be inferred from their names and in some cases from the history of the settlement. This is true, for example, for the mentioned villages named Chandir. Oral histories attribute the name Chandir to a Turkmen tribe that migrated to Bukhara during the sixteenth or seventeenth century and was allowed to stay. In order to keep them under control, however, they were prevented from settling in one spot and instead forced to scatter over a wide area. Usually, so the story goes, they established their settlements some distance from existing villages and along river courses where they could water the animals they brought with them. As already mentioned, villages with the name Urganj or Urganjiyon are sometimes also attributed to a Turkmen background. They indicate that the inhabitants’ ancestry can be traced to Khorezm (which, of course, does not necessarily imply that they were Turkmens in the first place). In the case of Chilongu, such an association was not very prominent. Still, people in Urganjiyon are considered slightly less indigenous than those in the core settlements. Other villages bear the names of earlier Turkic tribes such as Xalach. Their more marginal geographical location also indicates a stronger reliance on animal husbandry, at least in the past. In contrast, those villages with a name indicating an Arab origin are usually situated within the inner circles of the village structures. Most houses in the villages are built from loam. They are typically arranged around a central courtyard that is used for growing vegetables, potatoes and fruits. Depending on the size of the structure, the houses occupy from two to four sides of the courtyard. Neighbouring houses of close relatives often complete the arrangement so that several brothers encircle one courtyard together. While not all of these compounds are surrounded by walls that obstruct the view of strangers, only a few houses have street-facing windows. The general impression of a village is therefore one of impenetrability. Unless necessary, few people walk the streets, and with courtyards effectively shut off to the outside, the villages appear empty most of the time. Outside the oasis territory, as mentioned above, there are only a few scattered settlements, most of them inhabited by Kazaks. This is referred to by Uzbeks and Tajiks as the ‘desert zone’ (cho’l zonasi), where one would not settle voluntarily. Here, the architecture is very different, more characteristic of the Russian style, with block-like houses sometimes surrounded by small private gardens. In Gazli,

A Central Asian Melting Pot   81

environmental conditions allow little agriculture, but it is of some importance in the village of Qizil Rabot, located along the banks of the Amu-Darya.

Language Use As the above-described patterns indicate, within and across settlements the main criterion to determine one’s sense of belonging is linguistic. Two languages – Uzbek and Tajik – clearly dominate in the rural areas of the Bukhara oasis. It is debatable whether Turkmen constitutes a third one. In most villages ascribed to this group, it is more of a slightly different accent of Uzbek and would probably not be immediately intelligible to people from Turkmenistan. Kazak is spoken mainly outside the oasis, although a few smaller settlements exist in neighbouring Peshku tumani. The Russian language is of almost no relevance outside the district centres and is rarely heard in public. Even the local elites are often not particularly fluent in Russian, although they can usually read and understand it. It is, however, used by minorities such as the Tatars, Koreans and Armenians, often as their mother tongue. All languages other than Uzbek, Tajik and Russian are used almost exclusively by their respective native speakers. As mentioned earlier, Uzbek and Tajik are not only two separate languages but belong to different linguistic families, the Turkic and the Iranian (or IndoEuropean), respectively. For this reason, one might expect it to be difficult for members of either group to master the language of the other. This, however, is not the case. In spite of villages being either Tajik or Uzbek speaking in most instances, the rate of bilingualism is almost 100 per cent. There are islands within this bilingual sea where Tajik is the sole spoken language, and elderly women sometimes have only limited skills in Uzbek. Equally, there are small Uzbek pockets where Tajik is hardly ever heard and sometimes little understood. These, however, remain exceptions to the rule. On the other hand, many Uzbeks claim to have difficulties understanding Turkmens or Kazaks, in spite of the linguistic similarities, while some Tajiks declare the same for the Ironi. The frequent interactions between speakers of both languages has resulted in numerous mutual borrowings, not only of vocabulary, but also of grammatical structures, to the degree that some scholars regard both languages, or at least their local variants, as in fact mixed (Doerfer 1987). Local Tajik, for example, makes use of the Turkic manner of forming a question by adding the particle mi rather than by changing the intonation, as is typical in Indo-European languages. On the other hand, Tajik prefixes (such as be- for ‘without’) have been added to the productive repertoire of Uzbek, while the agglutination common in Turkic languages allows only suffixes. Russian words have also found their way into both languages. It is hardly surprising that the great majority of Tajiks should know Uzbek, as this is the national language and thus a precondition for access to higher education and public office. This is, however, not as straightforward as it appears. The

82   Variations on Uzbek Identity

dominance of the Tajik language in the city of Bukhara has already been mentioned. There, even Uzbeks tend to speak Tajik because it is the language of everyday interactions. The majority of the European population knows little Uzbek, nor do other non-autochthonous groups such as the Armenians and Chechens. If they know any language other than Russian, it is likely to be Tajik, not Uzbek. In Bukhara you have to speak Tajik. If you want anything to be done, it is far better. Everything gets done quicker if you speak in Tajik with them. … Like I told you, we lived in Bukhara for many years. Back then, at home, we spoke Uzbek, but outside we spoke Tajik. (Bahodir, 52-year-old man from Hokimullomir) In the countryside, the situation is different; even in predominantly Tajik areas, all people know at least some Uzbek. Perhaps more surprising is that even in the few completely Uzbek village clusters, such as Nurafshon in the north of Romitan, most people can understand Tajik to some degree. In Chilongu, all villages are bilingual, although all of them are associated with one specific language or ethnicity. The degree of mastery varies and is highest within the inner core. Virtually every household between Hokimullomir and Toshmachit is bilingual in both understanding and speaking. The adjacent villages of Urganjiyon, Hasanobod and Toshrabot, which form the outer core, are also more or less completely bilingual (see map 2.2). Of these, Hasanobod is predominantly Tajik, the other two Uzbek. The satellites Xalach, Qarahona and Ko’lipalos, as well as Chandir 1, 2 and 3, are all Uzbek (or Turkmen respectively), and here the number of people who cannot speak Tajik properly is higher. Except for children, however, most are at least able to follow and participate in a conversation in Tajik. There was apparently no significant difference in this respect between the outer Uzbek settlements and the villages of Chandir. In public, the use of Tajik is more limited. Here, Uzbek is the dominant language, although in shops, Tajik may be heard as well.10 At ceremonial events such as marriages, Uzbek is typically spoken such as for the highly formalized blessings and the announcements of the appointed orators. In the political sphere, one would expect the Uzbek language to clearly prevail, but, again, this is not necessarily the case. For example, the mayor of Chilongu explained that in his office, Tajik was rarely used, although it is his mother tongue. A few days later I overheard him speaking Tajik with Uzbeks who were there (and whom he knew would understand him). In the administrative offices of the tuman centre, Tajik was rarely heard, presumably because the current elite (including the hokim) for the most part is Uzbek. In the viloyat government in Bukhara, however, Tajiks have a significant presence and many conversations in Tajik can be heard. Many people frequently switch between Tajik and Uzbek within a single day. On the most basic level, this happens in families because a majority of house-

A Central Asian Melting Pot   83

holds are mixed. For example, the mother – or in a three-generation household, the grandmother – may have come from a different village. Since mother and grandmother play significant roles in the socialization of children, the latter inevitably adopt either of their language as their second or first, depending on the circumstances. Due to the fact that fathers and grandfathers usually have a command of both languages as well, this does not lead to any serious communication problems. Frequently, children therefore speak a different language at home than in the neighbourhood. The boys, later in life, will usually adopt the language used by the majority of the village population (which due to patrilocality is most often the language of their father). Girls may speak either language, depending on the family and the village they marry into, although they will maintain their mother tongue as well. In this way, a similar cycle can repeat in the next generation. A household may revert to Tajik, not because the next generation of men uses the language (although they spoke it in their childhoods), but because of the new daughter-in-law – who, in spite of her distinct mother tongue, may in turn have been a cousin in the first place (see also Finke and Sancak 2012). This creates a substantial number of individuals who are in between. Many Uzbeks could be called – and sometimes call themselves – half-Tajiks, and vice versa. They speak Uzbek at home but are delighted to switch to Tajik when they have the opportunity. In some cases, this leads to somewhat bizarre situations. Individuals who speak Uzbek at home and in most everyday situations may switch to Tajik when meeting one another. For example, Bahodir and Sherali are first cousins living in the same Uzbek village. They come from families where the males have been Uzbeks for at least the last two generations, but the brides (i.e. their mothers and grandmothers) spoke Tajik. Bahodir and Sherali each married an Uzbek woman and only speak Uzbek at home. And yet both appeared to enjoy speaking Tajik when given the chance, and they tend to speak Tajik to each other. Neither of them, however, would classify himself as Tajik. The reasons for such behaviour are manifold. On the one hand, it is doubtful that language use is a fully conscious decision, and often happens without people noticing. Many are so comfortable with both languages that they cannot tell any differences in their mastership. Uzbeks are usually proud of being able to speak Tajik, which is by everyone considered as ‘sweet’ (shirin). In other words, Tajik is attractive enough to compete with Uzbek, despite the latter’s status as the state language. Equally important may be the childhood memories and associations the Tajik language has for people such as Bahodir and Sherali. After all, this was the language of their mothers – and, of course, the language they spoke to each other as children. Obviously, the state plays a major role in promoting some languages and discouraging the use of others. Although Uzbek was clearly favoured during the Soviet era, there were other variables working against it, primarily that fluency in the state language – Russian – was a determining factor for anyone intending

84   Variations on Uzbek Identity

to climb the political and social ladders. Even in many of the rural areas, Russian had a certain influence, since local governments and economic enterprises often had non-native officials who spoke neither Uzbek nor Tajik. Since independence, however, the Uzbek language has become increasingly important. A key factor was that it became the official state language. The main issue here is not a prohibition of other languages in everyday life or local politics, but rather that Uzbek is replacing Russian as the language of higher education. Universities in Tajikistan or Turkmenistan, on the other hand, are no longer an alternative and its degrees not recognized in Uzbekistan. Furthermore, the government’s decision to switch the Uzbek alphabet from Cyrillic to Latin means that children who attend a Tajik, Kazak or Russian school cannot read the state language properly, even if they are able to speak it. Comparatively few schools now teach in Tajik. Even in almost entirely Tajik areas, such as the small town of Mahosa north of Bukhara (famous as the site of the former summer palace of the amir), all schools are either Uzbek or Russian. In Romitan tumani, the only Tajik schools are, as mentioned, in Qurgon sel’sovieti, and even there one out of three has changed to Uzbek in recent years. The reason, people say, is not so much governmental pressure but the desire to improve the future opportunities of one’s children. Another problem in this respect is that the situation in Tajikistan does not allow the publication of new school materials suited to the curriculum in Uzbekistan (which would not be accepted by the government in Tashkent in any case). Apart from one Russian school in Romitan city and one in Gazli that instructs partially in Russian, the only other language used in education is Kazak. Three of the four schools in Gazli are Kazak (the other one is mixed UzbekRussian), as is the local school in Qizil Rabot. Their graduates, of course, suffer in much the same way as Tajik-educated children, although the transition to Uzbek is easier because both are Turkic languages and thus share the basic grammatical categories. At the same time, Kazakstan offers opportunities that are far superior to Tajikistan in terms of higher education and job prospects.

Kinship and Marriage In addition to language, kinship and marriage are key variables in creating and maintaining ethnic boundaries in Chilongu. With respect to kinship, the basic patterns are quite similar to those throughout the region as a result of centuries of bilingualism and intermarriage. Generally, the system can be described as a bilateral one, with a patrilineal bias. Relations with maternal kin are almost as important and extended as those with paternal ones, but the memory of ancestors might reach slightly further back for the latter. In both groups, genealogical knowledge is very limited, and kinship models tend to extend horizontally rather than vertically. The local Uzbek society has no traces of a tribal system, if one in fact ever existed. The same is true for the Tajiks. Not only do people rarely know

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about any generation beyond their grandparents, but also their descendants are hardly regarded as kin. Yes, one should know one’s great-grandfather, but I don’t. Here nobody knows. Maybe my father knows his name but he never told me. My children will not even know the name of my grandfather. (Nabijon, 42year-old teacher from Hokimullomir) In both languages, the bilateral kin is described by the terms avlod and qarindosh, which include different levels of cousins and the descendants of siblings. Just what exactly avlod and qarindosh mean was difficult to clarify, as was any difference between the two. Qarindosh originally meant aka uka [literally: elder and younger brother, or siblings]. Now it is used for all kinds of kin. It is like avlod now. Maybe a little bit narrower. But many people use it just the same. (Baxtiyor, 45-year-old man from Toshmachit).11 It is therefore not surprising to learn that not only is the overall system of terminology the same in both languages, but almost all individual terms in one language have a close match in the other or are in fact the same word. The result is a mixture of Turkic and Iranian systems, which for instance distinguishes between elder and younger siblings, and between father’s siblings and mother’s siblings,

Figure 2.3.  Male guests during a religious ceremony (Photo: P. Finke)

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but does not have generic terms for paternal and maternal kin respectively. The terms themselves are of mixed origin, and many speakers are unsure which term to use in which language. So in local Tajik, the Uzbek aka and uka (for elder and younger brother) are used today, while the genuine Iranian barodar (cognate with English ‘brother’ or German ‘Bruder’) means ‘friend’. Marriage is probably the central event in Uzbek society. More than the establishment of a new household (which is usually delayed for some years), it is the promise of procreation, which is at stake. The numerous speeches and traditional songs during the wedding ceremony make this very clear. The selection of a marriage partner often combines parental arrangements and the choice of the couple, in particular the male. Stories of young girls and boys who committed suicide because they were not allowed to marry the person they desired are quite common (Sancak 2012). On the other hand, people often recall how they met at a relative’s house and fell in love. Marital rules are patrilocal, with the youngest son remaining within the household of his parents while the elder ones ideally build new houses in the same courtyard or in a nearby neighbourhood. Kin marriages are very common. These typically involve cousins of different kinds. Frequently, there exists a history of intermarriage between families so that – to use Levi-Straussian terms – women are exchanged repeatedly over generations. Views on cousin marriages vary widely. The main argument in favour of such marriages is that they help keep families together and make premarital negotiations much easier. In particular, the gathering of information about the bride or groom involves less cost, time and uncertainty. On the other hand, the danger of producing handicapped offspring is widely discussed. One should not marry one’s amakining qizi [father’s brother’s daughter] because then the children will be disabled. Also, tog’aning qizi [mother’s brother’s daughter] is not good. There was a case here in the village where a boy married his cousin and the child is an albino. But you can marry your xolaning qizi [mother’s sister’s daughter] because there the relationship is not that close. (Oysha, 52-year-old woman from Chandir 3) As important as genealogical closeness is proximity. This is the case for Uzbeks in general, but particularly true in the Bukhara region. The vast majority of marriages take place within villages or clusters of villages, and many people expressed deep sorrow over daughters who had been given to families settling more than ten kilometres away. The ideal is to have them living within walking distance. Even those who attended university in Samarqand or Tashkent usually chose someone from Romitan as a spouse. We actually met in the bus from Samarqand. Our families had known each other and we had seen each other before. Then, in Samarqand, stu-

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dents from Bukhara spent time together and got to know one another. In fact, students from Romitan kept together, as did those from G‘ijduvon or Vobkent. And then on the weekends we all went home by bus. There we met. (Gulnoza, 37-year-old woman from Romitan city) As mentioned earlier, mixed marriages have been common among Uzbeks and Tajiks for centuries (Subtelny 1994), but to my knowledge this has never been systematically studied. Such an investigation is, admittedly, not easy, given the difficulty in deciding who is an Uzbek and who is a Tajik. For that purpose, a survey was carried out in three neighbouring villages of Chilongu, namely Galgala, Hokimullomir and Urganjiyon, which are located along a single geographical line. Though physically they have nearly merged in recent decades, they remain socially demarcated. Urganjiyon, the southwesternmost, is completely Uzbek speaking; the middle village, Hokimullomir, is predominantly Uzbek, but with approximately half of the population having a (recent) Tajik background; and Galgala to the northeast is predominantly Tajik (see also Finke and Sancak 2012).12 The results were striking, especially for Hokimullomir. Here, 25 per cent of all marriages occurred between spouses from the village. Only slightly lower was the number of married women who had been born in neighbouring Urganjiyon. The vast majority of all marriages, namely 85 per cent, involved couples from within a five-kilometre radius, corresponding to the boundaries of the former Karl Marx kolkhoz. With regard to ethnicity, 27.4 per cent of all married women in the village were labelled Tajik, which implied that they were not from the village (except in one case). Of the spouses not from their postmarital village, 37.2 per cent had a different mother tongue (see tables 2.3 and 2.4). In the other two villages, the situation was similar. The rate of internal marriages in both cases ranged from 25 to 30 per cent, and the percentage of marriages within the xo‘jalik territory was between 80 and 90 per cent. The number of interethnic marriages, however, was less in Urganjiyon, while also accounting for 25 per cent in Galgala. Therefore, one could argue that, at least for Chilongu, the trend towards marrying someone with a different mother tongue is higher among Tajiks and recently Uzbekized Tajiks than among ‘pure’ Uzbeks. Others are very rarely chosen as marriage partners. In Hokimullomir, only a single bride was labelled Turkmen. Interestingly, she is not from one of the three Chandir villages, but from the village of Ko’kishtuvan, some twenty kilometres away. There are also few Turkmen brides in Urganjiyon, in spite of its vicinity to Chandir 3. Girls from Chandir were not highly esteemed as brides because they have a reputation for being snobbish. On the other hand, Chandir 3 maintains extensive marriage relations with Jondor tumani, as it is the closest village to the border. A reported twenty-eight brides in the fifty-four households there were born in Jondor. The social connection is again strengthened by a mutual depen-

88   Variations on Uzbek Identity Table 2.3.  Marriage partners in Hokimullomir by village of origin Chilongu

Outside of Chilongu

Village Hokimullomir Urganjiyon Qarahona Toshmachit Galgala Toshrabot Xalach Arablar Ko’lipalos Hasanobod Subtotal Bukhara city F. Qurbonov Romitan Others Subtotal Total

# 46 35 11 11 8 5 4 4 4 3 131 27 9 5 3 44 175

% 26.3 20.0 6.3 6.3 4.6 2.9 2.3 2.3 2.3 1.7 74.9 15.4 5.1 2.9 1.7 25.1 100.0

Dominant language Uzbek Uzbek Uzbek Uzbek Tajik Uzbek Uzbek Tajik Uzbek Tajik Tajik Tajik mixed mixed

Table 2.4.  Marriage partners in Hokimullomir by language Native tongue of wife Uzbeks Tajiks Turkmens

Total number of wives 126 (72.0%) 48 (27.4%) 1 (0.6%)

Number of wives born outside of Hokimullomir 80 (62.0%) 48 (37.2%) 1 (0.8%)

Total

175

129

dence on water, as Chandir 3 and the adjacent villages in Jondor draw water from the same branch of the main channel. At the same time, people from Chandir are distinguished from the ‘real’ Turkmens, i.e. those in Turkmenistan and Karakalpakistan, who are explicitly ruled out as potential spouses. The same is true for Kazaks, who are also considered unmarriageable. The most common explanation given is the difference in customs (urf-odat), in particular the payment of bridewealth (to be discussed below). Those groups that are defined as non-indigenous are considered even less eligible for marriage. Russian women married to Uzbeks or Tajiks can be found in various villages scattered throughout the oasis, but their overall number is very small. I did not come across a single case of a Russian husband and a Tajik or Uzbek wife. Bukharian Jews, Ironi and the Caucasian groups (Christian and Muslim alike) are avoided by any means, and explanations such as the following were frequently heard.

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There was an Ironi from Kogon who wanted to marry Gulnora, my elder daughter. We did not give her. Well, one thing is that Kogon is so far away, and then there is the language, which we do not really understand properly. But most important is their customs and their religion. You know, they beat themselves on their backs. (Xurshida, 61-year-old woman from Galgala) These patterns apply equally to Uzbeks and Tajiks. It may not seem surprising to have few Tajik-Kazak and Uzbek-Ironi marriages, but the same is true for UzbekKazak and Tajik-Ironi unions, despite the respective linguistic affinities. Other groups, in particular Tatars and Bashkirs, show much more varied approaches to marriage. In the territory of the sel’soviet of Chilongu, there is one extended family of Bashkirs. They adopted this ethnicity from the father; the mother is Tatar. Out of the six sons, four are married: two live in Russia (one has a Russian wife, the other a Gypsy), one has moved to Khorezm with his Kazak wife, and one lives in Qarshi married to an Uzbek. The family also has four daughters, three of whom are married. Two live in the town of Hazorasp in Khorezm, where their Uzbek husbands are from. The only daughter who remained in Romitan is also the only one married to a Bashkir from the city of Bukhara. Paradoxically, because his Uzbek is poor and she does not speak Russian well – and neither of them speak their common mother tongue properly – the two communicate in Tajik. Based on casual observations, the situation is quite similar in much of the Bukhara oasis. Only in areas with a clear Tajik majority, such as Qurgon, is the number of Uzbek brides lower. It could be argued that this is more due to geographical distance and a lack of previous kin relations than ethnic avoidance, although it is impossible to prove such an argument with the available data. The above-described patterns have a number of consequences. In Hoki­ mullomir, where I was able to carry out a complete survey, there is not a single monolingual household. According to more fragmentary data on Urganjiyon and Galgala, the situation is very similar there. In many settings, one might consider interethnic marriages problematic, if not for the relationship of the couple than for the interactions of the respective families. This is not the case here, however, because not only are cultural patterns shared (including wedding ceremonies and premarital negotiations), but language is not an impediment either since both groups are bilingual. At the same time, the fact that all weddings and other festivities are celebrated together further contributes to the similarity of cultural and social norms. Disputes over the costs and procedures of ceremonies therefore do not differ from those within one group. In other words, transaction costs are the same and people can make reasonable assumptions on the future course of each other’s decisions. To a large degree, Uzbeks and Tajiks share the same institutional framework and consider each other to be playing the same game.

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While premarital arrangements may be less costly for kin marriages, a subsequent divorce is not. Previous kin relations may impede a divorce because of the pressure exerted by the two families. Any divorce implies high transaction costs not only for the immediate legal process and the future burden on those directly involved, but also on the families who often have to continue to encounter each other socially. Divorce used to be rare in traditional society, at least one sought by the wife, if we accept earlier anthropological scholarship (see, for example, Krader 1966). No data for Chilongu were available for the years of Soviet rule and thereafter, but local officials repeatedly expressed their concern over rising numbers in recent years. In most cases, it is the women who leave their husbands and go back to their paternal home, taking the children with them. Excessive consumption of alcohol is the often-cited reason for that. It is, however, very difficult for these women to remarry as long as they stay in the countryside.

Economic and Social Networks Institutions of kinship and local community are significant not only for providing the frame of kin networks and marriage pools but for economic reasons as well. In spite of the predominance of the kolkhoz and, more recently, the xo‘jalik as economic units, the village community is of great importance to one’s survival. In particular, it is the prime unit for the allocation of water, which is tremendously vital in an agricultural system based solely on irrigation. Pre-Soviet accounts report disputes over water allocation as the main reason for internal dissension, which sometimes escalated into deadly violence. During socialist times, this was less of an issue because regular monthly salaries secured each person’s livelihood and the income from private plots became a means to achieve a higher standard of living, not a basic need for survival. The decline in economic conditions during the 1990s, however, led to a recurrence of tensions and quarrels over how land and water was to be allocated and in what order it was to be distributed. The socialist period affected Bukhara in a similar way that it affected the rest of Uzbekistan. The earliest kolkhozes were usually very small, sometimes made up by no more than a dozen households, but they were later merged in larger enterprises. By the late 1930s, the two kolkhozes named after Marx and Engels had been formed (Sancak 2012). As in most of Uzbekistan, the vast majority of arable land in Bukhara was devoted to cotton. Other products, namely vegetables and fruits, were grown in the private plots of the kolkhoz workers, and were not included in the state quotas handed down to the farming enterprises. People in Chilongu still refer to this period as one of affluence and low costs, although few would openly praise it, which would put them in conflict with the current government. In the 1990s, the two kolkhozes were reorganized as shirkat xo‘jaligi and at that time received new names. Their basic structure did not change right away, until the new hokim decided that Romitan tumani should serve as forerunner of

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the economic transformation of the countryside. By 2001, almost 95 per cent of all agricultural land once belonging to kolkhozes and sovkhozes was transferred to individual fermer. As explained in chapter 1, the fermer do not own the land but are given long-term leases, which can be terminated at the discretion of the hokim. The majority of the fermer used to be former kolkhoz directors, their drivers or accountants, or influential people within the local administration. Most of them were granted between ten and twenty hectares. They were also assigned a plan specifying cotton and grain production. For both, each fermer must fulfil his quota and sell the product at a fixed price. The fermer had to hire those workers who in the past had been employed by the brigades from which the land was taken. Salaries, however, are often delayed for months, if paid at all, partly due to the unreliability of the state as a partner (Sancak 2012). The land allocation procedure is among the most debated issues in rural Uzbekistan because it will shape the economic structure of society for decades to come. It is clear that ordinary kolkhoz workers – those who had worked the land during the socialist period – have practically no chance of receiving land because they lack the necessary economic and social capital. The situation of most households in Chilongu is therefore precarious. Regular salaries are a thing of the past, and in any case do not provide an adequate livelihood. Even those who hold jobs are paid salaries far below the poverty line (in 2002, average monthly incomes were little more than the equivalent of US $20), and even then often have to wait months to receive them.13 At the same time, because land has been allocated to only a select group of people, the major sources of income for most are their private plots and animals (Sancak 2012). These plots, as mentioned earlier, are of two kinds. All private courtyards (typically L- or U-shaped) have a garden at their centre that is used for potatoes, vegetables and a variety of fruit trees. The pathways usually are equipped with metal frames, which in summer are covered by vines that provide grapes as well as shelter from the heat. After marriage, every new household has the right to build a house, and the xo‘jalik is obliged to provide the necessary space. The latter, for obvious reasons, is not very fond of that. People therefore often have to wait for years until they are finally granted a piece of land on which to build, and those allocations are getting increasingly smaller. In addition to the courtyard gardens, plots outside the village territory are assigned to families (see chapter 1), but here too are problems because each allotment cuts into the property of the xo‘jalik (Sancak 2012). Petty trade is of minor importance. Many villagers sell some of their agricultural surplus at nearby markets – either in Bukhara or Romitan – but they do not engage much in buying and reselling goods. All household budgets are therefore rather tight. Primary regular expenses are for food and clothing. Sweets are bought occasionally for children or the entertainment of guests. Alcohol is a major item because it is common to serve vodka to male guests. The largest

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expenditures, however, are for life-cycle ceremonies. Weddings and circumcision parties with several hundred guests in 2002 could easily cost upwards of the equivalent of US $1000, which is difficult to reconcile with the above-mentioned income averages, and jokes abound about how Uzbeks manage to afford such lavish parties (Sancak 2012). Another large expense is building a house for the elder sons when they move out. The only way to accumulate such large sums of money is through livestock rearing, and for this reason people in Chilongu raise cattle. Livestock is rarely slaughtered, however, and meat for household demands is bought at the market. While the difficult economic situation is similar to much of Uzbekistan, the precarious ecological situation further contributes to the declining standard of living. Problems of land scarcity may be less acute than in other regions, but the lack of water created by increased consumption in the upstream oases has affected fermer, collective enterprises and private households. The latter are usually the last to receive their share, although a total neglect would be too dangerous for the current regime. Contamination by salt and pesticides is another issue that has tremendous effects on human health as well as agricultural yields (see also chapter 3). In view of these hardships, it is even more surprising that ethnicity has not been an issue in the struggle for resources. Thus far, quarrels have not arisen. On the contrary, social and interethnic relations have remained remarkably peaceful in spite of the fact that Uzbeks and Tajiks do not occupy economic niches, which may mitigate competition. Also, nothing suggests that one or the other was favoured during the ‘privatization’ process. Of those individuals who received land as fermer in Chilongu, approximately half are Tajik (Sancak 2012). Tensions over the distribution of water usually take place within the village community and thus among close kin; ethnic distinctions were not reported as an issue in any of these disputes. There has also been no indication that either Uzbeks or Tajiks have had easier access to power than the other. At least half of the xo‘jalik directors and sel’soviet heads in Romitan are Tajiks. Currently, the tuman hokimi and many of his eight deputies are Uzbeks, but in the past, Tajiks and even a few Turkmens headed the administration. The mayor of Romitan city during the period of fieldwork was a Tajik. Within the viloyat government, many people were of Tajik background. In Chilongu, the mayor and the chief police officer were Tajiks, the latter having attended university in Dushanbe. The deputy and the accountant were Uzbeks. The new fermer system, however, effectively reproduces a social stratification that existed in pre-socialist times and was reinforced during the Soviet era. At the top is a relatively exclusive circle of a few hundred individuals within the tuman who effectively control access to resources at the local and regional levels. They in turn answer to a small (bilingual) elite of a dozen or so persons who occupy key positions in the district centre. Usually, this elite is drawn from families who have occupied important positions in the past (Sancak 2012). Corruption and nepotism

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are common complaints, and almost everyone holding a position is accused of them. Still, within the village community, the discourse is one of sameness and egalitarian relationships, in spite of the obvious differences with regard to access to economic and political resources.

Cultural Models of Closeness and Distinction The Uzbek-Tajik Amalgamation Considering the close interaction described so far, the question of who or what is an Uzbek is not an easy one to answer with respect to the Bukhara oasis. The mutual intermingling of Turkic and Iranian speakers has been well documented in the literature (see chapter 1). Subtelny refers to it as a Turkic-Tajik symbiosis, and begins her discussion by citing the Mahmud al-Qashghari quote known to every student of Turkology: ‘There is no hat without a cap, there is no Turk without a Tat’14 (quoted in Subtelny 1994: 45). The situation is very similar today. It is difficult for outsiders and locals alike to classify individuals as either Turkic or Iranian based on their physical appearance or cultural attitudes. Even if some people appear to have what could be considered typical Iranian features, the people themselves do not acknowledge this. Indeed, such a person might be just as likely to speak Tajik as Uzbek. This perceived unity, of course, reflects an actual biological closeness as a result of centuries of mixed marriages. In cultural respects as well, it is next to impossible to uncover any differences. This applies not only to material culture, diet and wedding ceremonies but, as described earlier, to kinship structures and economic behaviour. This is also true even for more remote villages such as Qurgon and Nurafshon, where Tajiks or Uzbeks respectively live more or less by themselves. Religion is not a divisive issue either – both groups are Sunni Muslims of the Hanafitic tradition and have similar attitudes regarding the fulfilment of religious duties (which are generally rather limited due to decades of Soviet rule). People frequently had difficulty in categorizing individuals according to their ethnic affiliation. The common reply to the question of whether someone was an Uzbek or a Tajik was ‘He speaks both languages!’ For many individuals, people were not sure how to categorize them – although the terms for distinction exist. Frequently there was some dispute among those present whether someone might be labelled an Uzbek or a Tajik. Some people have identified themselves as Tajik in their passports – and these are usually considered Tajiks – but most do not. It was nonetheless equally difficult to name the difference between an ‘official’ Tajik and a Tajik speaker of Uzbek nationality. Someone who attended a Tajik school, however, is commonly considered a Tajik. Such a person has some knowledge of the literary language as used in Tajikistan, and thus is able to read literary works in Tajik, which also implies a somewhat larger and more diverse vocabulary. In everyday life, however, it does not really make a difference whether someone is a

94   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Tajik by language, passport or school education (which in turn do not necessarily coincide). In fact, most Tajiks actively deny being Tajik in an ethnic sense and insist on being considered Uzbek with a different dominant language. There are no true Tajiks here. They look different. We just speak Tajik, but otherwise we are Uzbeks. Of course, the Uzbeks here also speak Tajik, and so they are maybe also not true Uzbeks. You know, we used to live here under the rule of the same padishah (podsho) for many centuries so we became like this. But since we live in Uzbekistan we are maybe more Uzbeks than we are Tajiks. After all, we are all Bukharians (buxorolik). (Alisher, 52-year-old mayor of Chilongu) Note that Alisher does not refer to a particular place where ‘true Tajiks’ live. The problem here is that Tajikistan (the obvious first choice) is looked down upon by most. No one wants to be associated with the country, even distantly. The concept of ‘intermediateness’ is sometimes expressed by the term chala (literally: ‘half, not yet fully’), which can be used in combination with both ethnonyms. According to this understanding, most people are somewhere in between Uzbek and Tajik, or rather both. Of course, there is some Tajikness in me [‘tojikligim bor’]. This is true for all of us. As you know, my grandmother was a Tajik. So we grew up with this language as well and learned how to speak it. (Isroil, 38-year-old man from Hokimullomir) More commonly, however, an idea of oneness is expressed. ‘We are one people with two languages!’ is almost a proverb among local Uzbeks and Tajiks. Any differences in culture as well as physical appearance are persistently denied. Although this commonality is sometimes conceptualized as a Muslim community (musulmonchilik), in fact it refers only to Central Asians with a long-established sedentary culture. It is the common way of doing things that binds people together (Finke and Sancak 2012). Uzbeks and Tajiks as cultural schemas are therefore not conceptualized as distinct entities, and people are reluctant to attribute these labels to any individual. The point of reference is instead a single shared identity, within which slight differences can be assigned according to the language people speak more commonly at home – but as that may change, the distinction is far from unambiguous. Being bilingual is an integral part of this common cultural pattern, and an individual with an inferior knowledge of either language is perceived to be almost deficient because of it. The situation in the provincial capital of Bukhara and in semi-urban settlements like Mahosa is somewhat different. Here, at least among Tajik intellectu-

A Central Asian Melting Pot   95

als there exists a tendency to stress their distinctiveness towards Uzbeks, whom they consider descendants of those barbarian nomads who destroyed the ancient Iranian civilization in Central Asia. Some of them showed a certain reluctance to speak Uzbek and among women active skills are not universal. As mentioned, the numerical dominance of the Tajiks is so strong here, that all other groups, including Uzbeks, have to accommodate themselves with this.

Ethnic Clusters: Including and Excluding Others Attributing the above situation to a general indifference towards ethnic sentiments in Bukhara is only partly accurate, because the perception of sameness is not applied equally to every ethnic group. It refers primarily to an Uzbek-Tajik entity, in which others may join or come close according to their perceived distance or similarity. Difference is usually expressed by the term ‘bizning urf-odatqa to’g’ri kelmaydi’ (literally: ‘it doesn’t match or correspond with our habits and customs’). This includes aspects of material culture and economic practices, but more importantly social relations. In particular, marriage and kinship patterns are of prime significance in this respect. How and whom one marries is extremely important, and it is here that differences are most noticeable. A group that is relatively close to inclusion in the Uzbek-Tajik amalgamation is the local Arabs, mentioned above. Whether this label can be traced to an immigration of people of a Middle Eastern ancestry is unclear. The vast majority of the inhabitants of settlements like Arablar or Arabxona speak either Uzbek or Tajik, more often the latter, as is the case in Chilongu, and do not consider themselves Arabs in an ethnic sense. Today, most think of themselves as Uzbeks or Tajiks. Some people refer to a distinct Arab origin, pointing in particular to a darker skin colour that some individuals have, but this does not translate into an exclusion from the overarching local identity. Inhabitants of these villages are welcomed as sons- or daughters-in-law. The Turkmens are a different story. Villages referred to as Turkmen, as shown above, can be found all over the oasis, although most inhabitants have given up their native language long ago, and in many cases their Turkmen origin is doubtful. These individuals usually do not consider themselves ‘real’ Turkmen, but they are perceived as different, and interaction with them is limited. Most surprising, it is their language that is commonly cited as the major difference. The primary distinction from the local Uzbek dialect as well as the literary language is the pronunciation of the voiced velar stop [g] instead of the voiceless velar stop [k] in the initial position. In particular, two words – gel- (to come) and git- (to go) – are mentioned and have become almost a synonym for being Turkmen. Today, their ethnic status is debated both by themselves and by outsiders. While some insist on their distinctiveness, others consider them Uzbeks with a slightly different accent.15 Because almost all inhabitants in the Chandir villages have stated Uzbek as their nationality in passports, many are not sure whether

96   Variations on Uzbek Identity

to identify themselves as Turkmen or Uzbek, or in fact if these are mutually exclusive categories. Especially those in Chandir 3 clearly insisted on being Uzbek who speak with a slight Turkmen accent, although the historical and linguistic references do not point to a less distinct heritage than in the other two villages. Also, Uzbeks and Tajiks never considered the local Turkmens to be similar to the people living in Turkmenistan, who are stereotyped as dirty and less civilized. Since these Turkmens live in Uzbekistan, they are therefore similar to Uzbeks, though not the same. Considered even more distinct – culturally as well as geographically – are the Kazaks. As already mentioned, a few of them live in villages along the edge of the oasis, but the majority does not share the same habitat with the other groups. Despite the common Turkic origin, the Kazak language is considered more distant from Uzbek than Tajik. Even more important are habits and cultural behaviour; viewed as nomads, or former nomads, the Kazaks are depicted as lazy and less civilized, often rude in their attitudes and inferior to Uzbeks in matters of hospitality. Kazaks do not like to work. They have their sheep and their horses, and that is it. You have been to that place Jonkeldi [a sheep kolkhoz in the centre of the Qizil-Qum] out there in the desert. Did you see that? The way it looks? That shows you that they do not like to work. It is dirty and poor, no gardens, no fruit trees. (Islom, 42-year-old man from Urganjiyon) The quote reflects a strong feeling of cultural superiority due to a sedentary lifestyle (and maybe a not too elaborate understanding of ecology). Kazaks (as well as ‘real’ Turkmens) are often described as people living in the desert, where they lead a life without serious occupation and lacking sophisticated cultural patterns. Another sign of Kazak inferiority is their ritualized form of kidnapping, where the parents of the bride pretend not to notice the abduction (see Werner 1997; Finke 2004). I have no data to elaborate on the situation in Bukhara and doubt that the local Uzbeks know much about the details, but allegations of bride kidnapping serve as an important ethnic marker and are used as further proof that Kazaks are incompatible and not marriageable. Another of the Kazak wedding practices is the payment of bride-wealth. Following Soviet attitudes, Uzbeks and Tajiks describe this as the equivalent of selling one’s daughter and thus consider it an almost barbaric practice. A similar situation exists on the other end of the spectrum, with regard to the Persian-speaking Ironi. In this case, it is their religious orientation as Shiites that makes them fundamentally different in spite of their linguistic closeness. They do not share cultural patterns with Uzbeks and Tajiks and therefore are not proper marriage partners for one’s sons and daughters. As a primarily urban

A Central Asian Melting Pot   97

population, the majority of the Ironi settle in the cities of Bukhara and Kogon. Here, they form a distinct group, do not intermarry, and conduct the muharram and other Shiite religious ceremonies. In the central settlement of Romitan, there are about ten Ironi families, who are well integrated into the local community but maintain a distinct identity and their own networks. They did not, however, disclose their identity to me openly, apparently not only because I was a German anthropologist. No, no, they won’t tell you. They tell no one that they are Ironi, but of course we know. And although they don’t tell, they keep to themselves. They don’t want to have anything to do with us because they believe they are better than us. (Olima, 44-year-old woman from Romitan) In contrast, the few Ironi who live in the countryside have been thoroughly ‘Uzbekized’ (or ‘Tajikized’, depending on the settlement), not only linguistically but, more important, culturally. Above all, they are accepted by the local community because they no longer practise Shiite rituals, and thus are eligible as marriage partners. In contrast to the Arabs, however, this happens on an individual basis, and the people must distance themselves from their Ironiness in order to become fully accepted within the local community. In Hokimullomir, one extended family is identified as being originally Ironi. There are three elder brothers in their fifties and sixties, each with three to four grown sons who are already married. In everyday life, they are not perceived as distinct in any way. They speak mainly Uzbek like everyone else, although all of them are equally fluent in Tajik. They perform the obligatory religious rituals according to Sunni tradition, as is common within the village. For these reasons, they had no problems marrying off their sons and daughters to other families in the village and to neighbouring ones. Most other groups are decidedly urban, and people in the countryside rarely have contact with them. Intermarriage hardly exists, in spite of the fact that some of them are Muslims, and perceptions are shaped by the lack of knowledge of their particular lifestyles. This applies above all to the Russians, who are famous throughout Central Asia for their resistance to learning local languages. Very few are able to communicate at even the most rudimentary level in Uzbek or Tajik. The situation with other Europeans is very much the same. The attitude towards Russians is of a very peculiar nature across Central Asia. They are rarely depicted as colonizers who came and exploited the local people. On the contrary, they are usually pitied, since the majority of local Russians subsist below the average standard of living. It is commonly understood that this is primarily due to a lack of solidarity within Russian society. In particular, the children – in most Russian families, only one or two – are accused of leaving their parents behind to make their fortune abroad. They go wherever they believe they can find a better life, in sharp contrast to the strong ties to one’s home region among Uzbeks.

98   Variations on Uzbek Identity

The local Tatars and Bashkirs find themselves in a difficult position, as they are not well liked in spite of being Muslim and Turkic speaking. Mutual relations with them are limited even in the countryside. In particular, Tatars are seen as a type of Russian, somewhat closer due to religious and linguistic affinity, but not close enough to be part of the local cultural community. In fact, many think of them as even less preferable than Russians for social interaction and friendship, precisely because of their intermediate position. This is supported by the fact that many of them are more fluent in Russian than in their native tongue and hardly perform any religious rituals. Although most others agree that their urf-odat as well as their language are very similar, they are considered different and less welcome as in-laws. Intermarriage does exist, however, as the number of rural Tatars and Bashkirs is not sufficient for maintaining endogamy. These views on other ethnic groups are more or less shared by Uzbeks and Tajiks. Although it was not possible to conduct cognitive tests in a systematic way for reasons outlined in the introduction, these proved highly informative. In general, they showed no marked differences between Uzbeks and Tajiks regarding their perception of closeness to or distance from any of the other groups; for example, Ironi and Kazaks were said to be equally distant from, respectively, Tajiks and Uzbeks. For most informants, Uzbeks and Tajiks were most similar to each other and showed the highest degree of mutual interaction of all groups. The only exception was Bahodir, from the village of Arablar, who considered Tajiks as being closer to Ironi than to Uzbeks. He too, however, like everyone else paired Uzbeks with Tajiks rather than to other Turkic groups (see table 2.7, lines 16 and 17). The other triad results showed an ambivalent switching between linguistic closeness and religious commonality. Some would lean stronger towards one or the other but for no one either of these seems to be a dominant schema. Concerning the Turkic unity, this is hampered primarily by the ambiguous position of the Turks and the Tatars. The former for many were difficult to classify at all and not necessarily paired with other Turkic groups, even if the third item was of a different linguistic or religious background (table 2.5, lines 2, 3 and 8). Concerning Tatars, Abdulla or Bahodir see them as closer to other Turkic and Muslim groups, while for Sardor they are rather a variant of Russians in spite of their religion and linguistic origin. A surprising result is also the positioning of the Kazaks in some of the interviews, in particular their attributed closeness to the Luli by Abdulla, maybe due to a perceived similarity of a non-sedentary way of life (table 2.5, lines 9 and 14). Otherwise, he classifies the latter as being close to other Muslims in spite of their distinctive lifestyle and generally bad reputation (table 2.5, lines 4, 5 and 6). Consequently, linguistic closeness is not unchallenged for other categories as well. This concerns, for example, the Ironi who are not necessarily considered close to Tajiks due to their Shiite background (see table 2.6, line 13). A larger

A Central Asian Melting Pot   99 Table 2.5.  Triad test conducted by Abdulla, 42-year-old man from Hokimullomir 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Uzbek Kazak Turk Tatar Luli Tajik Turk Tatar Uzbek Turkmen Turk Kazak

Tajik Turk Russian Luli Jewish Luli Tatar Turk Kazak Russian Luli Uzbek

Turkmen Tajik Uzbek Russian Turkmen Tatar Turkmen Jewish Luli Luli Jewish Tatar

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Kazak Luli Turk Kazak Tatar Jewish Uzbek Jewish Tajik Turk Uzbek Jewish

Jewish Kazak Russian Russian Russian Tajik Russian Uzbek Tatar Uzbek Luli Tajik

Turkmen Turk Tajik Turkmen Kazak Kazak Jewish Tatar Turkmen Turkmen Tajik Russian

Table 2.6.  Triad test conducted by Sardor, 32-year-old man from Toshmachit 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Chechen Russian Uzbek Turk Tatar Turkmen Russian Turkmen Tajik Ironi Russian Kyrgyz

Ironi Chechen Russian Kazak Ironi Kazak Ironi Tatar Kazak Uzbek Tatar Turkmen

Kyrgyz Tajik Kyrgyz Uzbek Kazak Chechen Turk Russian Kyrgyz Kazak Kazak Tajik

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Tatar Kazak Uzbek Ironi Uzbek Tatar Kyrgyz Kyrgyz Chechen Russian Kazak Tatar

Tajik Russian Chechen Tajik Tajik Chechen Uzbek Tatar Turkmen Kyrgyz Kyrgyz Chechen

Ironi Tajik Russian Uzbek Turkmen Tajik Tatar Turkmen Ironi Ironi Chechen Uzbek

Table 2.7.  Triad test conducted by Bahodir, 52-year-old man from Arablar 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Karakalpak Tajik Russian Turkmen Kazak Turk Russian Turkmen Karakalpak Ironi Russian Tajik

Turk Russian Uzbek Kazak Tatar Kazak Turkmen Russian Tajik Uzbek Kazak Karakalpak

Ironi Turk Karakalpak Uzbek Ironi Turkmen Ironi Tatar Kazak Kazak Tatar Turkmen

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Tajik Kazak Russian Tajik Turkmen Tatar Karakalpak Tatar Turk Russian Karakalpak Tatar

Tatar Tatar Uzbek Uzbek Uzbek Turk Uzbek Karakalpak Turkmen Karakalpak Kazak Turk

Ironi Russian Turk Ironi Tajik Tajik Tatar Turkmen Ironi Ironi Turk Uzbek

100   Variations on Uzbek Identity Table 2.8.  Triad test conducted by Oysha, 47-year-old woman from Galgala 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Kyrgyz Tajik Russian Turkmen Kazak Turk Russian Turkmen Kyrgyz Ironi Russian Tajik

Turk Russian Uzbek Kazak Tatar Kazak Turkmen Russian Tajik Uzbek Kazak Kyrgyz

Ironi Turk Kyrgyz Uzbek Ironi Turkmen Ironi Tatar Kazak Kazak Tatar Turkmen

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Tajik Kazak Russian Tajik Turkmen Tatar Kyrgyz Tatar Turk Russian Kyrgyz Tatar

Tatar Tatar Uzbek Uzbek Uzbek Turk Uzbek Kyrgyz Turkmen Kyrgyz Kazak Turk

Ironi Russian Turk Ironi Tajik Tajik Tatar Turkmen Ironi Ironi Turk Uzbek

Indo-European unity is recognisable only in the triads of Bahodir, who refrains from setting Turkic and Iranian groups as being closer to each other when comparing with Russians (table 2.7, lines 2, 7, 11 and 22). The same holds true for some of the answers by Oysha (table 2.8, lines 2 and 7), although her classifications are generally less consistent (see e.g. lines 8, 12, 14, 18, 21 and 22), which may be attributable to the fact that as a woman she has less interaction outside the village and is less familiar with people from different ethnic backgrounds. The Turkic commonality thus did not play the prominent role one might have expected. The smallest category in pile sorting tests was always Uzbeks and Tajiks, who would build one subgroup within a larger Central Asian one (see figures 2.1 and 2.2). This is made up of other Turkic groups, although never all and never exclusively. While Abdulla includes Tatars, Bashkirs and Turks, he excludes Azeri. In contrast, Bahodir does not count Tatars and Bashkirs as Central Asians while he does so for the Azeri. Interestingly, both do not reckon the Uyghurs here, the closest linguistic relatives of the Uzbeks, but put them into an East-Asian category due to the fact that the majority of them live in China. The Ironi, in contrast, are teamed up with Azeri, most of whom are Shiite Muslims as well, or with the Afghans, due to linguistic and territorial closeness.16 Other clusters include a European, a Caucasian and an East-Asian one, while groups like Chechens, Arabs or Koreans seem to be difficult to classify and sometimes left on their own. Thus, neither Turkic nor Muslim affiliation presented a sufficient reason to group people into larger entities. In other words, the dominant cultural schema does not see linguistic kinship and similarities in cultural behaviour as correlated events. Other groups, such as Kazaks and Turkmens, are considered closer primarily due to their geographical proximity rather than linguistic intelligibility. This is confirmed by the fact that Tatars or Azeri are considered as even more distinct. Islam likewise is not a strong binding force. Although the commonality of Central Asians is often described as ‘the Muslim way’, this never includes other

Figure 2.4.  Pile sorting conducted by Abdulla, 42-year-old man from Hokimullomir (created by Ivana Lakic)

Figure 2.5.  Pile sorting conducted by Bahodir, 52-year-old man from Arablar (created by Ivana Lakic)

A Central Asian Melting Pot   103

co-brethren from within or outside the Soviet Union. Neither Chechens nor Tatars nor Azeri are typically admitted into this group, and even less so Persians and Arabs. (The latter category does not include the local population of the same name discussed earlier.) No, no. The people from the Caucasus are totally different [‘sovsem boshqa’]. Yes, they have the same names that we have, like Murodov or Hamidov, but other than that their urf-odat are very different. (Baxtiyor, 45-year-old man from Toshmachit)

Local and Regional Identities The fundamental principle behind this categorization is thus territorial. Spatial closeness, not historical or linguistic commonality, defines cultural similarity. Common residence and proximity are central to a person’s identity. The basis of this is a taxonomic schema of territoriality starting with the village community. As outlined above, in Romitan, the single villages are usually monoethnic, while the larger clusters to which they belong are not. The degree of interaction and exclusiveness depends primarily on the size of the settlement. In smaller villages – such as those in Chilongu – mutual relations are very close and kinship ties extend to most other families. Changes of residence are rare and, except for the few cases of individual members of a household moving to town, male villagers remain in the place they were born throughout their lives.17 The village is thus also a social unit and, to some degree, a unit of solidarity and identity. Although they do not form endogamous entities, villages are the social world in which most of an individual’s life takes place. They are not synonymous with kinship, however, for two reasons: all families have affinal as well as collateral ties with neighbouring villages; and since genealogies usually do not extend beyond the third generation, the number of recognized relatives within the village is also restricted. The village community is rather a complementary institution to kinship, and life-cycle ceremonies are attended by all fellow villagers irrespective of an existing kin relation. Within a village, help for a wedding party or the construction of a house can be asked of anyone. The actual amount of support given will depend on the degree of kin relatedness, although close friendships also play a role. Requests for help from those living outside of the village are usually granted only by relatives. Not surprisingly, the village is the main forum for gossip, and most everyday conversations are about people living in the same settlement. As a corporation, the village represents not only a unit transcending individual lifespan, but also owns some collective property. In addition to the smaller irrigation channels, which are usually administered at the village level, this includes tables, chairs, dishes and the large cauldrons used for cooking at public or private parties. They are available to everyone in the village, but must be replaced in case of loss (see Sancak 2012).

