On the Religious Frontier: Tsarist Russia and Islam in the Caucasus 9780755609321, 9781784539184

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To Saeid, Cyrus, and Cameron And to Mojtaba and Zahra

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ON THE RELIGIOUS FRONTIER

Regional Map of Contemporary Caucasus

Map of Early Nineteenth Century Khanates in Azerbaijan

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Official Map of the Azerbaijan Democratic Republic 1920

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PREFACE

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ussia’s turbulent relations with its Muslim frontiers date back centuries and contain the historical antecedent to today’s violent confrontations in Russia and the Caucasus. The prevalent classification of the Caucasian Muslims as subversive and menacing elements has its roots in nineteenthcentury Orientalist thought, linking Islam and savagery. Conquest, within this context, acquired the colorings of a self-sacrificing civilizing mission. Today, as the world once again experiences the bitter outcomes of a religion-inspired warfare, it becomes imperative to remember the experiences and blunders of past generations. This study shows the linkage between Orientalist discourse and colonial expansion, as it unfolded in the conquest of the Caucasus. The question of how to subdue and control Islam in the Caucasus tormented its Russian colonizers to the final days of the Old Regime, and religion proved to be the most resistant element eluding Russian governmental power. On the Religious Frontier is the culmination of over a decade of research on Russian colonial policy and empire formation in the Caucasus. In this study, I focus mainly on the southeastern regions of the Caucasus that neighbor Persia and Turkey and roughly correspond to the lands of the Republic of Azerbaijan. Research on the monograph has been conducted in the archives and libraries of St. Petersburg and Baku, and supported by grants from the International Research and Exchange Board (IREX) in 1993–94 and 1996 and Regis College’s Kaneb Scholarship grant (2000) and faculty development grant (2004). In this endeavor, I have been assisted by many generous and professional individuals. Among them are Serafima Igorevna Varekhova of the Russian State Historical Archives in St. Petersburg; Boris Anani’ch of the Russian Academy of Science Institute of History; Chingiz Salakhli, former director of the Azerbaijani State Historical Archive; Bakhtiar Rafili of the Central State Archive of Political Parties and Social Movements of Azerbaijan; and Marat Ibragimov of the Azerbaijan Academy of Sciences Institute of History. In the United States, the staff of Harvard Law Library’s Rare Book Collection provided gracious assistance. Research and writing for the manuscript was also assisted by a postdoctoral fellowship from Harvard University’s Center for Middle Eastern Studies (1997–98), as well as the generous intellectual community of Harvard’s Davis Center for Russian and Eurasian Studies, and the Central Asia and Caucasus Forum, where I benefited from the critical comments of John Schoeberlein and the organizational guidance of John LeDonne. Our historians’ little Kruzhok at Harvard was a great source of support, and I especially thank Eric Lohr, David

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Kerans, and Witold Rodkiewicz. Special thanks go to Alfred Rieber, my dissertation advisor, who has been a great source of support and wisdom, continuing to comment on my work years later. I thank my colleagues, friends and students at Regis College for their continual support and cheer. Thanks also to my editors at I.B. Tauris, Abigail Fielding-Smith and Hanako Birks, and to my copyeditor Anne Geiberger for her assistance and professionalism. I would like to thank all those individuals who have been part of my life throughout the research and writing of this book. I give special thanks to Nushaba Jafarova, Hadji, Anar and Azar for letting me join their family during my research trips to Baku and enlightening me about Azerbaijani language and culture. To Aghdas Afjei; Razan Brooker; Julie Buckler; Mohammad, Massy, Alexander and Sahba Farivar; Shida Kashani; Wendy Lement; Rania Matar; Dianne McMillan; Farzad Mostashari and Kim Berman; Maryam Majidian; Sister Catherine Meade; Faezeh MollaGhaffari; Gelareh Mostashari; Ali Mostashari and Roshanak Nilchiani; Lucia Ortiz; Helen Repina; Sepeedeh Zabala; and Susan Zeiger, I give many thanks for making these happy years by their presence. I thank Sonia Martinez for caring for me and my family so that I could pursue scholarship. My parents Mojtaba Mostashari and Zahra Hendi have given me courage and support throughout the years, fearlessly visiting me in Russia and Baku in the midst of civil war. To my husband, R. Saeid Farivar, I owe the existence of this book. His high standards for scholarship, his encouragement, and above all his friendship have given me inspiration. It is to him, my parents, and my young children, Cyrus and Cameron, that I dedicate this book. F.M.

INTRODUCTION Russian Colonialism: The Case of the Muslim Caucasus

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uring the nineteenth century, as tsarist Russia moved into its southern frontier, the Muslim Caucasus came under Russian rule. This work examines the incorporation of the Caucasus into the Russian imperial system and the impact of colonialism on local society. It presents the formation and evolution of a Russian colonial administration in the Muslim Caucasus, subsequent social, political and economic development, and the relationship between imperial government and local society.1 On Russia’s frontiers with Islam, imperial policy was compelled to negotiate and take into consideration Islam as a religious, legal and social institution. And in this sense, this study belongs to a larger opus of writings examining colonialism, frontiers and religious conflict. One objective of this work is to show how the colonized and the colonizer transformed each other and were themselves transformed in the colonial situation.2 This work not only concerns itself with the evolution of the Russian empire, but also analyzes the response colonialism elicited among various social groups. In particular, the Islamic response to Russian imperialism is viewed within the larger context of the Muslim political and cultural movement within the Russian empire. This meeting of the “Occident” and the “Orient” forms the cultural context of the present study. Research for this monograph is based on original archival research, conducted in the Central State Historical Archive of Azerbaijan, the Central State Archive of Political Parties and Social Movements of the Republic of Azerbaijan, and the Russian State Historical Archives (St. Petersburg). Research in Russia was supported by a long-term advanced research grant from IREX. Additional postdoctoral research in Azerbaijan was also funded by a short-term IREX grant and a postdoctoral fellowship at Harvard University’s Center for Middle Eastern Studies. This study examines Russia’s evolving relationship with its southern borderland and isolates salient and consistent features of this colonial/frontier situation, in particular the religious fault lines between Orthodox Russia and the Muslim Caucasus. The purpose of this work is also to contribute to the historical debate on the nature of Russian colonialism and empire formation.3 As Russian administrators of the Muslim Caucasus attempted to bring this area under their control, they grappled with a number of issues and devel-

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oped their strategies while inelegantly reacting to crisis. They posed a number of questions: Was the Caucasus a colony or a province? Should they treat the region as part of Russia and extend civil rule, or maintain military rule? How should they apply the “Great Reforms” to the Caucasus? Should they partner with the local Muslim elite or divest them of power? Should they consolidate their rule with or without the introduction of Orthodox Christianity? Could they model their policies on the colonial practices of other great powers?4 Russia’s continental expansion has been compared to that of the American West, and indeed what I term “contiguous colonialism” played a determining role in the forging of colonial relations. Like the Euro-Americans in their western frontier, the Russians were engaged in a frontier process, forcefully advancing the frontier line, settling the frontier, and extending their homogenizing legal and administrative codes to these peripheral regions.5 Contiguous colonialism also brought Russia’s Transcaucasian regions into proximity with other major powers and blurred the distinctions between domestic and foreign policy. As the Russians pushed southward, the Muslim Caucasus became the no-man’s-land separating Russia from its southern neighbors, and the concern for security began to shape Russian military conduct. One recurrent concern was the dubious loyalty of Russia’s Muslim subjects, especially in the Caucasus with its proximity to Muslim Persia and the Ottoman Empire. Precisely due to its position on the frontiers of the Persian, Ottoman and Russian empires, the Muslim Caucasus—and Azerbaijan in particular—cannot be adequately understood from one vantage point alone. Thus the traditional dichotomous method of studying this region from the perspective of either Middle Eastern studies or Russian studies falls short and overlooks the essential nature of Azerbaijan as a cultural, religious and political borderland. This study considers the region within both the context of Islamic civilization (the Muslims of the Russian empire and the Middle East) and the imperial Russian context as a whole. The findings of this study are also relevant to developments today. Many of the conflicts and dilemmas facing the Soviet Union’s successor states are embedded in the troubling colonial history between Russia and its periphery. In addition, today Russia is striving to continue protocolonial relations with some of its former constituents, thus necessitating a historical re-evaluation of Russian colonial practices. As the academic community turns its attention to postcolonial studies, particular case examples contribute to the discourse on colonialism and its impact on non-Western societies. The postcolonial cannot be understood without first knowing the colonial, with its methods of cultural domination and hybridization of colonial societies. It is through the study of the colonial that we come to recognize the vestiges of the colonial within the nascent postcolonial societies and understand the numerous ways in which postcolonial societies remain connected to the former metropolis. Imperial Russia had its own style of colonial administration (although not officially recognizing the term colonial), which tended towards legal and administrative uniformity, co-opting of social elites, and sometimes pragmatic cul-