104   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Of a similarly distinctive nature is the entity above the village, the now dissolved xo‘jalik. The territories of the former kolkhozes are about five kilometres across in most cases, and form almost endogamous units. As described above, in Hokimullomir and other villages about 85 per cent of all marriages take place within Chilongu xo‘jalik. People from neighbouring Fayzi Qurbonov are still perceived as somewhat closer than those from outside the sel’soviet, but the more important boundary is that of the xo‘jalik. The common experience of labourers in the kolkhozes (as they are still called by most people) was often said to be highly significant in this respect. Life in the xo‘jalik is more or less independent from the sel’soviet, which sometimes causes tensions between the two. Because the xo‘jalik is the producing unit, its revenues are far superior to the sel’soviet. The latter, however, is primarily responsible for all social services and thus dependent on (more or less voluntary) resources provided by the xo‘jalik. The next level, the tuman, is also very important. Each district and its inhabitants are believed to exhibit a fundamental character that distinguishes them from others. Within the tuman, cultural patterns are assumed to be very similar, irrespective of language or ethnicity. Neighbouring tuman are depicted as closer than others, especially if they share a common administrative history. This is the case with Romitan, Peshku and Jondor. Since the latter two, or at least portions of them, were a part of Romitan for some time, it is claimed that their urf-odat are similar, although not identical. Other districts are considered less close. In particular, the southern districts of Olot and Qorako’l serve as an example for describing differences due to their alleged Turkmen character. One particular feature that was repeatedly said to distinguish the people of Romitan was their supposed ability to hold their drink. To be able to toss off several bottles of vodka and still call for more is often described as romitancha (the Romitan way), and is considered to be grounds for considerable pride. This is our habit, the Uzbek way, or the Romitan way, you could say. When you have a guest, when an old friend is visiting whom I haven’t seen for years, I will feast him. We will make osh and I will put vodka on the table, many bottles. And even if I am sick and I know that I am going to die if I drink too much, there is no way out. I have to drink with him. That is our way. (Ramazan, 52-year-old man from Hokimullomir) This same pattern holds true at the Bukhara provincial level, which in this respect is usually equated with the oasis territory. Many cultural practices are considered to be more or less the same within the province, and by definition superior to the way they are conducted outside of it. One prime example relates to the Uzbek national dish, osh. One of the most frequently heard statements is that Bukharians prepare by far the best osh in the country.18 The main difference to other regional variations mentioned in this regard is the way the ingredients (primarily meat, rice and carrots) are treated. In Bukhara, the rice and carrots are served separately,

A Central Asian Melting Pot   105

Figure 2.6.  Preparing osh for wedding ceremony (Photo: P. Finke)

while in Tashkent and the Ferghana Valley they are mixed together. Another regional distinction relates to the type of tea consumed; Bukharians prefer green tea, which they consider the more appropriate choice due to the hotter climate, while people in Tashkent – which is usually a few degrees colder – typically drink black tea. The close interaction and denial of internal boundaries within the Bukharian oasis contrasts sharply with the conceptualization of differences with regions outside the oasis. The first thing all Tajiks emphasized, when asked about their ethnicity, is that being or speaking Tajik in Bukhara has nothing to do with Tajikistan. Also, Tajiks from other parts of Uzbekistan are perceived as less close than Uzbeks from Bukhara. The same is true for Uzbek speakers as well, who also differentiate themselves strongly according to regional origin. It is this strong sense of local identity that links Uzbeks and Tajiks and makes language and ethnic differences appear to be of secondary importance. In spite of this pronounced regional distinctiveness, identification with the state of Uzbekistan is quite strong. Although there is a perception that the country may be experiencing temporary difficulties, people make allowances because this is to be expected in a newly independent state. Furthermore, Uzbekistan is considered more stable than the neighbouring states, particularly Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. As already mentioned, any connection with the latter is firmly denied, although people admit that relations used to be closer in the past. The political situation there has been effectively exploited by the current regime in Tashkent, which associates Tajikistan with trouble and instability, and uses this perception to legitimize its repressive policies.

106   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Rahmonov [the president of Tajikistan] just doesn’t listen to what Karimov tells him to do. He told him again and again to keep the borders closed and not to let all these Afghans in who trade drugs and cause trouble. He had better guard the border and take care that all these narcotics don’t come to Uzbekistan. But he doesn’t do his job [‘idora qilmaydi’]. (Rashida, 51-year-old woman from Hasanobod)

Transmission and Change of Identity Widespread bilingualism is thus a key component of Bukharian identity. Many families are bilingual, so that children may speak one language to their mother and another to their father. These switches are by no means seen as an anomaly but as part of everyday practices. As mentioned earlier, individuals who are not fully skilled in both languages are in fact looked down upon. An intermediate category of hybridism therefore does not exist, since everyone is the product of mixed marriages in one way or another. Or, put differently, the overwhelming majority of the population fits into this category, while the ‘pure’ Uzbeks and Tajiks, who speak only one language, form minorities at the margins. The fact that most children are born into mixed families – in this generation or the one before – obviously must have an impact on the concept of the transmission of ethnicity or group membership. The slight patrilineal bias in kinship organization may induce one to look for a correlate in identity heritage. But when asked about the ethnic or linguistic affiliation of children from mixed marriages, informants’ replies were far from uniform. Other factors being equal, children are expected to follow their father. On the other hand, as most informants stated, it is the mother who talks with them throughout the day. So it becomes a question of how well the mother is assimilated into the village community. Since in many cases her new extended family as well as the new neighbourhood will also be bilingual, she does not necessarily have to switch to her husband’s language. Both parents then speak to their children in their respective tongues, and the maternal language usually prevails because of her more constant presence. The situation is further complicated by the fact that most families are of the extended type at least for part of their existence. Therefore grandparents may also play a role in determining the socialization and language choice of the children. In this case, the deciding factor is often the native tongue of the grandmother, who is in charge of coordinating everyday life within the household. This language is very often Tajik, even in Uzbek families. As this may well be the native tongue of the daughter-in-law as well (who in turn often has been a relative beforehand), children may be intensively exposed to that language and even their Uzbek fathers will then speak it at home. In many cases, only when a child begins school does the national language assume a greater importance, even if it is already the main language spoken in the village. In the end, the majority of those interviewed concluded that with regard to the transmission of ethnicity and group membership, it depends. If the village

A Central Asian Melting Pot   107

is dominated by a single language and ethnicity, then the children are likely to adopt that one, whether it is the father’s or the mother’s. In three-generation households, however, there is a greater chance that the father’s parents will influence the linguistic development of the children. Due to the preference for kin marriages, however, in many cases, the young bride may be of the same background as her mother-in-law. On the other hand, the influence of the larger environment may be even stronger than the parents’ background. When asked what would happen with children of two Tajik parents who grow up in an Uzbek village, most envisioned the children becoming Uzbeks. This is not restricted to the Uzbek-Tajik situation alone (where one could argue that it doesn’t matter anyway), but is considered a general mechanism. For example, an Uzbek growing up in a Kyrgyz environment would eventually become a Kyrgyz. The dominant cultural schema is thus that people adopt the language and customs of their social environment – and therefore may change their identity during their lifetime. Equally, it may happen that one language replaces the other as the dominant one used by individuals or households. This was illustrated above in the case of two cousins who spoke Tajik in their early days due to the influence of their mothers or grandmothers, and only later adopted the Uzbek language of their fathers. It must be stressed again that the same may also happen from Uzbek to Tajik. Other cases in which individuals change their dominant tongue depend on marriage. I have mentioned that a woman who does not speak the language dominant in the village into which she marries will often cling to her mother tongue and transmit it to her children. This is, however, also dependent on circumstances. The family that she joins through marriage may or may not allow her to do so, partly depending on their own skills in her mother tongue. Additionally, the scale of dominance that a language has in a particular setting influences the degree to which she can keep her mother tongue. In the few instances of a bride having only limited knowledge of the language of her in-laws, she may have to learn it. This is relatively rare because it indicates that the family has no history of intermarriage. Sometimes, it may lead to bizarre situations. Mahbuba was born in the village of Toshmachit in the early 1940s, when this was still a largely Tajik village. Her father was Tajik, and her mother a Tajik-speaking Arab, but they decided to speak only Uzbek with their children in order to increase their career opportunities. She grew up without a proper understanding of the language of her parents. While at university, she met Jurabek. His village, a few kilometres away from hers, was also mixed Uzbek-Tajik, but his family was considered Uzbek. After marriage she moved into his home. As her mother-in-law was a Tajik from the city of Bukhara, who refused to speak any ‘Turki’, the young woman of Tajik background thus had to learn her parents’ language only after she married an Uzbek. Others switch languages due to a change in residence or job. Concerning Uzbek and Tajik, this may happen in either direction. The above-mentioned Sherali explained that he started to speak Tajik (which had been the language of his early

108   Variations on Uzbek Identity

childhood) again after he had moved to the city of Bukhara, where he worked as a salesman for a couple of years. The same may happen in rural areas as well. Kamol, an old Uzbek from Hokimullomir, told me how he began working in the neighbouring brigade, the Tajik village of Galgala – a mere one hundred metres away from his house – and got more and more accustomed to speaking Tajik. Today, although living in an Uzbek village and speaking Uzbek with his wife and children, he appreciates any opportunity to speak Tajik with others. Some of these examples also imply a change of linguistic affiliation across generations. This may take place in either direction and may even involve a reversion to the original language in the next generation. In many families interviewed, the elder generation was predominantly Tajik speaking. Their children adopted Uzbek as their preferred tongue, although they often switched to Tajik whenever encountering other ‘half-Tajiks’ similar to themselves. In the third generation, however, the Tajik language may on occasion be reclaimed as the dominant language because of renewed intermarriage with Tajiks – who, in many cases, had been kin beforehand. In Hokimullomir, approximately half of all families hold this intermediate status, although all, except for five households, speak Uzbek at home. The rest of the village consists of ‘pure’ Uzbek families, although in all of them at least one of the sons- or daughters-in-law is a Tajik speaker. During the last decades, a number of villages have thus changed their linguistic makeup. Although sometimes difficult to establish precisely because the villagers themselves do not care very much, a general trend can be observed. It seems relatively safe to say that the village of Hokimullomir used to be dominantly Tajik only three generations ago, judging from the genealogies of its present inhabitants. A similar situation seems to have been the case in Toshmachit. The two villages have a number of things in common, occupying a similar geographical and social space. Located at the opposite edges of a village cluster – with all villages in between being Tajik – they both have had significant numbers of intermarriages with the dominantly Uzbek villages immediately bordering on this cluster, namely Urganjiyon (in the case of Hokimullomir) and Toshrabot (in the case of Toshmachit). The reasons for this marriage preference are unclear, but the results are striking. Due to extensive intermarriages over generations, within a relatively short period of time a village can completely change its character. When a significant number of daughters-in-law from the outer village move in at the same time, they have sufficient counterparts in the village who also speak Uzbek. Looking at the larger picture, one can speculate that this may be applicable as a general model for the Turkification of the oasis of Bukhara. While it is uncertain whether the situation in the Chandir villages follows a similar pattern, judging from the nationalities chosen for passports, there appears to be a noticeable tendency for sons of Turkmen families to become Uzbeks. This seems to be the case particularly in Chandir 3, where the inhabitants clearly distanced themselves from a Turkmen identity. In Urganjiyon, on the other hand, no reference was given to a Turkmen

A Central Asian Melting Pot   109

or Khorezmian background. Because Urganjiyon is located nearer the core villages, this settlement was both integrated more extensively into the mainstream pattern and, it may be assumed, also settled earlier. As outlined above, a change of language does not always occur in one direction, but the dominating direction of language and identity change is clearly towards Uzbek, at least since the foundation of the Uzbek SSR. It has become even more pronounced following independence. In only a single generation, villages that were mixed or dominantly Tajik have become Uzbek, with only a few Tajik families remaining. In a few years, according to the prognosis of many, the Tajik language will have disappeared. Although I do not necessarily share this pessimistic assessment, there is a clear tendency for people to adopt Uzbek as their major tongue and to transmit it to the next generation in order to increase their future opportunities within the state system, as the following excerpt from an interview indicates: PF: You call yourself an Uzbek, but you say your mother was Tajik. So, was your father Uzbek? G’ayrat: No, he was Tajik. But we at home speak Uzbek today. PF: So is your wife an Uzbek? G’ayrat: No, she is also Tajik, but because of the kids we speak only Uzbek at home. Most people view the trend towards Uzbekization as almost matter of fact, and not as something unfortunate or forced upon them. The closing of Tajik schools is not so much the product of direct governmental interference as the consequence of growing numbers of Tajik parents who decide not to send their children to schools that will limit their future options (see also Schoeberlein 1996: 19f.). As has been discussed above, for many families, this has already been a major incentive for a few generations now. It can be explained, by and large, as a decision-making process based on a cost-benefit analysis, with the state determining the pros and cons of each possible choice – in this case favouring Uzbek over Tajik. The situation has not fundamentally changed in the last twenty years except for a continuing deterioration with respect to Tajik prospects. Referring back to the Soviet era, although Uzbek already had gained a privileged status in the educational system, the ultimate language of choice for those who strived to achieve a better station in life was Russian. This relativized the advantages of those who attended an Uzbek primary school. At that time, graduation from a Tajik school did not leave one without options as this was the official language (apart from Russian again) in the neighbouring Soviet Socialist Republic of Tajikistan. Today, the state of Tajikistan, in the perception of most people – Uzbeks and Tajiks alike – is a country shaken by civil war and social disorder, and as such not a desirable place to go. As mentioned, degrees from universities there are no longer recognized in Uzbekistan and thus are of little benefit. At the

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same time, institutions of higher learning in Uzbekistan continue to switch to the new official state language. Graduates from Tajik, Kazak or even Russian primary schools therefore have a clear disadvantage today. Gaining access to political and economic positions of higher status may be another incentive for changing one’s affiliation, but this does not require a substantial reorientation. In Bukhara province, it is not a problem for a Tajik to become a village mayor, district official or even a provincial governor. To have Tajik as one’s nationality written in the passport may be a slight disadvantage when it comes to the highest offices. In general though, one does not have to give up his (or her, in the rare cases of female functionaries) identification when attempting to improve one’s position. The questions then are why two distinct terms or ethnonyms continue to exist, and why the two languages have survived for centuries when there was no apparent need for both. According to the data, it seems safe to say that differences were somewhat more distinctive a few generations ago. Several of the informants recalled their grandmother telling them ‘not to speak Turki’. Presumably, this was a minority position even in those days, and it may be no coincidence that it was never the grandfather who was quoted as making such a statement. As stated earlier, the intermediate position of Uzbekness between an Iranian-speaking sedentary majority and the surrounding Turkic speakers in the steppes and deserts may have been a key factor in this, although the interaction was not as close in Bukhara as in the other sites discussed below. Another reason certainly involves the general conception of ethnicity. Ethnic boundaries in Chilongu are not perceived as solely or primarily the product of genetic or linguistic affinity, but rather as the result of socialization within a larger environment. The prevailing schema, so the argument goes, is that one becomes a member of the cultural group that dominates the place where one grows up. This will also determine which language one speaks and what label one will use. In the end, it is not so much a question of one’s ethnicity, but rather that one is affiliated with a specific group that can provide certain benefits or public goods, above all the opportunity to accommodate oneself into a given social environment. The young state of Uzbekistan has become a very important player in this game. With its decision to change the language of higher education, it greatly influenced the cost variables for individuals. In this case, to adhere to Tajik has become much more expensive. A change of language, however, does not necessarily entail a change of identity or cultural schemas as well. People may switch their linguistic behaviour for opportunistic reasons without thinking of themselves as being someone else right away. In the case of Bukhara, the situation is probably different because neither label – Tajik or Uzbek – has much of a meaning to anyone in the first place, and it may be questioned if they actually constitute distinct ethnic categories (see Finke and Sancak 2012). For the most part, being Uzbek or Tajik is merely a matter of a change of emphasis within a larger entity that is characterized by common residence and bilingualism.

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Notes   1. A more detailed description of the environmental implications of water management will be provided in the discussion of the Khorezm oasis, which has suffered even more devastating effects due to its location further downstream.   2. The majority of the first generation of intellectuals in Tajikistan also originated from Bukhara, with Sadriddin Ayni the most well known (see Ayni 1998).   3. This seems to change. In 2012, Uzbek was much more spoken on the streets and markets of Bukhara than it used to be just ten years earlier.   4. Personal information by Dr. Qosimov and Dr. Jumayev, historians and ethnographers at the University of Bukhara.   5. Many Uzbeks in Bukhara would also list Khorezm here, as its inhabitants are believed to be a mixture of Uzbeks and Turkmens. Statistically, however, the number of Turkmens is comparatively low in Khorezm (Aman 2000).   6. The districts of Jondor and Peshku at one time were part of the Romitan tumani. According to local authorities, this was the result of sharing the main canal of the oasis’s irrigation system.   7. The town of Gazli was founded after the discovery of considerable gas deposits in the 1950s, the circumstance from which the town received its name (‘the one with gas’). Since then, it has been severely damaged twice by earthquakes, in the 1970s and 1980s.   8. The term xo‘jalik in Uzbekistan may refer to different types of agricultural property, private as well as collective ones. In the following, I will use it, if not indicated otherwise, for the successor enterprises of the former kolkhozes and sovkhozes.   9. According to Halidov and Kobilov, however, Sufis lived here at some unspecified time (1997: 137). 10. In the bazaars in Bukhara, the situation is more complicated. The ones in the centre are dominated by Tajik (with Russian the second language). The peasants’ market (dehqon bozori ), however, located along the major roads towards Khorezm, presents a linguistic mix, and on the main market day, when people arrive from outlying villages, many merchants switch to Uzbek when necessary so as not to lose a sale. 11. Qarindosh is the Turkic word qarin (‘belly’) combined with the Persian suffix -dosh (‘friend, comrade’) meaning ‘those who shared the belly of one mother’. In other Turkic languages it usually designates younger siblings. 12. As it was not possible in all cases to interview households directly, I relied in part on information provided by relatives and neighbours. 13. By 2012, the situation had changed to the worse. All land had been distributed to fermer who were becoming fewer in numbers and thus with larger estates each. This way, a new landed aristocracy is being created locally, but one totally dependent on their superiors in the regional administration who may take agricultural land away from them as they see fit. 14. Tat refers to a sedentary and Iranian-speaking individual, similar to the way the terms Tajik and Sart were used at various times in history. 15. See also Halidov and Kobilov (1997: 139f.). 16. All informants only used the term Afghan. The term Pashtu was not familiar to most people. Although they were aware that Afghanistan is composed of various ethnic groups, Afghan was nevertheless understood as a single category. 17. This is no longer the case as I write these lines due to the mentioned mass migration of Uzbeks to Russia. 18. Outside of Uzbekistan this dish is usually referred to as plov. It is composed of rice, meat, onions, carrots and, depending on regional variation, other vegetables and fruits. Within Uzbekistan the term plov is rarely used.

Chapter 3

Desperation at the End of the World? The Oasis of Khorezm The Regional Setting The second field site, the district of Xo‘jayli, is located in the southern part of the Autonomous Republic of Karakalpakistan. Geographically and historically, this is part of the larger oasis of Khorezm, which has always been a key player in Central Asian history. Although rarely able to assert dominance over such perennial strongholds as Bukhara and Samarqand, except for a brief period in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, Khorezm was a major rival to population centres along the Zarafshon River for much of its history. Of similar age, the oasis has suffered some of the worst destruction and for that reason, except for the relatively recent monuments in Khiva, it does not exhibit the same glorious past as other places. In contrast to the other sites in this study, Khorezm exhibits a number of important peculiarities. First, the Turkification process has proceeded more profoundly towards completion here than in the other settings. The present population is made up of different Turkic-speaking groups and relatively few recent immigrants from other parts of the former Soviet Union. No linguistic remnants of an earlier Iranian period have survived. Second, the historically strong antagonism between the sedentary population and tribal groups played out very differently here than elsewhere. Due to environmental conditions, the two worlds were never as far apart as they were in Bukhara, a phenomenon, which has had a lasting effect on the ethnic composition of the region (Bregel 1999). Khorezm, like Bukhara, is a more or less circular, flat oasis in the middle of a large desert zone. Larger in size than Bukhara, it is even more isolated from other centres of human settlement. It is situated in the lower part of the Amu-Darya basin, and on its northern border the river flows – or used to flow – into the Aral Sea. To the east, the Qizil-Qum extends for over four hundred kilometres until it reaches the edge of the Bukhara oasis. South of Khorezm, the Qara-Qum is of an equally inhospitable nature and is used only by pastoralists who must move considerable distances during the year to find sufficient grazing grounds (Behnke 2003). The next oases, Ashgabat to the south and Mary, the historical

Desperation at the End of the World?   113

Merv, to the southeast, are each several hundred kilometres away. To the west, the Ustyurt Plateau extends to the shores of the Caspian Sea and is similarly hostile to permanent human settlement. As in the case of Bukhara, the oasis territory ends abruptly; within a few kilometres after leaving the outermost villages, one encounters only sand and scattered bushes. The lifeline of Khorezm is the Amu-Darya. It originates as the river Panj in the mountains of southern Tajikistan, its course then creating the border with Afghanistan. Later it flows on the territory of Turkmenistan before demarcating the latter’s boundary to Uzbekistan. Only the river’s lower reaches, after it enters the territory of Khorezm viloyati, are fully within Uzbekistan. The waters of the Amu-Darya have always been a crucial resource for a huge area of Central Asia, but during the Soviet era its use upstream from Khorezm was dramatically increased. With the construction of the Qara-Qum Canal, large tracts of desert steppe in Turkmenistan were turned into cotton fields. Most of its later tributaries are also intensively used for irrigation and have not reached the Amu-Darya for centuries (Spuler 1986). Further downstream, the banks of the river are primarily meadows and bushes. Until the early twentieth century, even a few Amu tigers still lived there (Olufsen 1911: 232). The climate in Khorezm is similar to Bukhara, with moderately cold winters and hot summers. In general, temperatures are slightly lower than in Bukhara. Still, monthly averages in July exceed 30°C. In winter, the Ustyurt Plateau to the west of the oasis is the coldest place in Uzbekistan, with absolute lows approaching minus 40°C. Daily temperatures can fluctuate by as much as 20°C, which

Figure 3.1.  The Amu-Darya in winter near the highway Tashkent-Nukus (Photo: P. Finke)

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Map 3.1.  The Khorezm Oasis

Desperation at the End of the World?   115

makes agriculture a difficult business (UNEP 1999). Precipitation is the lowest in Uzbekistan and much of the oasis and its hinterland receive less than a hundred millimetres in an average year (Makhmudovich 2005). In winter, the earth is sometimes covered in snow for a couple of days. As in Bukhara, recent years have received more rainfall in summer, which can be detrimental to agriculture, especially when combined with lower temperatures that slow plant growth. Outside the agricultural zone, natural vegetation is scarce, with little more than a few bushes and a seasonal, thin carpet of grass, on which camels and goats graze. As in Bukhara, the soil is predominantly loam, albeit with a higher sand content. The traditional economic structures in Khorezm are similar to those described for Bukhara. All agriculture is dependent on irrigation channels that take their water from the Amu-Darya. As the soil is somewhat less fertile, the population density tends to be lower as well and settlements are of a more dispersed nature. Grain used to be the essential staple, in addition to vegetables and fruits. Livestock rearing was always somewhat more important than in Bukhara, as ecological conditions allowed larger groups of pastoralists to settle temporarily or permanently in Khorezm, a fact that has proved decisive in the ethnic history of the oasis. During Soviet times, Khorezm and Karakalpakistan became also the prime producers of rice in Uzbekistan. As in other parts of the country, the majority of agricultural land, however, was devoted to cotton production and remains so today. The consequences of the intensification of irrigated agriculture are by now well known and have led to an even more precarious ecological situation than in Bukhara. When the Amu-Darya finally reaches the oasis of Khorezm, it has been reduced from a broad river to little more than a trickle. Further downstream, the formerly wide-ranging delta is now fingers of shallow mud that disappear long before the Aral Sea. In 2002, local residents reported that the sea had retreated more than eighty kilometres to the north from the former mouth of the AmuDarya. Since then, this number has probably doubled. People throughout the region suffer from lack of water and rising levels of salinization (Glantz and Zonn 2005). The effects are apparent, even to the casual observer. All the major roads are lined with white deposits that resemble snow but prove to be small salt pans. These are mixed with the residue of pesticides washed down from the upstream oases. The consequences for the population have been devastating. The health situation is alarming, with a drastic drop in life expectancy and an increase in infant and maternal mortality during the last decades. Epidemic diseases also are on the rise. Some locals recalled during interviews that warnings about decreasing water levels were given as far back as the 1930s. The situation has deteriorated dramatically, however, since the 1960s, when the first forced resettlements took place (Kamalov 1994). With the fall of the Soviet Union and the establishment of independent states, coordinating the distribution of water became an even more

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complicated interstate affair (Wegerich 2005). The last ten to fifteen years have been particularly difficult, people report. Many years, there is not even sufficient water to sustain the small, private subsistence plots.1

An Ethnic History of the Khorezm Oasis The reason for including Khorezm here was, however, not so much for the current ecological situation but for its particular ethnic history, which exemplifies a strikingly distinct pattern from Bukhara and the other sites. The earliest settlements in Khorezm go back as far as those in other oases in Central Asia and agricultural practices can be traced even to the fourth millennium bc (Bosworth 1997). Recently, the government of Uzbekistan celebrated what they referred to as the 2,700th anniversary of Zoroastrism in Khorezm. In a leaflet published by the Uzbekistan embassy in Berlin, the Avesta is referred to as the ‘älteste Quelle der Geschichte des usbekischen Volkes’ (the ‘earliest source on the history of the Uzbek people’).2 Although the historical accuracy of this statement may be disputed, it does point to the traditionally close relationship to the Iranian Plateau and the northeastern province of Khorasan in particular, as well as to neighbouring Bactria in contemporary Afghanistan. The arrival of Iranian speakers in Khorezm probably was coincident with their arrival in Transoxania. The local Khorezmian dialect was closely related to Soghdian and other eastern Iranian tongues. Further north, the Scythians and other Iranian nomads represented both a military threat and an economic exchange partner. Trade relations also extended into the Volga region. The linguistic situation changed little during Achaemenidian rule from the fifth century bc on, at which time the oasis experienced its first flourishing. In contrast to Trans­ oxania, however, Khorezm was less affected by the rule of the Greek dynasties that followed the conquest by Alexander the Great and the succeeding empires of the Hephthalites and Kushan. More significant was the impact of the Parthians, linguistically akin to the Khorezmians, who controlled much of the region during the final centuries bc. The dominant language in the oasis, however, was still Khorezmian, which by then was written in its own script (Bosworth 1997; Nerazik and Bulgakov 1999). During the first centuries ad, this westernmost part of Central Asia developed into the first state of the Khorezm-Shahs under the Afrighid dynasty, which remained decisively Iranian in character. The western Turkic Qaghanate, to which the Khorezm-Shahs were occasionally forced to pay tributes, had just begun to influence the region. To the northwest, Khorezm established close economic relations with the empire of the Khazars along the lower Volga. This included occasional alliances against the Qipchaq, who had become their primary opposition by the eighth and ninth centuries. They were succeeded by Oghuz groups who had been roaming the lower Syr-Darya for some time and started

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to enter Khorezm by the tenth century. Al-Qashghari points to a heavy Iranian influence on their language already during this period. In contrast to other Turkic polities, the Oghuz were less centralized and individual tribes often acted on their own. They have been depicted as typical nomads, although a growing sedentary element probably existed. As a rather loose confederation, they were a source of constant unease for the Khorezm-Shahs (Golden 1992: 205ff.). By that time, Khorezm was already thoroughly Islamized. The new religion was accepted both within the oasis territory and by some of the Turkic tribes in the surrounding steppe and desert regions. In Khorezm, this was not associated with the rise of the New Persian language as it was in Transoxania. From the beginning, Islam in Khorezm was more Turkic in character. In the rural areas, however, the old Khorezmian language persisted at least until the fourteenth century (Bregel 1999). Zoroastrism in its local form also survived in pockets into the eleventh century and some authors claim that elements still may be found in contemporary religious practices (Bosworth 1997; Snesarev 2003). During the tenth century, the Khorezm-Shahs came under the suzerainty of the Samanids and, in 1017, under that of the Ghaznavids who finally established Turkic rule in the oasis. A few decades later, the Seljuks became masters of the region for a brief period. The Turkic dialects spoken in Khorezm at that time contrasted with those in Transoxania and other oases further east. Most of them belonged to the Oghuz (or southwestern) branch, to which the contemporary Turkish, Azeri and Turkmen languages are reckoned as well. Thus, the steppes around Khorezm was the place where the formation of those tribal groups took place that would a few centuries later invade Iran and Anatolia to establish the Seljuk and later the Ottoman Empires (Golden 1992; Bosworth 1997). Politically, Khorezm reached its peak during the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries with a new dynasty of Khorezm-Shahs building on the legacy of earlier statehoods of that name. During this period, Turkification was already far advanced. Many Qipchaq tribes entered into the service of the Khorezm-Shahs, although control often proved difficult. The new state was able to extend its rule over much of Transoxania and Iran by the early thirteenth century making it one of the most powerful states of the Muslim world during that period. By then, the Khorezm-Shahs had freed themselves from (nominal) Qara-Qitay dominance and in 1212 destroyed the remnants of the western Qarakhanid state (Golden 1992: 225ff.). Their rule, however, ended briefly thereafter when it had the misfortune of being targeted as the main opponent of the Mongol campaigns when the Khorezm-Shahs’ army was crushed and most of their cities destroyed. The fact that the Turkic element in Khorezm was already well established by the time the Mongol armies arrived resulted in a different relationship with the new rulers. The influx of new tribes, which had contributed so much to the Turkification of other parts of Central Asia, was less substantial here. In Khorezm, the Oghuz and Qipchaq tribes that had been around for centuries remained the

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dominant ethnic elements. Some Oghuz tribes also migrated westward as a consequence of the Mongol invasion, following the earlier movement of the Seljuks. During this period, Khorezm became a marginal player compared to the cities along the Zarafshon. Within the Mongol Empire, it was often a disputed border region between the Golden Horde, the Ulus Chagatay and the Il-Khanate (Golden 1992: 297ff.; Bosworth 1997). This situation did not change significantly during Timurid times. Again, Khorezm found itself in opposition to the ruling centres, and in a campaign conducted by Timur, the capital of Urganch was razed to the ground. This is still mentioned by many Khorezmians today as a decisive moment in the history of the oasis and as a reason for their reluctance to participate in the celebration of this medieval ruler as the national hero of Uzbekistan. Khorezm suffered more than any other part of Central Asia from the Mongol and Timurid campaigns and never fully recovered. The irrigation system of the oasis was severely affected, with much of the northern oasis becoming a wasteland; until the nineteenth century it was used primarily by pastoral nomads (Bregel 1999). The arrival of the Uzbek Shaybanids in the early sixteenth century changed the fate of Khorezm as it had done in Bukhara. Initially under the dominance of Muhammad Shaybani and his successors, Khorezm soon recovered its independence, with a local branch of Jochids gaining power. The Arabshahids ruled here until the end of the eighteenth century, at which time a new dynasty emerged from the Qongrat tribe that removed the last Chingisid rulers in Khorezm almost simultaneously as the same process took place in Bukhara. During this period, the capital moved to the city of Khiva, which also imposed its name on the khanate (Bosworth 1997). The Khanate of Khiva was repeatedly beset by fierce conflicts between the urban centres and the tribal groups that populated the hinterland. It was also poorer in resources and less cohesive than neighbouring Bukhara. The bulk of the population was made up of sedentary Uzbeks, which in Khorezm were called – and called themselves – Sart. They spoke Oghuz dialects and dominated the southern and central parts of the oasis. In the north, Qipchaq-speaking Uzbeks had retained a semi-nomadic and partly tribal organization. Only the latter referred to themselves by the name Uzbek. Intermarriages between the two groups were reportedly rare (Bregel 1978, 1999). Groups of Kazaks, Karakalpaks and Turkmens entered the oasis at various points in history, settling primarily along its outskirts. By the nineteenth century, opposition among the various groups within the khanate had worsened. At this time, the sedentary Sart were probably the majority population and the main taxpayers, while the Uzbeks proper formed the backbone of the army. Sart influence on local politics increased steadily at the expense of the tribal aristocracies and placed them in opposition to the nomadic and semi-nomadic groups (Bregel 1978). Among the latter, Turkmens and various Uzbek tribes were the most significant, and the ruling dynasty was dependent

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upon their goodwill to a degree (Bregel 1999). The Turkmens were also responsible for providing slaves, who were captured in the Iranian borderlands and became a mainstay of the khanate’s economy (Becker 1968). During that time, Khiva became one of the first targets of Russian expansion. Tsar Peter the Great sent out an expedition in the early eighteenth century, but this proved to be a disaster, with most of the men perishing in the desert before reaching the oasis. A later attempt was more successful, and in 1873 the city of Khiva was captured without serious difficulty (Becker 1968). Similar to Bukhara, the khanate remained a formally independent statehood into the early Soviet period, and in later decades was pushed into the background by more powerful regional players such as Tashkent, Samarqand and the Ferghana Valley.

Groups and Boundaries: The Local Configuration In political or administrative terms, Khorezm has described various geographical, cultural and political entities throughout history. Today it is applied primarily to the smallest province in Uzbekistan in the far west of the country, but, historically, Khorezm encompassed a much larger area. In fact, the political centre during much of the medieval period was the city of Urganch or Gurganch, now the small town of Köhneürgench (or ‘old Urganch’) in Turkmenistan. Only during the seventeenth century did the capital shift to the city of Khiva, under which name the entire region was known during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The territory of the khanate was greatly reduced following the Russian conquest, but more important in the long run were administrative changes introduced during the early Soviet era. The small heartland of the old Khanate of Khiva became a province within Uzbekistan, with the administrative centre moving from Khiva to the city of (New) Urganch. The southern parts of the oasis were incorporated into what became the Soviet Socialist Republic of Turkmenistan. The northern area of Khorezm was established as an autonomous region, Karakalpakistan, in 1924; seven years later it was promoted to an autonomous republic. Initially, it was assigned to neighbouring Kazakstan due to the linguistic affinity of the two titular groups, but in 1936, after Kazakstan became a firstorder republic, Karakalpakistan was transferred to Uzbekistan (Capisani 2000: 111), probably to maintain the balance of power between the two largest republics in Central Asia. At the same time, this created a potential fifth column within Uzbekistan, precisely because of the closeness of Kazaks and Karakalpaks. The capital of the Autonomous Republic was originally located in the eastern tuman of To‘rtko‘l, which is predominantly Uzbek and closely related to Khorezm viloyati. To strengthen the status of the Karakalpaks, it was later transferred to the more centrally located city of Nukus (Nökis in Karakalpak). Following the split of Bukhara and Navoiy viloyati in the early 1990s, Karakalpakistan became the largest region in Uzbekistan.

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To this day, all three parts of the historical Khorezm play somewhat marginal roles within their respective states. The situation with Karakalpakistan is rather ambiguous – its special status has not been questioned but its meaning is difficult to judge. The Autonomous Republic has many features of statehood, such as a flag, a constitution and a parliament, but these appear to have little real substance to them. In their ethnic composition, Khorezm and Karakalpakistan are almost diametrical opposites. On paper, Khorezm is the most Uzbek province in the country with more than ninety per cent belonging to the national titular group. This depends, however, on one’s definition of Uzbekness, as many of them do not consider themselves Uzbek in a strict sense (to be discussed in more detail below). Karakalpakistan, on the other hand, has the lowest proportion of Uzbeks in the country, and is the only area besides Tashkent viloyati where they comprise less than half of the population (see table 3.1). Until recently, Karakalpaks, Kazaks and Uzbeks were proportionately similar, each approximating 30 per cent, with Turkmens the fourth-largest group. Table 3.1.  Population of Karakalpakistan by ethnic group Amudaryo Beruniy Bo’zatov Chimboy Ellikqala Kegeyli Leninabad Mo’ynoq Nukus Qo‘ng‘irot Qorao‘zak Shumanay Taxtako'pir To‘rtko‘l Xo‘jayli c. Nukus c. Beruniy c. Chimboy c. Mo’ynoq c. Qo‘ng‘irot c. Taxiatosh c. To‘rtko‘l c. Xo‘jayli Total

Uzbeks 91,580 46,483 n.a. 1,249 61,477 486 3,757 191 6,375 14,951 204 4,939 407 41,755 15,996 14,564 24,921 919 64 15,805 8,070 27,967 15,666 397,826

Source: Aman (2000)

Kazaks 11,472 15,735 n.a. 5,227 12,409 9,919 4,453 8,939 11,065 19,938 7,528 12,677 21,248 6,734 18,059 59,548 8,256 7,110 5,671 20,712 21,673 3,717 26,249 318,339

Turkmens 2,368 6,339 n.a. 90 5,521 64 332 37 147 695 64 5,703 25 26,374 6,416 764 960 13 2 95 2,790 1,156 332 60,287

Karakalpaks 2,524 3,018 n.a. 41,919 3,263 47,438 20,705 6,034 23,690 2,923 27,145 12,780 16,493 4,510 12,771 101,184 1,908 18,480 6,007 10,197 5,785 1,814 18,558 389,146

Russians 195 86 n.a. 98 120 76 44 17 211 766 68 25 92 96 108 12,059 662 112 271 1,438 1,639 755 908 19,846

Tatars 438 133 n.a. 115 181 93 105 12 137 128 84 67 115 12 116 3,186 381 171 18 373 684 222 887 7,658

Koreans 14 14 n.a. 29 10 73 92 1 104 27 73 14 8 17 67 4,979 67 116 13 689 1,405 29 1,268 9,109

Desperation at the End of the World?   121

In contrast to Bukhara, the official numbers reflect the linguistic situation to some extent, at least if one includes Khorezmian in the Uzbek language (see Turaeva 2010). Within Karakalpakistan, Uzbeks form the majority in most areas along the border with Khorezm – that is, the districts of To‘rtko‘l, Beruniy, Ellikkala and Amudaryo. Karakalpaks live primarily in the central part of the republic, in the delta region of the Amu-Darya, where they dominate the districts of Kegeyli, Qorao‘zak, Leninabad, Nukus and Chimboy. Kazaks settle primarily in the outer fringes, both west and east of the delta, the Ustyurt Plateau and the western section of the Qizil-Qum. They form the majority of the population in the districts of Qo‘ng‘irot, Mo’ynoq and Taxtako’pir, many of them continuing to lead a pastoral lifestyle. Many Kazaks also have settled in some of the industrial centres in the southern part of the republic, such as in Taxiatosh. The largest settlement of Turkmens is in the eastern To‘rtko‘l district, which occupies a major portion of the Qizil-Qum that belongs to Karakalpakistan. Smaller groups live in Ellikkala and Beruniy, neighbouring on To‘rtko‘l, as well as in Xo‘jayli and Shumanay, close to the border with Turkmenistan. According to local scholars, Kazaks had lived in the region since the sixteenth century, at least in the northern parts of Karakalpakistan near Chimboy and Taxtako’pir.3 This would have been shortly after they had emerged into a distinct group. The northern desert steppes were apparently used by Kazak nomads as winter pastures for centuries. Others probably arrived in the early Soviet period to escape the famine in Kazakstan, during which millions of former nomads perished and hundreds of thousands left for safer places within and outside the Soviet Union. The origin of the Karakalpaks is not well known. A group of this name had settled along the central Syr-Darya by the early seventeenth century, and from there migrated into their current location in successive waves during the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Presumably, they were driven out of their previous territory by the more powerful Kazaks. This corresponds to the local understanding, according to which they have settled the region for around two hundred years. In 1811, they submitted to the Khanate of Khiva, and since then their fate has been closely tied to this polity. For most of their history, they were a rather underprivileged population that had to provide military as well as labour services, in addition to paying heavy taxes, and thus suffering the disadvantages of both nomadic and sedentary groups. On the other hand, this intermediate position enabled the Karakalpaks to take advantage of local conditions by living an agro-pastoral way of life, with fishing as a supplemental means of livelihood (Zhdanko 1950; Bregel 1999). The history of the local Turkmens was one of constant movement, so that those living in Xo‘jayli and other parts of Khorezm today do not necessarily belong to the same groups that settled the region in the past. According to Martov (1954), the list of clans found in the early twentieth century has few matches

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with those of earlier periods. Apparently, most of the Turkmen tribes changed their habitat during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Within the Khanate of Khiva, the Turkmens occupied an ambiguous position. At times, they were allies to the khan in his quarrels with dissatisfied Uzbek tribes, but most often they found themselves in opposition to the government. Revolts and their suppression were therefore constant features of social relations within the khanate (Bregel 1999). Economically, the Turkmens suffered particularly from the expansion of irrigation, which reduced the availability of good winter pastures and forced the weaker and poorer tribes to settle down. In contrast to the other settings examined in this book, there are almost no Tajiks here. Apart from individual marriages, the only Tajiks to be encountered usually work in the bazaar and take up only temporary residence. A distinct group that exists in other parts of Uzbekistan but seems most significant in Karakalpakistan are the Khoja. Some describe them as a kind of ‘holy clan’ of alleged Arab descent (Muminov 1998). A few informants assigned them the status of an ethnic group but this has not been officially recognized and most people would probably disagree with such a claim. This second interpretation unites Khoja across different ethnic groups, in particular Karakalpaks, Kazaks and Uzbeks. In any case, they form a largely endogamous group that is still influential in local politics. Several high-ranking officials encountered during fieldwork identified as Khoja. Other minorities are rare. The number of Russians has never been significant except in the administrative centres of Nukus and Urganch. The same is true for the so-called Russian-speaking groups such as Ukrainians, Tatars and Armenians. Both Khorezm viloyati and Karakalpakistan, however, had and still have a sizeable Korean population. The Koreans were deported from the Russian Far East during the Second World War and forced to resettle in the lower Amu-Darya Basin, apparently to take advantage of their skill in growing rice, a crop whose range had been greatly extended during this period. Members of other deported groups, such as the Chechens and Meskhetian Turks, are few. Population movements in recent years, both internal and international, have been more pronounced than anywhere else in Uzbekistan. Exact figures do not exist, but probably more than half of the Kazak population has left Karakalpakistan. This was encouraged by an official invitation from President Nazarbayev, calling for all Kazaks abroad to return to the ‘native homeland’ (Sancak and Finke 2005; Diener 2009). Most of them now live in and around the former capital of Almaty, in the southern city of Chimkent and its hinterland, or in one of the oil-rich provinces of western Kazakstan. Many Uzbeks and Karakalpaks also migrated to Kazakstan, where they are often exploited as cheap labour. Others have gone to Russia, where they work in trade or the construction industry, usually on a semi-legal basis. The main reason for this emigration has been the disastrous ecological conditions in the region that not only have caused serious

Desperation at the End of the World?   123

health problems, but have often left people without adequate water to sustain subsistence-level food production. Many expect the situation to deteriorate further in coming years. Here, some people live worse than they do in Afghanistan. If this is going to continue, then we will all leave. This is the place of our fathers, so we would like to stay. But there is nothing we can do about this. No one will stay here. (Murod, 32-year-old Turkmen from Xo‘jayli)

Spheres of Interaction Patterns of Settlement The district of Xo‘jayli is located in southernmost Karakalpakistan. Köhneürgench, the historical centre of Khorezm, is a mere fifteen kilometres to the south, but is cut off by one of the most rigid borders in Central Asia today, the one between Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. This has severely hampered mutual relations, which in the past were extensive. The city of Xo‘jayli is the second largest in Karakalpakistan and was a major settlement in the oasis during recent centuries. The name is usually attributed to xo‘ja eli, or land of the Khoja, although it is not clear if this refers to a particular clan or more generally to a place where many pious and well-educated men lived.4 The former explanation would indicate an Arab origin, as the Khoja are believed to be descendants of the prophet Muhammad. Besides the tuman centre, which is also a major regional trading place, Xo‘jayli also includes one of the most important industrial settlements in western Uzbekistan, the town of Taxiatosh. In total, the tuman comprises nine sel’soviet. In terms of ethnic composition, Xo‘jayli tumani reflects the overall situation in Karakalpakistan. The three major groups, Uzbeks, Karakalpaks and Kazaks, live here in almost equal proportion, while Turkmens form a fourth, smaller segment. Within the tuman, the north has a Karakalpak majority, while in the south, including the district centre, Uzbeks dominate. Kazaks represent the second largest population in most areas, and form the majority in the industrial complex of Taxiatosh (Aman 2000). Turkmens are found mostly along the border. They had been assigned a kolkhoz of their own, Azatlyk (‘freedom’). Within Xo‘jayli tumani, most of the research was conducted in the sel’soviet of Sarishugul. It consists of thirteen villages (or awil in Karakalpak and Kazak).5 In contrast to Chilongu in the Bukhara oasis, the territory of the sel’soviet only partly corresponds to one or more former kolkhozes. Some of the villages had been part of a kolkhoz, which – just as the one in Chilongu – bore the name Karl Marx in socialist times, but since then has been renamed Dosliq (‘friendship’ in Karakalpak). Other villages of Sarishugul are not part of the xo‘jalik, or in fact any rural enterprise, as they have become suburbs of Xo‘jayli city. Until the early

Map 3.2.  Xo‘jayli and Sarishugul sel’sovieti (compiled by P. Finke)

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Desperation at the End of the World?   125 Table 3.2.  Villages in Sarishugul sel’sovieti Amir Timur Baxshilik Janqo’ng’irot* Köhne Tashlap Qaraqol Qirqüyli Qumbuzawil* Sarishirin Sawikawil Shodlik* Tausha* Taza Tashlap Türkmenawil Total

Households 46 20 334 57 61 108 224 209 227 126 95 116 42 1665

Individuals 380 183 2207 422 485 697 1442 1531 1583 744 597 790 339 11400

Major group Turkmen, Uzbek Karakalpak, Kazak Uzbek Kazak, Karakalpak Kazak Uzbek Kazak, Karakalpak, Uzbek Uzbek, Karakalpak Karakalpak, Uzbek, Kazak Kazak, Karakalpak, Uzbek Kazak, Karakalpak Kazak Turkmen

Other groups

Kazak, Karakalpak

Kazak, Karakalpak

Source: Administration of Sarishugul sel’sovieti Note: In contrast to figures for Chilongu, those in Sarishugul refer to households, not nuclear families. The villages marked with an asterisk are not part of Dosliq xo‘jaligi. The names of the villages in Sarishugul sel’soviet as provided by the local administrations were a peculiar mix of Uzbek, Kazak and Karakalpak pronounciation that made it impossible to transliterate them consistently.