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tural tolerance. In the Muslim Caucasus, as elsewhere in the empire, the state experimented with social engineering and attempted to mold traditional Islamic society in the image of Russia with its hereditary nobility, bureaucratized clergy, regulated guild merchantry, and bonded peasants. However, unlike their experiment in the neighboring Christian regions of Georgia and Armenia, the high administrators of the Caucasus were ultimately unsuccessful in assimilating the Muslim Azerbaijani elite into the imperial elite. Tsarist colonial policy affected the Muslim Caucasus in a dualistic and paradoxical manner. As was typical in frontier processes, once military conquest had been successful, the Russians attempted to win over the local elite by bestowing privileges and, where they failed to do so, using punishment as a deterrent. However, while the few members of the co-opted Muslim elite ostensibly enjoyed benefits, they were discredited in the eyes of the local population and lost their traditional social standing. Moreover, by the end of the old regime, many of the state’s promises had remained unfulfilled, disillusioning all but the greatest beneficiaries of the autocracy. Since Russian colonialism attempted to remodel the social structure of the “internal colonies” on the Russian sociopolitical system, colonialism failed to attract the local Muslim population and instead gave rise to dissidence, both religious and national in form. Islam of course was particularly effective as an oppositional ideology. With its jihad against Russian encroachment in the Caucasus, a built-in appeal to social justice, and a duty to protect its faith and its believers, Islam provided an intrinsic model of resistance to its followers. Sources such as petitions and letters of the Azerbaijanis to the local and central administrations, court documents, political resolutions, police records, municipal records, and newspaper editorials all provide a key to the population’s mentality, self-image, and level of religious and national consciousness. Among prerevolutionary Russian publications the social and political history of the Muslim Caucasus has largely been neglected. Tsarist historians were mostly champions of the “history from above” paradigm and by and large recounted the official perspective, cheering on the builders of empire as national heroes. Without questioning the nature of the power relationship between the center and periphery, they concentrated on how effectively the center was able to “control,” “pacify” and “assimilate” the periphery.6 Soviet historiography, on the other hand, was imbued with a large dose of moralism, and while claiming to champion the cause of “history from below,” it did so conditionally. While the first generation of Soviet scholars, writing before the consolidation of Stalin’s power, were extremely critical of tsarist policy in the borderlands, subsequent generations euphemistically termed the annexation of Azerbaijan as “joining with the Great Russian people” and wrote of Azerbaijan’s “common historical fate with Russia.”7 Realizing that Soviet nationality policy was eerily reminiscent of imperial policy towards the nonRussian nationalities, Soviet historians found themselves condoning imperial expansion. On the whole, Soviet historians vindicated Russian expansionism by viewing it as a natural foreign policy imperative and a legitimate response to

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pressures from without. However, late Soviet and post-Soviet historiography emerging from the Republic of Azerbaijan, having shed its ideological constraints, has begun to explore various aspects of the nation’s colonial legacy.8 Contemporary Western scholars have barely brushed the question of Azerbaijan’s history under Russian imperial rule. Among the handful of excellent academic books published on Azerbaijan in the United States and Canada, no single work is solely dedicated to the imperial period in its entirety.9 This study contrasts both in methodology and in theme from those already published. It views the Muslim Caucasus not only as a Russian periphery, but also as a frontier zone between three core areas: Russia, Persia and Ottoman. In this context, the conquest of the Caucasus was a process in which the outer frontiers of Russia became inner frontiers, and were politically incorporated into the empire. Yet these regions still remained outer frontiers of Persia and the Ottoman Empire and were hence vulnerable and receptive to these respective influences. Most significant of these was Islamic influence in the region, an identification that made its social and cultural integration into the Russian imperial structure difficult and tenuous.

1 THE “CIVILIZING MISSION” AND RUSSIAN CONQUEST OF THE CAUCASUS, 1804–1828 Romantic Perceptions of the Caucasian Conquest

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ince the early nineteenth century, the motives and reasons for Russian expansion into the Caucasus and beyond had attracted the attention of both Russian and European historians, travelers and the public.1 The Caucasus excited the imagination of the Russian public through its romantic depiction by leading Russian writers, including Pushkin, Bestuzhev-Marlinski, Lermontov and Tolstoy.2 In 1821, Pushkin wrote the poem “The Captive of the Caucasus,” after his travel to the region the previous year. Pushkin almost single-handedly forged an exotic, sentimental and nostalgic image of the Caucasus for the mind’s eyes of literate Russia. Through poetic depiction the Caucasian campaigns had been made “comprehensible and assimilable to the Russians.”3 As Belinskii had observed: The grandiose image of the Caucasus, with its warlike inhabitants, for the first time was reproduced by Russian poetry—and only in Pushkin’s narrative poem for the first time was Russian society acquainted with the Caucasus, already known in Russia by arms.4 Not only the public, but historians also were infected with Pushkinian romanticism. General V. A. Potto, the chronicler of the “Caucasian wars,” epitomized this romantic view of the conquest of the Caucasus: The Caucasus! Which Russian heart could refrain from responding to the sound of its name, connected to us by the tie of blood and with the historical and intellectual life of our homeland, telling of immeasurable sacrifices but also of poetic inspiration?5

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Potto, a military historian, naturally saw the Russian conquest as “historically inevitable” and “required by the state needs of Russia.” While conscious that the task at hand was formidable, he considered the imperatives of conquest to be formulated on a “natural and inescapable” although “unconscious and instinctive” level. Potto extolled the Russian soldiers and generals in the Caucasus as “ancient heroes” and the personification of lofty moral standards. These “ancient heroes” were no other than Tsitsianov, Ermolov, Kotliarevskii and other generals notorious for their cruelty but, in the eyes of Potto, romantic warriors. Of them he wrote, “It is not for nothing that they inspire the Russian poets.”6 Romanticism beclouded the analytic abilities of some writers, leading them to erroneously dismiss the volatile consequences of Russian military activity. One amateur historian, M. Vladykin, for example, naively believed that all of the injuries and violence of the war would be forgotten and forgiven within hours after both sides had made their peace. He wrote: The Russians have always been magnanimous to their vanquished enemies and have shown proper respect to the latter’s dignity and courage. . . . Russians, based on their kind-hearted Slavic nature, fight without harboring hatred, and our soldiers, as soon as they have accomplished bloody duties, are ready to forget the past and love yesterday’s enemy from the depths of their hearts. The mountaineers, unlike the fanatic Asiatics, also have a great soul.7 The Civilizing Mission Imperial historians such as V. I. Velichko echoed Pushkin and Belinskii’s idea that Russia had bought the Caucasus with the valuable blood of its young soldiers.8 Poetry had legitimized Russian territorial claims to the Caucasus, creating a yearning for a land that most Russians had never seen and never would see. Russia had paid dearly to “civilize” the region, and therefore the Caucasians’ loss of statehood seemed most natural. Velichko’s Orientalist argument, which reduced the Caucasians to helpless children incapable of selfgovernment, was crowned by the following circular statement: “In the Russian empire tribes are plenty, but it may be that only one nation [Russia] exists, because nationhood is determined by having a flag, that is, the symbol of statehood.”9 Stressing the civilizing mission of the Russian armies, which were “a unique school of responsibility and honesty,” Velichko justified the army’s Caucasian conquests by reverting to the familiar Orientalist argument that the Caucasus is located in the East, between the Persian and Ottoman “Asiatic despotisms,” and is therefore “half-civilized, and a hearth for social infection.”10 Military historians, writing on the Caucasian wars, made extensive use of the pretext of “civilizing” the East. Comparing Russian conquest to that of the French in Algeria, they proudly boasted that the Russian mission was more challenging, as the Caucasian terrain, with its mountainous pockets, aided the independence-seeking natives.11 The campaigns were rationalized as inevitable,

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and following a moral dictate harking back to the Westernizing efforts of Peter the Great. Furthermore, in the Caucasus the Russians could become the bearers of civilization as Europe had presumably been for Russia. One Colonel Romanosov, turned academic, lectured, Can we deny the salutary influence of the West on our development? Are we not obliged to pay the debt of being civilized, and transmit this influence to the East? If Peter the Great with the founding of St. Petersburg cut a window through which Russia could gaze at Europe, then in our time, the pacification of the Caucasus will cut a window for the whole of western Asia, Persia, Armenia and Mesopotamia, which have been numbed for centuries. Through this window they will be able to glance at Europe, and if they do not benefit, then at least there can be no doubt that Russia has honestly and conscientiously repaid its great debt to civilization.12 Russian Orientalism and Islam One of the questions recently raised by scholars of “Russia’s Orient” is whether Edward Said’s concept of Orientalism can be applied to the Russian empire.13 In his seminal work, Said had excluded Russia from his analysis and had concentrated on the overseas colonies of France and Britain.14 While the Russian empire is different from its European counterparts, Said’s concept of a textual and linguistic differentiation of the “other,” a “style of thought,” still remains a useful conceptual tool. Furthermore, his illustration of the “structure of cultural domination” of colonized peoples and Orientalism as a “system of knowledge” holds relevance to the Russian empire.15 Orientalism sheds light on the unequal power relations between “East” and “West.” However, in Russia the estrangement of the European from the “Asian” was not quite so absolute. Because its Asian “colonies” were contiguous to the Russian heartland, the cultures of the colonized people were not entirely foreign to the Russians, as their mutual dealings often dated back for centuries. Hence the Russians were ambivalent about their “savages,” often romanticizing them and elevating them in literary oeuvres to the position of the “noble savage,” and especially so in the Caucasus.16 Russian literary romanticism may have even identified with the mountaineers as victims of the tsarist system, just as the artist was alienated from society.17 In addition, the Russians themselves doubted the authenticity of their own European character, and could not assume absolute moral superiority vis-à-vis the Muslim highlanders. Proximity and a shared history with its Muslim subjects had made the Russian empire a more tolerant imperial power. Furthermore, sporadic Russian attempts to convert the Muslims of its empire had by and large ended in failure and resentment. Although Russian imperialists also echoed the hegemonic slogans of the British, and alluded to a “civilizing mission” in Asia, their central convictions were not founded on racial supremacy, but rather on cultural and religious distinctions.

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Islam was the major identifying factor leading the Russians to label the Azerbaijanis as uncivilized. The Russian State had an acute awareness of religious identity, and religion was a decisive factor in assimilating within the imperial system. Prominent imperial historians of the Caucasus, such as V. N. Ivanenko and N. Dubrovin, used the term “Muslim provinces” of Transcaucasia, rather than “Turkish speaking” or “Turkic,” when referring to Azerbaijan.18 In fact the vanquished khanates of Eastern Transcaucasia had initially been grouped together as the Muslim provinces. The leading Russian figures involved in the conquest of the Caucasus saw themselves as bearers of a superior culture, mistrusting and scorning the religion of the vanquished peoples. Islam was rather an obstacle to be tolerated for now and obliterated in the future. As Count Paskevich expressed the official view, the Russian government “generously tolerates Muslims and idol worshippers, who are in essence enemies of our religion.”19 In his classic imperial history of the Caucasian conquest, N. Dubrovin offers a more nuanced analysis of Islam, suggesting that it was Shi’ite Islam that most challenged Russian authority.20 The Sunnis were presumably more loyal to the Russian government and interpreted the Koranic command to obey God, the prophet and the political leader as also encompassing the tsar, as long as the Russian tsar did not violate the Sharia. “The Shi’ite on the other hand interpret ‘follow your tsar’ differently—they say that the tsar must be of Muslim faith, and not another, and that Muslims can only follow Muslim rulers, without committing sin.”21 Given the above distinction between Sunni and Shi’ite Islam, it followed that the Shi’ite were presumed to be more fanatic, less moral, and even more deceiving and thieving.22 Nineteenth-century Russian writers made gross generalizations about the characteristics of the empire’s various ethnic groups. The Muslim population, whom they referred to using the generic term “Tatar,” was stereotyped as being lazy, dishonest and conniving—very much in the tradition of European Orientalist writings. It is in this spirit that Dubrovin writes of the “Tatar”: “He always prefers the kind of work which will bring him fast riches without expending much labor, . . . spends all of his time idly and only occupies himself with stealing his neighbor’s horse.”23 Thus, since moral and rational arguments would fail to sway the Tatars, the Russian imperial logic would suggest that the only way to effect change would be to appeal to the population’s self-interest and to use force when all else failed. In the notorious words of General Tsitsianov to Tsar Alexander I: “Fear and greed are the two mainsprings of everything that takes place here.”24 The Caucasus as an Object of Study By the second half of the nineteenth century, the Caucasians had become an object through which the Russians allayed their own insecurities about their level of civilization, and compensated for their inferiority complex in relation to Europe. Borrowing from the tradition of Western Orientalism and continuing the legacy of Peter the Great’s view that scientific knowledge aided im-

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perial control, curiosity about the cultures of the Caucasus pervaded the Russian administration. Caucasian society became a favored object of scrutiny for the learned as well as the amateur chinovnik (official) turned anthropologist. After the establishment of regular administrative departments in the Caucasus, the local administration established journals and series devoted to the study of Caucasian culture. Periodical publications such as Sbornik Materialov Dlia Opisaniia Mestnostei i Plemeni Kavkaza, Kavkazskii Sbornik, and Etnograficheskii Sbornik Kavkaza translated native poetry, folklore and stories, offered lessons in the linguistics of the local languages, and carried features on the Caucasian way of life and history. The Russian press was also inundated with travel accounts and memoirs of civil and military personnel in the Caucasus.25 Fiction and ethnography had come to the aid of the tsarist bureaucracy. In making use of literary romanticism to consolidate newly conquered territories, the Russian empirebuilders once more emulated British imperialism.26 Using the imperial idea as it was reflected in literature to garner public support and create a desirable public image, tsarist Russia self-consciously promoted the myth of the civilizing debt owed to it by Asia. The myth, however, was at odds with the sordid reality of the Russian presence, and this discrepancy haunted the Russian conquerors for decades. Indeed, the specter of Shamil is still roaming northern Caucasia. The Military Conquest: The “Turbulent Frontier” The Russian empire was the great exception to the European empires of the nineteenth century. Although considered a great power, Russia had no overseas colonies, nor did it overtly have a colonial ministry or colonial school. It did not participate in the international scramble to place the imperial flag on the most remote of tropical islands, nor did the government follow in the steps of merchants and missionaries. And yet, Russia was considered an ambitious player in the imperialist rivalries of the “Age of Empire.” Not a maritime power, Russia directed its imperial ambitions towards its Eurasian frontier region, and this pattern of expansion more resembled American continental expansion than the European experience. Orientalism of course justified expansion in moral terms to the larger public. In 1893, the eminent historian Frederick Jackson Turner had opened his keynote address to the American Historical Association with the provocative and still debated statement, “Up to our own day American history has been in a large degree the history of the colonization of the Great West.” These words paralleled V. O. Kliuchevskii’s famous statement, “The history of Russia is the history of a country in the process of colonization. . . . Migration and colonization have been the basic factor in our history.”27 Clearly, Russia and America shared in certain aspects of the “frontier hypothesis”—both countries occupied what they perceived to be “free lands,” displaced indigenous populations, used the frontier as a “safety valve,” created hybridized and Europeanized cultures on their periphery, and eventually integrated the new territories into the body of the nation.28