1960s, these had been part of a separate kolkhoz, Kuibyshev. Dosliq xo‘jaligi contains somewhat less than half of the municipality’s households, about six hundred, which are organized into brigades of widely varying scales. As in Bukhara, the subdivision of rural communities into mahalla has only recently begun. This division into a rural section, corresponding to Dosliq xo‘jaligi, and a semi-urban one that surrounds the tuman centre has a number of consequences. For one, identification with the local community is much weaker than in Chilongu. The sel’soviet and the xo‘jalik form more or less independent entities. The villages attached to the latter usually comprise a number of small hamlets, which were sometimes rather arbitrarily combined. Other villages have been resettled or recombined into larger units. Both the separation into rural and semi-urban sections and the subdivision of the xo‘jalik into brigades are structured partially along ethnic lines. The suburbs of Xo‘jayli are dominantly Uzbek, with Kazaks and Karakalpaks forming sizeable minorities. The latter two groups are in the majority in most of the rural settlements, although some of them also contain significant numbers of Uzbeks and Turkmens. The smaller settlements in the hinterland are more or less monoethnic. In everyday life, these are commonly referred to as Kazakawil, Karakalpakawil or Türkmenawil. Some of these are divided further into smaller aggregates along lineage lines, each consisting of a few closely related households (although these are not officially recognized units).

126    Variations on Uzbek Identity Table 3.3.  Brigades in Dosliq xo‘jaligi Karakalpakawil Kazakawil Türkmenawil Uzbekawil Centre (around the kolkhoz administration)

Ethnic group Karakalpaks Kazaks Turkmens Uzbeks Mainly Kazaks and   Karakalpaks

# of brigades 2 4 8 2 3

# of households 30 45 60 200 100

Source: Ilhom, head of the kolkhoz Note: The names used here do not conform to the ones given in table 3.2 The latter are the official units as presented by the administration of the sel’soviet.

Settlement patterns in the oasis of Khorezm are of a peculiar nature. Instead of the compact villages or clusters one finds in Bukhara, the traditional picture is one of smaller hamlets and individual homesteads spread over a larger area (Bregel 1999). In the rural hinterland, this pattern has partially survived to the present day. Each of these homesteads is surrounded by agricultural fields and sometimes by grazing lands. Because the hamlets are usually monoethnic, this creates a physical distance between the various groups. Some of the hamlets are reminiscent of nomadic encampments, except with fixed dwellings. Often, the houses are also surrounded by larger shelters for livestock.6 The territory belonging to each homestead is usually larger than in Bukhara; therefore, even within the hamlets themselves, the distances between individual dwellings are greater than in other settings. In most cases, settlements are connected by sandy roads; only those in the central villages are paved. As in Bukhara, villages and their sub-

Figure 3.2.  Group of homesteads near Xo‘jayli (Photo: P. Finke)

Desperation at the End of the World?   127

divisions are often still referred to as brigades. These were given numbers rather than names in the past, and some people still refer to their place of residence as the fourth or fifth brigade. Some do not even know the official name of their village. The latter are often recent creations, even though the hamlets may have existed for some time. Many of the hamlets consist only of a few houses. For example, the unit popularly called Türkmenawil (or Türkpenawil in Kazak and Karakalpak, which is the version used in the administration of the sel’soviet) is comprised of three smaller settlements, each separated by a few kilometres. These three hamlets are in turn made up of three, five and eight households, respectively. Other Turkmen settlements have a similar arrangement. The hamlets in Kazakawil and Karakalpakawil are constituted along the same lines, but larger on average. Kazakawil was again composed of three settlements, each comprising approximately fifteen households. These smaller units are inhabited by patrilineally related families, although occasionally they also include individual members of other ethnic groups.

Language Use The language situation in Xo‘jayli is also very different from Bukhara’s. All native groups speak Turkic languages, while Russian is limited to a relatively small urban stratum. As mentioned before, there are almost no Tajik speakers in the greater region. The four Turkic languages spoken, however, belong to different subdivisions. Kazak and Karakalpak are commonly ascribed to the Qipchaq branch, Turkmen is an Oghuz language, and Uzbek belongs to the eastern Turkic or Qarluq branch. The situation is further complicated by the fact that the local Uzbek dialects are the Qipchaq and Oghuz variants. As indicated, these dialects do not fully belong to the respective subfamilies, but rather occupy an intermediate position towards standard Uzbek. Neither is ‘Xorazmcha’ as spoken today, a clear-cut Oghuz language, nor are the Uzbek dialects spoken in Karakalpakistan affiliated with the Qipchaq branch.7 Rather, both idioms are based on a Qarluq dialect with influences from these two Turkic subgroups. Still, the distinctions with literary Uzbek involve more than a few words and sound changes, but extend into grammatical constructions. On the other hand, the local Kazak and Karakalpak dialects are influenced by Uzbek both phonetically and through vocabulary. The bilingual situation is thus very different than in Bukhara. With respect to Russian, there have never been many native speakers. During the Soviet era, everyone was taught Russian for several years at school and men received additional training during military service, but since that time encounters with Russian speakers have been sporadic for most people. On the other hand, many people still prefer Russian language channels, because the news is believed to be more informative and neutral.

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Almost everyone knows Uzbek, or at least the local Qipchaq variant. In some of the more remote villages, women often speak it with a strong accent. This is particularly true for Turkmens, who can be difficult to understand when they speak Uzbek. Depending on the composition of the settlement, people will also know Kazak or Karakalpak as a second language. Members of these three groups claim that they use a kind of common language, which combines elements of each of the various languages. More often, however, it seems that everyone uses his or her own language, each of which is relatively intelligible to the others, except for Turkmen, which is too different to understand easily. Few non-native speakers speak Turkmen fluently and many hardly understand it. The decision in early Soviet times to create an autonomous republic for the Karakalpaks profoundly influenced the balance of power among the various languages. The major minority languages all have a status much more officially recognized than Tajik in Bukhara. Signs on public buildings are usually in Uzbek and Karakalpak, and yet the dominance of Karakalpak is restricted for the most part to the centre of Nukus and the few predominantly Karakalpak districts north of it. To a lesser degree, it also prevails in some of the district centres, except for those with a clear-cut Uzbek majority, such as To‘rtko‘l and Beruniy. In Xo‘jayli, partly due to its closeness to Nukus, Karakalpak is relatively widespread, but Uzbek and Kazak are of equal importance. Uzbek’s status here is magnified due to its influence at the national level, but since the local dialect is distinct from the literary language, this does not fully come into play. Where Kazaks comprise a sizeable segment of the population, their language is often the second, sometimes even the primary one. In the villages in the research site and others in southern Karakalpakistan this may be due to the fact that Kazaks form a larger segment of the semi-urban population. They are therefore usually the largest or second largest group (behind Uzbeks) in the major settlements where the administration is concentrated. The existence of a (relatively) prosperous nation-state next door may further contribute to this attraction. In contrast to the neighbouring capital of Nukus, where Karakalpak is dominant, the city of Xo‘jayli is multilingual, although Uzbek is most often heard. In the countryside, the situation is very diverse. Many villages, as previously described, are inhabited by members of a single group and usually monolingual. Only the larger ones are mixed, and in these cases the dominant language is either Uzbek or Kazak, as they form the majority of the urban and semi-urban population. Outside of Nukus, the Karakalpaks, and even more so the Turkmens, are primarily a rural population. In public, the dominant language usually depends on the relative numerical strength of respective ethnic groups within the local community. The larger settlements are less monolingual, which is more characteristic for particular neighbourhoods. The local administration typically reflects the numerical strength of the settlement and is thus primarily Uzbek, Kazak, Karakalpak or Turkmen.

Desperation at the End of the World?   129

Other groups are represented according to the local situation. Although Karakalpak and Uzbek are the two official languages, both Kazak and Turkmen may be the one used locally, as in the kolkhoz Azatlyk. There are schools for each individual ethnic group in Sarishugul; the Turkmen school, however, changes the language of some of its instruction to Uzbek after the fourth grade. In principle, all students can thus receive basic education in their respective mother tongue. Some may go to a school closer to their homes, where instruction is in a different language. This is the case primarily for those families who live as minorities in a larger village, or when a hamlet is too small to support a separate school. I went to a Kazak school. At that time, there were not enough children in the village, which was very small. Therefore we went to Kazakawil, which was larger. Later, our village got its own school and children were taught in Turkmen. (Isroil, 32-year-old man from Türkmenawil) What has changed is the way that other languages are treated. In the past, Russian was the only foreign language in all schools. Now, Uzbek and Karakalpak have been added to the curriculum, as they are the official national and regional languages. Switching languages in everyday life occurs, but does not have the same meaning as in Bukhara. Within families it rarely happens, because most are monoethnic, as will be discussed below. If a marriage involves members of different groups, then the language of the groom’s side usually prevails, as the household domicile will be established in his home village. In town, the locally dominant language may also become the one used at home. Changing one’s language is thus less common than in Bukhara, and people are not bilingual in the sense that both languages are equally important. Rather, one language is the mother tongue and the other is spoken out of necessity. This does not imply that people are reluctant to switch, but that the other language is essentially perceived as foreign. As mentioned, in the cases of Kazak, Uzbek and Karakalpak, more often people speak in their own tongues and then perhaps slightly adapt their speech depending on the language of whom they are speaking to. There is thus a clear sense of ‘our’ language as opposed to those of others, which is not the case among Uzbeks and Tajiks in Bukhara. There is also no consensus with regard to the relative ranking of languages as exists in Bukhara. Presumably, most people would rank their mother tongue as their favourite. Karakalpak is said to exist linguistically between Uzbek and Kazak. Most people perceive it as being closer to Kazak (as do linguists), but that may depend on one’s own tongue; for example, some Uzbeks claimed that Karakalpak is closer to their language than it is to Kazak, presumably because they have less problems understanding the former than the latter. But discourses

130   Variations on Uzbek Identity

on the relative superiority of one’s own language – for example, the assertion that Uzbek is the more ancient and poetic language – rarely take place outside of one’s own community.

Kinship and Marriage As is the case with language, social structures exhibit significant differences among the four major groups in Xo‘jayli and have not merged as they have in Bukhara. The local Uzbeks, although speaking a Qipchaq dialect, which is usually associated with a relatively recent tribal background, have no lineage system in the strict sense. Some informants claimed that this was different in more remote areas or that it had been different in the past, but the majority of present-day local Uzbeks feel little more than a vague connection to distant generations. In many cases, however, former clans or tribal units such as Manghit and Qongrat have given their name to a village or town.8 Kinship patterns are similar to the ones described for Bukhara, although individual terminology sometimes differs. Among Kazaks, a system of patrilineal descent groups has survived, and does not appear to differ significantly from such systems in other parts of the Kazak world (Hudson 1938; Svanberg 1988; Finke 2004). At the highest level of the lineage system are three hordes – the Uli Zhüz, the Orta Zhüz and the Kishi Zhüz with the Kazaks in Karakalpakistan and adjacent areas belonging to the Smaller Horde (Kishi Zhüz). Each of these divides into a number of subunits or clans, which in turn are composed of several levels of sub-clans or lineages. In this way, all Kazaks, albeit at varying removes, are related with each other (Hudson 1938; Esenova 1998; Finke 2004). Thus, the three hordes and their subdivisions do not contradict the idea of a supreme Kazak identity, serving instead as touchstones by which individuals define themselves in relation to each other. The Karakalpaks have a similar system of clans and lineages, although it does not feed into semi-political units as do the Kazak hordes. The major units here are the On Tört ruw (‘the fourteen clans’) and the Qongrat. Each is comprised of two sub-clans, which further divide into several levels of lineages. Many of the names, such as Qitay, Qipchaq, Qongrat and Manghit, also exist among Uzbeks and Kazaks. The region of Xo‘jayli traditionally belongs to the territory of the Jaungir clan of the Qongrat, which Zhdanko (1950) connects to the Mongolian Junghar (‘left hand’). There was disagreement on the question of whether the Khoja can be described as a type of clan or lineage within either of the respective ethnic groups. On the one hand, all of the Khoja had been forced to assign themselves to one nationality and thus to become Uzbek, Kazak or Karakalpak. On the other hand, they do not fit into the general model in either case. As descendants of the prophet Muhammad, or of his nephew Ali as some people claimed – hence, as Arabs – they would not be part of either ethnic group (Muminov 1998).

Desperation at the End of the World?   131

The kinship system among the Turkmens is quite different from that of the Karakalpaks and Kazaks and comes much closer to the idea of a tribal system. Turkmen society is divided into a number of larger separate entities with distinct identities and, to some degree, cultural patterns often in conflict with one another. In contrast to the hordes of the Kazaks, the Turkmen tribes traditionally formed political and territorial entities, although smaller units operated in relative independence. The tribal structure tended to be acephalous and authority was not hereditary and usually only temporary (Irons 1975; Geiss 1999). Most Turkmens in Karakalpakistan belong to the Ata and Arbachi tribes. In contrast, the majority of those in Xo‘jayli are of the Yomut tribe, which is one of the largest Turkmen divisions (see also Martov 1954). It is also one of the best studied, largely due to the work of William Irons (1974, 1975), who conducted extensive field research among the Yomut in northeastern Iran. Turkmen lineages also tend to be endogamous, or at least have a strong ideology promoting endogamy in general and cousin marriage in particular (König 1962; Irons 1975), corresponding to similar types of Middle Eastern social organization and strengthening also the degree of ethnic endogamy. Kazaks and Karakalpaks, on the other hand, practice lineage exogamy, although the degree of adherence in the contemporary situation has not been studied.9 With respect to marriage, the findings from Xo‘jayli are probably the most different from the other research sites. A case in point is the practice of bridewealth. It is common among Kazaks, Karakalpaks and Turkmens, while most Uzbeks claim that it no longer exists for them, or only in the form of a minor payment. Another issue is cousin marriage, or more generally kin marriage, as opposed to lineage exogamy, with Uzbeks and Turkmens favouring the former and Kazaks and Karakalpaks the latter. While some Kazaks and Karakalpaks complained about an increasing laxity in this regard, in all families interviewed, the spouses were from a different genealogical background. Uzbeks, on the other hand, are allowed to marry close relatives, and among the Turkmens this is even encouraged. Mixed marriages are very few and this applies to all four groups. Each expressed a strong endogamous preference, although the rigour with which this is adhered to seems to vary. In general, Uzbeks, Kazaks and Karakalpaks consider each other marriageable, and individual arrangements do occur, but spouses from one’s own group are clearly preferred. Turkmens, on the other hand, are largely excluded by all others from the pool of potential spouses. One reason is the pronounced differences in urf-odat, in particular the higher amount of bride-wealth that is demanded for a Turkmen girl. At the same time, there is great internal pressure on Turkmens not to marry outsiders, which in the past has even led to homicide. This appears to leave open the possibility for women from other groups to marry into a Turkmen family, although this is fairly rare and not well received.

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It was not possible to gather systematic data on marriages as it was in Bukhara, partially due to the heightened sensitivity of local police and secret service in the border areas. Nevertheless, casual observations and statements made during interviews indicate a very low number of interethnic marriages, mostly in the urban or semi-urban settings, since the villages are more or less monoethnic. The avoidance of mixed marriages became particularly apparent when people were asked to describe differences in wedding ceremonies. Most of them had only a vague idea about the ceremonies of other groups and presumably had not attended many mixed weddings. The aversion to mixed marriage is not equally strong across all groups and for all connections. None of the visited Kazak and Turkmen households reported a daughter having married into a different ethnic group, whereas individual such cases were encountered among Karakalpaks and Uzbeks. This is not to say that all intermarriages take place between the latter two, but it implies that the Kazaks and Turkmens place more imposing obstacles in the way of their daughters marrying outside their groups. That said, unions between Kazaks and Karakalpaks occur, with the latter more often the bride. In the case of several Karakalpak families I met, half of their daughters were married to Kazaks. Other combinations were comparatively rare. In interview situations, people expressed a reluctance to marry outside their own ethnic group. Even though they often began with an assertion of a mutual understanding and a lack of boundaries, they still held that in most cases it was preferable to avoid mixed marriages. Reasons varied, from feelings of ethnic superiority to more substantial arguments about the incompatibility of customs and culture, and in particular the issue of bride-wealth and kidnapping. Among the Kazaks and Karakalpaks, they just take the girl and run away [‘olip ko’chip ketadi’] without informing the parents. Then they go to the family and say, we have stolen your daughter, would you please give her to our son. We do not do it that way. Uzbeks send a messenger to the bride’s family and ask for her. Then you will discuss the formalities. There is a bride-wealth [‘qoling’] you pay but it is not as high as among Kazaks and Karakalpaks. With them it is half a million and more. Among the Turkmens it is at least three million. (Abror, 35-year-old Uzbek man from Sawikawil) The groups that favour bride-wealth see it differently. They contend that much of the money is used to buy carpets, mattresses and other furniture for the new household, which are supposed to be purchased by the bride’s family. The payment is also seen as a means to keep the married couple together, because a man would not easily forfeit the investment his family has made. Also, without bride-wealth, there would be no point in bearing girls, as one elderly Kazak woman explained.

Desperation at the End of the World?   133

In contrast, marriages across the border with Turkmenistan used to be very common, at least until a few years ago. Of the four families, one from each ethnic group, in whose houses I stayed during the research in Xo‘jayli, three had wives born in Turkmenistan; the exception was, somewhat paradoxically, the Turkmen family. The three Turkmenistan brides were all from the Köhneürgench region. The elders of the studied hamlets each estimated the proportion of brides who had been born on the other side of the border at about 10–15 per cent, irrespective of the ethnic background of the families involved. Inquiries about the residence of sisters and daughters indicated that before 1991, a similar number of marriages occurred in the opposite direction – i.e. daughters marrying into Turkmenistan families. Marriages in either direction have become difficult since the government of Turkmenistan imposed a fee of US $6 for every border crossing. For a wedding ceremony, this is waived for the bride and groom, but all other guests must pay. A greater deterrent is that the same costs are incurred for every visit that members of the two families make after marriage. For this reason, the number of cross-border marriages has decreased drastically in recent years. As a consequence of the described settlement patterns, most ceremonies and private parties are conducted within one’s own ethnic group. In the larger central settlements, the situation is somewhat different, but there are too many people to invite everyone, so co-ethnics again are dominant on most occasions. Thus, patterns of conduct are less homogenized interethnically than in Bukhara. Separate conduct also implies less knowledge about the way others do things, which reinforces perceptions of mutual differences and increases transaction costs in the case of mixed marriages.

Economic Exchange and Social Networks As mentioned, in Soviet times, Khorezm and Karakalpakistan were transformed into Uzbekistan’s centres for rice cultivation, although most kolkhozes, such as the one in Sarishugul, continued to specialize in cotton.10 Other important produce includes grain, melons and fodder plants. Recent reductions in water supply have taken their toll, however, and in many years yields are very low. As in Bukhara, salt has to be washed out of the soil in winter before anything can be sown (see also Kamalov 1994). Most kolkhozes have not met their plan quotas for years and due to the lack of water, only a few kolkhozes in the northern delta – where there are no more fields further downstream – were allowed to plant rice. At the time of fieldwork, little progress had also been made on the ‘privatization’ or ‘fermerization’ program in Xo‘jayli.11 The old kolkhozes were still functioning as they had in the past, except for the livestock holdings, which had been mostly transferred to individual households. The major difference, though, is that kolkhozes no longer receive payments from the state and are basically bankrupt. For this reason, the situation of its workers is even worse than the one described for Bukhara. Additional incomes are derived from petty trade, and some

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Turkmen households earn money by selling handwoven carpets at the market in Xo‘jayli. Opportunities, however, are less favourable than in Bukhara due to the isolation of the oasis following the closure of the border with Turkmenistan. The rural hinterland has become almost a non-monetary economic system. Salary? We have forgotten the meaning of that word. It does not matter. As long as they do not touch on our private land (‘uchaska’), we will carry on. (Murod, 32-year-old Turkmen from Xo‘jayli) Land scarcity was not as much of a concern as in Bukhara or the other reference sites. People have received additional plots from the kolkhozes, which apparently have been less reluctant to allocate them than in other parts of the country. Most families in Sarishugul had holdings of up to twenty-five sot at their disposal.12 Nevertheless, the overall situation of rural households is extremely precarious. The lack of water often barely provides for the cultivation of sufficient produce to feed one’s family, let alone to create a surplus that can be sold. As mentioned above, conditions for raising livestock are slightly better than in Bukhara because most hamlets are surrounded by grazing land. Most households own at least one or two cows for milk and a few sheep, and individual families have become specialized at livestock rearing. Some Kazaks also keep camels for the fermented milk (shubat) that is prepared in this region as a substitute for the more famous qimiz, which is made out of horse milk.13 Overall, however, these supplemental activities cannot make up for the desperateness of the situation. This situation is primarily due to the catastrophic environmental deterioration in recent decades. Lack of water is the overriding concern, although salinization and desertification further contribute to the problem. One result has been decreasing yields (Smith 1992). Dissatisfaction with a national government that demands fulfilment of plans without providing the necessary inputs has been steadily growing. Criticism is expressed much more openly than in Bukhara. They should give us water, and then we would fulfil our plans. The way it is, there is nothing we can do. In some years, there is not enough water for us to grow some potatoes and vegetables in the garden, not to mention grain and rice on the kolkhoz fields. (Maxmud, 44-year-old man from Uzbekawil) Another concern has been the late onset of summer heat, which delays the growth of cotton. In addition, the cooler temperatures in combination with later spring rainfall promote worm infestation in the young plants. For most of the year, therefore, rainfall is quite an obstacle to cotton growing. This is not the case for wheat and fodder, which are becoming more important in line with governmental preferences for autarky (see chapter 1). With respect to livestock rearing, the

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climatic changes are advantageous to some extent. Pastoralists, however, suffer from the general drop in the water table that has accompanied the shrinking of the Aral Sea (Kamalov 1994: 58ff.). In terms of the effects of environmental decline on the various ethnic groups, it is difficult to tell a difference – all suffer to the same degree. The Karakalpaks are not able to translate their official status into economic or political capital. Uzbeks and Kazaks, on the other hand, perhaps the most powerful local groups, cancel each other out. Within the smaller research area, there is no specialization that enables either of them to monopolize certain niches, as the local Kazaks and Turkmens today are sedentary agriculturalists as well. The latter, in spite or because of the dislike shown to them by others, have for the most part maintained their own distinct attitude and experienced little interference in their everyday lives. All informants agreed that there was little difference in status among the various groups and that in principle anyone could become a district governor, except for the Turkmens, who occupy few senior positions in the district aside from those in the kolkhoz or brigades directly assigned to them. Karakalpaks, likewise, cannot make full use of their potential advantage, as mentioned. Within the sel’soviet of Sarishugul, most positions were in fact occupied by Kazaks, who also form the majority of the population apart from the semi-urban settlements. In the district administration in Xo‘jayli, there appeared to be a rather balanced composition, except that I did not encounter a single Turkmen there. For certain positions, however, being either Uzbek or Karakalpak is a prerequisite. This is true for a job in the republic’s higher administrative offices located in Nukus. This relative closeness in ethnic terms seemed to create a higher degree of internal solidarity and less social stratification within each group than in other settings. There were apparently many more mutual visits and much more mutual support within the villages than in Bukhara. This may also be a result of the continuing existence of patrilineal descent groups among Kazaks, Karakalpaks and Turkmens. Especially the latter were praised – and praised themselves – for close ties among kin, which was attributed to a strong sense of traditional lifestyle. Nevertheless, a certain degree of mistrust and lack of co-operation was discussed, as in all settings, and attributed to the sudden disruption of political and economic structures that had characterized the socialist decades.

Cultural Models of Closeness and Distinction Oghuz and Qipchaq Uzbeks In the oasis of Khorezm, the definition of Uzbekness appears to have a variety of meanings and occasionally challenges the idea of a common ethnic unit. Khorezmians differentiate themselves decisively from other parts of the country (Turaeva 2010) but are also internally divided. Most of the dialects in Khorezm

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viloyati belong to the Oghuz group. Only in the northern tuman of Gurlan is a Qipchaq dialect spoken. In Karakalpakistan, the situation is similarly differentiated. The dialects spoken in the north and west belong to the Qipchaq group. In the eastern districts of To‘rtko‘l, Ellikkala and parts of Beruniy, on the other hand, people speak an Oghuz dialect very close to the one in Khorezm viloyati.14 As outlined earlier, Oghuz-speaking Turks have been in the region since at least the tenth or eleventh century. Many of them joined the migration of the Seljuks and Turkmens, but others undoubtedly stayed. Contemporary Khorezmian Uzbeks can partly be understood as a continuation of these earlier Oghuz tribes, although the exact circumstances are uncertain (Bregel 1999). The language, however, indicates a complex mixing process with other Turkic groups that arrived at various periods. As described above, today the language, sometimes referred to as ‘Xorazmcha’, is not simply an Oghuz dialect but also heavily influenced by eastern Turkic dialects akin to the modern literary language. In fact, it sounds closer to a Qarluq dialect with a substantial Oghuz substratum. However, it is unclear whether Qarluq speakers ever settled in large numbers in Khorezm. Until the beginning of Soviet rule, speakers of Oghuz dialects were referred to as Sart, and as Bregel (1978) elaborates, this was clearly an ethnic label and was also used as a self-denominator. Some elder informants claimed that in their parents’ generation, Sart continued to be applied to contemporary Uzbeks in southern Khorezm. The Qipchaq speakers among the local Uzbeks, who form the majority in Xo‘jayli, are in all likelihood descendants of later arrivals into the region. Crucial events in this respect were the Mongol and Shaybanid invasions. As recently as the nineteenth century, some of them were still nomadic cattle breeders (Battersby 1969). Similar to the situation described for the Oghuz dialects, their language does not belong to the Qipchaq branch, along with Kazak, Karakalpak or Kyrgyz, but has been heavily influenced by eastern Turkic. Again, it is unclear how these Qarluq elements made their way into the local language. The Qipchaq speakers, however, view themselves as different from both Oghuz and Qarluq Uzbeks. Sometimes the term Aral-Uzbeks (orol o’zbeklari) has been used, indicating a claim of autochthony beyond the arrival of the Shaybanids.15 There are probably six or seven million Qipchaq among the Uzbeks. This includes all those in Surxondaryo and those in Afghanistan. Then there are many in Qashqadaryo, Samarqand and in the Ferghana Valley. But also many Uzbeks in Tashkent are Qipchaq like the Qurama and those in Olmaliq and places like that. We in Khorezm were here before Muhammad Shaybani. They just came and gave us the name Uzbek. But we were here before. (Sulton, 45-year-old local historian and journalist in Xo‘jayli)

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Ethnic Clusters: Turkic and Other Groups While this type of internal division among Uzbeks does not exist in Bukhara, at the same time in Khorezm other ethnic groups can be clearly demarcated and each exhibits a distinct self-understanding and a sense of a unique history, in part reflecting traditional patterns of livelihood. As already mentioned, most Kazaks originally came to the region as pastoralists and they still occupy the desert and steppe regions – by far the largest part of the territory. They also, however, form a major segment of the industrial workforce in places such as Taxiatosh, Xo‘jayli and Nukus. The local Kazaks refer to different periods of migration into the Khorezm region, but few of those interviewed had a clear idea of when and from where. A frequent answer to the question of origin was qirdan, which can be translated as ‘from some remote place’.16 Karakalpaks differentiate themselves internally into two groups, going back to the annexation of parts of the Khanate of Khiva by Russia when the territory of the Karakalpaks was divided. One group is comprised of those who settled on the right bank of the Amu-Darya, in the districts of Chimboy, Nukus, Kegeyli and the other districts that became Russian territory in 1873. The other group consists of those Karakalpaks in Xo‘jayli, Qo‘ng‘irot and Leninabad, which remained part of Khiva until 1924 (Becker 1968). People claimed that this division also extends into linguistic behaviour, with the latter more influenced by Uzbek. Accordingly, the term Sart was sometimes extended to include the Karakalpaks on the left bank of the Amu-Darya, as most of them were sedentary agriculturalists. As the real Oghuz speakers, the Turkmens could trace their descent to the earliest Turkic presence in the Khorezm region. Their exact relationship to the

Figure 3.3.  A Turkmen family in their home (Photo: P. Finke)

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earlier Oghuz confederation is, however, not entirely clear. As mentioned, many Turkmens left Central Asia to take part in the Seljuk conquest of Iran and Anatolia, and consequently settled in various regions of the Middle East. In the local context, however, the Turkmens are regarded as latecomers – at least by the others – who originated from the area around Köhneürgench and ultimately from the Mangishlak region. The latter, today a part of Kazakstan, long hosted a sizeable Turkmen population (Karutz 1911). While in general the attachment of individuals to particular groups is considered much more of a self-defining act here than in Bukhara, it is not without its ambiguities. People did not claim to know the ethnicity of others with whom they were not personally acquainted. Most informants admitted being unable to distinguish Kazaks and Karakalpaks by their appearance, and even language was not a clear indicator. To be certain, one needed to see a person’s passport. Olmagul, the wife of Xudoybergen, in whose household I stayed for a couple of days, labelled herself Uzbek (as is her husband). Her physical appearance and speech, however, suggested a Kazak or Karakalpak background. She later told me that she had attended a Karakalpak school as a child because that was the dominant group in the village where she grew up. Several Uzbeks I met were initially taken for a Kazak or Karakalpak (by myself and by others). This, of course, confirms the image that many people in Uzbekistan have about the physical appearance of Qipchaq speakers in general (see chapter 5). The official ethnicity as registered in passports is also less debated here than in Bukhara. The abiding rule is one of a relatively rigid patrilineal descent. As intermarriage is not very common, fewer people have a choice in this respect. Therefore, the phenomenon of re-registering is not widespread. There are rumours, however, that some Uzbeks and Karakalpaks have tried to get a new passport listing them as Kazaks in order to emigrate more easily. The lack of intermarriage among the three groups is usually explained, as was the case in Bukhara, by differences in urf-odat. Varying amounts of bridewealth are a frequent argument in this regard. The practice of bride kidnapping is another. At the everyday level, differences in personal behaviour are mentioned. Kazak women in particular are considered more open and independent. When one visits a Kazak household, the woman is often the one to talk and even may shake hands with male guests. While this is to some degree depicted as a positive trait, it is at the same time considered beyond the limits of propriety (in the eyes of most Uzbeks). According to Uzbeks and Turkmens, lack of hospitality is an inarguably negative trait of the Kazaks and Karakalpaks. They are described as more casual and may suddenly disappear for hours when they have other things to do, leaving a guest free to either leave or take a nap until the host returns. The Khorezmian field site, when compared with Bukhara, thus presents a very different picture in terms of ethnic identification and differentiation. It is much closer to what most people tend to expect from a multiethnic situation. In

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essence, there are four groups, all speaking Turkic languages, which appear to be (more or less) clearly bounded units. This perceived boundedness corresponds, at least in part, to actual behaviour in terms of marriage and settlement, as described above. With few exceptions, an individual is categorized as a member of a particular group. Mixed marriages occur, but are viewed as somewhat anomalous and do not challenge the distinctiveness of the respective group. It is therefore maybe no coincidence that Sarishugul was the only site where statistics of the local ethnic composition were available (see figure 3.1). Most people in Xo‘jayli would agree that distinctions can be made based on physical appearance. Effectively, this divides the population into two, namely Uzbeks and Turkmens on one side, and Kazaks and Karakalpaks on the other. The latter simply accept their more pronounced Mongolic features as a natural fact, while the Uzbeks consider it a less desirable trait and one that puts the two groups at a disadvantage. Turkmens, on the other hand, are said to have a distinct physical appearance, although they are less easy to tell from an Uzbek than from a Kazak or Karakalpak. To what degree these perceptions correspond to reality was not an objective of this study. At least to an outsider, it is certainly not easy to distinguish individuals on the basis of facial features, although more often than not, it is possible to tell an Uzbek or a Turkmen from the other two. Differences exist among the four groups and are widely cited as ethnic markers. In fact, the variables are often cross-cutting, leading to various possible al-

Figure 3.4.  Ethnic composition of Sarishugul sel’sovieti Source: Statistical Office of Sarishugul sel’sovieti

140   Variations on Uzbek Identity

liances that become relevant in specific contexts. Each group is acknowledged as having its own patterns and is not expected to change them. This does not exclude feelings of superiority. For the Uzbeks, this is primarily expressed in terms of the architectural and literary heritage attributed to them. For the other three groups, it is rooted more in perceptions of purity and adherence to distinct traditional patterns. Most agree that there is some mutual convergence among Uzbeks, Kazaks and Karakalpaks, while the Turkmens are considered separate from this cluster and portrayed as the most traditional. Nevertheless, each is conceptualized as a distinct entity with relatively clear-cut boundaries. Asked about the existence of the same lineage terms among both Kazaks and Karakalpaks, one informant stated. That is impossible. There can’t be a group like Qongrat among the Kazaks because then they would have to be Karakalpaks. After all the Qongrat are one of the Karakalpak clans [‘uruq’). Otherwise, they would be part of another nationality [(‘millat’]). (Beysen, 44-year-old man from Karakalpakawil) On the other hand, the very existence of descent groups is one outstanding marker that negatively distinguishes the Uzbeks. In the eyes of Kazaks and Karakalpaks, the reckoning of patrilineal descent is a highly positive trait and the fact that there is no such thing among the Uzbeks seriously devalues them. The endogamous clans among the Turkmens, however, are not necessarily valued more highly than a lack of patrilineal descent. No, there are no uruq among the Uzbeks. Now this is really bad with them because you need the uruq. What it means is that they marry very close relatives. Then the children will be sick. It is so important to know your seven forefathers and never marry anyone who is of the same line. (Aman, 37-year-old man from Kazakawil) Within the four groups, Kazaks and Karakalpaks are perceived as the closest to one another. This is sometimes reflected in myths of ethnogenesis. ‘Kazaks and Karakalpaks are two brothers of one father (otasi bir)’,17 as Davlat put it. The proximity is, however, not as close as might be expected. The fact that both speak almost the same language, are rather similar in physical appearance and exhibit a common type of social organization could lead to the assumption that they form one larger supra-ethnicity in opposition to the others. In reality, however, the Karakalpaks are usually conceptualized as being located between Uzbeks and Kazaks – closer to the latter, but clearly distinct from either group. This, of course, also implies that the Karakalpaks are closer to the Uzbeks than the Kazaks are, an implication with political resonance at both regional and national levels.

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Another dividing line separates the traditionally sedentary agriculturalists – the Uzbeks and, to some degree, the Karakalpaks – and the former nomads, the Kazaks and Turkmens. A long-established settled lifestyle is associated with superior standards of civilization, at least by those who are believed to perform it. It is also connected with different food and drinking habits. In particular, the Kazaks are famous for their meat-based beshparmak in contrast to the Uzbek osh considered to be a more sophisticated dish.18 Another division involves the type of tea drunk and its preparation. Green tea was consumed in all Turkmen households that were visited, whereas local Uzbeks preferred black tea, as did Kazaks and Karakalpaks. The latter two, however, add milk to it before drinking. Other differences refer to the way that food and drinks are served and distributed. Clothing is another marker, in particular the black felt hats of the Karakalpaks and the traditional female dresses among Turkmens. In many respects, however, it is three groups that form an entity against the fourth one, the Turkmens. Uzbeks, Kazaks and Karakalpaks here become a single supra-ethnicity, with the Turkmens equally distant from each of them. The lack of intermarriage in the Turkmens’ case is usually explained by their unwillingness to give away their daughters, and as a consequence will also not receive brides. Strict endogamy and settlements in which they keep to themselves are given as further reasons for the difference in urf-odat and the low degree of interaction. While many of the judgements made about them are clearly negative, the Turkmens are also admired for holding to their traditions more than any other group. This above all refers to manner of dress and dwellings, including their famous carpets, but also to language and patterns of social organization. The other groups are agreed to be much more Russified in this respect. Turkmens are also said to be the most strictly patriarchal, with women having little say and daughters-in-law literally forced into silence for years after their marriage. They have few choices regarding their future spouse, and up until recently cases were reported (by both Turkmens and others) of daughters being killed because they resisted their father’s wishes. And then also Turkmens never step back. Once they have said something, they will never take it back. No matter what happens. When they tell you they will kill you, they do. When they warn their daughter that they will kill her, if she does not obey, they do. They would never step back once they have said something. (Aman, 37-year-old man from Kazakawil) In spite of these stronger distinctions, at least in comparison to Bukhara, all groups feel close to one another within the larger Muslim or Turkic community. These two categories are closely related in Xo‘jayli, as the only non-Turkic speakers in the region are non-Muslims as well. Being a Muslim implies certain behavioural patterns that are shared but are not sufficient to qualify as a supra-ethnic entity.

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Ethnicity thus has a more primordial character here than in Bukhara. This is the case both within the Turkic-Muslim community and beyond it. Overall, the triad results in Khorezm show a more consistent and more linguistic picture than the ones in Bukhara. As mentioned, Tajiks are rare and their position is of a very different nature. Only one, the Uzbek Alisher, considered them closer to his own group than to the Tatars but not to other local Turkic groups (table 3.6, lines 1 and 23). Among the latter, the situation is more diverse. In the eyes of Murod, all four local groups are equally similar, while Hamid sees the Turkmens as more distant (table 3.5, line 12). In contrast, the answers of Alisher indicate the mentioned divide between Kazaks and Karakalpaks on the one hand, and Uzbeks and Turkmens on the other (table 3.6). This closeness also extends to some degree to other Turkic groups like the Tatars. Again, it is the Uzbek Alisher who makes an exception by putting them closer to Russians (table 3.6, lines 10 and 16). Most of the other groups are simply far away from everyone else, although the Luli are to some degree recognised as Muslims and as such somewhat closer than Russians or Koreans. Table 3.4.  Triad test conducted by Murod, 35-year-old man from Türkmenawil 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Uzbek Kazak Luli Turkmen Karakalpak Tajik Luli Turkmen Uzbek Tatar Luli Kazak

Tajik Luli Russian Karakalpak Korean Karakalpak Turkmen Luli Kazak Russian Karakalpak Uzbek

Tatar Tajik Uzbek Russian Tatar Turkmen Tatar Korean Karakalpak Karakalpak Korean Turkmen

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Kazak Karakalpak Luli Kazak Turkmen Korean Uzbek Korean Tajik Luli Uzbek Korean

Korean Kazak Russian Russian Russian Tajik Russian Uzbek Turkmen Uzbek Karakalpak Tajik

Tatar Luli Tajik Tatar Kazak Kazak Korean Turkmen Tatar Tatar Tajik Russian

Table 3.5.  Triad test conducted by Hamid, 54-year-old man from Karakalpakawil 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Uzbek Kazak Luli Turkmen Karakalpak Tajik Luli Turkmen Uzbek Tatar Luli Kazak

Tajik Luli Russian Karakalpak Korean Karakalpak Turkmen Luli Kazak Russian Karakalpak Uzbek

Tatar Tajik Uzbek Russian Tatar Turkmen Tatar Korean Karakalpak Karakalpak Korean Turkmen

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Kazak Karakalpak Luli Kazak Turkmen Korean Uzbek Korean Tajik Luli Uzbek Korean

Korean Kazak Russian Russian Russian Tajik Russian Uzbek Turkmen Uzbek Karakalpak Tajik

Tatar Luli Tajik Tatar Kazak Kazak Korean Turkmen Tatar Tatar Tajik Russian

Desperation at the End of the World?   143 Table 3.6.  Triad test conducted by Alisher, 37-year-old man from Sawikawil 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Uzbek Kazak Luli Turkmen Karakalpak Tajik Luli Turkmen Uzbek Tatar Luli Kazak

Tajik Luli Russian Karakalpak Korean Karakalpak Turkmen Luli Kazak Russian Karakalpak Uzbek

Tatar Tajik Uzbek Russian Tatar Turkmen Tatar Korean Karakalpak Karakalpak Korean Turkmen

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Kazak Karakalpak Luli Kazak Turkmen Korean Uzbek Korean Tajik Luli Uzbek Korean

Korean Kazak Russian Russian Russian Tajik Russian Uzbek Turkmen Uzbek Karakalpak Tajik

Tatar Luli Tajik Tatar Kazak Kazak Korean Turkmen Tatar Tatar Tajik Russian

The piles sorts show a similar opposition. While Murod and Hamid both apply a largely linguistically informed (and overall less detailed) model, Alisher shows more of a territorial understanding of distinction. The former is most consistently performed by Murod, who divides the ethnic world into a larger Turkic group (into which for some reasons the Chechens but not the Uyghurs have found entrance) that is juxtaposed to Iranians, Slavic speakers and others (figure 3.5). In contrast, Hamid starts from a more narrow Qipchaq unit, to which other Tur-

Figure 3.5.  Pile sorting conducted by Murod, 35-year-old man from Türkmenawil (created by Ivana Lakic)

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kic and Muslim groups are equally different. Tajiks now come closer to Uzbeks (and Uyghurs) than to other local groups (figure 3.6). Alisher explains his piling more by regional closeness, which allows him, for example, to put various Christian and Muslim groups, including Turks and Azeri, into one larger Caucasus category. The remaining Turkic groups are equally divided into a local one and another one for those living further away, even if this makes little sense linguistically (figure 3.7). This would, again, indicate a stronger meaning of territorial considerations for the Uzbek informant.

Figure 3.6.  Pile sorting conducted by Hamid, 54-year-old man from Karakalpakawil (created by Ivana Lakic)

Desperation at the End of the World?   145

Figure 3.7.  Pile sorting conducted by Alisher, 37-year-old man from Sawikawil (created by Ivana Lakic)

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Local and Regional Identity Parallel to the distinct ethnicities, a strong regional identity exists as well. As in the other settings, this applies first and foremost to the village community, which is often monoethnic, as detailed above. This is strongly reinforced by the existence of kin bonds that, due to their patrilineal character, are far more extended vertically than the ones described for Chilongu. As Uzbeks tend to live in the larger settlements and lack kinship structures with extended genealogical depth, immediate neighbourhood ties are stronger among the other three groups. Within the kolkhoz, as was the case in Chilongu, relations are extensively interconnected. This was often explained by the fact that ‘we all worked together for many years’. Intermarriage here, however, is hampered by a strong preference for ethnic endogamy. The tuman of Xo‘jayli is another source of identification and pride. Most people within the district insisted that the centre is far more beautiful than Nukus. Xo‘jayli also hosts the largest bazaar in the region and historically was a secondary centre during the Khanate of Khiva, if not earlier.19 This local reference is, again, mainly an issue for Uzbeks, Kazaks and Karakalpaks, excluding to a degree the Turkmens. It has already been mentioned that both the province of Khorezm and the Autonomous Republic of Karakalpakistan occupy a somewhat marginal position within contemporary Uzbekistan. In addition, even the local Uzbeks differentiate themselves more clearly from other parts of the country than anywhere else. When travelling to other provinces, people often say they ‘go to Uzbekistan’ (‘O’zbekistonga boramiz’). Khorezmian identity has thus survived as a distinct category in contrast to Uzbek, but stops short of being an ethnonym, to which most people – Oghuz and Qipchaq speakers alike – would probably disagree. Many of the former grumbled about the existence of a Karakalpak Republic, which they sometimes referred to as ‘northern Khorezm’ (‘shimoliy xorazm’).20 Local Uzbek intellectuals declared Karakalpakistan a purely artificial creation of the Soviets that serves only to divide an otherwise historically and geographically unified entity. There is no single province within Uzbekistan, outside of Khorezm and Karakalpakistan, to which people feel any particular affinity, although many are aware that a small group of (highly assimilated) Karakalpaks live in the centre of the Ferghana Valley (see chapter 4). Interestingly, a region that is believed to be closely connected is the southern province of Surxondaryo, which has become a symbol throughout Uzbekistan for the preservation of ancient traditions. Because it is the only place where Uzbek tribal denominators still seem to matter and where many epics are still remembered, the province is claimed equally by Qipchaq-speaking Uzbeks and Karakalpaks. The people in Surxondaryo are in fact all Karakalpaks who have become Uzbekized over the years. You know that they sing the epos of Alpamysh

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down there? That is, of course, a Karakalpak epos. (Xudoyberdi, 45-yearold man from Karakalpakawil)21 The major criteria for superiority are very similar to those in other provinces. One is the manner in which the national dish osh is prepared. In the case of Khorezm, this is particularly sensitive since it is the pre-eminent rice-growing region of Uzbekistan, and as such at an advantage when it comes to preparing good osh. Another source of pride is usually the local vodka and the sweetness of local fruit. In the case of the latter, it is particularly melons from Khorezm and Karakalpakistan that are famous. Disapproval of the current situation in Uzbekistan is much higher here than in Bukhara, above all due to the devastating ecological and economic situation in the Amu-Darya delta. The livelihoods of most people have deteriorated so dramatically that it is difficult to find excuses any more. To some degree, this creates a feeling of commonality through shared suffering and the belief that the blame rests with Moscow and Tashkent. A visible expression of this disapproval is emigration to Kazakstan. Of course it is not good. Everyone can see that. You just have to look around. Recently, they had this report where they printed what people earn in all the states in the world. In Central Asia only Uzbekistan and Tajikistan did not give any information. Why do you think that was? Of course, because it would be so embarrassing! Even in Tajikistan they earn more money nowadays than we do, in spite of the war that they had there. And Kyrgyzstan is far better, although they have no basis whatsoever. Forget about Kazakstan. They earn ten times as much as we do. (G’ayrat, 36-year-old Uzbek man from Sawikawil) A major disagreement with the government in Tashkent concerns, as mentioned earlier, the historical evaluation of Amir Timur. The new national hero of the Uzbeks is deeply hated all over the region for his destruction of the old capital of Gurganch, the predecessor of contemporary Köhneürgench. A crucial element in the realignment of identity patterns and intergroup relations in Xo‘jayli has been the establishment of a national border some ten kilometres south of the district centre. As described above, the majority of families have relatives in Turkmenistan and many were born there themselves. The dialect spoken in Köhneürgench is similar in that it is a Qipchaq one, in contrast to the region further east near the provincial capital of Dashoghuz, where people speak Xorazmcha. Uzbeks are in the majority in both cases, but Turkmens, Kazaks and Karakalpaks also live there. Cross-border interaction among kin has been effectively limited, if not cut off, since the government of Turkmenistan instituted the onerous crossing fee. Furthermore, this fee arrangement only applies to those

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living close to the border; others must obtain a visa from the nearest consulate in Nukus. In contrast to other Central Asian states, it is said to be difficult to cross the border even if one is willing to pay a bribe. To avoid paying, locals try to enter Turkmenistan by evading the checkpoints, but several people attempting an illegal crossing have been killed by border guards in recent years. Less than the Tajiks in Bukhara, people differentiate themselves from the bulk of the same ethnic group across the border. In comparison, Kazakstan scores much better than any other state in the region. The only concern that people expressed was that one would ‘become a Russian’ (‘oris bop ketamiz’ ) if one emigrated there. The Turkmens, who have less extensive relations with other groups in the study site, nonetheless had an ambivalent attitude towards Turkmenistan, which they are aware is viewed by others as unimpressive, if not the subject of outright ridicule. The existence of regular salaries and the provision of free gas, electricity and salt were often mentioned as superior to the situation in Uzbekistan, but most people, including the local Turkmens, still rated Turkmenistan as worse off and would not consider moving there. Watching Turkmen television was not popular among them because of its dullness and propagandistic tone. They felt insulted at the derogative comments often made by others about Turkmenistan, but thus far have preferred to remain in Uzbekistan.

Transmission and Change of Identity Considering the local understanding of ethnic boundaries, it is not surprising that changes in language and identity are viewed very differently here than in Bukhara. While it does no harm to speak more than one language, and few people hesitate to switch in conversation when necessary, ideally a person holds to her native tongue. In the case of mixed marriages, children are expected to adopt the language and ethnicity of their fathers. This is also more likely because villages are usually monoethnic and postmarital residence tends to be patrilocal among all of the respective four groups. A move to town, however, where Uzbek is somewhat more important, can alter this situation. Still, the idea that the social environment where a person grows up has a fundamental impact on his or her identity remains unchallenged. An Uzbek who attends a Kazak school or grows up in a Kazak village may become similar to a Kazak to some degree, although this change will never be as fundamental as in Bukhara. In one way or another, everyone here is the product of a mixed culture – except for the Turkmens – but the vast majority nevertheless clearly adhere to a single ethnic identity that is perpetuated primarily through the male line. In Kazak society in particular, a strong patrilineal ideology prevails. Children inherit their affiliation into a kin unit via their father and inevitably acquire the latter’s ethnicity. A very similar situation is true for the Turkmens and Karakalpaks. This is not to say that identity changes are impossible. Due to divorce or early widowhood, a woman may be forced to bring up her children alone who in this case can

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be adopted into her patrilineage – which may occasionally also imply a different ethnicity than the father. These are exceptions, however, and are also perceived as exceptions. An element of hybridism is introduced, and may follow the children even into the next generation. In contrast to Bukhara, this hybrid existence is conceptualized as an anomaly, although not necessarily as a disqualifying one. A more fundamental ethnic or linguistic shift is far less common and more complicated than in Bukhara or the Ferghana Valley. It not only involves a change of language but a reconfiguration of one’s social world and one's cognitive schemas. As a Kazak, one may have Uzbek or Karakalpak friends and communicate with them in their native tongue, but to adopt an Uzbek or Karakalpak identity is a very different matter and implies a partial break with one’s kin and community. This is not the case with Uzbeks and Tajiks in Bukhara, because both are members of the same kin group and local community. Villages changing their identity are therefore far less common as well, as this would involve a mass disruption of social relations, not necessarily within the village, but within each individual’s social network. There was no indication that some of the villages had a different ethnic composition in earlier generations. To the extent that any trend was observable, there was an ascendancy of the Uzbek and less so of the Kazak. This occurs primarily due to a move to town or one of the larger semi-urban settlements. The Karakalpak community is too weak to create a strong centripetal attraction of its own, and the economic situation in the region does not help either in this respect. The main competitor of the Uzbeks in terms of attracting assimilation is therefore the Kazaks, and particularly with regard to the Karakalpaks because of

Figure 3.8.  A Karakalpak school in Xo‘jayli tumani (Photo: P. Finke)

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their linguistic closeness. The booming economy of Kazakstan in recent years has additionally strengthened the Kazak position. There are two common motivators to bring about a change in one’s language or group affiliation, as also observed in Bukhara: to gain access to better jobs and to provide a better education for one’s children. It is not an easy cost-benefit relationship here, however, due to the status of Karakalpak as the republic’s official language, as well as the potential future advantages that Kazakness may provide to its bearers. The influence of the state is thus less easy to address in this case. National politics clearly help to promote Uzbekness to some degree, but conflicting issues are at work that limit these influences and contribute to a rather balanced situation between the four groups and languages. Factors motivating against a change in language or group affiliation revolve around people’s cognition and perceptions of ethnicity. First, this is not as arbitrary a category as it is in Bukhara. Belief in a genealogical (or genetic) basis of behaviour and group affiliation interferes with a change of one’s identity, except at a purely superficial level. And in contrast to Bukhara, it does matter what language one speaks and what ethnic label one uses. There is a much clearer sense of difference, one that includes judgements regarding the correctness of behaviour and affiliation. To become someone else thus also includes the acceptance of a new pattern or lifestyle that so far has been understood as faulty.

Notes   1. In the 1960s, plans were developed to redirect waters from Siberian rivers to replenish the Aral Sea and allow for more extended cultivation in Central Asia. An alternative plan suggested drawing water from the Volga Basin. Both plans were abandoned during Gorbachev’s rule due to growing concerns about the long-term effects on the regional and global climate (Gleason 1986: 149; Critchlow 1991: 85). Some politicians in Central Asia still adhere to the idea behind the plans and blame the Russians for its abandonment.   2. An additional comment in the leaflet complains that this early Uzbek culture was later destroyed by the Arabs who brought Islam to the region.   3. Information provided to me by Professor Esbergenov, ethnographer at the Academy of Sciences, Nukus.   4. It is estimated that by the first half of the nineteenth century, 1,500 Khoja lived in the territory of the Khanate of Khiva, most of them in the vicinity of the town of Xo‘jayli (Bregel 1999: 561).   5. Accordingly, in Karakalpak the sel’soviet have been renamed awil puxaralar jigini in contrast to the Uzbek qishloq fuqarolar yig’ini.   6. For information on the traditional dwellings of sedentary and semi-nomadic Uzbeks in Khorezm, see Battersby (1969).   7. Phonetically, the Qipchaq j- at the beginning of some words is alternatively pronounced y-, as is characteristic of the Qarluq and Oghuz languages. Some words (such as yaxshi, ‘good’) are usually pronounced with y-, while others (such as jeti, ‘seven’, or jil, ‘year’) take an initial j-. Others alternate between the two pronunciations. This may even happen to

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  8.

  9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

words that otherwise exist only in Qipchaq languages (such as jumis versus yumish for labour). According to the Khorezmian chronicler Munis, the Uzbeks in Khorezm were divided into four groups during the early seventeenth century; the Uyghurs and Nayman; the Qongrat and Qiyat; the Nokuz and Manghit; and the Qangli and Qipchaq (Munis 1999). I did not come across any individual attaching him- or herself to any of these labels. In other Kazak-populated areas in Central Asia, compliance with the rule of exogamy remains relatively strict to the present day (Werner 1997; Finke 2004). In the early 1990s, cotton was grown on 40.5 per cent of the arable land, with rice grown on 21.4 per cent and fodder plants on 30.3 per cent (Kamalov 1994: 65). Since then, cotton production has been greatly reduced. For later developments, see Wall (2008) and Trevisani (2010). One sot (from the Russian word for hundred) is 0.01 hectare or 100 m2. It is sometimes also pronounced as sotik or sotka. On the traditional production of fermented drinks from camel and horse milk, see Radloff (1884) and Karutz (1911). The contemporary division into Oghuz and Qipchaq realms corresponds roughly to a boundary established during the Mongol Empire, with southern Khorezm assigned to the Ulus Chagatay and the northern areas to the Golden Horde (Bregel 1999: 20ff.). The same term can be found in Munis’s work, without a clear definition of what this category refers to (Munis 1999: 51, 63; see also Bregel 1978; Battersby 1969). ‘Qir’ in Kazak means ‘countryside, remote area’ in a relative sense. It refers to locations that are in one way or another more remote or more rural than the point of reference. For a Kazak in town it might mean any rural area. In a village, it designates the pastoral outskirts, while in the steppes it refers to distant mountain pastures or deserts (Finke 2004). In contrast to other Turkic languages, the word ata in Kazak usually denotes grandfather (rather than father), but is also used more generally for close ancestors. Beshparmak means literally ‘five finger’, referring to the way the meal is eaten. The term is used primarily by others; Kazaks usually refer to their national dish simply as et (‘meat’) or tamak (‘meal’) (see also Finke 2004). In contrast to these claims, travelogues from the nineteenth century describe the city as a rather poor and depressing place (Olufsen 1911: 223f.). Correspondingly, some people referred to the adjacent regions of Turkmenistan around the cities of Dashoghuz and Köhneürgench as southern Khorezm. The epos of Alpamysh is one of the most popular in Central Asia, with versions in Karakalpak, Kazak and Uzbek (Winner 1958).

Chapter 4

Conflict Inevitable? The Ferghana Valley The Regional Setting The third field site was the Ferghana Valley, and more specifically the district of Marhamat in Andijon province. Since the early days of Soviet rule, the Ferghana Valley has been divided among three republics, namely Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. Although inhabited at least as far back in antiquity as the other sites, it has seldom been a key player in the history of Central Asia. The city of Osh in contemporary Kyrgyzstan celebrated its 3,000th anniversary some ten years ago, thus claiming greater antiquity than places like Bukhara, but frequent conquests and the valley’s somewhat marginal status during medieval times has left it with few architectural reminders from the past – in spite of the fact that it is one of the most fertile regions in Central Asia, and within the Soviet Union was the most densely populated region. Since the late-1980s, the Ferghana Valley has achieved notoriety as Central Asia’s most volatile hotspot. This has been attributed primarily to high population pressure (with a consequent scarcity of land) and the arbitrarily drawn borders, which carved up a hitherto geographically and historically coherent space. Fears were further fuelled by a series of violent conflicts during the later days of the Soviet Union. Most prominent were the clashes between Uzbeks and Meskhetian Turks in Quvasoy (Uzbekistan) in 1989 and between Kyrgyz and Uzbeks in and around the city of Osh the following year, each resulting in the deaths of several hundred people. These remained singular events until May 2005, when during demonstrations, hundreds of civilians were killed in Andijon by Uzbek military forces, and the summer of 2010, when violent encounters between Kyrgyz and Uzbeks claimed the lives of hundreds if not thousands of people (see the introduction and chapter 1). The earlier clashes contributed, however, to the overall perception that Central Asia was sliding towards the brink of a region-wide civil war. In addition, fears of rising Islamic fundamentalism have increasingly shaped the image of the region. It is widely held as ‘a cradle of radical Islam’ (Capisani 2000: 83), harbouring most of the supporters of the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan, the Hizb-u-Tahrir and other groups with alleged connections to Al-Qaida. This pop-

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ular image is, however, strongly disputed by anthropologists who have worked in the region (Schoeberlein 2001; Zanca 2005). As in other sites, nomads and sedentaries have been living closely together in the Ferghana Valley. This has had a profound impact on the history and ethnic composition of the valley, producing a pattern more similar to Khorezm’s than to Bukhara’s. Because of a steppe zone in the interior of the valley and the nearby pasture areas in the surrounding mountains, it was easier for nomads to settle next to urban sites and villages, and still find sufficient grazing grounds for their livestock. A structure of close neighbourhood and intensive interaction evolved, enabling the nomadic tribes to settle down in larger groups and gradually assimilate with the local population, which paved the way for the contemporary ethnic composition. Much earlier than in Bukhara, the Turkic language thereby gained the upper hand. Today, the vodiy, the ‘valley’, as it is commonly referred to, is widely identified as the ‘most Uzbek’ part of the country. At the same time, it is one of the most heterogeneous areas, which is disguised by the fact that most of the Turkic-speaking groups are not recognized as distinct entities and are subsumed within the larger category of Uzbek. In addition, Tajiks and Kyrgyz are settled in pockets scattered around the valley. Similar to Bukhara and Khorezm, the Ferghana Valley is an extended lowland basin, but unlike those two oases, it resides at a higher altitude and is surrounded by high mountain ranges. Rather than an oasis in the strict sense, the valley is a large hollow. It extends up to 300 kilometres east to west and 120 kilometres north to south, covering an overall area of approximately 23,000 square kilometres (Barthold [Spuler] 1991; UNEP 1999). The landscape is basically flat, about 300–400 metres above sea level. In contrast to Bukhara and Khorezm, the Ferghana Valley is virtually enclosed by mountains on all sides. Due to its upstream location, the water supply is much more plentiful than in the regions further west. Most of the smaller rivers are heavily utilized for irrigation as soon as they enter the plains. The others finish into Central Asia’s second major river, the Syr-Darya. Therefore, the major settlements are at the foot of the mountains where agriculture was traditionally conducted, while the interior parts remained an area of extensive pastoralism. For this reason also, there has never been a dominating centre as in other oases. In recent decades, however, the construction of large canals has extended irrigation into the central parts of the valley as well, meaning less and less water for the oases further downstream. As in the other settings, the climate in the valley is arid and continental. Temperatures in winter and summer are close to those described for Khorezm, with summer peaks of 40°C and winters occasionally down to minus 20°C. Precipitation is extremely low, with certain areas receiving less than a hundred millimetres annually. This is, however, not as severe a handicap because of the proximity of the water sources. The valley therefore faces less shortage of water and less ecological problems due to salinization and desertification (Makhmudovich 2005).

Map 4.1.  The Ferghana Valley

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Conflict Inevitable?   155

In striking contrast to Bukhara and Khorezm, the valley’s skies in summer are often cloudy and much of the time the surrounding mountains are barely visible. Although natural vegetation is sparse due to the low levels of precipitation, the soil is considered very fertile and regularly provides the government with the highest yields in the country. Further up in the mountains, pastures have long been used by nomads and sedentary agriculturalists for grazing. The land is much rockier here, and water relatively abundant. In this respect, the valley is more similar to the Shahrisabz region (the subject of chapter 5) than to either Bukhara or Khorezm. Like the oases discussed so far, throughout its history the valley has depended on irrigation-based agriculture, and its landscape has been shaped by myriads of large and small irrigation canals. Furthermore, because the various subregions receive water directly as it descends from mountain ravines, they are not in immediate competition with each other. The ecological problems further west appear to be non-existent here and create a feeling of envy in more deeply affected areas such as Bukhara and Karakalpakistan. Plentiful small streams run through villages and supply both kolkhoz fields and private courtyards. The problems here are therefore not about water, but about the scarcity of land and the intensive use of fertilizers and pesticides during socialist times that contributed greatly to the exhaustion of the soil and a subsequent decrease of yields (Thurman 1999). The conditions for livestock rearing used to be much better than in Bukhara and Khorezm as well, and probably equal to the Shahrisabz region discussed in chapter 5. The grazing lands in the surrounding mountains provide sufficient pastures for large herds of mixed species (including some yaks). During the last centuries, these lands were utilized not only by pastoralists but also, to a certain degree, by agriculturalists. Since the closing of the border with Kyrgyzstan, however, they have become inaccessible.

An Ethnic History of the Ferghana Valley As in the other settings, ecology had a decisive, yet not determining impact on economic life and social relations in the valley. The surrounding mountain pastures were a major difference with other sites and allowed, as indicated, a close neighbourhood of nomads and sedentaries. Perhaps even more important in the history of the Ferghana Valley, however, has been the semi-desert at its centre. Here, nomadic conquerors found sufficient grazing for their herds while being able to settle close to their sedentary subjects. The tribes accompanying them constituted a dependable reservoir of military personnel in times of need. As is true for the other reference sites, the ethnic background of earlier populations in the Ferghana Valley is largely unknown. Early settlements go back to around 1000 bc, and at least since the sixth century bc, Iranian languages were spoken throughout most of the valley. Soghdians apparently were the majority

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population. Possibly, some nomadic groups of the Saka were also present. The geographical proximity to Transoxania in the west and the Tarim Basin in the east, which were also settled primarily by Soghdians, resulted in extensive economic and cultural contacts and a continuous exchange of population. The overall situation changed little during Achaemenidian times, which had less of an impact on the valley than on regions further west. Somewhat more profound was the Hellenistic influence of Alexander the Great and his successors. He is believed to have founded the contemporary city of Khujand in the west of the valley, which today serves as the political centre of those areas belonging to Tajikistan. Later, most of the Ferghana Valley was ruled by the Hephthalites and Kushans, but apparently the majority of the population remained Soghdian-speaking during this period (Marshak and Negmatov 1999). The Turkification of the Ferghana Valley began at approximately the same time as in the other settings, namely with the expansion of the western Türk Qaghanate during the sixth century ad (Barthold [Spuler] 1991). Because it was closer to the Qaghanate’s centres of power in Semirech’e and Jungaria, the Ferghana Valley was under more intense scrutiny than Bukhara and Khorezm. The local population was still predominantly Iranian, but Turkification took hold sooner. Of the four sites, this was also the only one where the influence of the immediate successors of the Qaghanate, the Uyghurs, could be felt (Golden 1992). A close interrelation with Turkic groups further east became a constant feature throughout the valley’s history. During the eighth century, the Qarluq, who had left Mongolia after the Uyghurs’ rise to power, took control of the region, while at the same time Arab troops entered the valley from the west, initiating the Islamization of the local population. In the beginning, the push towards Islam affected primarily the sedentary Iranians, and the frequency of revolts against the new rulers indicates that not everyone accepted the new religion voluntarily (Barthold [Spuler] 1991). The decisive event regarding the conversion of the Turkic groups was, as elsewhere, the mass acceptance of the new faith by the Qarakhanids. After an internal split in the eleventh century, the city of Uzgen in the east of the valley became the centre of the western wing of the Qarakhanid state (Barthold [Spuler] 1991; Golden 1992: 222; Paul 2002). Their military dominance, combined with the legitimacy gained by accepting the new religion, secured the Qarakhanids a status that proved difficult to rival. This was perhaps one significant reason why the New Persian language did not benefit from Islamization in the same way that it did in Bukhara; apparently, many of the former Soghdian speakers switched directly to Turkic. Another factor may have been the closeness to other areas with a strong Turkic element, such as Semirech’e and the Tarim Basin (Golden 1992: 193). As early as the twelfth century, the local Turkic dynasties became vassals of the Qara-Qitay. Their impact was, however, superficial and largely restricted to

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the collection of taxes. This all was to change, dramatically, with the next invasion from the east, the Mongols of Chingis Qan. The consequences suffered by the Ferghana Valley were no less devastating than those suffered by the regions further west. On the heels of the crushing subjugation of the valley, parts of the Mongol army stayed and settled there, keeping the sedentary population under close surveillance. The later period of Mongol rule was characterized, as mentioned, by fragmentation and internal warfare. Formally, the valley was part of the Chagatayid realm, the least stable of the successor statehoods (see chapter 1). Because of the special status of Moghulistan in the northeast and the neighbouring realms of the few remaining descendants of Ögödey in Jungaria, clashes with other Chingisid princes were frequent, which did not favour the development of a more stable political system and a recovery of the local economy (Morgan 1986). The Timurids were the next force to gain control of the region, but they preferred to rule from the centres of Samarqand and Herat. During the later days of the dynasty, however, centrifugal tendencies became stronger and resulted in the quasi-independence of some of the smaller fiefdoms in the Ferghana Valley. One was Andijon, the seat of Babur, the most outstanding personality among the later Timurids in Central Asia. In 1500, after being defeated by Muhammad Shaybani in battle, Babur fled to Kabul and several attempts to regain power in Central Asia failed (see also chapter 1). Later, he moved on to northern India, where he founded the Moghul dynasty (Foltz 1998). His place in history is certainly shaped more by his later achievements, but the inhabitants of the Ferghana Valley in general and those of Andijon province in particular consider him one of their own. In the region, he enjoys an elevated status similar to Timur’s in Samarqand and Shahrisabz. Another facet of Babur’s fame is his autobiography, the Baburnama, in which he describes with amazing openness his successes as well as his failures (military as well as personal). He also comments on the ethnic configuration of his times in great detail. He expresses a strong dislike – not surprisingly – for the Uzbeks, who expelled him from his homeland, and for the Moghuls, who ruled the areas northeast of the Ferghana Valley. To the north, although formerly there were cities like Almalyk, Almatu, and Yangi – which is called Otrar in books – because the Moghuls and Uz­beks passed there, there is no longer any civilization. (Babur 1996: 35) It is a curious twist of fate that in later centuries Babur became affiliated with each of these two ethnic categories. According to all reports, the Turkification of the Ferghana Valley was already far advanced by this time. Babur and his contemporaries were certainly using Chagatay, predecessor of contemporary Uzbek, which had been developed

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and promoted during the early days of the dynasty, as their principal language. Throughout most of this period, Andijon was the political centre of the valley. It had by that time apparently become Turkic in character, although other areas – such as Marg’ilon and Isfara further west – were still dominantly Iranian. Due to the favourable environmental conditions for pastoralism, the region also continued to be a stronghold of tribal groups, which further contributed to the frequency of strife. From early on, members of the pastoralist groups became sedentary and mixed with the previous population, creating constantly changing configurations (Golden 1992). According to Gubayeva (1991), many of the earlier Turkic tribes were already sedentary at the time of Babur. When the Uzbek Shaybanids invaded Transoxania, the Ferghana Valley was quickly subdued. During their rule, the region was again of marginal importance, as the centre of power resided firmly in the Zarafshon region. The early Uzbeks seemed to have had little interest in the region, although the valley remained a favoured place for nomads to take up residence. Many of the foothills, ideal spots for an agro-pastoral lifestyle, were already occupied by earlier tribes such as the Turks (to be described in detail later), so the Qipchaq who arrived with the Shaybanids settled down primarily in the central steppe zone. This influx of seminomadic pastoralists continued in later centuries and contributed to the emergence of new tribal units such as the Qurama. For a brief period the valley was governed by a dynasty of local Khojas, until in the eighteenth century the Ming tribe ascended to power and created an independent khanate (Holzwarth 2005). The Khanate of Kokand, as it came to be called after the new capital, faced many problems from the onset. Apart from ongoing tensions with Bukhara, it was highly divided internally, which added to the weakness of the state. In particular, the opposition between tribal groups, who constituted a large part of the army, and the old established sedentary population and elites proved a serious obstacle to developing a stable political entity. While the bulk of the village population spoke eastern Turkic languages, which were to become the basis of the contemporary Uzbek language, the central steppe region was inhabited by various tribal groups, most of them of Qipchaq origin. Some of them had been there since the Shaybanid period, but others arrived from places such as Samarqand and Jizzax only after the Ming tribe had attained power. Still others came from Qashghar and the Pamirs. There was also a group of Karakalpaks who, as many before them, settled in the central steppe, which today is in some maps referred to as karakalpakskaya step’.1 In the villages, a sedentary cultural pattern similar to the one described for Bukhara was apparent, contrasting sharply with tribal life in the steppe zone (Becker 1968). In addition to sedentary Turkic speakers, Tajik settlements were scattered around the valley (Bushkov 1993; Chvyr 1993). So, unlike Bukhara, some of the Turkic speakers (who were not called Uzbek at that time) came to represent the mainstream culture, with Tajiks and other autochthonous groups

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joining them as minor partners. The tribal groups remained marginal and were considered the barbarian counterpart, although a politically and militarily influential one. Much of the later history of the khanate was enveloped in a power struggle between the ruling Ming dynasty and tribal groups, one of which such outbursts resulted in the slaughter of twenty thousand Qipchaq in 1852 (Bushkov 1993). The dominant culture had been as thoroughly influenced by Iranian patterns as in Bukhara, but here it was conceptualized more as an autochthonous Turkic one. Extensive contacts with the Tarim Basin continued well into the nineteenth century, and a large proportion of the contemporary dwellers presumably descend from there. Other migrants arrived from regions further west, which had been conquered by the Tsarist Empire, and from the Amirate of Bukhara. These movements continued into the early twentieth century and contributed to the complicated ethnic mosaic of the present day (Gubayeva 1991). Russians arrived in Kokand in 1873 and soon took control of the whole valley. As they encountered more opposition and internal dissension here than had been the case in either Bukhara or Khorezm, they decided to fully incorporate the region into the state administration and dispose the Mings. This did not, however, end the discord, and several upheavals during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries shook Russian rule, the most famous of which was the so-called Andijon rebellion (Babadzhanov 1998; Hisao 2004). During most of the Soviet period, these incidents were blamed on ‘bourgeois’ and ‘reactionary’ elements. Later, Uzbek intellectuals tried to reinterpret them as the activities of a ‘national liberation movement’ (Critchlow 1991: 120f.). Kokand and the Ferghana Valley thus had already been absorbed by the Russian state before the establishment of the Soviet Union. Famines took a heavy toll during this period (Bushkov 1993). The short-lived autonomous Kokand Republic was brutally suppressed in 1918, with massacres carried out against the local population (Critchlow 1991: 124f.). As in other parts of Central Asia, many of the former political and religious elites were either exiled or executed. During the national delimitation process of the 1920s and 1930s, the valley was successively divided among the three mentioned republics. Of these, Uzbekistan received the largest and most prosperous share, including the central and eastern lowlands. The regions further west were granted to Tajikistan, while most of the areas along the mountain edges became part of Kyrgyzstan. During the Soviet period, the Ferghana Valley enjoyed favoured status. Perhaps for the first time in its history, it surpassed both Bukhara and Samarqand in importance. Even though the capital had been moved to Tashkent, many of the political and cultural elites of Uzbekistan were originally from the valley and identified as such (Critchlow 1991). Among the key issues in this respect were the economic power of the eastern provinces and the use of this local dialect as the basis for the literary language. At the same time, the valley remained a stronghold

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of religious activities as it had been in Tsarist times, and some Western experts envisioned the valley as the nucleus of a mass movement against communist rule (Bennigsen and Broxup 1983; Bennigsen and Wimbush 1986). When Uzbekistan achieved independence, things changed yet again. The rise to power of Islom Karimov effectively diminished the previous ascendancy of the Ferghana Valley, although many members of the elite still originate from there. The recent conflicts and accusations of growing Islamic fundamentalism have further weakened its position and made its inhabitants look suspicious to the rest of the country. Nevertheless, the vodiy remains one of the political centres besides Tashkent and Samarqand. Its pre-eminent position as a potential crisis zone also has drawn the attention of anthropologists and social scientists. Most of the field studies in Uzbekistan since the early 1990s have been conducted in the Ferghana Valley (Abramson 1998; Zanca 1999, 2011; Rasanayagam 2002, 2011; Megoran 2002; Fumagalli 2007; Reeves 2007; Günther 2008; Bichsel 2009; Liu 2012; Sancak 2012).

Groups and Boundaries: The Local Configuration Administratively, the Ferghana Valley today is divided among seven provinces, three in Uzbekistan (Andijon, Ferghana and Namangan), three in Kyrgyzstan (Osh, Jalalabad and Batken), and one in Tajikistan (Sughd). In all three states, these represent crucial regions, because they each contain a large part of the population as well as of the agricultural land. The provinces in Uzbekistan and Tajikistan are also significant in terms of industrial production. There is a relatively strong common identity among the three provinces in Uzbekistan, which in Soviet times also included the areas beyond the border. People in Andijon still consider themselves very close to Osh and Jalalabad. But the closing of the borders in recent years has severely curtailed social relations and affected identification patterns as will be discussed in more detail below.2 As mentioned, the Ferghana Valley was the most densely populated part of the Soviet Union. In 2000, Namangan, Ferghana and Andijon together were home to seven million people, or almost 30 per cent of the population of Uzbekistan. They were also the second-, third- and fourth-largest viloyat in the country, only surpassed by Tashkent (Aman 2000). Located in the easternmost part of Uzbekistan, however, they have become relatively isolated. During Soviet times the west of the valley provided an easy exit along the Syr-Darya, but this area was granted to Tajikistan, and following the establishment of independent states, the border was effectively closed. Now, the only road linking the Uzbekistan portion of the valley with the capital of Tashkent and other territories to the west involves crossing a 2,000-meter-high mountain pass, which is frequently closed in winter due to heavy snowfall (see figure 4.1). In recent years, a tunnel has been completed to bypass some of the most difficult sections.

Conflict Inevitable?   161

Figure 4.1.  The road connecting the Ferghana Valley with Tashkent (Photo: P. Finke)

The Ferghana Valley today is an unmistakable bastion of Uzbekness. Uzbeks form the overwhelming majority in the three provinces of Ferghana, Andijon and Namangan. The largest minorities are Russians, Tajiks and Kyrgyz. Smaller groups include Tatars, Bashkirs, Koreans, Ukrainians and several others.3 While statistics again cannot be viewed as an exact reflection of people’s identities, the picture is not as distorted as in Bukhara. By and large, the official numbers correspond to some reality, although the definition of who is an Uzbek is again not an easy and straightforward one, as will be outlined below. The distribution, however, is uneven. For example, while the province of Ferghana (and the city of the same name in particular) has a relatively high proportion of Russians, they are rare in Namangan. The Russians are predominantly an urban population and have never settled in rural areas in the valley (Gubayeva 1991). Tajiks live in all three provinces, although their number in Andijon is lower than in the other two. In contrast to Bukhara, they form no strongholds, usuTable 4.1.  Population of the Ferghana Valley by ethnic group

Andijon viloyati Ferghana viloyati Namangan viloyati Marhamat tumani Source: Aman (2000)

Uzbeks 1,303,474 2,133,495 1,252,218 74,658

Tajiks 22,972 92,263 131,198 8,922

Kyrgyz 69,232 52,603 15,882 4,886

Russians 44,149 93,786 26,504 1,020

Tatars 24,643 23,715 15,235 725

Crimean Tatars 9,506 11,420 11,629 1,731

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ally settling in small rural or urban population spots. While the city of Rishton – famous throughout the country for its ceramics – close to the border with Kyrgyzstan is predominantly Tajik, the villages nearby are mostly Uzbek speaking. In other cases, the situation is reversed. For example, the districts of Pop and Chust contain numerous Tajik villages (Chvyr 1993). Locally, Tajiks therefore occupy specific niches without creating a general pattern in the valley. While some of the Tajiks may have been descendants of an older Iranian stratum, others came to the region during several waves of migration after the fifteenth century. Some of the migrants came from Samarqand, Bukhara and other lowland oases, but the majority originated from relatively poor mountain regions such as Qarategin and Garm. They tended to establish their own distinct villages and only gradually mixed with other Tajik groups and the local Turkic populations (Gubayeva 1991: 59ff.; Chvyr 1993). Another group settling on the outskirts of the valley are the Kyrgyz. They are more evenly distributed over the three provinces and are primarily a rural population. The neighbouring provinces of Osh and Jalalabad in Kyrgyzstan are of a similar composition. In both cases, the urban population is overwhelmingly Uzbek. This is true for the two provincial capitals as well as for the third largest city in the region, the former Qarakhanid capital of Uzgen. Most of the lower-lying district centres like Aravan are also Uzbek dominated. The further up in the mountains one goes, the more Kyrgyz it becomes. It is not entirely clear when the Kyrgyz came to the region. The earlier history of a group with this name was discussed in chapter 1. Although the actual connection between the earlier Kyrgyz on the upper Yenissey and those bearing the name today is hotly disputed, most scholars seem to assume at least some kind of relation (Golden 1992). Possibly, some of the Kyrgyz left southern Siberia and adjacent areas of Mongolia after the Qitan had wrested power from them. It is, however, not known how many stayed behind and where the others actually went. In the early eighteenth century, the western Mongolian Oyrats forced a group bearing the Kyrgyz name to resettle in Semirech’e, from where they later moved further south towards Ferghana and Qarategin. By the nineteenth century, these Kyrgyz had become subjects of the Khan of Kokand (Barthold [Hazai] 1986). The ethnic situation is, however, more complicated due to pronounced differences among the Uzbeks. Linguistic and cultural differences may appear insignificant to the outside observer but represent a number of categories, some of them used as self-denominators, others primarily as exonyms. Only one of these groups always and exclusively calls itself Uzbek. As a way of distinguishing oneself from others, the term toza or chisto Uzbek (‘pure Uzbek’, in Uzbek and Russian, respectively) is sometimes used. Most similar to the toza Uzbeks are the local Uyghurs or Qashgharliq – who are often subsumed within this category. As described earlier, the relations between the Ferghana Valley and the western

Conflict Inevitable?   163

Tarim Basin have always been interconnected and have included a mutual exchange of populations over extended periods of time. Sometimes, the term Sart is also used but has a rather different meaning in the Ferghana Valley. It may be used both for Uyghurs and for the chisto Uzbeks. It is, however, rarely used as a self-designator. In addition, Qipchaq groups have settled scattered across the valley and in some parts form the majority (Zanca 1999). Here, this is more of a generic term for the tribal groups who were the backbone of the Khanate of Kokand. Unlike in the field sites in Khorezm and Qashqadaryo – to be discussed in chapter 5 – it is not a linguistic category in the Ferghana Valley, and most Qipchaq speak a standard Uzbek close to the literary language. Finally, there is another category of Uzbeks, referred to as Turks both by themselves and by others. According to Gubayeva (1991), the term probably refers to the descendants of Turkic tribes who arrived in pre-Shaybanid times, the second stratum of Uzbeks according to Karmysheva and Ilkhamov. As such, they include groups similar to the Barlas in Qashqadaryo, or the Laqay and Qarluq in southern Uzbekistan and Tajikistan (Karmysheva 1976; Shanijazov 1978). They also speak Qarluq dialects today.

Spheres of Interaction Settlement and Village Life The district of Marhamat is located in the southwest of Andijon viloyati, bordering on the provinces of Ferghana and Osh, and resembles a triangle carved into the territory of Kyrgyzstan (see maps 4.1 and 4.2). The tuman was founded in 1926 and has 122,000 inhabitants in a territory of 319 square kilometres. It is comprised of the city of Marhamat, a small town of some 18,000 people, five rural sel’soviet and the semi-urban settlement (posyolka) of Polvontosh with 5,400 inhabitants. The seven municipalities contain forty-four mahalla, which in the valley is a very important institution also in the rural areas. Two of the five sel’soviet formerly corresponded to each one kolkhoz and the remaining three each contained two kolkhozes. The district centre is relatively new, although it can be traced back to earlier settlements. In 1898, after the unsuccessful rebellion of Andijon under Dukchi Ishan, the old village of Mingtepa, the epicentre of the revolt, was razed to the ground. A year later, the place was repopulated by European settlers; they laid out the city in a grid pattern and named it Russkoye Selo, the ‘Russian village’. It was eventually renamed Marhamat (‘grace’), according to Hisao, referring to ‘the grace of the Czar for the muzhiks [the Russian peasants]’ (2004: 46). The ruins of an earlier settlement, still referred to as Mingtepa, can be found nearby, which locals date to the period of Alexander the Great’s conquest of the region (see also Toshboltoyev 1991: 7ff.). In fact, this may have been one of the earliest settlements in the Ferghana Valley, originating as far back as the fourth century bc. The com-

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Map 4.2.  Marhamat tumani (compiled by P. Finke)

paratively marginal position of the area today may be misleading; as mentioned, the foothills – where the waters reach the plain – were presumably populated first, before improved irrigation techniques allowed an extension into the more fertile soils in the basin (Frye 1996: 59). The sel’soviet of Shukurmergen, where most of the fieldwork was conducted, is the westernmost within Marhamat tumani with the district of Asaka to the north, Quva (in Ferghana viloyati) to the west and Aravan (in Osh province) to the south. To the east, its territory merges with the district centre of Marhamat. The total population of the sel’soviet is about 27,000, organized in eleven villages, which are in this context often referred to as mahalla. It included two kolkhozes, later renamed as shirkat xo‘jaligi. Of these, the eastern one, Paxtakor, is made up of four villages. These are all located close to the tuman centre and have essentially become suburbs of the latter. The second, Mash’al, occupies the western part of the sel’soviet and includes seven villages. In fact, all these villages form one continuous settlement, as is typical for much of the Ferghana Valley. Only the small village of Polvontosh – not the same as the above-mentioned posyolka – is located some distance off the main road. Its inhabitants are considered non-locals who settled here only a few generations ago. According to local officials, about 38 per cent of the population in Shukurmergen are Tajiks, while Uzbeks amount to slightly more than 50 per cent, and Kyrgyz account for approximately 10 per cent. Some Tajiks have registered as Uzbeks, but the number is low compared to Bukhara. Several villages in Shukurmergen are either predominantly Tajik, such as Shomat and Sho’rqishloq, or contain a sizeable Tajik minority, such as Rabot and Sho’rqaqir. Kyrgyz form the majority in the mahalla of Yuvosh and To’lga, one located in each of the two kolkhozes. There are also Kyrgyz who live in several other sel’soviet within Marhamat tumani.

Conflict Inevitable?   165 Table 4.2.  Ethnic composition of Shukurmergen sel’sovieti Hakka Hasanmergen Polvontosh Rabot Sho’rqaqir Sho’rqishloq Shomat Shukurmergen To’lga Yuqori Rabot Yuvosh Total

Households 603 287 221 670 815 649 572 581 739 420 565 6122

Individuals 2,462 1,382 850 2,803 4,050 2,618 2,570 2,220 3,074 2,570 2,327 26,926

Major group Turk, (Uzbek) Turk, (Uzbek) Turk, (Uzbek) Turk, Tajik Tajik, Turk, Uzbek Tajik Tajik, (Uyghur) Turk, (Uzbek) Uzbek, Kyrgyz Turk Kyrgyz, (Uzbek)

Source: Administration of Shukurmergen sel’sovieti. The information given by the tuman administration and the mahalla komiteti often differed from these numbers. They can therefore only give a vague idea of the actual distribution.

Already in pre-socialist times, settlements in the vodiy were larger than in other parts of Uzbekistan (Barthold [Spuler] 1991). Some of them had been hamlets similar to those in Xo‘jayli, although on average much bigger and separated by pastures and semi-deserts. This was to some degree a local phenomenon in Marhamat, as environmental conditions along the hilly edges of the valley were less favourable for intensive farming than in adjacent areas. At the same time, livestock rearing was more lucrative, which may have been the reason for the large proportion of Turks and Qipchaq in the area. The entire structural arrangement of settlement in the Ferghana Valley was fundamentally transformed during the Soviet period. Many villages were reorganized, united or completely removed. This started after collectivization in the 1930s and was revived during the 1950s. Among the primary reasons was the Soviet desire to develop an infrastructure, which they viewed as particularly important in this densely populated and more industrialized valley. The structural arrangement that evolved was very different from the old village clusters that were comprised of a core with satellites, such as those described for Bukhara. Most villages today are strung along a few major roads (see map 4.2). Locals reported that, particularly in the post-war period, many villages were abandoned by force and re-established along the gas and transportation alleys to facilitate the mechanization of agricultural production and the modernization of rural life. At the heart of these developments was the construction of the Southern Ferghana Canal, which provides these areas with water for irrigation. This merging of villages was carried out so thoroughly that today they have more or less lost their separate identities. Some names have survived and are now applied to the corresponding mahalla, which are much more formalized in

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this setting than in any of the others (Sancak 2012). They constitute official administrative units, called mahalla fuqarolar yig’ini, each of which employs several officials receiving salaries from the state. The mahalla, in turn, are made up of smaller units, called mahallacha, which are most often arranged along a single road. Ko’cha, or street, is for this reason often used as a synonym for mahallacha. The institution of the mahalla apparently already existed here in Soviet times, and presumably even earlier, but their formalization has increased since independence (Massicard and Trevisani 2000; Sievers 2002). Unlike the mahalla officials, the elders (oqsoqol ) of the mahallacha do not receive state salaries. What has emerged from this reorganization is a structure in which some mahalla run straight along a main road, while others form side roads, which turn off more or less at a right angle. The result is in either case a street village (see map 4.2). This picture does not change at the fringes of each sel’soviet. Rather, the entire tuman has become almost a single coherent settlement along two major axes, one west–east and the other north–south, which meet in the centre of Marhamat town. To the north it merges into neighbouring Asaka tumani. Only towards Quva and Ferghana in the west is the settlement pattern interrupted for several kilometres, while to the east the national border has effectively interrupted the flow of goods and people. Some of the settlements have been divided by the national border, which sometimes runs right down the middle of a street or cuts through a private garden. One of these is the village of Nayman. The smaller part nowadays belongs to Kyrgyzstan, where there also used to be the communal graveyard. Beginning

Figure 4.2.  Village scene in the Ferghana Valley, Marhamat tumani (Photo: P. Finke)

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in 2001, the regional government established a new cemetery within the territory of Nayman that had remained in Uzbekistan and developed plans to relocate the houses that were close to the border. The inhabitants of Nayman have not been pleased with the situation. In many families, some members today live in Kyrgyzstan, as in the past people were not concerned about the border when they built a new house for their sons. In a similar way, the village of Yuqori Rabot in Shukurmergen sel’sovieti had established a ‘colony’ settlement within Kyrgyzstan a few hundred metres away. Now, sons for whom no space was left within the village find themselves living on the other side of the border. Due to their size, the villages are not necessarily monoethnic, although their constitutive mahallacha in many cases are dominated by one or two groups. Unlike in Bukhara, no specific ethnic patterns have emerged. The names also give little indication of an earlier ethnic distinctiveness, with two exceptions. One is villages such as Qashghar, referring to the origin of its inhabitants in Xinjiang. The other is villages named after former tribal units, such as Nayman and Botagara. In none of the visited places of the second category, however, did the contemporary population have any identifiable recollection of this presumed tribal background.