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Turner also saw the frontier in symbolic terms, as “the outer edge of the wave—the meeting point between savagery and civilization.” His critics considered this definition “a hazy and a shifting concept, riddled with internal contradiction.”29 Turner’s interpretation of a frontier not only as a physical and political boundary, but also as a cultural and civilizational point of contact, a symbolic frontier, still holds interest for scholars today.30 However, the frontier thesis can be problematic when studying the Muslim Caucasus, a land that was neither sparsely populated nor extensively colonized by Russians (white colonists), and that benefited from a highly developed and rooted culture. Within this context, the term “frontier” needs revision if it is to be a useful analytical tool. The Russian and American frontiers were not only about expanses of land, but also about regions of overlapping cultural, religious, linguistic and ethnic groups. Russia was surrounded by what Rieber has termed a “porous frontier.”31 With overlapping ethnic groups inhabiting both sides of the state borders, the political lines of these frontiers were easily traversed.32 Azerbaijan, politically split by the Aras River into Russian and Persian dependencies, was a classical frontier society. In addition, the frontier regions were at different technological, cultural and military levels compared with Russia. This disequilibrium gave rise to unstable frontier zones, especially during periods when the states neighboring Russia were internally weakened and unable to maintain pressure on the buffer zones separating them from the Russian state. In the early nineteenth century, military activity acquired a momentum of its own in the Caucasian borderlands, where communication with the center was slow and decisions were often made on the spot. As Ottoman and Persian power crumbled on their northern borders, a political vacuum was created in the Caucasus—the Caucasus had become what Galbraith has called a “turbulent frontier.”33 By the end of the eighteenth century, the destabilized Russo-Persian frontier provided the setting for a Russian forward policy. Succession struggles had weakened Qajar Iran under its first rulers Aga Muhammad Khan (1796–97) and Fath Ali Shah (1797–1834). After the death of Aga Muhammad Khan, the Persian army had nearly fallen apart.34 Furthermore, Georgia’s recognition of Russian suzerainty “upset the delicate and unstable balance of power among the Turks, the Georgians, the Persians, and the Azerbaijani khans of Transcaucasia.”35 The stability of the region was further compromised by the constant state of fighting and dynastic quarrels that embroiled the khanates. These destabilizing factors contributed to a state of continual warfare, whereby tsarist generals found ample opportunities for independent action. In this way, Russian colonial expansion resembled that of the French, where expansion was less the work of merchants and colonists and more the “creation of prancing pro-consuls and beribboned generals.”36 The skills that had made for a successful conquest were not the same needed in order to effectively administer the new regions. Once Russia had secured its Transcaucasian conquests by the treaties of Turkmanchai with Persia

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(1828) and Adrianople with the Ottomans (1829), civil and military authorities wrestled with the question of how to best administer the region. This discussion continued for over a decade. A continuation of a Russian forward policy included attempts to attract the local elites and win their loyalties. However, the Russians were not consistent. Reversing policies every few years, and relying on brute force, they infuriated the native peoples of this region and found themselves facing massive rebellion. Napoleon has been credited with the famous saying that “great empires die of indigestion,” a reminder that the imperial process did not end with the formal acquisition of territories.37 The conquest of the Caucasus took place in three steps. The first step entailed subjugating the region by force and establishing military rule. The next step was to introduce Russian political forms and gradually replace local laws with imperial law. The final step was the economic and social incorporation of this periphery into the Russian center. The mode of administration of a territory and the degree to which its native population accepted Russian rule and was integrated into the imperial system depended on how the territory had initially been acquired by Russia and how compatible its religious beliefs were with Orthodoxy. In cases like Christian Georgia, which had initially volunteered to join Russia, there was less resistance to assimilation with the Russians than elsewhere in the Caucasus. Georgians were viewed as loyal subjects, thus facilitating their elite’s incorporation into the imperial nobility.38 The northern Caucasian Muslim tribes, however, which had been subjugated after a protracted war lasting nearly half a century, remained under military rule and were deemed unreliable. The lands of Azerbaijan, or Eastern Transcaucasia, had been acquired forcefully, yet the local Muslim elites had at times cooperated with the Russians. Here the Russians and the local population viewed one another ambivalently, never entirely trusting or rejecting one another. Religion of course played a significant role in this mutual estrangement.39 The Caucasian Campaigns and the Russo-Persian Wars (1804–28) The Caucasian Campaigns and the Azerbaijani Khanates The success of the Russian campaigns in annexing the Transcaucasian territories was not solely due to the resolve of the generals and their troops, or even their superiority over the Persian military. The independent khanates, themselves, were disintegrating from within, helplessly weakening one another with their internal rivalries. With the creation of a “turbulent frontier,” the stage was set for the intervention of outside powers. Since the mid-eighteenth century, the khans had engaged in a revolving scheme of intrigues, whereby one would attempt to subdue his neighbors and others would unite against him, asking now for Russian or Georgian assistance and then for Persian or Ottoman protection. Under these conditions, the Russians established their influence in the region as protectors and mediators and in short strove to become indispensable to the khanates. When a powerful khan

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surfaced, the Russian presence would serve to equalize the balance of power—or so it appeared. The margin of activities of the khanates, however, narrowed exceedingly as the Russian presence became more pronounced after Russia’s victories against the Ottomans in the wars of 1768–74 and 1787–91.40 After the Russian annexation of Georgia in 1801, the khanates were left with even less space to maneuver. The Russian military came into direct conflict with the khanates after the annexation of Georgia, when it was compelled to intercede and “protect” Georgian provinces that were under dispute with the khanates. Initially, while still consolidating their power, the Russians were obliged to treat the khans as equals. The correspondence between the commander of the Caucasian line, General Knorring, and Djevad Khan of Ganje demonstrates that the khans were not yet in awe of the Russian power. In a bold letter to Knorring, written in 1802, Djevad Khan defended his rights over Shamshid province, which bordered Georgia. Knorring had contested Ganje’s claims to the territory and implied that the Qajars had given the province away as a present to Djevad Khan when it had rightfully belonged to Georgia. “Nobody has given us Shamshid province, and consequently no one has the right to take it away from us or give it away. For six or seven hundred years Shamshid has belonged to my people and has served us,” Djevad Khan wrote defiantly.41 Furthermore, the khans sometimes even addressed the Russian envoys condescendingly. In another letter to Knorring, Djevad Khan had patronizingly lectured, “Do you believe everything you hear? We had been gladdened by your presence, thinking that you would grace us with the rule of law and order, . . . but you listen to the words of our enemies.” This was followed by a threat: “If you behave towards us in this manner, I will make an agreement with the khans of Azerbaijan. Then you will have bad and disorderly relations with your neighbors.”42 Such a play was characteristic of the frontier politics of small states. Tsitsianov and the Conquest of the Caucasus Not surprisingly, Alexander I considered Knorring a weak ruler and replaced him with the “energetic” Prince Paul Dimitrievich Tsitsianov (Tsitishvili), a Georgian noble, related to the royal house, to whom Alexander gave the titles inspector of the Caucasian line, administrator in chief of Georgia and military governor of Astrakhan. Tsitsianov was a Russified Georgian, who had been born in Moscow and had made a name for himself in the military service; Catherine II had referred to him as “my general,” and the legendary Suvorov had even sung his praises. While Tsitsianov was a military leader in his own right, his appointment in September 1802 was also a conciliatory measure aimed at appeasing the Georgians, who were vexed at the Russians for denying them autonomy as had initially been agreed upon, and treating Georgia like a colony.43 In appointing Tsitsianov, who had a will of his own, the tsar had opted for more than he had imagined. Under Tsitsianov, events in the Caucasus spun out of the control of the emperor, took an aggressive turn and set on a sanguine

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course that was to engage Russian forces for over half a century. Muriel Atkin, in her account of the Russian conquest of the Caucasus, points out that General P. Tsitsianov “capitalized on any opportunity to magnify his own importance. . . . Sometimes his self-aggrandizement had overtones of derangement.” In addition, Tsitsianov often evaded the tsar’s restrictions and refused to alter his expansionist plans. Ironically, Alexander, in his rescript of September 26, 1802, addressed to Tsitsianov upon the assumption of his new duties, had asked the general to be firm but just in Georgia and practice moderation and peaceful behavior with the neighboring khanates, in order to win their trust in Russia. Judging from his letters, the tsar seems to have truly believed in an enlightened Russian rule, as his grandmother Catherine had before him. He wrote to Tsitsianov: “It would be desirable that our activities should be persuasive in eliminating any thoughts of violence [among the population] and furnish the basis for trust in those localities that may wish to seek Russian protection.”44 The administrator in chief assured the tsar that he would win the confidence of the Caucasians; thereafter, Russian annexations had the external appearance of voluntary associations. Tsitsianov was a quintessential authoritarian personality, deferent and soft-spoken to his superiors and relentlessly abusive to subordinates and those whom he considered inferior. While promising Alexander that he would act judiciously, Tsitsianov entertained other plans. One of his first actions was to move on Ganje, whose khan was unyielding to Russian demands for payment of annual tribute and housing of a Russian garrison and who had boldly voiced his decision to defend his realm and join forces with Persia. When Ganje was invaded in January of 1804, the khan and over 3,000 people were killed, and the khanate was annexed to Russia and renamed Elizavetpol, in honor of the tsaritsa.45 The Ganje incident was meant to set an example. Referring to the native Muslim population as “treacherous” and “Asiatic scum” and using perverse metaphors drawn from the animal kingdom to describe them, Tsitsianov believed that the only way to approach them was through inspiring fear of the Russian army.46 This tactic extended to his correspondence with the khans, in which he threateningly demanded their unconditional submission, and purposefully evoked the sanguine scenes of the late Ganje before the unyielding khans. When one of Tsitsianov’s lieutenants was killed on the territories of the sultan of Elisou, a Russian ally, Tsitsianov, adopting what he perceived as an oriental style of communication, wrote, “Shameless sultan with the soul of a Persian—so you still dare write to me! Yours is the soul of a dog and the understanding of an ass, yet you think to deceive me with your specious phrases. Know until you become a loyal vassal of my Emperor I shall only long to wash my boots in your blood.”47 Tsitsianov’s uncompromising stance was the logical sequence in conquering the frontier. The Russians had first used diplomacy and amicable gestures to win over the khans, and after exhausting peaceful means of coercion had opted for violent ones. Now they meant not only to triumph through the use of force, but to also set an example.

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Writing to the khan of Karabagh in 1804, Tsitsianov warned that the “courage” of the khan of Ganje, Djevad Khan, in defying him, had resulted in the latter’s bloody death. In his characteristically bullying style—which was in line with the language of diplomacy in the region—Tsitsianov wrote Ibrahim Khan of Karabagh, “I hope that Your Excellency does not want to emulate him and will follow the general rule that the weak submit to the strong and do not entertain dreams of vying with them. . . . Have you ever heard anywhere in the world that an eagle would hold discussions with a fly?”48 Tsitsianov next presented Ibrahim Khan with a grim view of his chances: “Your bullet won’t kill five men; my cannon, with ball or shrapnel, will cut down thirty at a time.”49 By spring of 1805, Tsitsianov had intimidated the khans of Karabagh, Shusha, Sheki and Shirvan into accepting Russian suzerainty. Tsitsianov typically wrote the letters of capitulation, addressed to the tsar, and forced the khans to sign the terms.50 In his reports to Alexander, Tsitsianov distorted the events and suggested that the khans had willingly joined the empire and were asking for Russian protection. In return for their evinced desire to serve the crown with “zeal,” the tsar accepted the khans as subjects, conferred military titles upon them (typically the rank of lieutenant-general) and gave them a yearly salary in silver.51 While feeding the tsar blatant untruths, Tsitsianov was on a selfappointed mission to extend the territories of the empire, Georgia and his own glory as well. To the tsar he wrote assuringly, “These khans have such faith in us because they have no fear and do not anticipate reprisals.”52 To a confidant he confessed, “For three years I have waged a secret war here, as in His Majesty’s manifesto there are no instructions on this, and I am at a loss to pronounce reasons for acquiring new territories for the Russian empire.”53 When confronted with the cruelty of his measures, Tsitsianov retorted that such measures were necessary in Asia, and that he had tried to protect the tsar’s tender heart from the realities of the Caucasian conquests.54 Tsitsianov was instantly transformed into a Russian hero on February 20, 1806, when he met his death outside the Baku citadel, having been lured into a trap by the Baku khan, Hussein Quli. The khan proceeded to have Tsitsianov’s body decapitated and sent the head to the Qajar monarch, Fath Ali Shah, as a present. Having gruesomely slain the mastermind of the Caucasian campaigns, the khans had gained in confidence and successfully challenged the Russian presence in the region. The First Russo-Persian War (1804–13) After the assassination of Tsitsianov, the Russian military forces in the Caucasus were no longer able to gain swift successes, and the first Russo-Persian war (1804–13), fought over these territories, extended for another seven years, until the concluding of the Gulistan treaty in 1813. In the interim, Generals Ivan Vasil’evich Gudovich (1806–9), Aleksandr Petrovich Tormasov (1809–11), and Nikolai Feodorovich Rtishchev and Marquis Paulucci (1811–12) commanded the Caucasian line. The Russian generals succeeding Tsitsianov were forced to

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adopt a more indirect and less threatening approach to the khanates, many of which collaborated with the Persian forces, led by the Persian crown prince Abbas Mirza. This shift in approach was more a matter of expediency and did not reflect a genuine change in attitude. The Russian commanders continued to believe in the efficacy of using force. Count Aleksandr Petrovich Tormasov, who was a member of the old Russian nobility and had been the commander of the Crimean forces quelling the rebellion of the Tatars in 1782, fundamentally believed that the Muslims were incapable of understanding reason. He insisted that “force and fear, fear and force, can only be effective, as the people here do not grasp or understand kind-heartedness.”55 Circumstances, however, necessitated the use of discretion. Due to the relatively small size of the Russian infantry, which probably numbered under 15,000 by 1806, the generals were forced to rely on their diplomatic cunning to pit one khan against the other.56 Additionally, the Russian army was rather ineffective, as the quality of the officers was appallingly poor. As most of the officers had not chosen the Caucasian Corps for their permanent career, some even having been exiled to that locality, their moral resolve was uninspiring. Those who had volunteered were swayed by dreams of quick glories, and were nicknamed “pheasants,” as they typically arrived for one season and left as soon as they were decorated.57 Given the state of its troops, the Russian military could not boldly plan on an outright attack on neighboring Persia. During most of the 1804–13 period, Russian and Persian troops did not directly engage one another but supported their representative khans, who fought on their behalf. In support of the Persian monarch, Sheikh Ali Khan of Derbent, for example, had organized a siege of Shirvan, whose khan, Mustafa Khan, had “entered into a close pact with the Russians and harbors enmity towards the Persian shah.” Surrounding Shirvan with 10,000 troops, Sheikh Ali Khan killed a considerable number of Shirvani and Russian troops, and conquered the city.58 Yet, with the conditions of power flux in the region, the Russians did not trust the loyalties of the newly subjugated peoples. They knew that as soon as Russian power weakened in the slightest, the khans would betray Russia. Not surprisingly, the Russians suspected most khans of concluding “secret pacts” with the Persians. The prevalence of pro-Persian sentiment was such that the Russians officially reported, “Almost all of the Baku residents are secret spies for the Persian.”59 Local support was also bolstering Crown Prince Abbas Mirza’s confidence in his negotiations with the Russians. In their communications with the Persians, the Russian generals were unable to logically justify their country’s expansion and instead verbalized ideas of Russia’s manifest destiny. Responding to General Gudovich’s claim that “the Kura, Araxes and Arpa rivers form a straight line, created by God to define the border between the two powers,” Abbas Mirza did not stand on ceremony, but responded that the Russian claims were ridiculous “to any one in their right mind . . . and with the least bit of intelligence.” The Russian arguments were