Language Use In contrast, the linguistic patterns of the Ferghana Valley bear many similarities to Bukhara. Uzbek and Tajik are the most widely spoken languages, with the former clearly holding the advantage. This is complemented by other Turkic languages, Kyrgyz in particular, and Russian. The local Qipchaq and Turks do not use a distinct dialect, although there are some slight differences in their speech. Some informants said that among the elder generation of Qipchaq, some use a dialect similar to Kazak and Kyrgyz, but I never heard this firsthand. The dominance of Uzbek, however, is not challenged as it is in Bukhara (by Tajik) and Khorezm (by Kazak and Karakalpak). This has a number of consequences. It is rare that Uzbeks speak a second language, except perhaps Russian. The latter is somewhat more prevalent than in Bukhara or Khorezm. Few Uzbeks speak Tajik, and a few more are able to understand it. As for Kyrgyz, there is little opportunity for Uzbeks to test their passive or active abilities because the language is rarely used in public. Members of other groups, of course, have to deal with the national language, and some of them have only rudimentary skills in their mother tongue. This is equally true for Tajiks and Kyrgyz, especially in the younger generation. Among the older generation some speak Uzbek with an accent, but this is becoming a rare phenomenon, found mainly among females in the few predominantly Tajik villages. Being the quintessence of Uzbekness on the one hand and an alleged haven for militant agitators on the other, the Ferghana Valley occupies an ambiguous role in contemporary politics. It may be assumed that for this reason the promo-

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tion of minorities is not high on the agenda of local and national authorities. Tajik schools are rare, and even schools in purely Tajik villages such as Sho’rqishloq offer education solely in Uzbek. The few Kyrgyz schools equally do not correspond to the number of native speakers. Instruction in Russian exists only in the major cities and tuman centres. Uzbek is therefore unquestionably the dominant language of everyday life. Tajik is used at home and also within predominantly Tajik villages but does not have the status of a second public language. Any linguistic change is therefore almost always in favour of Uzbek. In mixed families, Uzbek plays a more important role even if the father is Tajik, because usually his wife will not speak his mother tongue. This is the case at least in villages with an Uzbek majority or significant minority. The status of the Kyrgyz language is even more precarious. Even many of the older generation do not speak it properly anymore, although they claim to understand it when they go to Kyrgyzstan. This depends largely on the settlement. Of the two ‘Kyrgyz’ mahalla within Shukurmergen, To’lga is already thoroughly Uzbek due to the fact that this is also the language of the local school. In Yuvosh, where school instruction is in Kyrgyz, the situation is somewhat different. Here, more people know Kyrgyz, although again not all of the younger generation speak it properly. Interestingly, it seemed that the differences in linguistic behaviour between the two neighbouring Kyrgyz settlements were not reflected in the respective marriage patterns (see below). The number of cases where children encounter different languages at home and in public are therefore less than in Bukhara, and few learn to speak Uzbek and Tajik with equal fluency. If a village is predominantly Tajik or Kyrgyz, then Uzbek may be learned properly only at school. In all other cases, most children of either group will grow up with Uzbek as their mother tongue. In public, Uzbek is much more dominant than in Bukhara, and I never heard anyone use Tajik in any official capacity. Switching is therefore much less common as well. Public life is thoroughly Uzbekisized and speaking Tajik does not give a person an advantage. As soon as one participant in a conversation is Uzbek, usually everyone switches to her language. Only in Shomat and Sho’rqaqir does one hear Tajik on the street. In a mixed village such as Rabot, the public language is always Uzbek. This has in many cases also influenced the linguistic choice within families in those places, contributing to a steady Uzbekization.

Kinship and Marriage Kinship is somewhat less of a key factor in social life than in Bukhara and Khorezm. Because the valley has a more urban character, the neighbourhood is of superior significance and does not correlate with kinship to the degree that it does in Chilongu. Most important for face-to-face interactions is the mahallacha. Tribal categories do not play a role, neither among the Sart nor among the Turk and Qipchaq groups. Even among the local Kyrgyz, lineage memories seemed

Conflict Inevitable?   169

weak and many could not identify their own affiliation. In this regard, an assertion frequently made by Kyrgyz that marriage within one’s patrilineal kin group was restrained from, is probably more of a symbolic statement, since if they do not know either their forefathers or any named group to which they belonged, it is very difficult to prevent marriages with their descendants.4 Kinship terminology again shows a strong similarity between Uzbek and Tajik. The major difference with respect to Bukhara being that not all Uzbeks were familiar with the Tajik terms. During an interview with a Tajik family, an Uzbek who was present stated he had never heard the Tajik terms (which in Bukhara may also be used by Uzbeks). This lack of knowledge is even more amazing given the social relevance that affinal relatives have in both groups. Inheritance patterns are similar to the ones described for Bukhara. During marriage preparations, the building of a separate house for the son begins. The completion of the house is often delayed for several years, because it takes time to acquire a piece of land from the kolkhoz and then to accrue the financial wherewithal to purchase construction materials. Then, ideally, the elder sons successively leave the family home while the youngest stays to take care of his aging parents, although in some cases it can be any of the other sons. Families with only daughters must persuade one of their sons-in-law to join them, which is not an easy business. Well, it does not have to be the youngest. It all depends. If parents prefer one of the others because they like him more or because he takes better care of them, then they stay with him. Some choose the one who promises to become rich. When you don’t have a son, you take a son-in-law [kuyov]. We call them ich-kuyov [‘inside-son-in-law’] but they don’t like that. Usually it is the youngest daughter and so it is sometimes difficult to find her a husband. (Gülbohor, 48-year-old woman from Shukurmergen) Cousin marriages are as common as in Bukhara, for the reasons mentioned above. As in other settings, some people expressed concern about this practice because of the potential consequences to the health of the children. In this regard, an ethnic divide was frequently mentioned that did not exist in other settings. It was generally agreed that cousin marriage is particularly widespread among Tajiks, although most Uzbeks could also name several cases among their kin. Similar to the situation in Khorezm, this practise is frowned upon by the Kyrgyz, where close kin are generally avoided as much as possible, even though the traditional system of lineage exogamy is in decline. Reservations against kin marriages were also expressed by some Uzbeks and Tajiks. One should know seven fathers but most people don’t. I don’t. It would be good, however, because then fewer children will be born with handi-

170   Variations on Uzbek Identity

caps. We force the people to take health tests before but some of them do not come. (Baxtiyor, 47-year-old Tajik, doctor in Marhamat tumani) As is true in the other sites, locality is a highly important variable in finding marriage partners. Many families expressed a preference for a daughter-in-law from their own mahalla, because they believed they would be able to learn more about her beforehand and to assert more control over her after the wedding. However, the overall urban influence that integrates rural communities into larger and contiguous settlements has made this more difficult; it is far easier to commute between villages than in Bukhara or Khorezm. Marriages outside the tuman, however, are very rare except among the Kyrgyz (discussed below). Ethnically mixed marriages, however, do exist and are in fact not uncommon between Uzbeks and Tajiks. Purely Uzbek families are probably the exception, especially for larger ones. All households visited with more than four children, by far the majority, had at least one son- or daughter-in-law from another ethnic group. In ideological terms, the dividing line is, in fact, a different one. According to it, Tajiks may marry those Uzbeks for which the label Sart is applicable (that is, chisto Uzbeks and Uyghurs). In contrast, marriages with Kyrgyz or former tribal Uzbeks are discouraged due to their alleged nomadic background. In dominantly Tajik villages, some people even look unfavourably on a marriage to any kind of Uzbek for the same reason. The reluctance to marry Kyrgyz and Qipchaq is shared by the Sart-Uzbeks, who equally prefer Tajiks as in-laws. The local Turks are more acceptable as sons- or daughters-in-law than the Kyrgyz, but still not the first choice for most families.5 All of these marriages nevertheless occur. Overall, Tajik-Uzbek marriages are quite common. The number of Tajik-Turk and Uzbek-Kyrgyz unions is smaller, but not insignificant and apparently much higher than interview data would suggest. As in the case of the Kazaks and Turkmens in Bukhara and Khorezm, bride kidnapping was mentioned by Uzbeks as a reason, although it was admitted that it happens only when the bride is also a Kyrgyz. Another reason to avoid the Kyrgyz, again a familiar refrain with regard to the Kazaks and Turkmens, is the demand for bride-wealth, although this is apparently a relatively small amount in most cases. Again, according to the data I was able to collect, such statements Table 4.3.  Marriage partners in Rabot village by ethnicity husband/wife Tajik Uzbek Turk Total

Tajik 32 2 0 34

Uzbek 9 12 0 21

Turk 0 2 9 11

Kyrgyz 0 1 0 1

unmarried or divorced 2 0 0 2

total 43 17 9 69

Note: These numbers concern the fifth mahallacha within Rabot. As it was not possible to visit every individual household, I collected the data in most cases from each one member of an extended family, e.g. one of several brothers residing in the same community.

Conflict Inevitable?   171

corresponded more to ideology than to practice. Most Kyrgyz households visited had at least one Uzbek daughter-in-law. Unions with Tajiks, on the contrary, were rare. Mixed families are therefore seen as more problematic than in Bukhara. Social events such as marriages and circumcision parties are above all a question of co-residence. The whole local community, in the form of the mahallacha, usually participates. These mahallacha are, as described, typically dominated by one or two groups, so that there is less intermingling than was observed in Bukhara, but more than in Khorezm. Therefore, people often are not all too familiar with how weddings and other ceremonies are conducted outside their own group. In contrast, marriages across the national border became an issue only in recent years. In the past, these were very frequent, as the high proportion of women illustrates who were born in Kyrgyzstan. It was most often Kyrgyz who sought a bride there, and this is still very common, in spite of the problems connected with this in the current situation. In all Kyrgyz families visited, at least one daughter-in-law was from Kyrgyzstan. According to the mahalla chief of To’lga, fifteen brides had come from Kyrgyzstan since 1991, all of them from the neighbouring districts of Aravan and Nookat. In the Kyrgyz mahalla of Yuvosh, the local oqsoqol estimated the number of wives who were born in Kyrgyzstan at 10 per cent, far exceeding the proportion of Tajik or Uzbek brides. Thus, in the case of Kyrgyz, ethnicity seems more important than locality. Among Uzbeks and Tajiks, cross-border marriages are not common, and apparently were not in the past.

Economic Exchange and Social Networks The borders with Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan had equally little impact on economic matters during socialist times, with the state intent on levelling regional differences whenever possible. Nevertheless, local circumstances and politics had an impact of their own. As mentioned, the importance of the Ferghana Valley increased during this period, partially due to its vital role in cotton production, which bolstered the power base of local authorities (see chapter 1). In the post-socialist period, local and regional differences resurfaced. It is not yet clear to what degree this has been encouraged by the national government. Considering the general political climate, it is hard to imagine that the state is not involved when certain districts decide to turn over most of their land to fermer, while in others the situation remains relatively unchanged. Be that as it may, in most parts of the Ferghana Valley, very little land had been ‘privatized’ until 2004 – a fact that local authorities attributed to population density, because if each household were to receive a piece of land, such plots would be too small to provide a living. Only some vineyards and fruit orchards had been ‘privatized’, but invariably this has meant being given to officials or their close relatives (Sancak 2012).6 Cotton continues as the economic mainstay of the valley. Today, Andijon, Namangan and Ferghana are always the first (and often the only) provinces to

172    Variations on Uzbek Identity

Figure 4.3.  Growing cotton in Marhamat tumani with the help of plastic stripes (Photo: P. Finke)

fulfil government-mandated quotas. Of the three, Andijon in most years is the top producer.7 As in other regions, a portion of the arable land has been converted to grain production. This is of particular importance because it allows for a second planting of vegetables, which is not the case with cotton fields that are harvested later in the year. Animal husbandry is traditionally of some significance due to the existence of grazing lands nearby. As cross-border movement into Kyrgyzstan is no longer an option, some started to transport their animals into the mountains along the road to Tashkent. These pastures, however, are both further away and of lower quality. For the peasant workers (or kolkhozchi, as they are still commonly called), it does not make a big difference whether their salary is not paid by the kolkhoz or by a farmer. Some is usually given in kind (mainly flour and cotton oil). Each year, however, people complained that in the end, the kolkhoz did not repay what had been promised, but instead sold the surplus for profit. The only cash payment that workers receive is for cotton picked during harvest time. The rest of the year people work primarily – as in Bukhara – for the right to use the land after the grain harvest for the planting of potatoes and vegetables (Sancak 2012). In Mash’al, each member household was allotted five sot to cultivate, while an additional plot could be rented on an annual basis. Most important to the survival of the household is therefore the small private plots and the few animals the family owns. Because the private plots tend to be smaller, agricultural workers in the Ferghana Valley are even more dependent on selling their labour. This is not an easy

Conflict Inevitable?   173

task in post-Soviet Uzbekistan, but the fertility of the soil, the ready availability of water and the proximity of the border at least partially compensate. Across the border, Kyrgyzstan for many is a place to sell both smuggled goods and their labour. This continued until the border was effectively closed after the bloody events of 2010 when hundreds of thousands of Kyrgyzstani Uzbeks tried to take refuge in Uzbekistan (and many were prevented to do so by the guards). Before that, in summer, thousands of men, and even more women, crossed the border on a daily basis to work on the fields in Aravan and other nearby districts. Some of them had leased land from the owners in Kyrgyzstan and worked it on their own. The precarious legal situation, however, often led to disagreements and noncompliance, usually to the disadvantage of the commuters from Uzbekistan (Sancak 2012). Social relations within the district are also tenser than in Bukhara. Here, this is less an issue of water than of land scarcity, social stratification and high unemployment, especially among the young population. These only partly overlap with issues of ethnicity. An illustrative example are the Turks, who in spite of their alleged semi-nomadic and tribal background have been able to gain control of much of the local power in Marhamat. At the same time, they also form a large segment of the now-impoverished kolkhoz workers. Several Tajiks also occupied key positions within the local elite. The groups that tend to be excluded from political power are above all the Kyrgyz, who – so a common saying goes – can at best become chief of a Kyrgyz mahalla, and the chisto (or Sart) Uzbeks. This may, however, be a local or temporal peculiarity. During the period of fieldwork, the majority of officials in Marhamat tuman came from one sel’soviet, namely Shukurmergen, which happens to be currently dominated by Turks and Tajiks. In recent years, no open conflicts have occurred. The violent clashes of 1989 and 1990 are hardly ever mentioned. In those days, nationalism (millatchilik) was on the rise, as people say, and some prompted the Kyrgyz to leave – which, however, few of them did. All in all, the situation is still remarkably harmonious given the hardships people face. The more recent unrest in Andijon, by all accounts, was not ethnically motivated. It did allow the government, however, to intensify its crackdown on alleged Muslim movements in the Ferghana Valley, which has resulted in numerous military posts through which every vehicle and passenger must pass along the highway to Tashkent. The village as a social entity is less coherent in the valley than in Bukhara. Social differentiation and tensions are greater. Furthermore, critical statements about the local administration and the national government were much more common. In terms of land access, no serious redistribution has taken place, and therefore a substantial economic differentiation among ethnic groups has not had a chance to take hold. With respect to elite behaviour, the situation is similar to other settings – that is, a relatively small core in control of the distribution of resources and connected to one another through a mutually dependent network

174   Variations on Uzbek Identity

of relations. There is, however, little pretension of egalitarianism by these offi­ cials, and this gives the impression of a more openly stratified social order than in Bukhara. The kolkhoz workers to some degree live in a separate world, and social mobility is low. Yes, of course, at that time the chiefs were often very harsh and treated the kolkhozchi badly. They behaved like they were the owner of the land and of the kolkhoz. But one could go to the rayon administration or to the Communist Party and complain. And if you were right, then they would punish them. Today, there is no chance to complain to anyone because they all stick together. (Pulot, 55-year-old man from To’lga) The leaders of the mahalla take care of all social affairs concerning the community, both those dictated by the state and more informal ones. They are responsible for collecting statistical data, identifying recruits for the national army and determining families in need of state support. They have to supervise not only public events, such as navro’z, the Uzbek version of the Iranian New Year, and National Independence Day on the first of September, but also private wedding and circumcision parties. In addition, they are also increasingly responsible for mediating in local affairs, as in conflicts within or between families or when a gas line is damaged (Sancak 2012). During the many regional competitions for the most beautiful tuman, the oqsoqol have to ensure that people clean the outsides of their houses and plant flowers in front of them. Effectively, they became a link to the local authorities. When there is a to’y [wedding or circumcision party], people come from all over the place. In particular, there are many young boys from the mahalla and they all drink. So, we now do not allow them anymore to have the wedding party at night. We tell them they have to stop at five or six o’clock in the afternoon, so that there is not so much trouble and fighting. Also, it is much easier at this time of the day for people to find transport back home. (Abdulla, 42-year old head of a mahalla in Shukurmergen)

Cultural Models of Closeness and Distinction Various Kinds of Uzbeks In line with these modes of interaction, both within and between ethnic categories, the definition of what an Uzbek is shows itself to again be very different in Marhamat than in the two previously described settings. The various groups or categories that officially joined (or were joined) to comprise ‘the Uzbeks’ still clearly distinguish themselves from one another. The point of reference is the

Conflict Inevitable?   175

people who call themselves (and often are called) chisto Uzbeks. They make up between 30 and 40 per cent of officially registered Uzbeks in Shukurmergen. As described, the local Uyghurs and Qashgharliq are often also included in this category. Apparently, the memory of a more Eastern origin is still alive to some degree among those who arrived during the nineteenth century. Strictly speaking, the term Uyghur is somewhat incorrect in their case because an ethnic group of this name did not exist at that time. Only later did it become a general denominator for the sedentary Turkic groups in the Tarim Basin (see chapter 1). In fact, most of such informants referred to themselves as Qashgharliq, after the town they originally came from, but the term Uyghur was also occasionally used.8 Most of the local Turks, according to Karmysheva (1960b) and Gubayeva (1991), have practised an agro-pastoral lifestyle not unlike the Qipchaq until the early twentieth century. Within the tuman, approximately one-third of all Uzbeks belong to this category. A similar situation was said to exist in neighbouring Asaka and Quva tuman, as well as across the border in the district of Aravan. The local understanding of the term Turk was much disputed. A common origin with the Ottomans or even an earlier immigration from Anatolia was mentioned by some, although the majority clearly distanced themselves from this idea. Also, any relation with the Meskhetian Turks, who had lived in the Ferghana Valley until the early 1990s, was repudiated. Some of the local Turks claimed a connection with the Barlas. Others rejected such an association. In the model of Karmysheva and Ilkhamov, they form part of the earlier tribes among the Uzbeks (see chapter 1).9 Yes, we are Barlas-Turks like those in Shahrisabz and Kitob. When the Russians came, they gave everyone the name Uzbek in order to prevent any possible connection to Turkey. Of course we speak Turkish. The Shaybanids, when they came, brought their name to the region but they accepted our language [‘tilimizga qabul qilgan’]. (Sherali, 37-year old man from Hasanmergen)10 Most Qipchaq live in To’yjiboyev sel’sovieti in the east of Marhamat tumani along the border with Kyrgyzstan. They form a rather small group among the local Uzbeks. This may be due to the fact that the southeastern foothills of the Ferghana Valley, and in particular the region of Marhamat and Aravan, are described by Gubayeva as one of the main habitations for earlier Turkic tribes. Thus, the places most appropriate for the settlement of nomadic or semi-nomadic populations were already occupied upon the arrival of the Qipchaq. As mentioned, they no longer speak a distinct dialect, but many of them show pronounced physical features indicating a relationship with Kazaks or Kyrgyz. According to Schoeberlein, the Qipchaq also perceive themselves as closer to Kazaks and Kyrgyz than to

176   Variations on Uzbek Identity

other Uzbeks (1996: 15). This was apparently not the case in Marhamat. None of the people I met was aware of a close relationship and nobody seemed to recall any lineage organization. This was also true for those visited villages, such as Nayman and Mang’it, whose names clearly indicate a tribal background. As described earlier, interaction between Sart (labelled as such by others) and Turks or Qipchaq is limited. In addition to the discouraging of mixed marriages, there is a frequently expressed dislike for each other. Nonetheless, specific opinions about one another are somewhat ambivalent. The Turks themselves were equally unsure what to make of this category. In conversations, they often switched back and forth between the terms Uzbek and Turk when referring to themselves. Some describe the Turks or Qipchaq as totally different (‘sovsem boshqa’) in their cultural behaviour, while others were inclined to speak of a general pattern shared by all. Some even insisted that there was no real difference among the various types of Uzbeks. Several wives who had married into the area from other tuman explained that these categories do not exist where they came from and they were surprised to encounter them in Marhamat. There is nothing like a Turk or a Sart in Jalolquduq. I had never heard these names before I came here. Where I come from, an Uzbek is an Uzbek, and that’s it. (Gulnora, 44-year-old woman from Hasanmergen) As in Khorezm and Qashqadaryo, internal differentiations among the Uzbeks are not noted in passports, with few exceptions. Some individuals in the past managed to put Turk as their nationality because such a category was available, although it meant something different, namely the Meskhetian Turks. They were allowed do so, however, only after prolonged quarrels with the local administration. Their children were again of Uzbek nationality.11 Uyghur is another term that could be used, because it is an official ethnic category, but to my knowledge no one in Shukurmergen has done so, presumably because it is rarely employed as a selfdenominator. To my knowledge, all of those calling themselves Qashgharliq or Sart are registered as Uzbeks; Qipchaq and Sart do not exist as official labels.12

Ethnic Clusters: Tajiks, Kyrgyz and Others It has been mentioned that the local Tajiks are to a large part descendants of later migrants rather than of the earlier Iranian population. Also, during interviews, many Tajiks explained that their ancestors had come to the Ferghana Valley from the south at some earlier time. Some of them mentioned Qarategin and Garm in present-day Tajikistan as the regions from where their ancestors had migrated during the thirteenth or fourteenth century, confirming claims made by Gubayeva (1991) and Chvyr (1993) on the origin of the local Tajiks. Clearly, however, other Iranian speakers must have lived here before (Gubayeva 1991). This created a very complex situation of inter- and intraethnic differentiation evading any straightforward taxonomy (Chvyr 1993).

Conflict Inevitable?   177

Cultural patterns of Uzbeks and Tajiks are perceived as similar but not identical. One issue in this respect is the role of Islam. Among all local groups, Tajiks are believed to be the most religious (and Kyrgyz the least so). This is an ambiguous issue in contemporary Uzbekistan and in the Ferghana Valley in particular. On the one hand, devoutness is clearly regarded as a positive quality. The number of people who fast and pray regularly is much higher than in any other part of the country, and this is said to indicate the superiority of the vodiy. At the same time, the current crackdown on alleged Islamic fundamentalists makes overly conspicuous assertions of one’s faith inadvisable, and people have made a point of distancing themselves from any possible connection to such groups. Apart from religion, however – and this is, of course, characterized by great variation on the individual level – there is little to distinguish Tajiks from Uzbeks culturally or socially. Kyrgyz as well are a predominantly rural population. Presumably, some of them have settled in the valley for centuries, but none of the informants was able to say when their families had come to Marhamat. Ideologically, the Kyrgyz serve as the main counterpoint to a predominantly sedentary imprint. Even more than the Kazaks and Turkmens in Bukhara, they are viewed as less civilized and in general are an underprivileged group. Very few of them have attained higher positions, and judging from life histories this was no different during Soviet times. Traditionally, most Kyrgyz lived as pastoralists in the mountains surrounding the valley to the north, east and south. The situation in this way corresponded closely to a niche model, such as the one developed by Barth (1956). As such, Kyrgyz were not in direct competition with sedentary Uzbeks, Sart and Tajiks in the lowlands but rather in a complementary relationship – as nomads, they could provide the agriculturalists with animal products and receive necessary foodstuffs, clothing and other goods in return. This balance was disturbed during Soviet times, when nomads were settled by force and often came into direct competition with other groups. Given the degree of Uzbekization among the elder generation, however, it seems likely that a significant number of Kyrgyz have lived in the lowland villages for some time. Hospitality is again a key concept upon which Uzbekness or the larger local pattern is defined. Only Tajiks are considered the equal of Uzbeks in this respect. As in other settings, the local variant of osh is firmly believed to be the best in the country, and again it is the Uzbeks and Tajiks who are considered the best at it. In contrast, Kyrgyz are said to be bad cooks. Similar to Kazaks, their traditional food is more meat centred, although local Kyrgyz have more or less adapted Uzbek habits. The Kyrgyz around here are practically the same as we are [‘pochti bir xil’]. They make the same food and they dress the way we do. But, of course, they cannot cook like we do, and their clothing is usually less pretty. They also keep their houses clean, at least cleaner than in Kyrgyzstan, but not as clean as we do. (Rahmon, 42-year-old man from Rabot)

178   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Figure 4.4.  A Kyrgyz family in Shukurmergen in front of their garden (Photo: P. Finke)

Other minorities are very few in rural areas, although some live in the central settlement of Marhamat. Russians are the largest group among them, but many left during the 1990s. Similar to Bukhara, the attitude towards Russians is one of pity rather than hostility. The younger generation are accused of neglecting their parents, and it is said that social bonds are weak. As a common saying goes, once a Russian receives his monthly paycheck, he spends the next fifteen days drinking it away (which, of course, is hardly possible in light of current salaries). The attitude towards Tatars, here as elsewhere in Uzbekistan, is ambiguous. However, the few living in rural sites have integrated culturally to a higher degree and are perceived as members of the local community, sharing the same cultural patterns. They tend to speak Uzbek at home and in public and their urf-odat are believed to be the same. The Tatars in the cities, in contrast, where the majority of them live, often use Russian as their native language. The conceptualization of social groups and their boundaries in the Ferghana Valley is thus quite different from Bukhara and Khorezm. In this case, Uzbeks and Tajiks are perceived as close, but not as one unit. Unlike in Bukhara, it does make a difference for people whether someone is an Uzbek or a Tajik, although no physical distinctions between the two are cited, as they are with regard to local Kyrgyz and Qipchaq. Outside of this core are other groups, Kyrgyz in particular, who are more or less distant from the first two. Similar to the case of Qashqadaryo, the situation is complicated by subgroups within the larger category of Uzbekness. Some Uzbeks may feel closer to Tajiks than to Uzbeks of a different kind. Interestingly, local Uyghurs are also believed to exhibit more Mongolic

Conflict Inevitable?   179

features than other Uzbek groups (and some of them indeed do). As will be described in more detail for Qashqadaryo (in chapter 5), this is definitely not seen as a positive trait. Tajiks feel much closer to the Sart and vice versa, because each considers the other as belonging to the same sedentary cultural pattern. On the contrary, some Tajiks declared Turks and Qipchaq to be the ‘real Uzbeks’, referring to the semi-nomadic past of the Turkic population in general. According to this understanding, the ones who are felt to be closer to oneself – that is, the Sart – are in fact Turkified Iranians. Other types of Uzbeks then, by definition, are placed in a similar category as the Kyrgyz – i.e. a cruder and less civilized people. Thus, as in Bukhara, cultural differences are again more pronounced among various Turkicspeaking groups. This concerns first of all the Kyrgyz, the local equivalents of the Kazaks in Bukhara and the Turkmens in Khorezm. As mentioned in the earlier quote, some view the Kyrgyz as part of the local cultural community, but others make a clear distinction and describe them as lazy, careless and less sophisticated. More strongly than with Kazaks and Turkmens they are often regarded as second class, despite their having assimilated into Uzbek society much more than the two other groups. The avoidance of marriage in both directions is a reflection of this sense of separation, which, as stated above, is explained primarily in terms of differences in conduct. The scenario thus depicts a somewhat more primordial outlook than the one in Bukhara. The idea of descent as defining an individual’s attachment to a particular group is certainly stronger, although less so than in Khorezm. The designation written in one’s passport is highly significant and has normative powers, but it is still not sufficient. Some people, in fact, are not even certain of their official nationality. I suppose I am Uzbek but I would have to check my passport to tell you for sure. (Rustam, 48-year-old man from Shukurmergen) As in Bukhara, many Tajiks register as Uzbeks, usually for more or less opportunistic reasons. However, these people identify themselves nevertheless as Tajiks – at least in situations where it does not put them at a disadvantage (for example, when in conversation with a German anthropologist). Nowadays, to be a Tajik from the Ferghana Valley may often provoke suspicion, not so much in the local setting but when one travels to Tashkent or other places. Some Tajiks for this reason re-registered as Uzbeks in the wake of independence and growing tensions in the early 1990s. It would be good not to write anything in your passport, like you do it in Germany. These days it is very difficult for us to go to Moscow or Tashkent, or any other place, when we have written Tajik in our passports.

180   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Every guard along the way to Tashkent will stop us and ask why we are going there. They are always suspicious of us because of the war and all the terrorists who come from Tajikistan. (Farhod, 44-year-old man from Sho’rqaqir) The results of cognitive tests conducted in Marhamat were very similar to those in Chilongu but differed more according to the background of the respective informant. Again, most informants agreed that Uzbeks and Tajiks were the two groups closest to one another. Two out of four (one of them a Tajik and one of them a Turk), however, paired Uzbeks and Uyghurs against Tajiks, with the implication that the former two are variations of the same kind. Others were more ambiguous about the category Uyghur and did not see them as particularly close to other Central Asian groups (see tables 4.2 and 4.4, lines 9 and 14). The category Turk was in most cases associated as being local and thus considered to be closer to Uzbeks and Tajiks than, for example, Kyrgyz or Kazaks (tables 4.4 to 4.6, lines 2 and 22). The same informants also had some hesitation to see Kazaks or Tatars as being particularly close and would rather see them as intermediate towards Russians, the latter more than the former (see tables 4.4 and 4.5, lines 16, 17 and 21). Other informants had a more linguistic taking on that. This is true for the Kyrgyz Rahmon (table 4.8) and the Turk Shomurod (table 4.7). Both put Tajiks as more distinct from Uzbeks than Turks or Kyrgyz respectively. They would also see Uyghurs and Kazaks as more clearly being part of a Central Asian community than the other informants. In line with this, Shomurod would also see a closer relationship between Tajiks on the one hand side and Jews on the other (table 4.7, lines 18 and 24). More ambiguous in the case of Rahmon were the Turks, apparently more understood as a non-local category, as a denomination for people from Turkey, and more distant even to the Tatars (table 5.8, lines 4, 5 and 6). Table 4.4.  Triad test conducted by Iqbol, 28-year-old woman from Rabot 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Uzbek Kazak Turk Tatar Uyghur Tajik Turk Tatar Uzbek Kyrgyz Turk Kazak

Tajik Turk Russian Uyghur Jewish Uyghur Tatar Turk Kazak Russian Uyghur Uzbek

Kyrgyz Tajik Uzbek Russian Kyrgyz Tatar Kyrgyz Jewish Uyghur Uyghur Jewish Tatar

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Kazak Uyghur Turk Kazak Tatar Jewish Uzbek Jewish Tajik Turk Uzbek Jewish

Jewish Kazak Russian Russian Russian Tajik Russian Uzbek Tatar Uzbek Uyghur Tajik

Kyrgyz Turk Tajik Kyrgyz Kazak Kazak Jewish Tatar Kyrgyz Kyrgyz Tajik Russian

Conflict Inevitable?   181 Table 4.5.  Triad test conducted by Gulnora, 47-year-old woman from Shukurmergen 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Uzbek Kazak Turk Tatar Uyghur Tajik Turk Tatar Uzbek Kyrgyz Turk Kazak

Tajik Turk Russian Uygur Jewish Uyghur Tatar Turk Kazak Russian Uyghur Uzbek

Kyrgyz Tajik Uzbek Russian Kyrgyz Tatar Kyrgyz Jewish Uyghur Uyghur Jewish Tatar

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Kazak Uyghur Turk Kazak Tatar Jewish Uzbek Jewish Tajik Turk Uzbek Jewish

Jewish Kazak Russian Russian Russian Tajik Russian Uzbek Tatar Uzbek Uyghur Tajik

Kyrgyz Turk Tajik Kyrgyz Kazak Kazak Jewish Tatar Kyrgyz Kyrgyz Tajik Russian

Table 4.6.  Triad test conducted by Asror, 37-year-old man from Sho’rqaqir 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Uzbek Kazak Turk Tatar Uyghur Tajik Turk Tatar Uzbek Kyrgyz Turk Kazak

Tajik Turk Russian Uyghur Jewish Uyghur Tatar Turk Kazak Russian Uyghur Uzbek

Kyrgyz Tajik Uzbek Russian Kyrgyz Tatar Kyrgyz Jewish Uyghur Uyghur Jewish Tatar

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Kazak Uyghur Turk Kazak Tatar Jewish Uzbek Jewish Tajik Turk Uzbek Jewish

Jewish Kazak Russian Russian Russian Tajik Russian Uzbek Tatar Uzbek Uyghur Tajik

Kyrgyz Turk Tajik Kyrgyz Kazak Kazak Jewish Tatar Kyrgyz Kyrgyz Tajik Russian

Table 4.7.  Triad test conducted by Shohmurod, 41-year-old man from Yuqori Rabot 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Uzbek Kazak Turk Tatar Uyghur Tajik Turk Tatar Uzbek Kyrgyz Turk Kazak

Tajik Turk Russian Uygur Jewish Uyghur Tatar Turk Kazak Russian Uyghur Uzbek

Kyrgyz Tajik Uzbek Russian Kyrgyz Tatar Kyrgyz Jewish Uyghur Uyghur Jewish Tatar

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Kazak Uyghur Turk Kazak Tatar Jewish Uzbek Jewish Tajik Turk Uzbek Jewish

Jewish Kazak Russian Russian Russian Tajik Russian Uzbek Tatar Uzbek Uyghur Tajik

Kyrgyz Turk Tajik Kyrgyz Kazak Kazak Jewish Tatar Kyrgyz Kyrgyz Tajik Russian

182   Variations on Uzbek Identity Table 4.8.  Triad test conducted by Rahmon, 62-year-old man from To’lga 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Kyrgyz Tajik Russian Turk Kazak Uyghur Russian Turk Kyrgyz Afghan Russian Tajik

Uyghur Russian Uzbek Kazak Tatar Kazak Turk Russian Tajik Uzbek Kazak Kyrgyz

Afghan Uyghur Kyrgyz Uzbek Turk Turk Afghan Tatar Kazak Kazak Tatar Turk

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Tajik Kazak Russian Tajik Turk Tatar Kyrgyz Tatar Uyghur Russian Kyrgyz Tajik

Tatar Tatar Uzbek Uzbek Uzbek Uygur Uzbek Kyrgyz Turk Kyrgyz Kazak Uyghur

Afghan Russian Uyghur Afghan Tajik Tajik Tatar Afghan Afghan Afghan Uyghur Uzbek

The pile sorts conducted equally showed more diverse results than in other settings. On the extreme was Rahmon, who this time refused to make any more piles than two, one for Muslims and one for non-Muslims. This affected a corresponding distinction between Central Asian and European Gypsies, Luli and Tsigany, according to their religion (figure 4.7). Gulnora came to a categorization very similar to the ones in Bukhara and thus fundamentally a territorial one. It had all Central Asian groups joined in one core (including even Turks and Turkmens) with an adjunct group made up of Uyghurs and Tatars. Everyone else was lumped into a few larger regional categories as European, Middle Eastern or Caucasian that seemed to ignore religious and linguistic closeness (figure 4.5). In contrast, Shomurod applied a much more linguistic schema, albeit with some misfits. Starting from a Turkic group, internally divided according to phonetic distinctions, this was opposed to an Iranian, a Slavic and even a Semitic group. He apparently believed Armenian and Georgian to be related languages and the Chechens to speak a kind of Turkic tongue (figure 4.6). These findings imply that a Turkic unity has more meaning in this context than in Bukhara but is still not capable of replacing the Uzbek-Tajik amalgamation, which forms the most fundamental unit. At the next level would again be the category of Central Asian, or those groups locally known. Being Muslim is not sufficient to combine people into the same category. Islam is usually mentioned as a prime characteristic of Central Asian unity, but never as an argument to include groups such as the Chechens or Meskhetian Turks. As in Bukhara, the fundamental principle in categorizing groups and individuals is therefore a territorial one, albeit one mixed with genealogical or linguistic aspects.

Conflict Inevitable?   183

Figure 4.5.  Pile sorting conducted by Gulnora, 47-year-old woman from Shukurmergen (created by Ivana Lakic)

184   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Figure 4.6.  Pile sorting conducted by Shohmurod, 41-year-old man from Yuqori Rabot (created by Ivana Lakic)

Conflict Inevitable?   185

Figure 4.7.  Pile sorting conducted by Rahmon, 62-year-old man from To’lga (created by Ivana Lakic)

186   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Local and Regional Identity The described sharper social differences and stratification result also in less cohesion within the village community. This is not to say that no identification with the place one lives in takes place, but it does not translate into many collective activities. Local configurations are more embedded into the formal structure of the mahalla, as was discussed earlier in connection with the conduct of wedding parties. At first glance, village life seems livelier than in Bukhara or Khorezm. There are teahouses (choyxona) in many of the larger settlements, and men sometimes go there to entertain guests – something quite rare in Bukhara. Other public spaces develop around the market square or small private shops where people gather in the evening. This may be explained in part by a greater mobility, made possible by the restructuring of settlement patterns during the Soviet era. As a result, clusters of villages have grown together, and in combination with a developed infrastructure have made mutual visits and extended interaction easier. In a way, the whole tuman of Marhamat has merged into one large settlement of 75,000 people and is in many ways perceived as a single entity. The same is more or less true for the neighbouring regions as well. Andijon is certainly perceived as culturally superior to the other two provinces in the Uzbekistan part of the valley, but this is a distinction of degree, not of kind. Neighbouring Ferghana, at least in the eyes of Marhamats, is second to Andijon, while the people in Namangan are viewed as less sophisticated and more inclined to religious fundamentalism. In fact, the province believed to be closest to Andijon in terms of language and culture is Osh in Kyrgyzstan, as a traditional centre of the region, although this image has apparently suffered since the tightening of the borders after independence. Rather than stressing internal differences, the vodiy is perceived as one larger unit, which includes not only the local Uzbeks (of different kinds) and Tajiks, but also is open to the Kyrgyz. In the case of the Ferghana Valley, and the province of Andijon in particular, this is tied to a strong feeling of a distinct identity if not superiority, based both on cultural attitudes such as religious piety and closeness to the literary language and on the superior economic performance of the three provinces – and again Andijon in particular – judged by the fulfilment of state delivery quotas. People from the vodiy are believed to be more intelligent and better educated than in other parts of the country. The further west one goes within Uzbekistan, the lower the cultural standards are believed to become. In particular, Bukhara, Khorezm and Karakalpakstan are conceptualized as places of less advanced civilization (‘madaniyati past’). Equally, people entertain mixed feelings towards Tajikistan. Even local Tajiks try to distance themselves from it, although this may be for opportunistic reasons, since a commitment to the neighbour state is not appreciated in contemporary Uzbekistan. Most Tajiks, nonetheless, felt strongly attached to where they live, and this feeling is reinforced by the negative images currently associated with Tajikistan.13

Conflict Inevitable?   187

Therefore, ethnicity does matter more here than in Bukhara, but it is still embedded in a prevailing idea of locality. The use of the term vodiy reflects this strong feeling of unity among the three provinces. At the same time, it shows aspects of a dyadic opposition within Uzbekistan, between the vodiy and the rest of the country. This divide is reinforced by the image that the Ferghana Valley has developed in recent years, both inside and outside of Uzbekistan. It evokes feelings of admiration, in particular for the more rigid observation of religious prescriptions, as well as a sense of fear and opposition on the part of Uzbeks elsewhere. This conflicts with the idea of the vodiy as a bastion of Uzbekness, which is equally strong throughout the country. ‘We are the purest Uzbeks’ is a phrase that can be equally employed by local Tajiks and Kyrgyz, and one accepted by many Uzbeks from other parts of the country. Similar to Xo‘jayli, the existence of a national border has had a tremendous impact both on the economic situation and on the perception of ethnic boundaries. While Uzbeks in Osh in principle speak the same dialect and the city is presented as the second cultural centre in the region, the fact that it belongs to a different state has begun to change the situation. After all, there must be a difference in the way of life because those people live in Kyrgyzstan. All citizens of the other state are frequently referred to as Kyrgyz, regardless of their ethnicity. The fact that this separation took place merely twenty years ago does not seem to matter very much. Acceptance of Uzbekistan and its current politics in Marhamat is less unanimous than in other settings. During the period of fieldwork, a majority still expressed satisfaction with the way the president handles the country and a firm belief that in the coming years the situation will stabilize. Although criticism is much more common and overt than in Bukhara or Qashqadaryo, partly because the contrast with Kyrgyzstan cannot be ignored, many still advocate the gloriousness and prosperity of ‘our Uzbekistan’. This is true also for local Tajiks and Kyrgyz. The latter were a particular case in point. Although intermarriage with families in Kyrgyzstan is significant and everyone has relatives on the other side of the border, identification with the other state seemed close to non-existent. One element of this can be attributed to the lack of familiarity with what is usually considered traditional Kyrgyz culture, for example yurts or qimiz, which many younger people have never heard of. Apparently, the long and intensive indoctrination of the cultural superiority of Uzbekness, which had also been promoted during the Soviet era, has had a lasting impact even on the perception of the local Kyrgyz. Concerning the difference between the two states, one phrase was often repeated. ‘In Kyrgyzstan people are rich and the state is poor, in Uzbekistan people are poor but the state is rich’ (see also Megoran 2002). On the positive side, all citizens of Kyrgyzstan received land – and due to the environmental and demographic situation much more land than people in Uzbekistan would ever receive

188   Variations on Uzbek Identity

if there were some kind of privatization. On the other hand, the neighbours are criticized for carelessness. In Kyrgyzstan, a person may be freer to do as he or she likes, but the streets and public buildings have fallen into a state of decay, or so is the general perception among those in Uzbekistan. Look at that. All the streets are ruined, public buildings are falling apart. There is no state control in Kyrgyzstan. For money you can do everything there. Well, they have received land from the government there, but what about the new factories and colleges that are founded everywhere in Uzbekistan? Here, there is development. First, it is Tashkent, now it is beginning to reach the viloyat [in this case referring not to the province as such but to its administrative centre], and then it will come to the villages. (Sayd, 52-year-old man from Rabot) In spite of the pride in one’s own state, most people clearly consider the establishment of the border as very disruptive. Further, the implementation of stricter controls has complicated border crossings, and thus for many families has interfered in the maintenance of kin relations, although it is not as big an obstacle as in Xo‘jayli. Residents of districts along the border have the right to enter Kyrgyzstan without a visa and to stay for up to three days without paying a fee. Otherwise, people use an unguarded spot or they pay a small bribe to the border guards (Sancak 2012).14 By 2004, critical attitudes had sharpened decisively. As more and more people took up work in Kyrgyzstan, the shortcomings on the Uzbek side of the border became difficult to deny. When both became independent states back in 1991, they told us ‘forget about Kyrgyzstan; Kyrgyzstan is dead’ [‘Qirg’izstan o’ldi’]. There is nothing. And now look at that? Our women go to work there, while here we have nothing. Of course life is better there. It is way ahead! (Sayd, 52year-old man from Rabot)

Transmission and Change of Identity Ideas about how people become members of one group rather than another are similar to but not identical with the ideas prevalent in Bukhara. As mentioned, it is very common for Tajiks and Kyrgyz to switch their language but it is much less common for Uzbeks. More important, knowledge of Tajik is not – as had been the case in Bukhara – considered in any way a condition for full membership in the local community, or as a sign of cultural sophistication. It does not hurt to speak Tajik, but it does not provide any particular advantage socially. To be a mainstream member of the local community, it is sufficient to speak Uzbek.

Conflict Inevitable?   189

On the other hand, one can be a Tajik in Marhamat without speaking the language, a situation that would not make much sense in Bukhara. In other words, the idea of genealogical transmission is more important here. This may be due to the fact that mixed marriages are less common and the idea of patrilineal descent is somewhat stronger. All else being equal, the most frequently heard position is that children should assume the ethnicity of their fathers, no matter which language is spoken at home. In Soviet times, officially one could decide in favour of either parent, but now public opinion clearly favours the male line. As in Bukhara, however, being a Tajik doesn’t stop one from also being an Uzbek in an ethnic sense. This is true also for the Kyrgyz, although in their case ethnic distinctiveness is more pronounced due to the perceived differences in physical features and culture. The idea that children necessarily adopt the ethnic identity of their parents is as alien as it is in Bukhara. It was clear for everyone that in the case of mixed marriages, it depends on the circumstances. When growing up in an Uzbek environment, by far the most likely scenario, the children would become Uzbeks, at least in a linguistic sense. The same could happen if both parents are Tajiks but the dominant language in the neighbourhood is Uzbek. In contrast to the generally held idea of paternity as the determinant for the identity of the next generation, in practise the influence of the larger village or mahalla community is much more important. A person growing up as an Uzbek will ultimately be an Uzbek culturally. This is not necessarily believed to contradict that the person may also be Tajik like the father. The question of becoming an Uzbek is not only, or perhaps not even primarily, about language, but rather about community. Children of Kyrgyz families (or mixed families where the father is Kyrgyz), on the other hand, will always be Kyrgyz, no matter which language they speak, because in this case the patrilineal influence is believed to be more significant. More complicated is the question of identity as transmitted in families where both parents are Uzbeks but of different types. In such a case, language obviously is not the criterion that will determine the identity of the child. In contrast to the Uzbek-Tajik (but in line with the Uzbek-Kyrgyz) opposition, cultural differences are more important in this context and even may vary within a single neighbourhood. If the houses of Turks are believed to be less properly maintained than Uzbek (or Tajik) ones, then this is not expected to change with the next generation. Therefore, the children of Uzbek-Turk marriages are expected to adopt the identity of their father (although it is, of course, the females who take care of the house). On the other hand, it is easier to switch in these cases because the separation between Uzbeks and Turks is not necessarily accepted, and sometimes its existence is even denied altogether. Fatima, a toza Uzbek who allowed both of her daughters to marry local Turks, argued that the sons-in-law they chose were culturally superior to the average Turk and in actuality closer to themselves.