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invalid, according to Abbas Mirza, as they had used force and were interfering in Persia’s relations with its vassals.60 Failing to convince the Persians of Russia’s God-given rights to the region, Gudovich in July of 1808 threatened the Persians with future bloodshed.61 The Caucasian army however could not single-handedly carry out its threats and needed the cooperation of local forces. General Tormasov, Gudovich’s successor, appealed to those khans who had surrendered to Russia, to supply 500 cavalry each for the war against Persia. The khans while willing to provide intelligence information about the whereabouts of the Persian troops, reluctantly participated in direct military operations against this power.62 By 1812, the Caucasian war had been complicated by the appearance of the British. More concerned with French expansion under Napoleon Bonaparte, the British offered the Persians the equivalent of two million rubles and twelve thousand weapons to counter French influence in the region. With their hands tied up with the Napoleonic campaigns, the Russians could not send additional troops to the Caucasian front and were compelled to give in to the British proposal to mediate between Russia and the Persian and Ottoman powers.63 Russia found itself facing a grave condition on the Caucasian front. Turkey, which had been at war with Russia since 1806, was now considering joining forces with Persia, at a time when troops were being removed from the Caucasus to counter Napoleon’s advances. In order to relieve the pressure, Russia made peace with Turkey in 1812, by the treaty of Bucharest, returning to Turkey her Caucasian possessions. Peace with Persia followed. The Treaty of Gulistan was signed on September 30, 1813, and ended a nine-year war between Russia and Persia. The borders of Russia and Persia were determined on the basis of status quo ad presentum, by which the northern khanates (Karabagh, Ganje, Sheki, Shirvan, Derbent, Kuba, Baku, and parts of Talysh and Lenkoran) were officially transferred to Russia. Article three of the treaty ceded the provinces of Karabagh and Western Georgia to Russia, and article five permitted Russian merchant vessels to navigate the Caspian and enter Persian harbors. In an apparent attempt to win the trust of the Persian monarch and demonstrate “the spirit of good neighborhood,” article four of the treaty stipulated that the Russian sovereign would assist the heirapparent to ascend the Persian throne in the case that he was confronted by an opposing party. The two powers also agreed to exchange ambassadors and mercantile agents. Overall the Gulistan treaty was politically and economically advantageous to Russia—it extended the empire to the Western shore of the Caspian, opened the Persian market and gave Russia the legal right to interfere in Persia’s political affairs. Some of the terms of the settlement however were ambiguous and gave rise to unresolved tensions that led into war once again in 1826.64 Ermolov and the Conquest of the Caucasus General Aleksei Petrovich Ermolov was one of the major figures in the conquest of the Caucasus. Between 1816 and 1827, he was the commander in

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chief of Georgia, as well as commander of the Caucasian Corps and “ambassador-extraordinary to the Court of Persia.”65 Belonging to an old noble family of modest means, Ermolov had enlisted in the military at an early age.66 In 1814, Ermolov had been the commander of the Russian and Prussian forces that had taken Paris. Ermolov, a student of Suvorov, was to gain legendary fame during his tenure in the Caucasus. To the natives, he was the “new Genghis Khan”—similarly notorious for his brutality in the region.67 But to the Russians, he was the real force behind the final conquest of the Caucasus. The poet Domontovich had asserted that Ermolov was destined to “carve his name with the bayonet on the [Caucasian] mountains.” Pushkin also contributed to creating the cult of Ermolov. In one of his poems he had exclaimed, “Bow down thy snowy head, oh, Caucasus; Submit; Yermoloff comes!”68 Pushkin and other enlightened Russians exhibited strangely contradictory impulses in regards to the Asian borderlands. While supporting constitutionalism within Russia, they condoned the deprivation of the Muslim Caucasians of their political rights, to serve the interests of the empire. And nowhere did this contradictory nature exhibit itself more forcefully and evoke more impassioned reactions than in the Caucasus. This duality was present in Ermolov to an extreme. A defender of the Decembrists, Ermolov was able to reconcile a liberal political outlook in Russian matters with an unyieldingly harsh policy in the Muslim borderlands. Openly admitting that he purposefully employed harsh measures, Ermolov justified himself: I desire that the terror of my name should guard our frontiers more potently than chains or fortresses, that my word should be for the natives a law more inevitable than death. Condescension in the eyes of the Asiatics is a sign of weakness, and out of pure humanity I am inexorably severe. One execution saves hundreds of Russians from destruction and thousands of Mussulmans from treason.69 Ermolov’s Administration: Options and Policies Ermolov’s duties in Caucasia were multifold, and—counter to his assertions—not all of these tasks could be accomplished by force alone. Not only was he to guard the stability of the region and act as a de facto ambassador to neighboring Persia, but he was also responsible for devising an administrative apparatus for the new territories. The responsibilities facing the Caucasian administrators were qualitatively different from those of Russia’s governor-generals. In the borderlands, the tsar’s viceroys acted as political intermediaries between the Russian state and neighboring powers. Beginning with Tsitsianov, all of the Caucasian commanders in chief and viceroys were involved in regional politics and carried on correspondence with Persian and Ottoman authorities. They owed their plenipotentiary powers to the great distance separating the political center from the Caucasus, the lengthy time for correspondence, the conditions of military rule

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in the frontier and the need for quick decision making. In the realm of domestic policy, the Caucasian high authorities were instrumental in devising the system of domestic administration in their regions and actively debated various possibilities. Within the imperial bureaucracy, two tendencies were prominent, with regard to the administration of the Caucasian peripheries. The first camp, in which Tsitsianov belonged, was made up of what I call the “integrationists.” Integrationists strove to unite the periphery with the empire as quickly as possible. They associated their interests with St. Petersburg, and disregarded regional specificity, customs and local laws, which they regarded as unimportant. To the integrationists, Russification and legal and administrative incorporation into the empire were the ultimate aim, for the attainment of which use of force was justifiable. During the reigns of Nicholas I, Alexander III and Nicholas II, these tendencies were encouraged by the tsar, factions of the central bureaucracy and Russian nationalists. By contrast the “localist” camp within the Caucasian administration advised caution and respect in dealing with local laws and traditions, and opted for a gradual introduction of Russian laws. Regarding tolerance as beneficial to the local welfare, they sided with the prosperous development of the regions entrusted to them, rather than supporting the whims of St. Petersburg ministries. Localists exhibited pride in their regions and encouraged the participation of the native peoples in the administration. When the interests of the center clashed with those of the periphery, localists defended the periphery against encroachments from the center. The localists had a pre-national and imperial ideal in mind, believing that the monarchy and loyalty to the empire were sufficient to hold the Russian empire intact. Alexander I and Alexander II encouraged the tolerant behavior of the localists in the Caucasian borderlands, believing it fostered trust towards the Russians. Ermolov was a localist in many respects, and best demonstrated this tendency when dealing with the Christians of the Caucasus, and the Georgians in particular. He protected Georgian interests against the encroachments of St. Petersburg, reasoning, “It is important to preserve the customs of the land, which have taken root over centuries, otherwise they will have a negative view of our rule as well as ill-feelings—better to try to change them gradually and in an almost imperceptible manner.”70 Such understanding came by seldom when considering the Muslim Caucasus. Ermolov was the first Russian administrator in the Muslim regions of the Caucasus to be confronted with the problem of local administration of judicial and civic affairs. His was the daunting task of leading the transition from military to civilian rule in Transcaucasia, and in the interests of expediency, he chose to make use of the traditional social elite. Ermolov, however, had an ambiguous relationship with his new allies and vigilantly guarded against their “clandestine foreign relations.” Writing to the tsar in 1819, Ermolov had admitted that based on the prevailing anarchy and unrest in the region, he had no choice but to use the Muslim landowners to oversee the people.71 The shortage

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of competent Russian bureaucrats in the region was also a motivating factor leading him to recruit the traditional elite. Driven by necessity, Ermolov conditionally accepted the Muslim elite; however, he denied them equal privileges with the Russian nobility. Ermolov justifiably suspected the loyalties of the Muslim clergy, the ulema, and exiled those individuals considered to be “harmful to the Russian state.” These included those who had been confirmed by the Persian sheikh-ul-Islams and who refused to submit to the Russian government.72 Ermolov was not mistaken about the foreign connection, as the most revered Muslim clerics resided outside of the Russian empire. Those clerics who were deemed reliable and clear of foreign influences were to continue their activities as clerics, educators and judges in the Sharia courts. In addition to the clergy, the landowning beks (notables) and agalars (landlords: literally, “sir”) were also called upon to aid in village administration.73 In order to weaken the Muslim landed nobility’s independent source of power, Ermolov considerably divested the agalars of their former privileges and rescinded their hereditary control over the villages. In effect divesting the landed nobles and turning them into state servants, the “Agalar Regulations of 1818” transformed the agalars from owners to mere “administrators” of villages, and even this was conditionally based on their display of “respect” and “zeal” in serving the Russian throne.74 In addition to overseeing agricultural production, the agalars were also expected to keep the order and inform the authorities of any antigovernment activities in their villages.75 Ermolov had an ambivalent relationship with the agalars. While relying on their services, he mistrusted their allegiances and was not averse to demonizing them before the population, and hence assumed the role of regulating the relationship between the agalars and “the people.” An expert strategist, he capitalized on the class conflict between landlords and peasants. In a proclamation addressed to the inhabitants of Shamshid and Kazakh provinces, Ermolov wrote, “The power of the agalars should be used to benefit the people. The unlimited, arbitrary rule of the agalars until 1818 . . . burdened the population with taxes and kept them oppressed.”76 Ermolov and his advisors debated on how heavily to tax the local population so as to keep them “satisfied” and even considered aiding the most impoverished.77 Russian social policy had taken on contradictory hues in the borderlands of the empire—while supporting serfdom and taxation in Russia proper, the government advocated peasant interests on the periphery of the empire.78 Russian concern for peasant exploitation by the landed elite quickly disappeared when anti-Russian revolts broke out. Now even the peasants were threatened with harsh reprisals. An example of this policy is demonstrated in Ermolov’s dealings with the people of Shamshid province, bordering Georgia, who were demanding the freedom of their former sultan. Ermolov responded that if they revolted, he would not respect their wishes: “On the contrary, I will use force intractably, and I will have no pity in my heart if I punish the violators.” Interestingly, Ermolov even encouraged the emigration of those who were

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dissatisfied: “If any of you want to flee abroad, I will do nothing to retain you, as I know that honest and trusting subjects do not leave their ruler.”79 The Military-Commandant System The Russian regime of military occupation was faced with a dilemma in its attempt to pacify Eastern Transcaucasia. It was forced to rely on the leading figures of the old khanates, against which it had fought, and which it did not trust. As Russian hold over the area was still tenuous, long-term administrative plans were still premature. Hence the military commandants ruled on an ad hoc basis without a cohesive system to guide their actions. In its initial phase (1804–26), the military-commandant system, which remained in effect until 1841, was very similar to the old khan system. The commandant, stationed in Tiflis, was responsible for both civil and military administrations. In effect, he took over most of the powers and prerogatives of the khans, and continued to operate within the old system. Under the supervision of the commandant, in each province a divan, or advisory council, consisting of beks and ordinary citizens was created. The khanates were renamed provinces, yet were as before divided into magaly, headed by a naib (tax collector, literally “vice-ruler”) from the local population.80 The tax system of the khans was also preserved intact; not one of the taxes was abolished, and new taxes were even added. The commandant even granted tuyuls (land grants in return for service), confirmed the titles of beks and qadis, and used the local elite for administrative and tax-collecting purposes.81 However there was one major distinction between the rules of khans and Russian commandants. The khan, although ostensibly enjoying unlimited powers, was bound by Muslim laws. The commandant was accountable to no one. Hence arbitrariness and chaos were exacerbated in the period of Russian military rule.82 Abuse was so widespread under the commandant system that when two senators were sent to the Caucasus to report on the state of affairs in the 1820s they concluded that “upon the whim of the commandant depends the rights, honor and property of hundreds of thousands of inhabitants. . . . They see the commandant as no different from their former khans.”83 In areas where the former khans had capitulated to the Russians and were willing to serve the crown, the khans remained as administrators, under the supervision of the military commandant. However, after the ruling khan died, his post was usually taken over by a Russian official, and the khanate was renamed as a province. Thus it was that the khan of Nakhjevan remained in power until 1841, and those of Talysh, Karabagh and Shirvan until 1826, 1822 and 1820 respectively.84 The vanquished khans had lost their rights to command troops, mint coins and conduct independent foreign policy, and had become vassals to the tsar. However, they were by and large left to themselves (with nominal supervision by the commandant) if they provided tribute, and could even retain their title, although many now carried Russian military titles.85 A typical example of Russia’s dealings with the defeated khans is provided by a contract between the khan of Shusha and the Russian military com-

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mand. In this document, dated 1805, the khan agreed to renounce his allegiance to Persia, recognize Russia as sovereign, and ask the military commandant stationed in Georgia for “advice” and “guidance” in matters of the smallest importance. In addition, the khan was to accept the presence of Russian soldiers in the Shusha fortress, provide grain for the Russian army’s horses, and pay tribute to the treasury.86 In domestic matters, the khan was otherwise left to himself. Several explanations may be provided for keeping up the appearances of the khanates. One view (Petrushevskii) suggests that Russia did not want her presence to be that of a traditional colonizer and to rule “po Russkim obrazom.” Other views state that Russia’s policies were simply a matter of expediency; the influence of the khans among the local population was needed in order to pacify the inhabitants and to garner support in the war against Persia. In addition, direct rule was not feasible, as there was a shortage of Russian administrators in the Caucasus, and the social structure considerably differed from that of Russia. Thus in each province legal matters were settled through a provincial court comprising the representatives of the beks (divan-begis), merchants and Muslim jurisconsults. The legal system therefore continued to be a mixture of Islamic law and the laws of the khanate.87 Thus in the first decade of Russian rule, a hybrid system had developed combining the old khan system with Russian military rule. In civil matters, however, not much had changed since the days of the khans, and the Russians—aware of their insecure position—were not yet prepared to cast aside their military character and introduce Russian law. By contrast, in Christian Georgia, Russian civil law had already been introduced, and the Georgian nobility had comparable rights with the Russians. After 1826, with the outbreak of a new war with Persia, Ermolov’s attention was increasingly occupied with military affairs. Declaring that Persia had entered Russian-held territories, Ermolov advised that Russia return force with force.88 In August of 1826, anti-Russian revolts broke out in Karabagh, Shirvan and Sheki provinces when Abbas Mirza’s armies crossed the border.89 Faced by internal as well as external military opposition, the Russian forces were in a precarious position. The Caucasian army of 35,000 men was unable to quell domestic dissent as well as ward off the advancing army of Abbas Mirza, which had invaded Karabagh. Yet no help was forthcoming from Russia.90 To make matters worse, Ermolov no longer had the authority to bring the situation under control. The new tsar, Nicholas I, had taken an instant dislike to Ermolov, as he suspected him of sympathy for the Decembrist movement, and hence was reluctant to accept his advice. Nicholas did not believe in the validity of Ermolov’s reports and ignored his repeated pleas for military assistance.91 “Excuse me, but I trust Yermoloff least of all,” Nicholas had commented.92 Using recent military reversals as a pretext, Nicholas sent the young Prince Ivan Paskevich to the Caucasus as Ermolov’s co-commander and eventual successor. Paskevich reports that he was at first reluctant to accept the post, remarking to the tsar, “How can I go to the Caucasus when Ermolov is already