190   Variations on Uzbek Identity

With respect to a more fundamental change of identity and affiliation, the processes taking place are very different from those in either Bukhara or Khorezm. In the Ferghana Valley, a change of language habits and identity is more or less a one-way street. Many Tajiks have started to speak Uzbek at home as well as in public. After marriage, Tajik girls almost always adapt their speech to that of their spouses, but even many male Tajiks in mixed families will do the same for the reasons already mentioned. Similar to the case of marriage, a change of residence or job may also involve a switch from Tajik to Uzbek, but not vice versa. Since villages are close together and transportation is relatively well developed, few people have to move if they start working in the district centre or another village. Commuting is much more common than in Bukhara and a new job does not necessarily involve a change of one’s primary social networks. As a consequence, any switch from one generation to the next is almost always from Tajik or Kyrgyz to Uzbek, and not easily reversible. The probability of the next generation marrying back into a dominant Tajik environment – the only chance to adopt this language – is very low. The possibility of children of mixed Uzbek-Kyrgyz parentage – if the father is Uzbek – adapting to a dominantly Kyrgyz environment is even less likely. The children may still think of themselves as Tajiks or Kyrgyz but will not speak a word of the language. More often than not, however, they will also be registered as Uzbek on their passport, which (as discussed elsewhere) develops its own normative power. A gradual shift of identities has thus begun, although it may take several generations to be completed, as the following example demonstrates. The family of Dilshod is Tajik. This was the native tongue of both his father and mother. Dilshod is the eldest of five brothers and has four sisters. His wife is an Uzbek from Jalolquduq, where very few Tajiks live. She therefore does not speak her husband’s native tongue and has limited understanding of it. At home, the couple only uses Uzbek and their four children do not understand Tajik properly. The two boys are still in high school, while both daughters have married Uzbeks. Dilshod firmly insists on his Tajikness and wants his children also to consider themselves Tajik. (When they were young he would give his children money if they declared to be Tajiks, as his wife recalled.) At the same time, he expressed a strong loyalty to the state of Uzbekistan (and little or none to Tajikistan). This may be attributed in part to his high social standing in Marhamat but also revealed a deeply held conviction. His children declared themselves to be Tajik, although they clearly had less of an emotional attachment to this category. Two of Dilshod’s brothers married Tajik women. One of them was the youngest son, who still lives with his parents. Although all four adults within the household are Tajik, they speak Uzbek with one another, and the children barely know the language of their parents and grandparents. Only Dilshod’s mother occasionally uses Tajik in conversation. The situation is similar in the families of the three other brothers, regardless of their wives’ ethnicity. Their children usually do

Conflict Inevitable?   191

not understand any Tajik. The four younger brothers all have identified themselves as Tajik in their passports; only Dilshod is registered as an Uzbek. His father arranged this to enable his eldest son to pursue a career in the state apparatus. The change of a village’s identity is both easier and more difficult than in Bukhara. The undisputed dominance of Uzbeks increases the pressure in mixed villages and especially within families. On the other hand, Kyrgyzness or Tajikness is not solely a matter of language but also of descent. People may keep an identity transmitted by their parents even if it is hardly apparent to outsiders. And the pressure of Uzbekization makes intermarriage with Uzbeks less desirable, and may explain why some villages and mahalla maintained a relatively monoethnic Tajik or Kyrgyz identity. Obviously, national politics have a major impact in this regard. Advantageous political and economic access is a clear incentive for adopting an Uzbek identity, even if this does not necessarily imply a complete abandoning of a parallel Tajik one. There are several members of the Marhamat elite with a known Tajik background, such as Dilshod, but they tend not to emphasize this in public and feel compelled to demonstrate their strong commitment to the state of Uzbekistan. In contrast to Bukhara, in the Ferghana Valley Uzbekization is a political issue and the subject of complaints. Tajik language education is very rare, and speaking Tajik in public is sometimes regarded with suspicion. Historically, the configuration of the valley in ecological and ethnic terms underlines the hypothesis proposed earlier. The region had been a stronghold of Iranian populations long into the medieval period, and some of these have survived until the present day, although we do not know the exact circumstances regarding when and why they switched from eastern to western dialects or if they are indeed the direct descendants of the former Soghdians. At the same time, the location and natural abundance of the valley allowed pastoral tribes, mostly Turkic-speaking, to settle in compact groups throughout the region. For lengthy periods in history, these tribes controlled the sedentary population and supplied the rulers with soldiers. Clearly, there must have been other interactions between nomads and agriculturalists, and in this respect, belonging to an intermediate social category such as that of the (proto-)Uzbeks was certainly advantageous. Although there are no definite examples of villages that have changed language and identity in recent decades, the overall direction of the process is beyond doubt. Many neighbourhoods within settlements such as Rabot and Sho’rqaqir apparently were completely Tajik only a generation or two ago. Today, although many Tajiks still live there, they do not use their mother tongue anymore, at least not in public. Young Tajik brides, when marrying into Uzbek families, will first undergo a process of Uzbekization, as was explained by several informants. It was also mentioned that in the past, Uzbeks could understand Tajik, but that is rarely the case today. First, this indicates a lack of necessity, because the larger social world has turned increasingly Uzbek, and second, it illustrates a national

192   Variations on Uzbek Identity

policy that devalues the usage of minority languages in general and Tajik in particular, especially in sensitive border areas. Cognitive schemas regarding one’s own and other ethnic groups remain distant from a primordial conceptualization, as boundaries are perceived as porous. But it is not as irrelevant as it appeared to be in Bukhara. The association with a particular group implies a commitment that cannot simply be discarded on a whim or for short-term benefit. The influence of the state of Uzbekistan is ubiquitous and much more prevalent than in Bukhara due to the government’s paranoia regarding Islam. Because the government suspects the valley in general of being more prone to fundamentalism and ethnic unrest – and for which it reproaches Tajikistan – a Tajik identity is even further discouraged and devalued. The advantage of being an Uzbek is thus particularly prominent in the Ferghana Valley. In addition to the numerical superiority of Uzbeks, there is the perception that the valley is home to the purest form of Uzbekness. This in turn decreases the value of being Tajik or bilingual. Of similar importance is the existence of numerous categories of Uzbek, some of which may be relatively more removed from a connection with Tajik. In this context, mainstream Uzbekness (or Sartness for that matter) can still provide structural advantages as an intermediate category between various Turkic groups and Tajiks as well as being in some way the outcome of this encounter.

Notes   1. A Kazak historian believes that many of the groups, which migrated into the valley during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, were in fact of Kazak origin (Beisembiev 2000).   2. During the national delimitation process, three enclaves attached to Uzbekistan were created in the Ferghana Valley, two surrounded by territory belonging to Kyrgyzstan, one to Tajikistan (see map 4.1). In Soviet times, the enclave of Shohimardon in particular gained popularity as a tourist destination. Today, however, all of these areas are difficult to reach (Megoran 2002; Reeves 2007).   3. The Ferghana Valley had one of the largest populations of Meskhetian Turks in Central Asia, but most of them were evacuated after the bloody clashes in 1989.   4. In ethnographic literature, kinship structures among the Kyrgyz are described as being very similar to those of the Kazaks (see chapter 3). The main difference between the two systems is believed to have been the lack of a distinct hereditary aristocratic elite in the case of the Kyrgyz (Abramzon 1971; Krader 1963; Gullette 2010; Jacquesson 2011).   5. According to Gubayeva (1991: 52ff.) mixed marriages were generally rare in the Ferghana Valley until the beginning of the twentieth century.   6. By 2012, also in the Ferghana Valley, the privatization or ‘fermerization’ had been more or less completed albeit within an ongoing system of planned economy.   7. Almost all cotton growing is now done by using plastic sheets that allow plants to mature a few weeks earlier. However, people complained about the physical hardships connected with this technique (Sancak 2012).   8. There are also several villages with the name Qashghar in the Ferghana Valley, although none in Marhamat tumani.

Conflict Inevitable?   193   9. For a general discussion of groups called Turk in Uzbekistan, see Karmysheva (1960b). 10. According to Gubayeva (1991), the majority of Turks in the Ferghana Valley belonged to the Barlas and Kaltat, but this may have already been due to an ambiguous interpretation of the concept of a tribe. 11. During the 1990s, some of the Turks in Kyrgyzstan tried to be officially recognized as a distinct nationality (Koichiev 2003). 12. Another group in the Ferghana Valley are the Khoja. In the past, they played an important political role and are sometimes referred to as a kind of hereditary aristocracy (‘oq suyak’). I did not encounter any of them during my research in Marhamat and assume that there are very few; according to Gubayeva (1991), they were primarily an urban population. 13. Schoeberlein (2001) believes that there might be a basis for the development (or re-development) of a stronger FANOL (Ferghana-Andijon-Namangan-Osh-Leninabad) identity across the borders, because local politicians may detect they have more in common with each other than with their respective national governments. I have not come across anyone expressing such an attitude, which of course would be a very dangerous thing to do in contemporary Uzbekistan. 14. At the time of fieldwork, there were six checkpoints in the territory of Marhamat. They were all exclusively for the citizens of the two states in question and thus off limits to me during my fieldwork. Each of them could be crossed only on foot, so they were mainly used by people who work in nearby fields. There were two checkpoints for motorized vehicles in Andijon province in 2002 (one leading to Osh, the other to Jalalabad). Similar numbers of checkpoints existed in the provinces of Ferghana and Namangan. All of them reportedly closed after the incidents in Andijon and are now operating on an irregular basis.

Chapter 5

Birthplace of a National Hero The Oasis of Shahrisabz The Regional Setting The final research site for this book is the oasis of Shahrisabz and its hinterland in the northeast of Qashqadaryo province. Due to its upstream location along the eponymous river, the area is sometimes also referred to as Upper Qashqadaryo, or ‘yuqori Qashqadaryo’ (Karmysheva 1960a; Jurayev 1969; Kubakov 1972, 1977). This region has rarely been a major player in the history of Central Asia, although its date of permanent settlement goes back a long time. Architectural reminders of the past, however, are few, and for most of its history the oasis was inferior in prestige and power to neighbouring Samarqand. It thrived for a short time in the late fourteenth century during the reign of Timur, who was born in a village near Shahrisabz, until he moved the capital to Samarqand. Of the four sites, this one is least dealt with in the literature. It also presented the most difficult research conditions, not so much due to the nature of its inhabitants or particularly sensitive socio-economic conditions, but rather to issues of national security. Qashqadaryo viloyati shares a border with both Turkmenistan and Tajikistan; the latter in particular is a focus of attention because the mountainous region allows potential infiltrators to avoid detection by surveillance. During the years when the research was conducted, allegations of Islamist terrorists entering Uzbekistan through these mountain passes were frequent, heightening fears among local authorities about the presence of foreigners in rural areas. In contrast to other sites, therefore, the research did not concentrate as much on a single village cluster or sel’soviet, as it proved difficult to stay in one place for long. It was, however, possible to visit several communities, each for a few days, and to some degree this turned out to be an advantage due to marked interregional differences, which proved to be more significant than in any other setting. The decision to include Shahrisabz in this study was based on the unique composition of ethnic and social groups that distinguishes it from the other three sites. The region today is distinctly Turkic, which makes it similar to Khorezm and the Ferghana Valley, but the Uzbeks here differentiate themselves in a very peculiar way through both linguistic and cultural markers. Primarily, this is a distinction of formerly nomadic or semi-nomadic Qipchaq speakers and long-

Birthplace of a National Hero   195

sedentary Qarluq speakers, although when looked at in detail, things are more complex. Tajik is still the second language, but its speakers are marginalized, socially as well as geographically. The penetration of Turkic groups occurred in the same approximate historical period as it did in Bukhara, but in a more profound manner. Due to favourable environmental conditions, pastoral nomads, as in the Ferghana Valley, could maintain their way of life, while at the same time keeping a close eye on the conquered sedentary population. Close to the centres of cultivation and trade were sufficient grazing grounds for the herds of horses necessary to maintain power. In contrast to Bukhara and Khorezm, this did not allow sharp distinctions between pastoralists and sedentaries to survive for long. Therefore, interpenetration began at an earlier stage, although it did not lead to the total disappearance of the tribal realm, as will be discussed below. In successive waves, nomadic invaders replaced each other, introducing new elements into this constantly changing mélange. Over time, these tribes interacted more intensively with the local Iranian population, and began to assimilate linguistically. Later Turkic arrivals thus encountered an already mixed population, in relation to which they established themselves often as a new super-stratum. The topography is remarkably different from the one described for the other settings. Upper Qashqadaryo is not a clearly bounded oasis encircled by deserts (as is the case with Bukhara and Khorezm) or by mountains (as with the Ferghana Valley). Rather, it is composed of different types of landscapes gradually merging into one another. Agriculture is centred around the cities of Shahrisabz, Kitob, Yakkabog’ and Chiroqchi, located at altitudes of about five hundred metres. The extensive agricultural fields and relatively lush steppes surrounding these cities become less fertile as one moves away from the centre. In contrast to the other three sites, the transition between steppes and sown has never been rigid and can shift depending on the annual precipitation. To the south and west, the plateau gradually descends into the lowland semi-deserts of the Qarshi oasis. To the north and east, it is surrounded by mountains interspersed with hills and green valleys used as pastures. The highest peak in the north only reaches 2,600 metres, but further to the east some exceed 4,000 metres (see map 5.1). Rivers are numerous, although most are small and sensitive to seasonal fluctuation. The only larger river is the one that gave its name to the viloyat. The Qashqadaryo originates in the Hissar Mountains and then flows through the province from the northeast to the southwest. Similar to the Zarafshon, it does not reach the Amu-Darya, due to intensive demands for irrigation, and apparently has not done so for a long time (Olufsen 1911: 64; Frye 1996: 23). Most of the smaller rivers that come down from the mountains are tributaries of the Qashqadaryo. Water is thus less of a problem here, and in the last decades a number of medium-scale irrigation projects have been completed. As a consequence, many of the outer villages, which had previously subsisted primarily on cattle raising, have turned to agricultural production. This has changed not only

Map 5.1.  Upper Qashqadaryo

196   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Birthplace of a National Hero   197

the economic landscape of the region but also has had a profound impact on its ethnic configuration, as will be explained below. More than in any of the other sites, in Upper Qashqadaryo it is possible to refer to economic niches associated with specific social or ethnic groups. People in Upper Qashqadaryo praise the purity of its air and its waters. The lushness in spring and the mild temperatures – compared with other parts of the country – are highly appreciated. The climate on the whole is more moderate than in Bukhara. Summer temperatures are lower; winters are mild and typically have little snowfall. Precipitation is 200–300 millimetres annually, and in some years, even permits the non-irrigated cultivation of grain (UNEP 1999). The natural vegetation reveals the most striking difference in contrast to the other three sites. In spring, the whole landscape is a vibrant green, with sheep, cattle and horses grazing on natural pastures. To the visitor it can be an idyllic scene, particularly if one has travelled from the oases further west. Because of the higher altitude and lower temperatures even in the relatively hotter seasons, evaporation is also less. The quality of the soil is good at the oasis’s centre, but radiating away from the central regions the fields become more scattered, as fertility and water supply decreases. The natural environment thus provides the ideal setting for an agro-pastoral lifestyle. As is common across Uzbekistan, irrigated agriculture and trade both constitute vital economic pillars, but animal husbandry is of great significance as well. Due to the obsession with cotton production in Soviet times, livestock rearing lost some of its prominence, with cultivation extended into areas better left to pasture, and the beginnings of degradation in some areas can be observed. Still, due to the region’s proximity to water sources, the situation is much better than in Bukhara. Grain is of outstanding importance, especially in those areas that were utilized by pastoralists until the beginning of the twentieth century. In addition, fruit and grapes are grown. In some of the kolkhozes, livestock remains important, and pastoralists have ample opportunity to use the grazing lands around the central oasis. In contrast to Bukhara, this is not a desert or semidesert, and pastures in the foothills are relatively fertile. The eastern regions are very mountainous and many villages have a form of transhumant agro-pastoral economy. Cotton growing is of little relevance here, while fruits and potatoes are very important. One of the mountain municipalities even contains a kolkhoz specializing in the production of pomegranates.

An Ethnic History of Upper Qashqadaryo It should again be stressed that ecological conditions as such do not explain anything, yet they do set specific frameworks within which individuals and social groups act and organize their livelihoods. The respective topography or climate may encourage particular strategies over others and favour those that exhibit a

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corresponding way of economic and social structure. None of these, of course, is permanent and none of these is an absolute choice without alternatives. The history of permanent settlement in the region of Shahrisabz is very old. Several years ago, its 2,700th anniversary was celebrated – an earlier date than the official claims for Bukhara and Samarqand. Little is known about the population at that time that would provide any major insight for the purposes of this study. By all accounts, the situation was similar to that of other oases in the region. Close to Samarqand, the region was always somewhat in the shadow of its larger neighbour. The arrival of Iranian-speaking populations must have taken place during the same time period as for the rest of Transoxania. The region had close contacts both with the Soghdian centres along the Zarafshon and with the Bactrians further to the south. It was also a major location along the caravan routes towards India, which were not only of great economic importance but contributed to a flow of people and of religious ideas such as Buddhism, Nestorianism and Manichaeism. As with the other cites, it is certain that the region was conquered by the Achaemenidians and later by Alexander the Great. These events, as well as the following Graeco-Bactrian and Kushan Empires, seem to have had no great influence on the linguistic situation. When the various parts of Transoxania became vassals to the Türk Qaghanate, the majority of the population in Upper Qashqadaryo was still Soghdian speaking. During this period, the city of Kesh (also written as Kish or Kash), predecessor of both Kitob and Shahrisabz, was one of the major centres of Transoxania for some time.1 Built on the site of earlier settlements, it developed primarily in the period preceding the Arab conquest, becoming the major town in the Qashqadaryo Basin (Barthold [Spuler] 1997). As occurred in Transoxania and Khorezm, Upper Qashqadaryo was subject to the Arab governor in Khorasan during the early Islamic period. The major towns soon adopted the new religion, but in rural areas, the existing Zoroastrian beliefs survived, in some cases for centuries. In the eighth century, the region around Kesh became the centre of rebellions against Muslim rule in Transoxania. In particular, it was the centre of a movement led by Al-Muqanna, and some of his followers were able to hide in the surrounding mountains even after his death (Litvinsky et al. 1999). Their defeat, according to Bosworth (1986), signalled the final triumph of Islam in western Central Asia. In the following centuries, the region shared the fate of others in Transoxania and was ruled sequentially by the Samanids, Qarakhanids, Ghaznavids and Seljuks. During this time, the city of Kesh lost its prominent standing and became a rather insignificant player. Little mention is made of the region during the Mongol period, when it belonged to the domain of the Chagatayids (Bosworth 1986; Barthold [Spuler] 1997). Kesh, which had become known as Shahrisabz, reached its historical zenith for a brief period in the aftermath of Mongol rule. In 1336, Timur the Lame was born in one of the nearby villages. His tribe, the Barlas, had been part of the

Birthplace of a National Hero   199

Ulus Chagatay. Turkic speaking (although the name indicates a possible Mongol origin), they had been settling in the area for some time. Thus, in Kesh began the ascendancy of the man who aimed to rebuild the Mongol Empire. Very soon, however, the capital was transferred to nearby Samarqand (Manz 1989). Nevertheless, Timur and his successors treated the region with favour. Some architecture from this period has survived, including a gate of the famous Oq Saroy (‘White Palace’) of Timur, a major source of pride for the contemporary inhabitants of Shahrisabz (see figure 5.1; for a description of the palace see also Schuyler 1966: 213ff.). One important aspect of Timur and the Barlas that most likely proved decisive for the future ethnic composition of Upper Qashqadaryo was already outlined above. In contrast to other Turco-Mongol empires, Timur did not arrive as an invader but was already a part of the indigenous population. Although a division remained between the sedentary population and the tribal groups, the two shared a more evolved co-existence than had been the case with other steppe conquerors. Turkification was also more advanced than in Bukhara and Samarqand. The Timurids were thus to some degree a local dynasty and could claim a very different type of legitimacy than others had in the past. The fact that Timur did not try to incorporate other nomadic groups, so as to avoid endangering the achieved ethnic balance, probably helped to solidify this legitimacy (see chapter 1). With the establishment of the Shaybanid khanate in the sixteenth century, Shahrisabz again diminished in importance. In the following centuries, it was merely a regional centre that controlled the local peasant population. The Shaybanid invasion, however, proved essential for the future history of the region for a different reason – it brought with it the last numerically significant influx of

Figure 5.1.  The statue of Timur and the gate of Oq Saroy in Shahrisabz (Photo: P. Finke)

200   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Turkic nomads. Apparently, a large proportion of these tribes settled in Upper Qashqadaryo as well as in adjacent areas south of the Samarqand oasis, which exhibit similar landscapes and climate. These were Qipchaq speakers at a time when the dialect was not yet significantly differentiated from Kazak. Many of them continued to lead a semi-nomadic way of life right up to the twentieth century (Kubakov 1972; 1977). It is also possible that additional Qipchaq speakers, including groups of Kazaks, moved into the region from the northern steppes during later periods (Holzwarth 2005). They certainly interacted with the sedentary population in the centre of the oasis and presumably intermarried with them to some degree. Both groups, however, have retained distinct cultural and identity patterns up to the present day, as will be described below. The sedentary population by this period had been fundamentally Turkified, but used an eastern dialect as in the other Central Asian oases (Karmysheva 1960a). When the Uzbek khanate later divided into three polities, Shahrisabz and its hinterland remained with the Amirate of Bukhara. For most of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, however, it enjoyed a de facto independence, as the amir was rarely able to enforce his claims effectively. Real power was in the hands of representatives of the Keneges tribe, as several contemporary travellers confirm (Khanikoff 1845; Olufsen 1911; Wolff 1969).2 Shahrisabz thus became one of the main opponents of the amir in Bukhara (von Kügelgen 2002: 68ff.). In 1870, the city was conquered by the Russians and again assigned to the Amirate of Bukhara, although this continued to be a nominal rule (Bosworth 1986). In Soviet times, Shahrisabz was again reduced to a minor player. It did not succeed in gaining the status of a separate province, but was attached to Qash­ qadaryo oblast’ with Qarshi serving as the provincial capital. It has remained a district within this administrative unit ever since, although the northeast regions more or less lead a life of their own. Samarqand is a mere sixty-five kilometres to the north and a far more attractive place to visit than Qarshi, which is about twice as far away and not a very inspiring location in the middle of a semi-desert. In social and cultural terms as well, Samarqand is much closer than Qarshi. Due to the distances involved, the city of Shahrisabz also serves as a minor centre for the surrounding districts of Kitob, Chiroqchi, Qamashi and Yakkabog’. On the other hand, the decision to make Timur the national hero of Uzbekistan had a great impact on the region. The medieval warlord is more admired and idolized here than anywhere else. The only complaint people lodge against him is that he transferred the capital to Samarqand; had he not, they say, Shahrisabz would have become the ‘centre of the world’.

Groups and Boundaries: The Local Configuration The contemporary province of Qashqadaryo is very much an administrative prod­ uct of early Soviet times and does not correspond to any natural or historic unit.

Birthplace of a National Hero   201

It has a population of some two million inhabitants living in an area of 28,400 square kilometres. In terms of ecology and population composition, the southwestern districts around the centre of Qarshi resemble Bukhara and the neighbouring regions in Turkmenistan. In contrast, the northeast, comprising the tuman of Shahrisabz, Kitob, Chiroqchi, Yakkabog’ and Qamashi, is oriented primarily towards Samarqand and Tajikistan. The main road to Samarqand crosses the westernmost extension of the Hissar Range via the Taxtakaracha Pass at 1,788 metres, which is sometimes closed due to heavy winter snowfall. Further to the east, the mountains become the border with Tajikistan. Until the border was in effect closed in the early 1990s, many of the high-altitude villages on one side had extensive relations with settlements on the other. The largest settlements in Upper Qashqadaryo are the so-called twin cities of Shahrisabz, with a population of approximately 60,000 the second largest city in the viloyat, and Kitob, a city of around 35,000 inhabitants. On first impression, they compare favourably to Qarshi and other cities of the southern districts, giving an impression of modernity and prosperity. Both names refer to the climate and relative abundance of water in the region. Shahrisabz translates as ‘Green City’, while the meaning of Kitob – often mistaken as the Uzbek (or in fact Arab) word for ‘book’ – is explained by locals as deriving from ‘kift-e ob’, or ‘the origin of the water’, which makes perfect sense given its position along the river Qash­ qadaryo. The two tuman centres almost merge, and in the past often have been treated as one unit.3 Both have a similar ethnic composition and economic structure. The various rural communities, however, are far less homogeneous than the ones in Romitan or Marhamat. Differences occur not only in terms of ethnic composition but also with regard to terrain and economic specialization. The ethnic image of Qashqadaryo viloyati is pervasively Uzbek who officially form the majority of the population in all districts (see table 5.1). Tajiks and Turkmens are the largest minorities, especially along the eastern and southern outskirts that border on the respective neighbour states. In the northeastern part of the viloyat Uzbeks also account for the overwhelming majority, with Tajiks the largest minority, followed by Russians. Other minorities include Tatars, Meskhetian Turks, Ukrainians and Koreans. Scattered across the viloyat live smaller groups of Luli, or Central Asian Gypsies, but few of them are registered as such. As in Bukhara, these figures give an incomplete picture of the actual situation, but for very different reasons. In Upper Qashqadaryo, the Uzbeks as a group are divided into two very distinct categories and barely consider themselves as sharing the same ethnicity. This division is far more pronounced than the one between Qipchaq and Oghuz speakers in Khorezm and Karakalpakistan or between ‘chisto’ Uzbeks, Sart and Turks in the Ferghana Valley, although in this case there are not even proper names to distinguish the two. The dividing line here is both cultural and linguistic. On the one hand, the long-established sedentary population in the central parts of the oasis speak Qarluq dialects close to the lit-

202   Variations on Uzbek Identity Table 5.1.  Population of Qashqadaryo viloyati by ethnic group

Bahoriston Chiroqchi Dehqonobod G’uzor Kitob Koson Muborak Nishan Qamashi Qarshi Shahrisabz U. Yusupov Ulyanovsk Yakkabog’ c. Qarshi c. Kitob c. Koson c. Muborak c. Shahrisabz Total

Uzbeks 79,610 169,701 47,915 89,183 81,184 89,108 20,446 55,250 119,235 121,609 123,100 n.a. n.a. n.a. 109,732 29,413 37,950 9,625 51,995 1,235,056

Tajiks 9,929 170 22,501 5,769 13,917 415 725 1,389 2,296 1,204 12,656 n.a. n.a. n.a. 1,671 2,399 757 265 689 76,752

Turkmens Russians 194 43 293 77 91 42 781 131 66 12 149 2,985 43 13,949 177 29 321 101 1,571 70 259 n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. 388 24,075 28 465 14 720 1,285 3,212 48 1,851 19,202 34,268

Ukrainians 23 32 9 78 18 12 6 7 36 195 57 n.a. n.a. n.a. 2,782 82 94 387 192 4,010

Tatars 148 1,100 55 683 50 70 74 304 285 714 395 n.a. n.a. n.a. 9,915 828 569 1,586 2,508 19,284

Luli (Gypsies) 1 11 0 1,004 11 0 0 146 268 1,164 109 n.a. n.a. n.a. 1,995 5 82 0 6 4,802

Source: Aman (2000)

erary language. These Uzbeks emphatically consider themselves to be part of the national group and descendants of an age-old sedentary culture. In contrast, the former semi-nomads on the outer fringes still use a Qipchaq dialect. In popular speech, they are usually referred to as ‘joqchilar’ (‘those who say joq’) or ‘jilawchilar’ (‘those who use j’) after a consonant they pronounce decidedly different than other Uzbeks when in initial position. The latter correspondingly are called ‘yo‘kchilar’ (‘those who say yo‘k’).4 Because the joqchilar are not officially classified as a distinct ethnic group, their population is difficult to estimate. It may well be, however, that they make up close to half of all Uzbeks in the northeast districts. While their number is smaller than that of the yo‘kchilar in Shahrisabz and Kitob, they form the majority in the districts of Chiroqchi, Yakkabog’ and Qamashi.5 The joqchilar also form a significant segment of the population in the adjacent southern parts of Samarqand province, in particular in Urgut tumani. In the past, this formed a rather concise territory, and many people have kin and marriage relations with Urgut. Mountains form the border with Samarqand viloyati and the Panjakent region in Tajikistan, and it is here where the majority of Tajiks live. As outlined above, the region had an Iranian population for much of its history, although one

Birthplace of a National Hero   203

who spoke Soghdian and related dialects. As with the other research sites, it is very difficult to establish when these languages were replaced by western Iranian idioms. I have noted that during the early period of Islamization, Upper Qash­ qadaryo was one of the main centres of resistance, so we may assume that the Soghdian language survived here somewhat longer than in other settings. This may have been particularly true for the mountainous areas and may have contributed to contemporary peculiarities in language and identity. The majority of the population, particularly in the plains, however, was probably Tajik or Persian speaking since the establishment of the Samanid dynasty in the ninth century at the latest. Around this time, Iranian tongues were gradually superseded by Turkic ones, until they survived mainly in the remote mountain regions. Typically, populations on both sides of the border speak similar dialects and, until recently, exchanged brides. According to Karmysheva (1960a), a significant segment of the contemporary Tajik population of Upper Qashqadaryo is descended from later immigrants from Samarqand and Panjakent.

Spheres of Interaction Patterns of Settlement The main research in Upper Qashqadaryo was conducted in three sel’soviet in the north of Kitob tumani, namely Qaynarbuloq, Varganza and Makrid. Shorter visits were also paid to villages in Shahrisabz and Chiroqchi tumani. In 2002, each of the three municipalities had approximately fourteen thousand inhabitants. They also represent very different patterns of environmental conditions, economic specialization and ethnic composition. The first, Qaynarbuloq, is made up of three clusters. One is the central village of Urisqishloq (also called Rusqishloq), approximately ten kilometres north of Kitob city, and its surroundings. The name does not imply that at some point this place was inhabited by Russians, as Schuyler remarked (1966: 208), but according to local informants is a word that refers to the beginning of a climb into the mountains. Besides the central settlement, this cluster includes the villages of Temirchi, Xo‘ja, Durma, Holvod and Keldihayot. A second cluster is the mountain villages of Qaynarbuloq, Qangli, Qurilish, Yangi Qishloq, Jerali and Sawikbuloq. These are located another ten kilometres north along the road to Samarqand, shortly before it ascends the pass. The third cluster consists of the villages of Gulshan and Joviz, west of Urisqishloq (see map 5.2). In contrast to the settings in Romitan and Xo‘jayli, there exist mahalla in Shahrisabz and Kitob. Their meaning, however, is – or at least was during the time of fieldwork – very different from the one described in the literature. Only about half of the population are members of a mahalla. In the case of Qaynarbuloq, and apparently in most others as well, there is only one mahalla within a sel’soviet. This consists of the north and west sections of the municipality, namely

204   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Map 5.2.  Kitob tumani (compiled by P. Finke)

those that are some distance from Urisqishloq. The mahalla bears the name Qay­ nar after the village where the central office is located. This division also corresponds to the two former kolkhozes that the municipality contained. The upper one, Kishli, consists of the mountain villages around Qaynarbuloq, and the lower-lying Gulshan and Joviz. These two settings are identical with the mahalla of Qaynar. To go from one part of Kishli to the other, one has in fact to drive first through the village of Urisqishloq, which is both the centre of the sel’soviet and of the second shirkat xo‘jaligi with the name Shodmon Umorov. The villages that belong to this unit, however, do not form a mahalla. In other words, the mahalla institution is only for those villagers who are not part of the shirkat xo‘jaligi, in which the overall administration of the sel’soviet is also located. To make things even more complicated, the centre of Kishli is located in the lowland village of Gulshan, while the corresponding mahalla komiteti has its office in Qaynarbuloq. In economic terms, the lower-lying Shodmon Umorov is involved primarily in cotton and grain production, while Kishli has a mixed economy with livestock rearing and agriculture. The two other sites were the municipality of Makrid in the extreme west of the tuman, close to the border with Chiroqchi tumani, and Varganza in the eastern mountains. These two are marginal to the centre both geographically and socially. Similar to Qaynarbuloq, Makrid is divided into two kolkhozes (Navro’z and Zarafshon), and again, only the one outside the centre is simultaneously organized as a mahalla, which bears the name Ayo‘kchi. As is true of many municipalities in the region, Makrid was established only in 1967 after many of the

Birthplace of a National Hero   205

surrounding pastures had been turned over to grain production. The landscape in Makrid is similar to the steppe belt further west in Chiroqchi. Today, it is predominantly focused on cotton and grain, but animal husbandry is still of secondary importance in the local economy. Varganza is even more disadvantaged by its geography. Most of it consists of mountainous territory above 1,500 metres, and some of the villages are difficult to reach during winter when the roads are blocked with snow, sometimes for months. Due to its location near the border with Tajikistan, it was a particularly sensitive security area and authorities tried to prevent me (successfully) from a longer stay. This was also true for other mountain regions that I visited, such as G’ulom and Miraki, further southeast. The municipality of Varganza is located at a higher elevation in a single valley that stretches northeast towards the border. The lower-lying xo‘jalik near the central settlement, which gave its name to the whole community, is the one mentioned above that specializes in pomegranates. In the villages further uphill, agriculture is of limited significance, while transhumant livestock rearing is a major activity. This is also the case with other municipalities of similar ecology within Kitob and Shahrisabz tumani. Yo‘kchi Uzbeks form the majority in Shahrisabz and Kitob tumani. They dominate most of the lower-lying villages, like Urisqishloq, as well as the major cities, thus occupying the core of the oasis and the most fertile soils. The majority of the joqchi Uzbeks live in the steppe belt in the western areas, such as Makrid, Jilisoy and Beshterek. The environmental conditions here, to which animal husbandry is well adapted, are comparable to those in Chiroqchi and Qamashi tumani, which are, as mentioned, also predominantly joqchi territory. Some of the mountain villages, Qaynarbuloq for example, are also populated by joqchi Uzbeks. Most of the villages in the mountains, however, are dominated by Tajiks. Of the municipalities in Kitob tumani, two are Tajik, namely Varganza and Quyuqboy, both located in the northeast of the district. The same situation exists in Shahrisabz, where the municipalities of G’ulom and Miraki are mainly inhabited by Tajiks. Their location in the mountains makes them not only less accessible but also limits the possibilities for agriculture. At the same time, the effective distance poses restrictions on social contact with the central oasis. Several of the mountain villages experienced avalanches in recent decades and were partly destroyed. The authorities thereafter decided to move the population to locations further downhill. As a consequence, they came into immediate contact with Uzbek villages, which also facilitated assimilation. Some were teamed up into administrative and economic units with Uzbek (yo‘kchi and joqchi) villages that are geographically separated, as is the case with Makrid. It seems safe to say that these measures were not carried out solely for pragmatic reasons due to avalanche damage; they also served as a strategy to expose some of the younger Tajiks to the Uzbek language on a regular basis, which previously they did not speak well.

206   Variations on Uzbek Identity

The main research site, the sel’soviet of Qaynarbuloq, is ethnically mixed. The southern kolkhoz around the village of Urisqishloq is a dominantly yo‘kchi settlement. The northern kolkhoz, as explained above, is divided into two parts, the villages around the mahalla centre of Qaynar and those around the kolkhoz centre in Gulshan. The former are traditionally joqchi settlements, although the younger generations are becoming increasingly linguistically assimilated. Apparently, this used to be a village with a semi-nomadic population not too long ago. When Schuyler visited the region in the nineteenth century, Qaynarbuloq was inhabited only in winter. During summer, all families went to the mountain pastures to graze their herds (1966: 208). In Gulshan, yo‘kchi Uzbeks live together with Tajik families that were relocated after the avalanches. The village was originally founded upon the latter’s arrival; in later years, many yo‘kchi households moved in, although Tajiks still comprise about 60 per cent of the population. Makrid is primarily inhabited by joqchilar. Near its centre, however, the sel’soviet hosts a village of Tajiks. The village of Joviz (literally ‘walnut’) originally had been located in the mountains to the east of Kitob, until in the late 1940s, Stalin ordered its inhabitants moved to Tashkent to work in a rural sovkhoz. According to elder informants, they stayed there for more than twenty years until they were allowed to return (which not all of them did). This time, however, they were resettled in a small village built for them on the outskirts of Makrid. The latter had just recently become a municipality in its own right and was in need of labour force after the completion of the irrigation channels. Also, according to some of the Tajik elders, their children did not want to go back to the mountains because they were not accustomed to that life. Later, another group of forty Tajik families came here from Tashkent. Today, Joviz has a population of about a hundred households and has almost merged with Makrid. Its inhabitants still maintain intensive contact with those families that had remained in the mountains and many marriages take place between the two settlements. A few have also decided to move uphill again, but most remain in the lowlands where overall conditions are easier. The larger villages such as Urisqishloq are seldom monoethnic. They consist of an Uzbek majority (usually yo‘kchilar) and numerous other groups, including Tajiks, Russians and Meskhetian Turks. Sometimes neighbourhoods within these villages are primarily inhabited by one group. Similar to Bukhara, many villages have merged in recent years as a consequence of population growth. This is less the case for the mountain and steppe villages and thus affects Tajiks and joqchilar to a lesser degree. Many of the villages along the mountain fringes as well as those that mark the boundary towards the steppe show signs of being relatively new. Previous to this they were made up of separate hamlets spread over a larger area. The physical layout of dwellings in many of the outlying villages is very different from that in the central oasis, and more closely resembles the one in southern Samarqand viloyati. Houses are usually one large block, not arranged in a U-form

Birthplace of a National Hero   207

around a central courtyard, but rather encircled by gardens, similar to the arrangement in Khorezm (see figure 5.2). Because most of the Tajiks settle in the mountains, their villages have a decidedly different character. The houses as well as the gardens around them are smaller and often built on artificial terraces. The villages usually start in the valley of a minor stream and then climb up the hill. A similar type of settlement exists among some of the traditional joqchi settlements such as Qaynar. These may look quite attractive and idyllic, but life is certainly more convenient in the lowland villages with easier access and a regular supply of gas and electricity. Therefore, some downhill migration exists, although it has been rather modest thus far. If people leave their mountain villages, they usually take up residence in one of the towns. Most of the village and town names, such as Kitob and Shahrisabz, indicate an early settlement by Iranian speakers. Many others, however, refer to particular Uzbek tribes, for example, Qitay, Ming, Nayman, Qangli and Mughul. People were usually unaware of the meaning of these names and not able to trace a direct line. Qitay, for example, correlating with one of the major Uzbek tribes in the past, was explained as referring to a group of people with small eyes who had once passed through (qitoy is also the Uzbek term for Chinese or China). It may nevertheless be conjectured that at least part of the village population stems from members of these tribes that settled here in the past, although in other cases names continued to be used even after major population movements (Karmysheva 1960a). Other groups can rarely claim dominance in any one settlement. Russians, Tatars and Meskhetian Turks live mainly in the district centres. The only largely

Figure 5.2.  Settlement patterns in Upper Qashqadaryo (Photo: P. Finke)

208   Variations on Uzbek Identity

rural minority is the Luli, who have settled primarily in one small hamlet near Urisqishloq. Lulig’uzor, as it is locally referred to, also has a distinct cemetery, or a section of a cemetery, which serves for the larger Luli community in the Kitob and Shahrisabz region.6 The village itself did not show any marked difference to others. In fact, houses and gardens looked particularly neat, of which its inhabitants were obviously proud.

Language Use The linguistic situation in the Shahrisabz region is very different from the other field sites. Effectively, three languages are spoken; namely yo‘kchi Uzbek, joqchi Uzbek and Tajik. Of these, the first is clearly the dominant language. Tajik is very marginal today and only spoken in some of the more remote mountain villages. It was without doubt much more widespread in the past, but it was impossible to obtain a more precise date as to when the switch away from Tajik occurred in individual villages. It can therefore be assumed that in most cases this linguistic change happened in the not too near past. The towns of Shahrisabz and Kitob have been dominantly Turkic speaking – in some Qarluq variant – for a long time. The joq dialect is neither officially recognized nor locally perceived as a distinct language, not even as a dialect, but rather as substandard linguistic behaviour. This is clearly at odds with its factual distinctiveness, which by far exceeds that of the language spoken by the Turkmens in the Chandir villages of Bukhara, or the Turks in the Ferghana Valley. It does, however, create a third and separate category of people in opposition to the others. Bilingualism is therefore usually a one-way street. Most Tajiks understand and speak Uzbek, although in the mountain villages, especially among the elder generation, some do so only poorly. In these settlements, the first schools were often established only after the Second World War. Those who had to take up residence in the plains after the avalanches reported that it took them several years to become fluent in the national language, even if they had previously learned it at school. Very few Uzbeks are able to communicate in Tajik, and basically no one uses the joq dialect if it is not his or her native tongue. Other languages such as Russian are marginal, as was the case in the other settings. Most of the minorities, for example the Tatars and Meskhetian Turks, speak Uzbek as a secondary language to their own (or Russian). The only exception is the Luli, who use Tajik as their mother tongue and Uzbek as a second language. The state intervenes in this respect primarily by downplaying the distinctiveness of the joq dialect. As it is not an official idiom, it cannot serve as a language of instruction. The vast majority of schools teach in (yo‘kchi) Uzbek. In addition, there is at least one Russian school in each district centre. Apart from that, the only other language used in education is Tajik. Within Kitob tumani, there are several Tajik schools in Varganza and Quyuqboy, as well as one each in Qaynarbuloq and Makrid. The existence of a Tajik faculty at the nearby university in

Birthplace of a National Hero   209

Samarqand, which the graduates from local schools may attend, also increases the incentive to study in one’s native tongue. Such a degree, however, is of little help in finding a job afterwards. The linguistic situation is thus somewhat more fortunate to that in Romitan and Marhamat, although the number of schools in Tajik still does not correspond to the ethnic proportions. Even in a predominantly Tajik municipality such as Varganza, there are more schools where instruction is in Uzbek. Additional problems exist due to the lack of financial support and the strained political relations between the two countries. The Tajik school in Joviz, as of 2002, remained in the same ordinary house into which it had moved in the early 1990s. As in other settings, it lacked new textbooks in Tajik to accommodate the new curriculum. Books from Tajikistan, even if they had been up to the new standards, were not allowed to be used. Therefore, graduates were doubly disadvantaged, lacking proper knowledge of both the national language and their native tongue in its literary form. Some Tajik children nevertheless managed to study at the universities in Samarqand and Bukhara. These included, however, only boys. So far, not a single girl from the village has received a higher education because it is feared that they might ‘become spoiled' (‘buziladi’) in town. In most villages one language (or dialect) is clearly dominant. Most children therefore grow up without needing to switch between languages, or even to know more than one. This applies also to the yo‘k–joq distinction in Uzbek. Mixed marriages are no exception to this rule, as these households will in most cases opt for the language dominant in the village. Switching is thus not very frequent. Tajiks who work outside their village have to adopt Uzbek, but due to the isolation of their settlements this is not common. People who move to a different village usually change their language altogether. Thus, individual switching mainly occurs in one direction, namely towards yo‘kchi Uzbek. Some Uzbeks understand Tajik, and many others Russian, but they use this ability only occasionally and out of necessity. With speakers of the joq dialect the situation is slightly different. Most men are able to adapt their speech at least to some degree, although common understanding is that they will still be recognizable by their accent. Depending on the location of the village and individual variables such as profession or family history, mastery of the mainstream dialect varies. Women in the outlying villages usually have had less interaction with yo‘k speakers. All of them are fully able to understand, but many cannot speak, the literary language properly. Although this will not prevent communication, it can sometimes complicate it, as the dialects are mutually intelligible only to a certain degree. On the other hand, joqchi speakers usually claimed that they were unable to understand Kazak properly. This might in fact be true, although it is not clear how many of them would even have had the chance to try in recent years, as travelling is out of reach for most and there is, in this region, no reception of television broadcasts from Kazakstan, which (along with those of other Cen-

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tral Asian republics) are officially prohibited. Originally, the Qipchaq dialects of Uzbek were undoubtedly closer to Kazak than to those eastern Qarluq dialects that became the basis of the contemporary literary language. At least since the establishment of the latter, however, all other dialects have come under intense pressure to assimilate and have adopted many features of standard Uzbek reflecting a similar situation as the one in Xo‘jayli (see chapter 3). Particularly in terms of vocabulary, differences do not seem to run very deep. In the local understanding, there is no prestige associated with the mastery of Tajik, considered the language of a marginal and backward population. Still, a few intellectuals in the towns of Shahrisabz and Kitob expressed admiration at least for literary Tajik as the more beautiful language. The local dialect is said to be close to the one spoken in Samarqand and in the neighbouring regions of Tajikistan, which harbours another of the earliest cultural centres of the Iranian world, the city of Panjakent. The joq dialect not only lacks in prestige, but is viewed as highly negative. Native speakers often expressed shame about their ‘broken’ pronunciation of Uzbek. This greatly contributes to a strong tendency to give up the dialect. For probably the same reason, villages closer to Shahrisabz and Kitob also tried to distance their speech from the one used in more remote places such as Chiroqchi and Qamashi.

Kinship and Marriage Patterns of kinship systems are similar to the ones described at the other sites. Some clan or tribal designations have survived among both yo‘kchi and joqchi groups, but their meaning today is very limited (and may have been so for a long time). When asked, most younger people were unable to name their own uruq or that of anyone else in the village. Tajiks and Luli do not seem to have any clan structure. Kubakov, who studied the tribal groups in Upper Qashqadaryo in the 1950s and 1960s, includes as the major units the Saroy (or Saray), Qongrat, Manghit, Kuchi, Uz, Kishlik, Barlas, Musobozori, Qataghan and Keneges. These tribes commonly contained several thousand individuals. Most of them were in turn subdivided into smaller units at several levels. Some of the labels, in fact, reappear among several larger tribes, which points to repeated migration and reshuffling of groups. Locally, smaller groups were then often incorporated into larger ones as a subunit. There is, for example, a Nayman clan among the Qongrat division within the Saroy. At the same time, a clan called Nayman also exists within the Keneges, while Qongrat is also the name of a separate tribe (Kubakov 1977). In contrast to this, the Nayman are usually listed as one of the half-legendary ninety-two tribes that comprise the Uzbeks.7 Not all Uzbek tribes are or have been necessarily Qipchaq speakers. The Barlas, for example, speak a yo‘k dialect and probably did so as far back as the days of Timur. According to Kubakov (1972), this was the largest tribe in Upper

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Qashqadaryo in the 1960s.8 In contrast, Karmysheva (1960a) claims that the number of Barlas was in fact very small because they had been partly displaced by other tribes. Today, the meaning of Barlas is disputed. While it is still used as a name for a clan, it is also occasionally used to denote all yo‘k speakers in the area. A special case is the tribe of the Keneges, who ran local politics during most of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The name has survived to the present day, but its usage has become very ambiguous. Some use it as a synonym for descendants of the former and present elites. Some intellectuals have used it as a general denominator for all yo‘kchilar, to differentiate from the joqchilar, who were then labelled Qipchaq.9 In most cases, the dominant dialect spoken by any of these groups could not be established. This may be due to the fact that usually part of the tribe had already assimilated into a yo‘kchi environment or that, as Karmysheva (1960a) believes, they had already been mixed upon their arrival. In her view, processes of fission and fusion were particularly pronounced in this region. It remained equally unclear whether these labels designate clans or lineages in the classical anthropological sense. For many people, they are rather vaguely defined groups of people who have commonality without an explicit awareness of the type of relationship at stake. We used to have qabila and uruq, and these were important back then. One would only marry within one’s uruq. But they were forgotten during Soviet times. Or one should better say they were made to be forgotten at that time. Of course, one should know his seven ancestors, his avlod, that is his father, his grandfather, their children, and their siblings. (Haydar, 47-year-old man from Qaynarbuloq) With respect to marriage patterns, the situation in Qashqadaryo is again of a specific kind, more resembling the one in the Ferghana Valley. Cousin marriages are common among Tajiks and yo‘kchi, as this may help to keep the family together and, as some people say, make it easier to manage domestic debates internally so that ‘words do not move outside’ (‘gap chiqmaydi’ ). But as in the other settings, many have become critical of this, because of the alleged negative consequences on the health of the children. On TV they explain that one should not marry his kin because the children will be retarded or sick. So, for three years now we have not allowed people here in the mahalla to marry their cousins. But, of course, some do. (Pulot, 57-year-old mahalla elder in Urisqishloq) Locality is again a prime criterion for the choice of spouses. In the three municipalities of Qaynarbuloq, Makrid and Varganza, according to the statements of

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local officials, the vast majority of marriages were between couples from within the community. The number of ethnically mixed marriages is apparently far less than in Bukhara, partly because settlements are more homogeneous. It was not possible to collect any precise data on this, but marriages between Tajiks and Qarluq Uzbeks, who settled in the area before the Mongol period and have long since adopted a sedentary lifestyle, are regarded as appropriate. They do not often occur, due to the isolated situation of most of the remaining Tajik settlements, but they are not frowned upon. One can only assume that they were quite frequent in the past, when many of the lowland villages and parts of the urban population were still Tajik. Otherwise, Turkification could not have proceeded as smoothly as it seemingly did. In those villages further downhill, where Tajiks were resettled after the avalanches, mixed marriages were reported to be on the rise. This can also be attributed to the fact that the border with Tajikistan, where many brides had come from in the past, has been effectively closed in recent years, prompting the need for alternatives. In contrast to this, marriages between yo‘kchilar and joqchilar occur, but are not highly valued. The former view the latter as culturally backward and thus do not appreciate their daughters marrying into one of those communities. Marriages happen, however, due to the increasing interpenetration of urban and rural lifestyles, as well as the extension of infrastructure and central administration. They are much more common in the cities and in mixed villages where the distinction between the two is easily blurred, because joqchi Uzbeks usually adopt the dialect of the mainstream culture as a kind of upward mobility when they establish residence there. In purely joqchi settlements, there is still little intermarriage observable. In the past, there were no marriages with joqchilar. People did not like to give their daughters to them. Now it happens here in Makrid, although it is still not very common. But one still does not marry people from Chiroqchi, who are less civilized. (Baxtiyor, 52-year-old man from Urisqishloq) Marriages between joqchi and Tajiks seem even less common, which is partly due to the distance separating their settlements and the differences in economic and social patterns. The only place in which both live together in a single cluster is Makrid, where the main settlement has incorporated one of the new Tajik villages. According to statements by Tajiks and joqchi, intermarriages were still very rare. This was not accompanied by any derogatory comments, but generally life in the settlement resembled peaceful coexistence more than close integration. Bride-wealth is apparently one reason why interethnic marriages are avoided. While there was no such institution reported for the Tajiks, it exists among both types of Uzbeks. For yo‘kchi, a sum of ten thousand so’m was occasionally men-

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tioned, although there is probably a great deal of variation in this respect. ‘This can be very different. If you do not like the boy then you will ask more money so that he will not marry your daughter,’ said Alisher. I do not have any reliable data on the amount paid between families of joqchi background. As has been mentioned earlier in this study, differences in wedding ceremonies are a decisive marker for both ethnic and regional identity. Recently, local authorities, as was the case in the Ferghana Valley, have begun to interfere in the marriage festivities, trying to implement government policies. No ceremony is allowed to have more than two hundred guests; as the head of a mahalla komiteti explained, this is to help avoid public disturbances. For circumcision parties, however, more people are permitted, as these are celebrated during the day (and thus involve less drinking). More lavish feasts may include such events as horse races, but most people cannot afford this and only provide food and drinks for their guests. There are a couple of differences among joqchi on these occasions. One joqchi wedding I was able to attend took place during daytime outside in a large courtyard (with men seated on the left and woman on the right). The outdoor setting allows larger numbers of guests to be accommodated, who will also come from more distant villages. Kinship seemed to be more important than neighbourhood in this case. The courtyard was decorated with homemade carpets on all sides (see figure 5.3). One group said to be almost totally endogamous are the local Meskhetian Turks. This was confirmed by all. If a child were to insist firmly on marrying an outsider, then there would be nothing one could do, but it is certainly not ap-

Figure 5.3.  Male guests of a wedding party (Photo: P. Finke)

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preciated much and did not apply to any of the families visited. Due to the small size of the local community, marriage partners in the past were often exchanged with the Ferghana Valley. Since all Turks in the valley were evacuated after the riots in 1989, most spouses from outside now come from places such as Tashkent, Bukhara and Samarqand. Another group that is more or less excluded from marriage with others are the Luli.10 As a consequence of these marriage patterns, mixed families are less common than in other settings and largely confined to the cities and larger villages, where the majority are usually yo‘kchi Uzbeks. Here, marriages between members of different groups usually end in the adoption of a yo‘kchi idiom and identity by all members of the household. Even if they do not form the majority of the local population, this is a strong tendency, because being yo‘kchi is generally accepted as being culturally superior. Cultural patterns and ceremonial events therefore also come to resemble yo‘kchi traditions over time.

Economic Exchange and Social Networks To a significant degree, economic and social interactions here are based on a level of diversification not found in the other settings. As mentioned, Upper Qashqadaryo has long been characterized by a mixed economy. Pastoralism was dominant in the steppe belt around the inner oasis, as well as in the mountain villages. The latter were oriented primarily towards subsistence production, while in the fertile plains, cotton had been grown for a long time alongside grain and vegetables. The socialist period fundamentally changed the way of life in the region, as it did all over Uzbekistan. The cotton monopoly, however, has never been as exclusive here as in many other parts of Uzbekistan, due to somewhat less favourable soils and higher precipitation during summer and autumn. Livestock rearing and the cultivation of grain and vegetables have continued to be an important sector in the steppe and mountainous areas.11 In contemporary Uzbekistan, Upper Qashqadaryo is still politically and economically marginal. With the gradual transition from cotton to grain production, the latter has become the region’s prime product. Fruit and vegetables are also prominent, especially at higher altitude. A curiosity is the pomegranate shirkat xo‘jaligi referred to earlier, and several others specializing in apples, figs and grapes; another one visited was growing tobacco. In the mountains, livestock rearing is very important and often conducted in form of transhumance. The shirkat xo‘jaligi still own some livestock, although numbers have been drastically reduced and much has been transferred into private hands. In the steppe zone of Makrid and Chiroqchi, some households reportedly own up to fifty small stock, which in the present situation is a respectable figure. They are primarily kept for wool and meat, while only cows are milked in the region. Many families also own one or two donkeys, which are used for transport.

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The introduction of fermer arrangements had not proceeded as far as they had in Romitan by the time of fieldwork. Most xo‘jalik, including those specializing in fruit or potatoes, still operated according to plans handed down from above. On average, households in Upper Qashqadaryo appear somewhat more affluent than in other parts of the country. This may sometimes be misleading, due to the generally more appealing character of the landscape. In most respects, the situation is as poor as it is everywhere else, but the water supply, the green gardens and the frequent fresh breezes simply make it a more pleasant and attractive place to be. In fact, private plots in Kitob and Shahrisabz were the smallest of the four reference sites. During the period of fieldwork, the size assigned to new households dropped from eight to six sot, and often were not allotted at all because the kolkhozes did not want to forfeit any of their land. Additional income is earned by selling agricultural surpluses on the local markets. Some of the larger villages such as Makrid also have a weekly market that attracts traders and customers from the region. Recently, trans-regional trade became more important. Villages are now regularly visited by merchants from Khorezm, who exchange their rice for locally grown potatoes. Part of the harvest is also traded for money in the local market or in Samarqand. The mechanisms of the new market economy, however, take time to develop, and negative impacts are often accelerated by political factors. When prices for garlic rose in 2000, everyone decided to grow more of it the following year. The resulting abundant supply, combined with the 2001 closing of the border with Kazakstan, the major export destination, left a lot of growers without a market for their excess production. In many joqchi villages, carpets are woven both for domestic use and for sale in the markets. They are produced primarily in the tuman of Chiroqchi and Qamashi but also further south in G’uzor. Few households in Makrid still produce carpets, which are exchanged on the local market. Some traders also visit the villages to buy them directly from the producers. An average carpet sold for twenty thousand so’m in 2002, depending on size and quality. Because they are woven, they usually wear out in a couple of years, so there is no market for old or antique carpets as in Bukhara. In terms of ethnic stratification, yo‘kchi Uzbeks certainly have a more advantageous position, as they occupy the most fertile parts of the oasis. They also form a majority of the urban population and, as such, have easier access to markets and to political positions. I did not, however, observe a systematic and planned policy of putting either Tajiks or joqchi at a disadvantage. Minority rights as warranted by law exist, at least on paper. Each of the official groups, fifteen in total, has one ethnic representative (who is, like the village representative, called vakil ) to the district administration. As joqchi Uzbeks are not recognized as such, they are not represented. At least some of the higher officials that I met in Kitob, however,

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were joqchi, while few Tajiks seem to have made their way into the higher ranks of the administration.

Cultural Models of Closeness and Distinction Two Types of Uzbeks The distinctive character of Upper Qashqadaryo in terms of inter- and intraethnic relations has already been explored. As mentioned, many of its main features, such as the division into yo‘kchi and joqchi Uzbeks, with Tajiks as the third major group, are shared with the adjacent southern areas of Samarqand viloyati, in particular with the tuman of Urgut (Malikov 2002). The historical and environmental reasons for this have also been discussed. According to Karmysheva (1960a), the situation in Upper Qashqadaryo reflects the three ethnic strata that make up the Uzbeks, namely the non-tribal sedentary population, the earlier tribes, and those who came during the Shaybanid era (see chapter 1). According to her, until the early twentieth century, all sedentaries irrespective of their language were called Tajiks by the nomadic and semi-nomadic groups. The former also still used Chagatay as an ethnonym. The term Sart, on the other hand, was rarely used (Karmysheva 1960a). Today, however, the two first categories seem to have merged. What remains is the distinction between yo‘kchi and joqchi, which is clearly conceptualized as a physical one as well. Joqchilar are said to exhibit distinctive Mongolian features, which makes them not particularly attractive in the eyes of others. Often, this was referred to as ‘looking like Kazaks’. While there may be some truth to this, it is not always easy to positively categorize individuals. Culturally, many differences between the groups are listed as well. The joqchilar are described as less civilized, lazy and simple minded, as having ‘more muscles than brain’; for this reason, they can be found in great numbers in the military and the police. Some people also claimed that many of them had joined the ‘Wahhabi’ movement in Uzbekistan. This seems, however, at odds with their overall image, which is certainly not one of superior piety. They are mainly depicted as consuming meat and alcohol in large quantities and hardly touching any vegetables. Four of them, so the saying goes, can finish a sheep on their own,12 while simultaneously drinking several bottles of vodka each. At drinking parties, one is forced to down alcohol out of large bowls. You know, they have this saying. They put vodka into large bowls, the ones that you drink soup out of. They pour it into the bowl up to the top, where you see this line here, and say: this is the official borderline set by the state [‘davlatning chegarasi’]. You have to drink this all at once. If you don’t drink until you are knocked out, they don’t call it a feast. (Yulduz, 37-year-old woman from Urisqishloq)

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Patterns of social behaviour and speech are also depicted as crude and unsophisticated. Joqchilar are said to pay little attention to their dwellings and clothes, which are described as plain and unclean. Down there in the centre of Qamashi they have built a new school. Of course, after one year it is already rundown and filthy. I mean, it just doesn’t make any sense to give these people a nice and modern school because they don’t know how to use it and they don’t know how to appreciate it. They need to have a school there that is built for the desert. (Rashid, 32-year-old man from Kitob) Such descriptions are similar to those applied to Kazaks and Turkmens in the other settings. This is countered by depicting yo‘kchi Uzbeks as dishonest and hypocritical. Some joqchi intellectuals from Chiroqchi whom I met in Tashkent had a similar view about ‘mainstream Uzbeks’, who they see as incapable of creating a democratic society. Yo‘kchi, according to them, are cowardly and obedient. In the local context of Qashqadaryo, however, such views were clearly in the minority; on the contrary, the fundamental idea of yo‘kchi superiority was very widespread. All in all, the image of joqchilar reflects a general pattern in Central Asia concerning the former pastoralists and the way they are looked down upon by their sedentary neighbours. This partly correlates with a comparable self-image among the joqchi themselves. Many people in joqchi villages were not only ashamed about their manner of speech, but sometimes also about their perceived substandard cultural behaviour. Occasionally, this feeling of inferiority extended to physical appearance. However, to weaken the arguments against them, some stressed that geographical proximity to the oasis will begin to change this. For example, in the villages like Qaynarbuloq, only the elder generation still speak a joqchi dialect, while the younger ones use the literary language. Also, it has become a common saying that as a consequence of increasing intermarriage, joqchi started to look less Mongolian. Because Qaynarbuloq is the settlement closest to yo‘kchi villages and the town of Kitob, its inhabitants stressed the changes with regard to loss of the native dialect and physical distinctiveness, comparing themselves positively to a village such as Makrid, where joqchi dominance remained stronger. People in Makrid, in their turn, pointed to neighbouring Chiroqchi and Qamashi as the places where real joqchi still prevailed, while they themselves were on the road toward ‘civilization’. The village of Naymansaroy is a typical joqchi settlement at the border separating Shahrisabz and Chiroqchi tumani. The name refers to one of the most important tribal unions in the history of Central Asia. The Nayman had been one of the large confederations that settled in central and western Mongolia before the ascent to power of a certain Chingis Qan. The name is clearly Mongolian,

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Figure 5.4.  In the joqchi village of Qaynarbuloq (Photo: P. Finke)

meaning ‘eight’, although some scholars have proposed a Turkic origin of the group (Murayama 1959). It is believed that the Nayman also played an important role in the cultural history of the Mongol Empire. Their rulers had converted to Nestorian Christianity and may have been the first to adopt the Uyghur script, which was to become the prime medium of communication for the Mongols (Morgan 1986). In later centuries, many Nayman took part in the Mongolian conquests and, due to the pattern of tribal reshufflings initiated by Chingis Qan, were spread all over Central Asia and beyond. Today, clans or lineages with this name exist among Kazaks, Kyrgyz, Karakalpaks, Tatars, Bashkirs and others. Among the Kazaks, where they form a segment of the Orta Zhüz, they are one of the largest clans, if not the largest, numbering more than one million.13 People in Naymansaroy were apparently not aware of these connections. Some referred to the name of the village as a tribal designation, while others believed it to have originated from a person’s name. A total of eleven settlements in Upper Qashqadaryo with the same or a similar name were identified, which were said to stand in close relationship to one another. Most of those were located in the tuman of Chiroqchi, Yakkabog’ and Qamashi. There are, in fact, also villages with this name in adjacent districts of southern Samarqand viloyati, and the elders in Naymansaroy claimed that the latter had been the home of their ancestors (see also Malikov 2002). The common view was that if Naymans also existed among the Kazaks or Kyrgyz, they must be similar to those in Naymansaroy. A lively discussion ensued about the possibility of such a relationship, but none of the elders present during the interviews was able to name any concrete link and,

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in fact, apparently none of them had ever heard of or met a Kazak or Kyrgyz Nayman. It may be assumed that any tribal recollection was erased during the Soviet era, if not earlier, as may also be deduced from the limited genealogical knowledge that people possess today.14

Ethnic Clusters: Tajiks and Others In contrast, Tajiks are described as being closer to the yo‘kchi in terms of physical appearance as well as cultural behaviour, while nevertheless maintaining a much more distinct identity than in Romitan or Marhamat. Although considered backward because of their location in remote mountain villages, they nevertheless are closer than the joqchi to the mainstream cultural pattern, with Islam playing a major role. Tajiks are said to be more religious and to follow the prescriptions for praying and fasting, in fact more so than most yo‘kchi do (which still may not be saying much, compared with standards in other parts of the Muslim world). Tajiks also drink less and more often dress in traditional fashion. Gender relations are also described as more traditional, in that girls hardly ever go to university and are married at an earlier age. Because of the mountainous terrain, Tajiks also rely on a different type of economy, and one considered substandard, in which animal husbandry and garden cultivation have more importance than among the Uzbeks in the lowlands. Other groups are not accepted within the local community to the same degree. As mentioned, the Luli in Upper Qashqadaryo also use Tajik as their native tongue. In contrast to other groups of this name, the local community considers itself to be settled and no longer nomadic. They also did not want to be equated with groups bearing the name Tsigany, the Russian word for Gypsy. Tsigany were said to be very different and associated not only with a non-sedentary way of life but accused of stealing. Begging is still a major activity among the Luli, and ‘with us it is the women who work while we stay at home and take care of the kids, the house and the garden’, according to an old male member of the community. Healing and fortune telling are other sources of income. The Luli are strictly endogamous, but maintain extensive networks with co-ethnics all over the country.15 The Luli who were interviewed doubted a possible connection to India that some people have ascribed to them (see also Atakhanov and Asankanov 2003). They were also ambivalent as to whether they approved of such a link or considered it offensive. The walls in the house where the interview took place, however, were plastered with pictures of Indian movie stars. The community is clearly outside the main currents of the society, and few non-Luli have close relations with them. On the other hand, the Luli have made some attempts to adapt themselves to the world around them, although not all Uzbeks are eager to see them become more integrated into the mainstream culture. After all, they still behave quite differently. Frequently cited was the fact that women continue to

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go around begging for bread, verified by the great variety of homemade breads that were offered to us during the first interview. The Luli themselves must have realized that the many types of bread hinted at the way they had been acquired, because during the second interview, the bread offered had been bought from a shop. Drawing an equal level of suspicion and disapproval is the Luli’s aptitude for fortune telling. Just the other day, one of them came to our office and said, if you don’t give me five hundred so’m, you will die. What shall you do? We all gave them money, didn’t we? Or they tell you, if you don’t give me that carpet, something bad will happen to you. Well, you never know. So, you give it to them. (Ismoil, 46-year-old man from Urisqishloq) Russians, as elsewhere, stay apart, as do other Europeans. Few of them live outside the towns of Kitob and Shahrisabz. As non-Muslims they are not an integral part of the dominant local cultural pattern, although individuals will be accepted if they convert to Islam. Tatars are very few and have not been encountered during fieldwork. Some of them are Crimean Tatars, but most originate from the Volga region. Their local standing is apparently similar to their status in the other settings. They are again a predominantly urban segment and few individuals have moved to a village, usually due to marriage. The local Turks are difficult to incorporate into the overall societal framework, partly due to their recent arrival following their deportation from the Caucasus during the Second World War. They are Turkic speaking and Muslim, but nevertheless different from all the local groups and very reluctant to intermarry. This is demonstrated by a trend to give their children typical Turkish names, which are not used by other groups. As in other parts of Central Asia, many had registered as Azeri in the past to prevent discrimination. Economically, most of them are relatively well off and it is commonly held that they pay a great deal of attention to education. A commitment to hard work and solidarity within the group are other frequently mentioned characteristics. Many of them work as teachers, physicians and in other professional positions. Their houses and gardens give an impression of modest prosperity. In spite of the pronounced differentiations presented, a concept of common identity is nevertheless strongly developed. In this case, however, the common culture is defined by a core or mainstream element, the yo‘kchilar, which is supplemented by marginal elements such as the Tajiks. Together, this forms a comparatively cohesive whole that distinguishes itself from other regions. Within this whole, however, not everyone is equal. Similar to the Tajiks, groups such as the Luli and Meskhetian Turks have become to varying degrees part of this cultural pattern, with the yo‘kchi Uzbeks at its centre. Each of the groups is characterized by somewhat distinct behaviours

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that are accepted but also regarded as inferior. The more one acts like a yo‘kchi, the better. None of them, however, is fully successful in this respect. The primary variable in assigning individuals to particular groups is, once again, language. However, a Tajik or joqchi background persists, even after adopting standard Uzbek as one’s spoken language. This does not imply a highly primordial concept of ethnicity; rather, people are simply expected to assimilate into mainstream Uzbek culture and language at some point. In particular, the joqchi for the most part are not perceived as a distinct group, but as a substandard segment of a larger group. Nevertheless, during one’s own lifetime, one’s original affiliation typically will not change. This relative rigidity in terms of official ethnic categories is partly the result of the passport identity, which has been discussed elsewhere in this study. To a large degree, people are believed to be what is written as their natsionalnost’. In the case of the joqchilar, no such category exists – they are Uzbeks, both on paper as well as in the eyes of all. Some pre-socialist differentiation, nonetheless, has survived. While submitting to the idea of a superior yo‘kchi culture and identity, some joqchi still hold to the notion of being the real Uzbeks who arrived here with the Shaybanid takeover. The situation among the Tajiks is very different. In a predominantly Tajik settlement such as Varganza, most people list this as their official nationality. The same is true for the village of Gulshan and similar settings in other municipalities. The category also includes the Luli in Urisqishloq, most of whom are registered as Tajiks, and the few Bukharian Jews who live in the towns of Shahrisabz and Kitob. As mentioned, both also use Tajik as their mother tongue. Although, as discussed earlier, it was not possible to conduct any tests in Qashqadaryo, it was nevertheless clear that the dominant local configuration is one with the yo‘kchi Uzbeks in the centre and Tajiks as a secondary minor influence. In spite of their perceived distance from the mainstream, the joqchi are part of this configuration primarily due to the power of naming – after all, they are Uzbeks and there is no other category in which to place them. Physically, they may resemble Kazaks or Kyrgyz, but cannot be close to them because they are Uzbeks. The next larger unit again includes the native groups in Central Asia, that is, Kazaks, Turkmens, Kyrgyz, Karakalpaks and Uyghurs, although the latter two are not known by most people in the region. Kazaks are seen as being more informal than Uzbeks, and also less civilized, lazy and rude, similar to how the local joqchi are regarded. Kazaks and Turkmens are somewhat wild. We would never marry with them. First, they ask a lot of money for the bride-wealth [‘katta katta pul oladi’]. Then they treat their wives as slaves. The women have to do all the work while the men ride their horses and do nothing. (Shahida, 42year-old woman from Urisqishloq)

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A more inclusive Turkic or Muslim commonality is thus not very viable as an alternative concept for categorizing people. This does not necessarily indicate that individuals from Turkey or other Muslim countries are not perceived as closely related. They do not, however, belong to the same cluster of Central Asians that is decisive in forming people’s ideas about identity relevant to everyday life. Other clusters are also the product of geographical proximity, such as Russians and other Europeans (sometimes including Tatars and Bashkirs) or Caucasians. As in the other settings, this points to what has been called a territorial concept of identity rather than a genealogical one – in spite of the fact that at least some of the Uzbeks in this region until recently retained some remnants of clan organization. Here, however, not everyone subscribed to the standard local image of yo‘kchi Uzbeks as the core and Tajiks as the most important secondary ingredient. This is not, for example, clear-cut to all the joqchi (compared to the situation in the Ferghana Valley) and also challenged by the majority of the Meskhetian Turks with whom I had the chance to talk. Both groups distinguished between people much more in terms of linguistic families, according to which Uzbeks (of either kind), Turks and Kazaks are close to one another, while Tajiks in their view form a separate category.

Local and Regional Identity In terms of local and regional identity, the situation is thus somewhat different than the other case studies. This is partly attributable to geographical conditions that result in distinct patterns for those in mountain villages and those in the plains. The former are usually small, rather isolated, and their monoethnic and predominantly endogamous character reinforces a strong common identity and dense networks of mutual support. The plains settlements, on the other hand, are on average much larger and heterogeneous, and tend to be dominantly populated by yo‘kchi Uzbeks. In between are villages such as Qaynarbuloq that are close to the larger settlements, but remain distinct by virtue of their altitude. Here, in contrast to Bukhara or the Ferghana Valley, the individual village is sometimes less important than the larger cluster they belonged to. Together, they form more or less coherent units that are contrasted with the villages downhill. This is the case, for example, in the cluster that makes up Qaynarbuloq where internal boundaries did not have much significance for differentiation. Municipalities are also highly significant in this regard, more so than in the other settings, as they are believed to each have a distinct character. This is most obviously the case for Varganza and Makrid, the former being dominantly Tajik, the latter inhabited by joqchilar. Both are differentiated very clearly from Uris­ qishloq and other yo‘kchi settlements. The same perceived distance exists between the various districts in the region. While differences were also mentioned in Bukhara and the Ferghana Valley, they still contributed to a more general image of cultural patterns in each oasis as shared and distinctive from others. Here,

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in Upper Qashqadaryo, however, there is far less identification with the viloyat. The city of Qarshi and its surroundings are understood as culturally underdeveloped, and one goes there only when absolutely necessary. But even within the northeast corner, differences are more pronounced than similarities. This is primarily a question of yo‘kchi versus joqchi. The tuman of Chiroqchi, Qamashi and Yakkabog’ are, according to this view, of a totally different character. Its inhabitants do not, or are only just beginning to, participate in a larger regional identity, which has its point of reference in the long-established cultural centres of Shahrisabz and Kitob. A far more attractive point of reference is Samarqand. The similarity in the population’s composition further contributes to this closeness. Feelings towards the other neighbouring province of Surxondaryo are mixed. The general public in Uzbekistan often combines it with Qashqadaryo into a single category, and some authors have detected a common ‘Sur-kash’ identity (Fane 1996). Such references were rarely made in Shahrisabz, and Samarqand is certainly perceived as much closer than Surxondaryo. The state of Uzbekistan is a major point of reference for all groups. In the case of the yo‘kchi, this seems obvious and has certainly benefited from the decision to make Timur, their native son, the national hero of the country. But also among joqchi and Tajik, no strong reservations against the state and the national ideology it promulgates could be identified. Dissatisfaction with many of its institutions and the corruption that is plaguing society did not translate into a challenge against the idea of the state itself. The situation is again very different in relation to Tajikistan, although people here did not immediately try to distance themselves as strongly as they did in Marhamat. This may be attributed to the geographical closeness and the frequency of cross-border marriages in the past. Still, in terms of dialect or urf-odat Samarqand is usually described as closer than Tajikistan and much closer than Bukhara or the Ferghana Valley.

Transmission and Change of Identity Concerning processes of identity change, the situation in Upper Qashqadaryo is thus comparable to the one in the Ferghana Valley. Turkification is more or less completed, with Uzbek the clear and dominating pattern. Individual switches occur almost exclusively in one direction, namely towards yo‘kchi-ness. A few Uzbeks also speak Tajik, and many more Russian, but they use these languages only occasionally and out of necessity. Almost no one outside the community proper speaks the joqchi dialect. With regard to the transmission of group membership and the personal characteristics connected with it, switching between groups and languages is not as common as it is in Bukhara, but is still regarded as a normal part of human behaviour. Because mixed marriages are not as widespread as in Bukhara, there is less need to consider where children of such families belong. There is, in contrast, the

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concept of ‘pure’ Uzbek as opposed to ‘other’ Uzbeks. The ethnicity of children of mixed marriages is again decided on by residence more than by genealogy. In most cases, this implies a yo‘kchi identity, since it involves a move to town or to a larger village such as Urisqishloq. The son or daughter of a Tajik father – and even more so, of a joqchi father – will become a yo‘kchi, which is the dominant group in almost all mixed settlements. This also affects unions between Tajiks and joqchi – which are very rare – whose children will usually become yo‘kchi. More common is a permanent change of language within one’s lifetime. Marriage is one case where this happens. A change of residence or a new job in town may have the same result. As in the case with occasional switches, the direction is almost always towards (yo‘kchi) Uzbek. The only exception to this is marriage into one of the remaining Tajik villages uphill, but these are not valued as prestigious unions. In the case of a marriage into a joqchi village, a change towards the local dialect is also unusual, as this is considered ‘wrong’ Uzbek. As a consequence, permanent linguistic switches over the generations are likewise confined to switches from Tajik or joqchi Uzbek towards the dominant yo‘kchi dialect. However, this is not taking place on a great scale, because the remaining non-yo‘kchi villages are relatively remote and few people move there as a consequence of marriage or job. Most mixed villages are therefore dominantly yo‘kchi Uzbek and will certainly continue to proceed in this direction in the coming years, due to a combination of numerical factors and cultural attitudes. Because Tajikness as well as joqchi-ness is associated with backwardness and a lack of sophistication, assimilation in this direction hardly ever occurs. This is, of course, supported by national politics, but also conforms to a local understanding. Because this cultural superiority is largely accepted as a matter of fact by the minority groups, the assimilation process is not necessarily perceived as purely negative or state enforced. Tajik schools have always been rare and Qipchaq-Uzbek never had the formal status of a literary language. Access to political and economic positions is also easier for individuals who speak the literary language without a noticeable accent. When this is the case, for example with regard to the district officials mentioned earlier, non-yo‘kchi speakers apparently face no serious obstacles as long as they make the necessary linguistic adaptation to be accepted into the mainstream culture. Whether a linguistic switch involves a change of identity is a different issue. The local concept of identity is somewhat more primordial and partly shaped by the earlier tribal genealogies that were discussed above. Therefore, the idea of a change of identity is more open to question than in Bukhara. For most yo‘kchilar, the rudeness and lack of culture among joqchilar is partly understood as an innate pattern, although it is acknowledged that it can be changed by means of education. Naturally, the fact that this divide is often also accompanied by physical differences complicates the situation. A typical joqchi does not correspond to ideas of beauty among the majority population.

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The influence of the state certainly must not be underestimated in this regard. One crucial aspect is the dominance of literary Uzbek, by definition the ‘correct’ speech of everyday life and particularly in higher education. The superiority of a sedentary lifestyle is equally important. For Tajiks, the situation is even more precarious: in contrast to Bukhara, where their existence is accepted as a fact (if not in the official statistics) and not perceived as a threat, their status in Kitob is very different. Here, the proximity of the border with Tajikistan, which is said to be porous and thus susceptible to infiltration by Islamic terrorists, has discredited them in the eyes of officials in recent years. In parts of neighbouring Surxondaryo province, some Tajik mountain villages have been forcibly relocated away from the border. A Tajik passport nationality is therefore a clear disadvantage in the local context. It is, nevertheless, far more widespread than was the case in Bukhara, and the number of Tajik speakers who have registered as Uzbeks or have no school education in their mother tongue is low. Nevertheless, many Tajiks have a bleak vision of their future. More and more marry outside their own group, and the children of these unions will inevitably be Uzbeks, regardless of whether it is the father or the mother who is Tajik. The same applies in principle to the joqchi community. Irrespective of the direction of the intermarriage, the yo‘kchi spouse, who is considered to represent the mainstream pattern, will in almost all cases be the one to define the ethnic attachment of the next generation.

Notes   1. The correct spelling is uncertain. Both Kesh and Kish have entered the Encyclopaedia of Islam as separate entries without direct reference to one another (Bosworth 1986; Barthold [Spuler] 1997).   2. According to Karmysheva (1960a), members of the Manghit tribe had earlier settled around Chiroqchi before they ascended the throne of Bukhara. After the Manghits had left Upper Qashqadaryo, the Keneges took their place as the principal political force in the region.   3. In the nineteenth century, according to Schuyler (1966: 208) and Olufsen (1911: 65), Shahrisabz was the name of the aggregated cities of Kitob and Shaar.   4. Note that also the vocalization and sometimes the corresponding consonants are slightly different in both dialects (see also the remarks on transliteration).   5. A description of the Qipchaq dialect in Upper Qashqadaryo can be found in Jurayev (1969).   6. G’uzor, or guzar, is the Tajik equivalent of mahalla, or neighbourhood (see also Geiss 2001).   7. For a list of tribes in Upper Qashqadaryo, see also Jurayev (1969: 161ff.), who does not, however, distinguish between different layers of clans. In his work, for example, the Naymansaroy appear as one unit without reference to larger or smaller sets.   8. Interestingly, he mentions that the Barlas had a marriage preference for Tajiks (Kubakov 1977).

226   Variations on Uzbek Identity   9. This attitude is confirmed by Karmysheva (1960a) and Kubakov (1977), who criticize a frequent view in the literature that all inhabitants of Shahrisabz and Kitob are Keneges. 10. Wedding feasts among the Luli were said to be much larger than others. Up to two thousand people come to these events, including Luli from other parts of the country, and total expenditures were said to amount to several million so’m. 11. One elder informant recalled that back in the 1950s – when the local kolkhoz was still called ‘Stalin’ – they were forced by the authorities to raise pigs in one of the mountain villages. 12. This account is very similar to descriptions encountered in the literature on nineteenthcentury Kazaks (Radloff 1884; Karutz 1911). 13. Most of the Kazak Nayman live in eastern and northeastern Kazakstan as well as in neighbouring parts of China. 14. The second part of the village name, Saroy, was explained as referring to a second tribe of that name. According to the lists presented in Kubakov (1972, 1977) it appears to indicate that the village was originally settled by the Nayman segment of the larger Saray tribe. 15. Luli communities exist in most parts of Uzbekistan, with the largest concentrations in Bukhara, Samarqand and Qashqadaryo viloyatii. The vast majority of them speak Tajik as their native tongue.

Conclusion The Case Studies Compared The purpose of this book has been to investigate processes of identity formation and change among the Uzbeks in a variety of settings within the state of Uzbekistan. I did not, however, set out to present a comprehensive picture for the whole of Uzbekistan or indeed for any of the four oases for at least two reasons. On the one hand, a comparative project by its very nature limits the time spent at the individual sites. I am well aware that in each case a longer stay may have brought to light additional information necessitating a refinement or even a refutation of some of the arguments. Further, within each oasis, I focused on one or a few smaller areas, which may not have been representative of the greater regions. My objective was not specifically to develop a definite model of ethnicity in each oasis, but rather to demonstrate the variability that is inherent in the concept of Uzbekness and to seek out recurring patterns. There may be dozens of patterns inside and outside the current national boundaries. What unites the Uzbeks, I would assert, is that the respective bearers, at least today, all consider each other co-ethnics in spite of perceived differences; and that in each of the reference settings, to become an Uzbek has been, over the centuries, an attractive option to members of other groups.1 There were a number of factors described as relevant for the evolution of locally specific patterns. In terms of ecology, there are significant differences among the four settings that have had a profound impact on ethnic configurations over time. Bukhara and Khorezm are rather isolated oases with sharply delineated boundaries separating the settlements from the surrounding desert areas. In the Ferghana Valley and especially in Upper Qashqadaryo, the proximity of steppes and mountain pastures allowed a much closer interaction of nomads and sedentaries. These geographies also had an impact on the patterns of encounters between Turkic- and Iranian-speaking populations, or tribally and non-tribally organized societies, respectively. Interaction was least intensive in Bukhara and most intensive in Upper Qashqadaryo, while Khorezm and the Ferghana Valley fell somewhere in the middle. The latter two sites for much of their history assumed the character of a divided society, in which the nomads had a profound and often dominating influence on local politics. The environmental conditions at each site had a pronounced impact on economic patterns. Irrigation-based agriculture was the basis of livelihood in all locations, although the Ferghana Valley and Upper Qashqadaryo also supported

228   Variations on Uzbek Identity

some rain-fed cultivation. Even more significant was the degree to which local conditions allowed supplemental animal husbandry. Upper Qashqadaryo provided the most favourable opportunities in this regard, presenting an ideal setting for an agro-pastoral economy. Interestingly, the case studies do not indicate a positive correlation between the existence of economic niches and a lack of ethnic conflicts. On the contrary, Bukhara, which has the lowest level of ethnic conflict, offers no economic specialization at all. The severity of environmental degradation, with Bukhara and Khorezm suffering the worst damage, also does not correlate with tensions in social relations. These ecological and economic configurations strongly influenced the differing historical developments in the individual areas, but a couple of general tendencies can be observed. Until the sixth or seventh century, the linguistic situation was very similar in all four regions. It is probable that only slight differences existed among the various East-Iranian groups that inhabited Khorezm, Transoxania and the Ferghana Valley. But with the simultaneous onset of Turkification and Islamization, different paths began to emerge. Until the tenth century, the Turkic influence was probably most profound in the Ferghana Valley due to the proximity to their original places of settlement in eastern Central Asia. The linguistic assimilation, however, was first completed in Khorezm far to the west and led the way to a co-existence of various Turkic groups that continues to the present day. In Bukhara, Tajik remained the second, if not the first, language well into the twentieth century, while surviving in pockets in the Ferghana Valley and Upper Qashqadaryo. Although this is partly in line with the ecological conditions that allowed pastoralists to settle in the region without becoming sedentaries, it cannot be put forth as the sole explanation. Local peculiarities guided by chance and individual personalities probably had an equally important impact, such as the Samanids making Bukhara their political centre. Equally, the extent of destruction during the Mongol period may have been decisive with regard to which languages survived, while the later Timurid and Uzbek states seem to have been of a more consolidating nature in this respect. In the Russian colonial and Soviet periods, finally, many of the earlier categories were subsumed into larger units that became decisive with regard to whom people considered themselves to be. It did not, however, entirely eliminate other identities, which continue to exist in varying degrees. The result has been a distinct ethnic composition in each setting. Bukhara is characterized by an Uzbek-Tajik duality at its core, surrounded by other groups such as the Arabs, Turkmens and Kazaks, who are more or less integrated into this amalgamation. Here, the melding of Iranian and Turkic speakers into a single social entity is the most advanced. In contrast, the Tajik minorities in the Ferghana Valley and Upper Qashqadaryo occupy comparatively marginal positions, although they are closer to the mainstream culture than some of the Turkic-speaking groups in either region. In these two sites, a number of now sub-

Conclusion   229

ethnic categories exist, which hint at a semi-nomadic background in the not-toodistant past. Their bearers have only partly assimilated into the titular group. Some of them, such as the joqchi in Upper Qashqadaryo, distinguish themselves in linguistic terms from the mainstream conception of Uzbekness. In other cases, for instance the Turks in the Ferghana Valley, the distinction is purely cultural. Noteworthy in this respect is the situation in the Khorezmian field site. Here, an Iranian stratum no longer exists, and the population is made up of different Turkic groups, all of whom achieved formal recognition during Soviet times. Boundaries are more clearly delineated and less easy to cross. One sphere of interaction in which the four field sites reveal striking differences is settlement patterns. The most compact configuration is in the Ferghana Valley. This is certainly not a new phenomenon as this was already the most densely populated region in pre-socialist times. The accelerated development of infrastructure and economic mechanization during the Soviet era accelerated the trend, until entire districts virtually turned into one large settlement. In Bukhara, traditional village structures are still recognizable, although population growth has led to their merging into larger clusters. Of particular interest is the ethnic arrangement of villages, which typically consists of an Uzbek-Tajik core surrounded by satellite settlements that probably were founded by Turkmen or Uzbek seminomads. In Khorezm, smaller homesteads populated by kin groups were more common and have survived to some degree up to the present day. These are, by definition, more often monoethnic than not. Internally more diverse are settlement patterns in Upper Qashqadaryo. The villages in the centre of the oasis are different from those in the mountains and the steppe belt to the west and south, with each of the three types corresponding to a particular ethnic or subethnic population, although recent migrations have blurred these differences to an extent. The single most important feature of ethnic boundaries in each setting is language, albeit in very different ways. In Bukhara, bilingualism is the defining cultural variable. Switching between Uzbek and Tajik is extremely common, and individuals lacking a knowledge of either language are considered somewhat culturally deficient. This is not the case in settings with a Tajik minority, namely the Ferghana Valley and Upper Qashqadaryo. Here, standard Uzbek or dialects closely related to it are the norm, and speaking one of them is sufficient to be a part of the mainstream culture. In both settings, Tajik lacks the prestigious status it has in Bukhara. In all three sites, however, standard Uzbek is the dominant language of politics and education, although Tajik, Kazak and Kyrgyz have a recognized minority status. The situation is again most distinct in Khorezm, which is the only site where the Uzbek variation of Turkic is not undisputed. Switching and bilingualism are less common and people more often each use their own tongue in conversation. This is also the only site where the dominance of Uzbek is challenged in the public sphere and all other languages can be used in local administrations as well as in education.

230   Variations on Uzbek Identity

Almost as important as linguistic behaviour in defining ethnic boundaries and mutual relations are kinship and marriage. Again, a great variety exists in the four settings. In most cases, the prime criteria are geographical and social proximity. In Bukhara, mixed marriages between Uzbek and Tajik speakers account for at least one-third of all unions. Many of these are repeated arrangements between related bilingual families. Other groups, even if linguistically akin, are far less popular as a source for spouses. This is less the case in the Ferghana Valley and Upper Qashqadaryo, although Tajiks are still considered better marriage partners than other Turkic speakers. The conduct of marriage ceremonies, and in particular institutions such as bride-wealth among formerly pastoral populations, is always described as critical factors. The frequency of marriages between Uzbeks and Tajiks has also resulted in a more or less common kinship system. In contrast to Kazaks, Kyrgyz and Turkmens, all of whom favour a system characterized by patrilineal descent groups, kinship among Uzbeks and Tajiks is more of a bilateral type and lacks genealogical ties that extend back beyond a few generations. In Khorezm, the situation is different, with each group valuing its own patterns as proper and superior, which complicates interethnic marriages to some degree. These settlement patterns and linguistic behaviours reveal a general characteristic of ethnic boundaries in Uzbekistan. In each case, this is conceptualized as consisting of one core or inner circle, with other groups considered outside of it. The composition, however, differs in each case. In Bukhara, Uzbeks and Tajiks form the core, with all other groups more or less distant to that. The phrase most commonly quoted was: ‘We are one people with two languages.’ The situation in the Ferghana Valley and Qashqadaryo is similar to an extent, except that Tajiks act as junior partners. In all three sites, other Turkic groups do not belong to the core group, including those officially designated as Uzbeks. The primary dividing line is therefore not so much language as it is cultural behaviour or an alleged sedentary versus nomadic background. Physical appearance may be mentioned in this respect, but is of secondary importance. Cultural boundaries are much more defined in the Ferghana Valley and particularly in Upper Qashqadaryo than they are in Bukhara. Not all of them, however, qualify as ethnic in the eyes of the locals, because they are not officially recognized or embodied in a distinct name. Khorezm is again the most notable in this respect, with a quasi-core that includes three out of four population groups, namely the Uzbeks, Karakalpaks and Kazaks. Only the Turkmens among the locals are regarded as outsiders. In contrast to the other sites, this does not lead to a merging of identities. All ethnic boundaries remain obvious, and most individuals can be assigned to one of them. In Khorezm, there are very few cases in which a person’s self-understanding differs from the official one on his or her passport. Similar to the concept of a core group and outsiders, the larger ethnic world is cognitively organized in clusters. In three of the four settings, this is first of all the Uzbek-Tajik amalgamation (including the various Uzbek subgroups). Only

Conclusion   231

in Khorezm does this type of amalgamation not represent the smallest unit; the local triad of Uzbeks, Kazaks and Karakalpaks is not nearly as close to each other. The next higher category includes usually all Central Asian groups. While closeness within this group may be defined differently in different settings, even in Khorezm the Tajiks are included. Islam is an essential part of this more inclusive identity, but not in itself sufficient for membership. Muslim groups outside of Central Asia are not included within this category and are not believed to share the same patterns. Pan-Turkic sentiments also play a secondary role in this, as the inclusion of Tajiks and exclusion of Tatars and (Meskhetian) Turks illustrate. This indicates that the regional context is more significant than any genealogical considerations. Other clusters such as European, Middle Eastern and Caucasian evolve around similar territorial patterns with the Tatars in each setting, presenting an intermediate case that is difficult to classify. Locality has been shown to be a key factor in defining identity and pathways of co-operation. This works according to an almost taxonomic system, from the village community, to the former kolkhoz and larger settlement clusters and finally to the district and the province or the oasis at the highest level. Beyond that, the nation-state, as a kind of supra-level, provides an abstract idea of commonality with little relevance in everyday life. In the past, in places like Khorezm or the Ferghana Valley relations across the borders were without doubt more intensive than those with other parts of the country, and they remain so where possible. Identification with Uzbekistan is nevertheless strong even among the minorities bearing the name of a neighbouring state. This is particularly striking with regard to the general reluctance of Tajiks to identify with the state of Tajikistan. Kin relations and ethnic affiliations may in some cases cut across territorial boundaries. This is particularly true in Khorezm and presumably attributable to the importance that genealogies and ethnic endogamy have in Kazak, Turkmen and Karakalpak society. Here, the conduct of ceremonies and pooling of resources is organized mainly along kinship lines, which frequently transcend village, district or state borders. Lastly, there are fundamental differences with regard to ideas about the acquisition of group membership and the transmission of personal characteristics. A major divide exists between concepts primarily grounded in genealogical ideas and others that take territory and social environment as their major points of reference. In particular, the affiliation of children from mixed marriages is instructive. There exists a strong idea of ‘hybridism’, or ‘in-betweenness’, particularly in Bukhara. Here, almost everyone is half-Tajik and half-Uzbek, and this is valued as a highly advantageous trait. In cases of intermarriage, the dominant language or identity can be either paternal, maternal or neither; rather, where one grows up is the deciding factor. Upper Qashqadaryo and the Ferghana Valley are similar in this regard, although the idea of parenting in general and paternity in particular is somewhat stronger. In both places, a child may keep the identity of the

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father even if the child does not speak his language. This simply would not make any sense in Bukhara. In Khorezm, perceptions of a genealogical transmission of identity and group membership are strongest, although less so among the local Uzbeks than among the other three groups. In comparison, territorial references recede, which may be related to the fact that until a few decades ago many of these groups had maintained a semi-nomadic lifestyle. Consequently, assimilation tendencies follow a different path in each of the reference settings. Turkification has proceeded furthest in Khorezm and apparently was completed centuries ago. It is also far advanced in the Ferghana Valley and in Upper Qashqadaryo, where the remaining Tajik population is under strong assimilation pressure. In Bukhara, the situation is fundamentally different, and in most districts the proportions of Uzbeks and Tajiks are closely balanced. In this case, other groups such as Arabs and Turkmens may be assimilated into either one. A striking finding in the data indicates that once the process of linguistic change has begun in a particular village, it will be completed rapidly. In contrast to the other sites, however, assimilation is not a one-way street in Bukhara and sometimes may not be clearly distinguishable from the common switching of language during a person’s lifetime due to marriage or a new job. Also notable is that assimilation is apparently not experienced as a negative occurrence, but more as a matter of fact. It remains an open question why Tajiks seem particularly prone to assimilation and always show the highest rates of intermarriage. The only field site without Tajiks, Khorezm, is also the one where assimilation in general is the least advanced. In line with one of the hypotheses presented in the introduction, this may be attributed to the fact that here the concept of ‘Uzbekness’ lost its advantages as an intermediate position between sedentary Iranians and nomadic Turkic speakers.

Returning to Theory Identity Change as a Decision-Making Process In the introduction, this book proposed to utilize a combination of classical ethnicity approaches with models derived from rational choice theory, cognitive anthropology and political economy. The fundamental assumption was that people make strategic decisions concerning their affiliations and loyalties to others. As a consequence, ethnic boundaries are always exposed to individual shifts and active manipulations. This goes beyond other explanations usually subsumed under the category of instrumentalism in that utility maximization as an explicit motivational force is integrated into the model. A rational choice perspective predicts that people will choose their attachments to others depending on their evaluation of the associated costs and benefits (Hechter 1986; Banton 1994). Such choices do not necessarily promote long-term interests because they have to be made in

Conclusion   233

particular historical and social situations that often favour ad hoc arrangements, which may (but not always can) be readjusted. In this book, a number of instances to support such a view were discussed. Most significant is probably the linguistic choice. The current retreat of Tajik and other minority languages – which began in the early Soviet era – is not as much actively enforced from above but the accumulation of individual decisions made by parents for their children (in light of a cost-benefit ratio that is framed by state policies). These may be interpreted as opportunistic by Tajik intellectuals and are obviously detrimental to the survival of the language, but they make perfect sense at the individual level. In practice, this often leads to a situation where language switching occurs on a daily and intra-family basis. It may be doubted whether all switching happens consciously, but changing one’s language on a more permanent basis most likely does. One of the main hypotheses of this book asserts that this is not a new phenomenon. The adaptation of a sedentary and nontribal, Turkic-speaking identity – no matter how this might have been labelled at various times – has been a highly advantageous choice in Central Asian history for much of the past thousand years or so. It placed people in an intermediate position between the peasant and urban Iranian population on the one hand and the Turkic pastoralists on the other. This was by no means a sudden change, as can also be inferred by looking at contemporary processes. Furthermore, bilingualism presumably has been advantageous for a long time, because of ongoing relationships with other Iranian-speaking regions further south (at least for those people engaged in trade). That this particular identity was connected with the use of a Qarluq dialect is probably a historical coincidence, largely due to the preeminent role of the Qarakhanids during medieval times. It was also proposed that a group’s attractiveness is largely due to its superior performance in providing access to resources and reducing transaction costs. If it is the function of groups to provide individuals with public goods, then those who are more successful at achieving this can be expected to attract members from the outside. In the case of the Uzbeks, the group has increased the number of potential partners for interaction and enabled the maintenance of larger and more diverse networks. At least for Bukhara, it can be shown that Uzbeks indeed seem to have a larger pool of potential marriage partners than Tajiks as the latter less often give their daughters to villages outside the core. As the case study of Khorezm indicates, in the absence of Tajiks, ‘Uzbekness’ lost its structural advantages and thus also its attractiveness. Marriage is a highly instructive example in this regard. In all four case studies, informants always named this as the main criterion for defining closeness and distance between groups. Marriage is, of course, an event that may involve very high transaction costs. To find a spouse from an appropriate family with the desired personal qualities, to negotiate procedures and mutual payments, and to anticipate the future development

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of spousal and affinal relations all are extremely complex and risky activities. In the case of failure, rules for parenthood have to be agreed upon, and a place for the daughter has to be found in a society where remarriage for women is a difficult matter. Marriages with close kin are an obvious response to this complexity, because premarital arrangements are much easier to negotiate and less costly. On the other hand, a divorce among close kin may have disastrous effects on a more extended group of interconnected families – which can serve as a kind of built-in deterrent. At the same time, any identity switch affects the size of either group (Schlee 2003). It may not always be in the interest of the receiving group, because gaining more members not only increases the number of co-players, but also bears the danger of a weakening of rule adherence and therefore a decrease of predictability. Of course, in most cases, it is also detrimental to a group to lose members. Groups may employ a variety of mechanisms to respond to such switches. Some construct relatively strict barriers to joining or leaving, such as appeals for religious purity, as in the case of the ‘holy clans’ of the Khoja, or common descent and tribal genealogy. It is therefore much more difficult to become a Kazak or a Turkmen than an Uzbek, which does not require a detailed genealogical linkage.2 To live in a given environment and behave according to the local patterns is usually sufficient. It can only be speculated here whether a sedentary lifestyle, particularly in combination with the type of irrigation system employed in Central Asia, favoured a bilateral way of kinship organization because it restricts the number of potential claimants to those who share the same resources. At the same time, the kind of risks that favoured the maintenance of genealogically defined and territorially widespread kin networks became less relevant with sedentarization. It seems therefore that all nomadic invaders in the region gradually gave up their clan system because it became more of a burden than a resource.

Cognitive Dimensions A pure instrumentalist approach, however, neglects many aspects of identity, including its durability. There are numerous examples of people who do not change their affiliation, even when to do so would appear to benefit them. The definition set forth in this book’s introduction refers to identity as the manner in which people locate themselves in a larger social world (Jenkins 1996). This is often connected with strong emotional attachments not easily abandoned, as they are often connected to beliefs of right and wrong. Other identities may not only be perceived as different but as unthinkable. This often obstructs a relatively seamless change of identity because one does not want to be seen as a ‘barbarian’ in the eyes of one’s (former) peers. In this book, the concept of a schema has been applied to the above phenomenon. According to this concept, ideas about oneself and others are cultural models that become internalized as an aspect of socialization and have a basis in the

Conclusion   235

working of the human mind. Schemas then become classificatory systems that organize the social world into phenomena according to their mutual closeness and relatedness (D’Andrade 1996; Strauss and Quinn 1997). Schemas allow an interpretation of specific individuals and events according to pre-existing categories in order to make reasonable assumptions about possible consequences. Without such schemas, decision-making processes would prove excessively difficult and expensive. Usually, schemas are part of larger networks and consist of various levels of meta- and subschemas. The material presented in this book suggests that people have a variety of schemas for their own and other social groups, which can be evoked in some situations but may be less apparent in others. At work, a Russian may be considered a reliable partner – often more so than co-ethnics – but when it comes to marrying one’s daughter, he would be viewed primarily as a non-Muslim. This attribute is not entirely forgotten in other contexts, but it lacks relevancy and is therefore not activated in neural connections. There also seem to exist meta-schemas representing a general idea of ethnic groups or social identity and providing their bearers with ideas about the nature of human association and the transmission of individual characteristics. In contrast to claims made by evolutionary psychologists, however, the insights gained in Uzbekistan do not indicate a universal primordialism in the human brain.3 On the contrary, ideas about social groups and boundaries are culture specific. This was demonstrated by the opposing models of a territorial versus genealogical concept of identity. In the first case, the underlying idea is that people are influenced primarily by their social environment, and thus their identity is open to change. A genealogical model is more concerned with mechanisms of descent that are believed to override the influences of socialization. In the second case, hybridism may also exist, but it is explicitly conceptualized as such. These two models are, of course, first and foremost analytical categories and do not necessarily present themselves in clear-cut opposition in real-life settings. Any schema will be shared with others only to a certain degree, because they are created and modified by individual life experiences. On the other hand, some schemas seem quite similar across a given population. It remains an open question whether schemas about ethnic identity are in one way or another related with other, more comprehensive meta-schemas that include concepts of kinship and parenthood. The four cases discussed above indicate a correlation in this respect, but this awaits a more systematic investigation. The national discourse in Kazakstan, which is heavily influenced by primordialist statements and biologisms, could serve as a reference point. The fact that ‘diasporas’ have not been a prominent political issue in Uzbekistan, while they are of outstanding importance in Kazakstan, is also significant. In concrete situations, usually several complementary schemas are activated. This may include schemas dealing with ethnicity or kinship as well as with a particular norm or ideas about trustworthiness. It was not the aim of this book

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to engage in the question of how these schemas are actually acquired during one’s lifetime. Some schemas are presumably developed by frequent encounters with people who, for example, bear the label Tajik or Arab. In other cases, no such individuals or events may exist. The preciseness of any schema is also strongly related to one’s familiarity with its representations. For those who have never seen a Kazak, there is only a vague image of an uncivilized nomad out in the desert at hand, which may not be much help when first meeting a representative of this category who happens to be a professor at a university in Tashkent. Usually, these kind of singular events do not challenge a schema because they will be interpreted according to the model. A joqchi behaving like a yo‘kchi does not necessarily change the model of joqchi, but will be attributed to an individual adaptation, or someone pretending to for one or the other reason. In the context of Uzbekistan – with the possible exception of Khorezm – schemas about appropriate behaviour are grounded in an understanding of locality. Those who originate from the same place are expected to be and act similarly. Therefore, a local Tajik and a local Uzbek may represent the same schema. There is, in fact, no observable difference and the one appears at most a variation of the other. As long as bilingualism is as widespread as it is in Bukhara, even this slight opposition may vanish. At the same time, putative co-ethnics from different provenance not only behave differently, they are expected to do so. This is very different from the ‘Kazak’ model, where a strong belief exists that everyone between the Caspian Sea and the Altay Mountains speaks and behaves more or less the same. Differences are conceptualized as the result of outside influences (such as Russification or Sinicization) and understood as deviations from the norm, not as part of the basic make-up as in the Uzbek case. Of course, both these perceptions may become self-fulfilling prophecies to some extent.4

The Influence of the State At the same time, any change of identity or group affiliation takes place in a social and political context and under specific constraints. Powerful actors can manipulate both the design of institutions and the cost-benefit ratios of particular arrangements. They can also influence to some degree what people believe in. Some categories may be essentially handed down to people from above. Nonetheless, the enactment or implementation of such an identity – if in fact it can be referred to as one – will vary according to the degree of internalization. To force perceptions and behavioural patterns on other actors is a very costly business and successful only if it is able to create some credibility. The manipulation of the advantages that various groups can offer their members has been a common theme in this book. With its decision to change the language of higher education from Russian to Uzbek, the state of Uzbekistan has reduced minority options severely. These may have been already limited in Soviet times, but have further deteriorated since independence. In other aspects, the

Conclusion   237

state does not exert the same influence. For most jobs, it does not make a difference what identity the person bears. It has often been claimed that the president himself is half Tajik, which has not affected his legitimacy in any way (nor has he felt the need to dispute such a claim). Of course, a major factor of state influence is the handling of the new borders, which have cut directly through the social networks of many people. This also accounts for regional differences regarding state influence. Put simply, the active interference of the state correlates positively with the perceived vulnerability of a nearby border. This is less an issue in Bukhara than in the Ferghana Valley and Upper Qashqadaryo, which have been the alleged gateways for insurgents penetrating into Uzbekistan territory in recent years. Khorezm, including Karakalpakistan, presents a special case in this respect. Due to a lack of economic incentives, today this is an almost abandoned part of the country. State neglect is not directed against any group in particular; it affects everyone, including the local Uzbeks. The state can influence group boundaries in other ways as well. This includes not only definitions of majority and minority, but also discourses on ‘backwardness’ and civilization standards. This was particularly obvious in the case of Upper Qashqadaryo, where the joqchi are portrayed as rude and culturally inferior. In the case of the Ferghana Valley, an image of proper ‘Uzbekness’ is combined with a susceptibility for Islamic radicalism that is said to endanger the stability of the new state. This view has been adopted to some degree by most people in other parts of the country. It has been argued, however, that national ideologies do not exist and develop in a vacuum. On the one hand, they have to be accepted as plausible in order to gain legitimacy. On the other hand, political actors to some extent also have internalized schemas that prevail in a given setting in one way or another. Therefore, it is to be expected that elite models of the nation-state and local identities share some kind of dialectical relationship. The case of Uzbekistan, which very much stresses the territorial component – in contrast to neighbouring Kazakstan, where an ethnicization of internal politics is combined with an appeal to the worldwide ‘diasporas’ to join their native homeland – clearly favours such a view.

What Then is an Uzbek? This leads us to the final question, namely the definition of what the category of Uzbek stands for as of today. At the beginning of this book, a number of frequently encountered views in the recent literature on Central Asia were questioned. One of them was the claim that the creation of the Uzbeks as an ethnic group was an artificial process initiated by a malicious Soviet leadership in order to divide an otherwise coherent ethnic space into conveniently weaker units. Another was the indignation shown by academics about the decision of the govern-

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ment of Uzbekistan to make Timur the national hero of the newly independent state. It is doubtful that ethnic divides did not exist in pre-Soviet Central Asia. They may have looked differently than they do today and may have had more ambiguous boundaries, but the contemporary literature on Kazaks and Turkmens clearly indicate a self-understanding of internal unity and its limits. We do not have the same kind of information on the groups who were to become the Uzbeks. The lack of a common name for the sedentary population across the region, or at least the Turkic-speaking part of it, may indicate that there was no idea of a larger ethnicity. It is nevertheless plausible to assume that the oasis dwellers in the Ferghana Valley and Bukhara experienced each other as mutually closer compared to the pastoralists in the steppe. One way to bypass this dilemma is by strictly referring to the self-designation of people as the basis of their ethnicity. ‘Who is to say that they are not Uzbeks?’, as Schoeberlein concluded (1996: 19). It is hard to disagree with this statement, but it does not help to explain why identities are conceptualized the way they are. This book asserts that the conceptualization of the ‘Uzbek nation’ is based on the idea that it comprises the descendants of all populations and cultures that have ever existed on the territory of the congruent state. This is referred to as a territorial idea of nationhood in contrast to a genealogical one. The one, of course, is as arbitrary as the other. We can find instances of each in other parts of the world, and all of those nation builders who propose either idea are engaged in the rewriting and falsification of history to some extent. In any case, however, according to the argument of this book, both ideas also are grounded in some way in pre-existing ideas of identity. Upon closer examination, the decision to favour Timur over the Shaybanids and other rulers before and since may not seem as arbitrary or absurd as many academics have insisted. For one thing, Timur was obviously a very successful leader and politician and his empire marked the final period of Central Asian military glory. Some authors consider the Timurid period the heyday of the region’s history and culture in general (Soucek 2000: 123ff.). More important in this respect may be the fact that like no other era in Central Asian history it represents the intimate symbiosis of Iranian-Islamic and Turkic-Mongolian traditions. Timur was a ‘local boy’ who created a world empire, not an usurper from the steppe (Manz 1989), which makes him a much more appealing point of reference for contemporary politics, especially considering the rivalry with Kazakstan, whose former aristocracy shared genealogical ties with the Shaybanids. The period of Timur was, of course, also one in which Turkification was already far advanced in most parts of what would later become Uzbekistan. A main hypothesis of this work is that the Uzbeks, in the contemporary meaning of sedentary Turkic speakers, have over the course of time been very successful at attracting members of other groups due to their intermediate position within the

Conclusion   239

larger ethnic configuration. In some way, the Uzbeks of today can be understood as a culmination of larger processes that have been taking place in Central Asia for centuries, namely the interaction of nomads and sedentaries, and the continuous encounters between and blending of Turkic and Iranian speakers. For these processes, the Timurids provide a much better historical model than the Shaybanids (Finke 2006). At which point Uzbek can be called an ethnic label is impossible to say. If self-designation is the main criterion, then the Tajik speakers in Bukhara are not Tajiks in an ethnic sense, while those in the Ferghana Valley and Upper Qashqadaryo are. More important in either case, however, are local bonds that transcend or crosscut linguistic boundaries. If these local units are at the same time endogamous, they strengthen the convergence of cultural patterns and physical appearance. Many studies on changes of identity in Central Asia contain an implicit essentialist basis. According to this view, groups migrate and conquer new territories, where they are integrated into the previous population, but nevertheless remain the same. The nomadic invaders, then, are the ones who continue to exist as descent lines, either absorbing or replacing the previous population. Culturally as well as biologically, however, the Uzbeks of today are primarily the descendants of the representatives of the sedentary cultures who originated in this territory, rather than the children of former nomads from the steppes. This may appear to confirm the government position (and indeed, the earlier Soviet explanation of Uzbek ethnogenesis). I would, however, argue that this is not so much the result of political calculus, but of elites sharing an understanding of ethnic processes, as a basic cognitive model that is the product of socialization, with everyone else. This is not to say that identity politics are not present in the manipulation of ethnic boundaries and the costs and benefits of affiliation. However, such politics are played out within the framework of a shared cultural model that defines how humans are believed to become affiliated with one another.

Notes   1. As it was not the objective of this book, less has been said about the internal differentiations between Tajiks of various provenance. Maybe even more so than the Uzbeks, they often form very localized cultural patterns with decisively distinct historical trajectories building on earlier settlements and later migrations that played out differently in each place.   2. A very similar situation is described by Barth (1969). In his example, one can only be a Pashtun by descent, while this is not a precondition for the Baluch. Therefore, identity changes usually occur in only one direction, from Pashtun to Baluch. For a similar argument in an East African context, see Feyissa (2011).   3. For such a view, see Gil-White (1999, 2001).   4. In the Kazak case, pastoral movements covering often hundreds of kilometres per year in combination with a rather rigid system of lineage exogamy may in fact have been decisive factors in creating linguistic and genetic closeness among a large and originally heterogeneous population.

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Index A adaptability (of Uzbekness), x, 23 affiliation ethnic, 2, 32, 50, 52, 93, 106, 231 group, x, 13, 23–24, 26, 150, 236 linguistic, 2, 32, 106, 108 Afghan(s), 100–102, 106, 111n16, 143–45, 182–85 Afghanistan, 28n4, 33–34, 38–39, 44, 48–49, 56, 68, 73, 111n16, 113, 116, 123, 136 agriculturalists, 45, 135, 137, 141, 155, 178, 191 agriculture, 30–32, 36–37, 60, 77, 81, 115, 153, 155, 195, 197, 204–5, 227 Amu-Darya, xiv, 31, 38, 65–66, 68, 81, 112–13, 115, 121–22, 137, 147, 195 ancestors (of contemporary Uzbeks), 1, 8, 27n1 Andijon, xii, 44, 54, 63n16, 152, 157–61, 163, 171–73, 186, 193n13 animal husbandry, 58, 77, 80, 172, 197, 205, 219, 228. See also livestock rearing Arab(s) generic, 24, 38, 70, 100–3, 122–23, 130, 143–45, 150n2, 156, 183–85, 198, 201 local group in Bukhara, xii, 74, 79–80, 95, 97, 107, 228, 232, 236 Aral Sea, 35, 65, 69, 112, 116, 135, 150n1 assimilation, xii, 4, 56, 149, 205, 228, 232 attractiveness (of Uzbekness), x–xi, 233

B Babur, 1, 44, 157–58 Bactria, 34, 42, 116 Barlas, 43, 163, 175, 193n10, 198–99, 210–11, 225n8 Bashkirs, 42, 75, 89, 98, 100–102, 143–45, 161, 218, 222 behaviour cultural, 96, 100, 176, 219, 230 human, x, 10, 19 linguistic, 15, 110, 137, 230 bilateral, 84–85, 230, 234 bilingual, 4, 9, 65, 71, 81–82, 89, 92, 94, 106, 127, 129, 192, 230 bilingualism, 12, 44, 81, 84, 106, 110, 208, 229, 236 bride-wealth, 88, 96, 131–32, 138, 170, 212, 221, 230 brigades, 49, 78, 91, 108, 125–27, 135 Bukhara Amirate of, 72, 159, 200 city of, 65, 69–71, 73–75, 82, 88–89, 107–9 Bukharalik. See Bukharians Bukharian Jews, 74–76, 88, 221 Bukharians, 7, 46, 72–73, 94, 104–6 C Caucasian(s), 88, 100, 145, 182, 222, 231 Central Asians, x, 1, 23, 32, 48, 94, 100, 222 Chagatay, 42–44, 101–2, 118, 151n14, 157, 183, 199, 216 Chagatayid(s), 71, 157, 198 Chingis Qan, 41–42, 71, 157, 217–18 Chingisid(s), 44–45, 71–72, 118, 157

Index   265

clan(s), xiv, 6, 14, 23, 42, 45, 121–23, 130, 140, 210–11, 218, 222, 225n7, 234 co-operation, 4, 15–17, 38, 135, 231 collectivization, 48–49, 76, 165 colonial, 13, 47–48, 68, 228 compliance, 16–17, 22, 151n9, 173 confederation(s), 33–35, 37, 39–41, 43–44, 46, 117, 138, 217 cost-benefit, x–xi, 69, 109, 140, 233, 236 cotton, 47–49, 52–53, 56, 58–60, 62, 68, 90–91, 113, 115, 134–35, 151n10, 171–72, 192n7, 197, 204–5, 214 cultural differences, 11, 13, 94, 162, 179 cultural superiority, xiii, 96, 186–87 D decision-making, 21–22, 24, 109, 232, 235 descendants, xiv, 1, 7, 45–46, 71, 85, 95, 123, 130, 136, 157, 162–63, 169, 176, 191, 202, 211, 238–39 descent, 3, 8, 23, 122, 130, 135, 137–38, 140, 179, 189, 191, 230, 234–35, 239 desert(s), 30, 47–48, 65–66, 68, 71, 76, 79–80, 96, 110, 112–13, 117, 119, 121, 134, 137, 151n16, 153, 155, 165, 195, 197, 200, 217, 227, 236 dialectic relationship (of national and local identity), xi, 237 E ecological. See environmental conditions ecology, 65, 96, 155, 201, 205, 227 elites local,50, 75, 81, 173 political, xi, 12, 56, 159 emotional, 9–10, 13–14, 17–18, 22, 190, 234

endogamous, 12, 103–4, 122, 131, 213, 219, 222 endogamy, 98, 131, 141, 146, 231 environmental conditions, ix, xii, 30–31, 49, 69, 81, 92, 112, 115–16, 122, 147, 158, 165, 195, 197, 203, 205, 227–28 ethnic clusters, 95, 137, 176, 219 boundaries, x–xi, xiii, 5–6, 11–13, 22, 27, 50–51, 56, 84, 110, 148, 229–30, 232, 239 categories, 19, 46–47, 110, 157, 174, 176, 221, 229 composition, ix, xiii, 42, 65, 112, 120, 123, 139, 149, 153, 165, 199, 201, 203, 228 configuration, ix, xi, 26, 29, 31, 62, 68–69, 157, 197, 227, 239 ethnicity, ix–x, 3, 5–6, 10–11, 13–14, 20, 23, 28n8, 74–75, 79, 82, 87, 89, 92, 104–7, 110, 138, 140–42, 148–50, 170–71, 173, 187, 189– 90, 201, 221, 224, 227, 235, 238 ethnogenesis, xi, 8, 30, 40, 42, 46, 140, 239 ethnonym, xv n3, 7, 43–46, 94, 110, 146, 216 ethnos theory, 12, 28n7, 50 exogamy, 131, 151n9, 169, 239n4 F fermer, 59, 91–92, 111n13, 171, 215 flexibility (of Uzbekness), 18, 22–23 free riding, 14, 16 G garden(s), 60, 80, 91, 96, 134, 178, 207–8, 215, 219–20 genealogical concept/model (of identity), xiii, 2–3, 56, 222, 231, 235, 238 genetic, 1–2, 11, 110, 150, 239n4 Ghaznavid(s), 39–40, 44, 117, 198

266   Index Golden Horde, 28n2, 42, 44, 118, 151n14 group(s) membership, xi, 2–3, 13–17, 22, 106, 224, 231–32 nomadic, 2, 7, 34–35, 41, 43, 63n8, 121, 156, 199, 216 size, 15–17, 234 tribal, 35, 42, 45, 63n8, 112, 117–18, 158–59, 163, 199, 210 Turkic, xii–xiii, 2, 37–38, 41, 43, 70–71, 98, 100, 127, 136, 142–44, 156, 175, 182, 192, 195, 228–30 H hamlet(s), 125–27, 129, 133–34, 165, 206, 208 hospitality, 25, 96, 138, 179 I identification, 8, 10, 14, 16, 47, 105, 110, 125, 138, 146, 160, 186–87, 223 identity change of, 9, 22, 27, 107, 109–10, 148, 150, 190–91, 223–24, 234–36, 239 ethnic, 11, 13–14, 148, 189, 213, 235 local, xi–xii, 2, 95, 103, 105, 146, 186, 222, 237 national, 5–6, 55 regional, xiii, 103, 146, 186, 213, 222–23 ideological, x–xi, 5, 8, 17, 20, 22–23, 52, 56, 170, 177 independence, ix, xii, 5, 39, 53, 55, 72, 78, 84, 109, 131, 157, 160, 166, 174, 179, 186, 200, 236 indigenous, 6–7, 29, 38, 52, 80, 88, 199 institutional framework, 14–16, 21, 89 institutions, 5, 14, 16–19, 21–22, 24, 57, 90, 110, 230, 236

instrumentalism, 11, 232 instrumentalist(s), 12, 14, 234 interethnic relations, ix, xii, 3–5, 14, 62 intermarriage, 26, 80, 84, 86, 97–98, 107–8, 118, 132, 138, 141, 146, 187, 191, 212, 217, 225, 231–32. See also marriage, mixed intermediate position (of Uzbeks), xiii, 2, 98, 110, 121, 232–33, 238 Iranian(s), 2, 30, 33–34, 36–39, 44, 100, 143, 156, 176, 179, 191, 195, 202, 228, 232–33 languages, 33, 35, 38, 70, 155 nomads, 35–36, 116 speakers, xi–xii, 34, 45, 63n7, 65, 71–73, 93, 116, 176, 207, 228, 239 Iranian-speaking, 33, 73, 110, 111n14, 198, 227, 233 Ironi, 74–75, 77, 81, 88–89, 96–102, 143–45, 183–85 irrigation, 31, 46, 66, 68, 78, 90, 103, 111n6, 113, 115, 118, 122, 153, 155, 164–165, 195, 206, 227, 234 Islamic fundamentalism, xi, 56, 152, 160, 177 J Jochids, 42, 44–45, 71, 118 joqchi(lar), 202, 205–13, 215–19, 221–25, 229, 236–37 K Karakalpak(s), xii, xiv, 12, 25, 42, 99, 101–2, 118–23, 125–32, 135–50, 158, 167, 183–85, 218, 221, 230–31 Karakalpakistan, xii, xiv, 49, 63n18, 75, 78, 112, 115, 119–23, 127–28, 130–31, 133, 136, 146–47, 155, 186, 201, 237 Karimov, Islom, 53–54, 160 Kazaks, xii, xiv, xv n3, 2–3, 6, 8, 19, 23, 25–26, 42, 44–49, 51, 55, 72,

Index   267

74, 76–77, 80–81, 84, 88–89, 96, 98–102, 110, 118–23, 125–32, 134–50, 151n9–21, 167, 170, 175, 177, 179–85, 192n1–4, 200, 209– 10, 216–19, 221–22, 226n12–13, 228–31, 234, 236, 238, 239n4 Kazakstan, ix, 3–4, 6, 24, 32, 36–37, 49, 54, 58, 62, 62n2, 63n12–14, 76, 84, 119, 121–22, 138, 147–48, 150, 209, 215, 226n13, 235, 237–38 Keneges, 200, 210–11, 225n2, 226n9 Khiva, Khanate of, 47–48, 51, 112, 118–19, 121–22, 137, 146, 150n4 Khoja, xiv, 20, 122–23, 130, 150n4, 158, 193n12, 234 Khorezm-Shahs, 39–41, 116–17 Khorezmian(s), 33, 36, 38, 71, 109, 106–8, 121, 135–136, 138, 146, 151n8, 229 Kinship, 5, 16, 23, 27, 84, 90, 93, 95, 100, 103, 106, 130–31, 146, 168–69, 192n4, 210, 213, 230–31, 234–35 Kitob, xiii, 175, 195, 198, 200–208, 210, 215, 217, 220–21, 223, 225, 226n9 Kokand,Khanate of, xiv, 45, 47–48, 51, 72, 158–59, 162–63 kolkhoz, 49, 53, 55, 58–59, 77–78, 87, 90–91, 96, 104, 111n8, 123, 125–26, 129, 133–35, 146, 155, 163–43, 169, 172–74, 197, 204, 206, 215, 226n11, 231 Koreans, 81, 100–102, 120, 122, 142–45, 161, 185, 201 Kyrgyz, xii–xiv, 2, 6–7, 12, 23, 25, 36–37, 41–42, 45–46, 48, 99–102, 107, 136, 143–45, 152–53, 161– 62, 164–65, 167–71, 173, 175–91, 192n4, 218–19, 221, 229–30 Kyrgyzstan, ix, xiv, 4, 28n2, 30, 49, 54, 58, 62, 63n12, 105, 147, 152, 155, 159–60, 163, 166–67, 171, 173, 175, 186–88, 192n2, 193n11

L land scarcity, 92, 134, 152, 155, 173 language(s) of education, 84, 110, 191, 208, 229, 236 Iranian, 33–35, 38, 70, 81, 116, 155, 203 literary, 46, 51, 93, 95, 128, 136, 159, 163, 186, 209–10, 217, 224 national, 6, 81, 106, 167, 208–9 New Persian, 38, 63n3, 70, 117, 156 Russian, 52, 81–84, 109, 111n10, 127 Tajik, 70, 75, 77, 81–84, 93–94, 106–9, 167–68, 188–92, 195, 208–10, 223, 228–30, 233 Turkic, xv, 28n1, 35, 46, 81, 84, 111n11, 127, 139, 151n17, 153, 158, 167, lineage(s), xiv, 20, 42, 125, 130–31, 140, 149, 168–69, 176, 211, 218, 239n4 livelihood(s), 22, 90–91, 121, 137, 147, 197, 227 livestock rearing, 92, 115, 134, 155, 165, 197, 204–5, 214. See also animal husbandry locality, x, 2, 23, 170–71, 187, 211, 231. See also local identiy Luli, 75, 98–9, 101–2, 142–43, 182, 201–2, 208, 210, 214, 219–21, 226n10–15 M mahalla, 57, 77, 125, 163–68, 170–71, 173–74, 186, 191, 203–4, 206, 211, 213, 225n6 Marhamat, 152, 161, 163–66, 170, 172–78, 180, 186–87, 189–91, 192n8, 193n12–14, 201, 209, 219, 223 marriage cross-border, 133, 171, 223 kin, 86, 90, 107, 131, 169, 234

268   Index mixed, 27, 87, 93, 106, 131–33, 139, 148, 170, 189, 192n5, 209, 212 migration, xii, 3, 29, 34, 37, 43, 62, 74, 111n17, 122, 136–37, 147, 162, 175, 207, 210, 229, 239n1 minorities, 3–4, 7, 9, 20, 24, 53, 55–56, 74–76, 81, 106, 110, 122, 125, 128–29, 161, 164, 168, 178, 192, 201, 208, 215, 217, 224, 228–29, 231, 233, 236–37 mixed families, 27, 106, 168, 171, 189–90, 214 models. See schemas Moghul(s), 1, 43–44, 157 Mongol(s), 41–43, 46, 71, 117–18, 136, 151n14, 157, 198–99, 212, 218, 228 Mongolia, 30–33, 35, 37, 42, 62n2, 156, 162, 217 Mongolic features, 139, 178–79, 216 monoethnic, 80, 103, 125–26, 132, 146, 148, 167, 191, 206, 222, 229 monolingual, 80, 89, 128 mother tongue, 81–83, 87, 89, 107, 129, 167–68, 191, 208, 221, 225 multiethnic, 26, 33, 45, 138 Muslim commonality. See Pan-Islamic mutual differentiation, x, 39, 62 N nation-state, xi, 1, 5, 20–21, 57, 128, 231, 237 national border(s), 147, 166, 171, 187 national delimitation (process), ix, xi, 5, 7–8, 47, 50, 73, 159, 192n2 nationality, 8, 93, 95, 110, 130, 140, 176, 179, 193n11, 221, 225 Nayman, 42, 151n8, 166–67, 207, 210, 217–19, 226n13–14 negotiation, 10, 12, 16, 50, 89 nomadic-sedentary relations, 41, 68 nomads, xi, 29–32, 35–36, 38, 44–45, 47, 65, 70–71, 95–96, 116–18,

121, 141, 153, 155, 158, 177, 191, 195, 200, 202, 227, 229, 239 O Oghuz, 36–37, 40, 43, 46, 116–18, 127, 135–38, 146, 150n7, 151n14, 201 oqsoqol, 166, 171, 174 osh (national dish), 104–5, 141, 147, 177 Osh (city in Kyrgyzstan), 63n12, 152, 160, 162–64, 186–87, 193n13–14 Özbek Qan, 42, 44 P Pan-Islamic/Islamism, 8, 50, 222 Pan-Turkic/Turkism, 8, 50, 100, 222, 231 passport identity, 9–10, 51, 93–95, 108, 110, 138, 176, 179, 190–91, 221, 225, 230 pastoralism, 31–32, 45, 153, 158, 214 pastoralists, xiii, 3, 6, 31, 45, 48, 66, 68, 76–77, 112, 115, 135, 137, 155, 158, 177, 195, 197, 217, 228, 233, 238 patrilineal, 23, 84, 106, 127, 130, 135, 138, 140, 146, 148, 169, 189, 230 peasant, 46–49, 68, 72, 111n10, 163, 172, 199, 233 permeability (of Uzbekness), 22 physical appearance, 93–94, 138–40, 217, 219, 230, 239 pile sorting, 27, 28n10, 100–102, 143–45, 182–85 planned economy, xii, 3, 49, 53, 192n6 plots, private, 49, 60, 62, 90–91, 116, 134, 171–72, 215 politics local, 84, 118, 122, 211, 227 national, ix, xii, 4, 191, 224 post-socialist, 21, 57, 171 predictability, 16, 22–23

Index   269

primordial, 5–6, 11, 22, 142, 179, 192, 221, 224 primordialism, x, 11–12, 235 primordialist(s), 11–13, 235 proximity, 23, 86, 100, 103, 140, 153, 156, 173, 197, 217, 222, 225, 227–28 public goods, 14–16, 21, 57, 110, 233 Q Qaghanate, Türk or Turkic, 35–37, 70, 116, 156, 198 Qarakhanid, xiv, 39–42, 44, 46, 70, 117, 156, 162, 198, 233 Qarluq, 2, 36–39, 42, 46, 127, 136, 150n7, 156, 163, 195, 201, 208, 210, 233 Qashghar, 39, 158, 167, 192n8 Qashghari, Mahmut al-, 38–39, 93, 117 Qashgharliq, xiii, 162, 175–76 Qashqadaryo, xiii, 74–75, 136, 163, 176, 179, 187, 194–203, 207, 210– 11, 214–19, 221, 223, 225n2–7, 226n15, 227–32, 237 Qipchaq, xiv, 2, 7, 37–39, 42, 44–46, 56, 71, 116–18, 127–28, 130, 135–36, 138, 143–44, 146–47, 150n7, 151n8–14, 158–59, 163, 165, 167–68, 170, 175–76, 178–79, 194, 200–202, 210–11, 224, 225n5 Qizil-Qum, 65, 68, 73, 76–77, 96, 112, 121 R rational choice, x, 14–15, 17, 19–20, 28n8–9, 232 reshuffling (of groups), 29, 210, 218 resource(s), 6, 13–15, 20–22, 26, 49, 53, 57–58, 63n18, 73, 78, 92–93, 104, 113, 173, 231, 233–34, Romitan, xii, 74–75, 77, 79, 84, 86–92, 97, 103–4, 111n6, 201, 203, 209, 215, 219

Russians, xii, 6, 12, 47, 52, 72, 74–77, 97–98, 100–102, 120, 122, 142–45, 150n1, 159, 161, 175, 178, 180, 183–85, 200–3, 206–7, 220, 222 S Samanids, 38–39, 63n3, 70, 117, 198, 203, 228 Samarqand, 9, 39, 45, 47, 63n14, 65–66, 68, 71–73, 78, 86, 112, 119, 136, 157–60, 162, 194, 198–203, 206, 209–10, 214–16, 218, 223, 226n15 Sart, xiii, 7–8, 45, 51, 72, 111n14, 118, 136–37, 163, 168, 170, 173, 176–77, 179, 201, 216 schema(s), 17–19, 23–24, 47, 98, 103, 182, 234–37 cognitive, xi, xiii, 11, 13, 20, 24, 55, 192, 239 cultural, xi, 3, 17, 23, 47, 55, 94, 100, 107, 110, 239 meta-schemas, 23, 235 subschemas, 23, 235 Scythians, 33, 70, 116 sedentaries, xi, 29–32, 44–45, 68, 71, 153, 156, 195, 216, 239 sedentary culture, 43, 94, 202, 239 lifestyle, 28n1, 36, 44, 212, 225, 234 population, 31, 45, 112, 157–58, 191, 195, 199–201, 216, 238 Turkic (groups), 2, 71, 158, 175, 233 Uzbeks, xiii, 118, 150n6, 177 sel’soviet, 58, 63n17, 77–79, 84, 89, 92, 104, 123–27, 135, 139, 150n5, 163–67, 173, 175, 194, 203–4, 206 self-designation, 8, 34, 72, 238–39 self-identification, 12, 55 self-interested, x, 15–17, 21 self-understanding, x, 137, 230, 238

270   Index Seljuks, 39–40, 43, 46, 117–18, 136, 138, 198 semi-nomadic (groups), 72, 118, 150n6, 173, 175, 179, 194, 200, 206, 216, 229, 232 settlement, patterns (of ), 26, 77, 123, 126, 133, 163, 166, 186, 203, 207, 229–30 Shahrisabz, ix, xiii, 39, 43, 155, 157, 175, 194–95, 198–203, 205, 207–8, 210, 215, 217, 220–21, 223, 225n3, 226n9 Shaybani, Muhammad, 44, 56, 63n5, 118, 136, 157 Shaybanid(s), 28n3, 44–45, 51, 71, 118, 136, 158, 163, 175, 199, 216, 221, 238–39 shirkat xo‘jaligi. See xo‘jaligi Silk Road, 32–33, 36, 66 social environment, 107, 110, 148, 231, 235 social networks, 5, 14–15, 62, 90, 133, 171, 190, 214, 237 socialist, IX, 3–5, 21, 49–50, 52–53, 57–58, 60, 63n10, 73, 75, 78, 90–91, 109, 119, 123, 135, 155, 171, 214 socialization, x–xi, 18, 83, 106, 110, 234–35, 239 Soghdians, 33–34, 36–39, 70–71, 116, 155–56, 191, 198, 203 solidarity, 23, 25, 97, 103, 135, 220 Soviet Union, ix, xiii, 4, 53, 57, 63n10–11, 72, 103, 112, 115, 121, 152, 159–60 sovkhozes, 49, 58–59, 91, 111n8, 206 stability, ix, 13, 16–17, 21–22, 58, 237 steppe(s), xiii, 30, 32–37, 41, 43, 46, 48, 65, 76, 110, 113, 117, 121, 137, 151n16, 153, 158, 195, 199–200, 205–6, 214, 227, 229, 238–39 strategies, x, 9, 12, 15–17, 20, 197, 205 stratification, 20, 92, 135, 173, 186, 215

switches, 20, 106, 223–24, 234 Switching, 17, 22, 98, 129, 168, 209, 223, 229, 232–33 Syr-Darya, 31, 38, 65–66, 116, 121, 153, 160 T Tajikistan, ix, 9, 28n2, 30, 33, 39, 48– 49, 51, 54–56, 62n2, 63n14, 66, 73, 84, 93–94, 105–6, 109, 111n2, 113, 147, 152, 156, 159–60, 163, 171, 176, 180, 186, 192, 192n2, 194, 201–2, 205, 209–10, 212, 223, 225, 231 Tajikness, 74, 94, 190, 224 Tajiks, xii–xiii, 2, 4, 6, 9, 26, 45, 51, 55, 65, 74–75, 77, 79–84, 87–89, 92–96, 98, 100–102, 105–6, 108– 9, 122, 129, 142–45, 148–49, 153, 158, 161–62, 164, 167, 169–71, 173, 176–80, 183–92, 201–2, 205–8, 210–12, 215–16, 219–22, 224–25, 230–33, 239 Tarim Basin, 30–31, 33–34, 37–38, 41–42, 46, 70, 156, 159, 163, 175 Tashkent, xiv, xvi, 25, 45, 47, 50, 54– 56, 63n14, 73, 78, 84, 86, 105, 113, 119–20, 137, 147, 159–61, 172–73, 179–80, 188, 206, 217, 236 Tatars, xii, 36, 42, 74–75, 77, 81, 89, 98–103, 120, 122, 142–45, 161, 178, 180–85, 201–2, 207–8, 218, 220, 222, 231 territorial concept/model (of identity), x, xiii, 3, 12, 56, 222, 235 Timur, 1, 7–8, 43–44, 55, 72, 118, 125, 147, 194, 198–200, 210, 223, 238 Timurid(s), 28n3, 43–45, 56, 71–72, 118, 157, 199, 228, 238–39 titular group, 1–2, 4, 50, 119–20, 229 transaction costs, x, xv n1, 15–16, 22–23, 89–90, 133, 233 transmission (of identity/group membership), 2, 24, 26, 106, 148, 188–89, 223, 231–32, 235

Index   271

Transoxania, 33–34, 36, 38–45, 70–72, 116–17, 156, 158, 198, 228 triad (tests), 27, 28n10, 98–100, 142–43, 180–82, 231 tribes Turkic, 2, 37, 39–41, 71, 80, 117, 158, 163, 175 Uzbek, 1, 9, 46, 63n7, 118, 122, 175, 207, 211 Tsarist, 47–48, 72–73, 159–60 Turkestan, 47, 50–51 Turkestani, 7–8 Turkic commonality. See Pan-Turkic Turkic speakers, xi, xiii, 2, 35, 42, 46, 55, 65, 73, 93, 110, 158, 228, 230, 232, 238–39 Turkic-speaking, 35–36, 45, 74, 112, 153, 191, 228, 233, 238 Turkification, xii, 2, 9, 30, 37, 39, 41–42, 71, 108, 112, 117, 156–57, 199, 212, 223, 232, 238 Turkmen(s), xii, 6–7, 45–46, 51, 71–72, 74, 76–77, 79–81, 88, 92, 95–96, 100–102, 11n5, 118–23, 125–26, 128, 131–32, 135–48, 170, 177, 179, 182–85, 201–2, 208, 217, 221, 228, 230, 232 Turkmenistan, ix, 3, 30, 32, 46, 49, 54, 62n2, 63n12, 66, 68, 81, 84, 88, 96, 113, 119, 121, 123, 133– 34, 147–48, 151n20, 194, 201 Turks, 35–36, 38–39, 44, 70–71, 100–2, 136, 143–45, 183–85 local group, xiii, 158, 163, 165, 167, 170, 173, 175–76, 179–80, 189, 193n10, 201, 208, 229 Meskhetian, 74, 122, 152, 175–76, 182, 192n3, 206–8, 213–14, 220, 222, 231

urf-odat, 88, 95, 98, 103–4, 131, 138, 141, 178, 223 uruq, xiv, 140, 210–11 utility, 15, 21, 232 Uyghurs, xiv, 36–37, 39–41, 43, 46, 100–2, 143–45, 151n8, 156, 162–63, 165, 170, 175–76, 178, 180–85, 218, 221 Uzbekization, 9, 27n1, 57, 109, 168, 177, 191 Uzbekness, ix–x, xii–xiii, 2, 7–8, 23, 51, 55–56, 110, 120, 135, 150, 161, 167, 177–78, 187, 192, 227, 229, 233, 237 Uzbek-Tajik amalgamation, 65, 93, 95, 182, 230

U urban population, 38, 96–97, 128, 161–62, 193n12, 212, 215

Z Zarafshon, 66, 68–69, 78, 112, 118, 158, 195, 198, 204

V variability, 19–20, 227 village clusters, 79–80, 82, 86, 108, 126, 165, 186, 194, 203 community, 90, 92–93, 103, 106, 146, 186, 189, 231 violent conflict, xi, 46 vodiy, 153, 160, 165, 177, 186–87 X Xo‘jayli, xii, 25, 112, 120–21, 123– 25, 127–28, 130–31, 133–37, 139, 141–42, 146–47, 149, 150n4, 165, 187–88, 203, 210 xo‘jalik, 58, 78–80, 87, 90–92, 104, 111n8, 123, 125–26, 164, 204–5, 214–15 Xorazmcha, xiv, 127, 136, 147 Y yo‘kchi(lar), 202, 205–6, 208–12, 214–17, 219–25, 236