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there?” Having been reassured that Ermolov must confer with him on all civil and military decisions, Paskevich accepted and traveled to the Caucasus, bearing Nicholas’s directive to Ermolov.93 Naturally, Ermolov was unenthusiastic about sharing powers with Paskevich, and tensions heightened as Ermolov blatantly ignored his young colleague and refused to see him for several days. Paskevich’s perception of his interactions with Ermolov was that the general strove intentionally to belittle and humiliate him, as was evidenced by the absence of a chair for the visitor and the general’s casual attire. Consequently Paskevich wrote to Nicholas that he was unable to continue working with Ermolov because of personal and professional reasons.94 Paskevich, in his direct correspondence with the emperor, further discredited Ermolov by blaming him for the military losses in the Caucasus. Accusing him of “intrigue” and “obstruction,” he declared that either he or Ermolov must leave the Caucasus. Ermolov finally resigned on March 29, 1827, after which Nicholas designated Paskevich as the administrator in chief (Glavnoupravliaiushchii) of the Caucasus.95 Nicholas granted Paskevich “the same powers and privileges as his predecessor.”96 Paskevich and the Second Russo-Persian War (1826–28) General Paskevich was a brilliant military tactician and an experienced adversary for the neighboring powers of the region. He had participated in the war against Turkey between 1806 and 1812, as well as in the campaigns against Napoleon.97 Paskevich, in the tradition of Tsitsianov, was instrumental in expanding the territorial boundaries of the empire. However, being more pragmatic than Tsitsianov and less dedicated to guarding Georgian interests, he knew where to practice restraint, so that he would not overextend Russian power. Having proposed an invasion of Persia by crossing the Aras River (over the opposition of Ermolov), he was content to keep the boundaries along this river and only used the occupied Persian territories beyond in order to win concessions at a later date. On the occupation of northern Persia he wrote, “The benefit of acquiring Gilan and the lands lying next to the sea is attractive in theory, but its implementation is accompanied by endless inconveniences.”98 Paskevich wielded great power in Russia’s relations with its Caucasian neighbors. He was the main architect of the second peace treaty with Persia. In order to force Persia to surrender, Paskevich planned to occupy Persian Azerbaijan, over the opposition of the minister of foreign affairs, Count Nesselrode. Writing to Paskevich in November of 1827, Nesselrode had expressed concern that a prolonged occupation of Persian Azerbaijan, the seat of the heir to the throne, would endanger the throne and perhaps lead to the downfall of the Qajars, a result “that is not intended by the emperor and is not in the true interests of Russia.” Furthermore, Nesselrode seriously doubted whether the occupation would “in the least” force the shah to acquiesce to the terms of an indemnity payment, as had been predicted by Paskevich.99 Acting over Nesselrode’s head, Paskevich would implement his plans for a forward policy in Persia with the possible outcome of “shaking the Persian monarchy.”100 In the conflict be-

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tween central and peripheral policy, once more the men of the frontier enforced their will. Historically, the Caucasian administrators who had close personal relationships with the emperor were able to dictate regional policy, over the opposition of the central ministries. This was particularly true in early 1828, when Paskevich drafted “The Project on Conditions of Peace with Persia.” In this project, he advised Nesselrode to consider a quick peace with Persia, in view of the imminent break with Turkey. Paskevich also wanted to press for the maximal monetary reparation that Persia could afford to pay.101 By the terms of the Turkmanchai treaty of February 10, 1828, Russia annexed the khanates of Erevan and Nakhjevan and established its southern boundary with Persia at the Aras River, a natural frontier. Persia, which had been defeated, was forced to pay war indemnities amounting to twenty million rubles. Russians were also granted exclusive rights of navigation on the Caspian Sea as well as extraterritorial privileges, the first granted to a foreign nation by Persia.102 The treaty further cemented Russia’s political, economic and commercial hegemony over Persia. By the treaty of Turkmanchai, Azerbaijan was divided into two parts, and it has remained so to this day. Following the signing of the treaty, the socioeconomic as well as political development of Caucasian Azerbaijan drastically diverged from that of its Persian counterpart, as it was drawn into the economic and political system of the Russian empire. The territorial incorporation of the eastern Caucasus preceded its economic integration with Russia; the latter was a gradual process requiring an additional half a century. It had taken Russia over two decades to militarily conquer the region; however, true control eluded the Russians for many more decades.

2 IMPERIAL DILEMMAS AND RESISTANCE TO COLONIZATION, 1828–1840

T

he forging of the Caucasian bureaucracy took half a century and began under the supervision of Generals Aleksei Ermolov and Ivan Paskevich. Having secured the empire’s boundaries with Persia, Paskevich focused his attentions on the administration of the Caucasian territories and laid the foundation for the introduction of civilian rule. With the debates on administrative reform, the conflicts between the localists and integrationists grew acute, and a battle began between the two camps. The respective positions were so incompatible that the tsar was forced to interfere and set up special commissions to settle the disputes. These opposing tendencies, however, would periodically clash in the Caucasus until the very end of the old regime.1 A Colony, or a Russian Province? The autocracy’s administrative policies in the Caucasus were far from consistent. Between the 1830s and the 1840s there was much debate on the course of official policy. Proponents of administrative incorporation of the Caucasus into the empire and the introduction of civilian rule, such as Paskevich, eventually prevailed, and by the mid-1840s, the region had been administratively incorporated into the empire. In 1828, Paskevich had initially considered the formation of a Muslim province, and instructed his chinovniks to gather information on (1) Muslim customary law, (2) rights of the landed elite—the beks, agalars and elders, (3) landlord and peasant relationships, (4) the Muslim clergy—the ulema, and (5) the land and the population. This information was to guide discussions concerning the form of administration most suitable for the Muslims.2 Paskevich concluded that the beks and khans had never owned serfs, as this was prohibited by the Koran, and hence the rights of the beks remained unknown. He considered the idea of the Muslim elite as possible equivalents to the Russian landed nobility. Finally he resolved to draw up lists of individuals belonging to the landowning and religious strata. Only those individuals who could prove their bek status by providing written documentation were recorded as belonging to this social group.3 Paskevich’s attempt to understand the local social structure only yielded inaccurate lists, as written records were rarely kept among the local population. Furthermore, the Russian officials were disoriented and

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misled in their attempts to place the local population within the soslovie system of Russia, as they could not construe a different social order. By September of 1829, Russia had emerged victorious in its war with Turkey and had gained the eastern coast of the Black Sea, tightening its grip on Transcaucasia. No longer perceiving the need to accommodate the local population, Paskevich discarded the project of building a suitable administration for the natives and put forth the question of Russifying the administrative apparatus. Along with the minister of finance, Egor Kankrin, he published “A Survey of Russian Rule in the Caucasus.”4 Kankrin, who had been attracted to Transcaucasia as a traditional colony and a source for raw materials, had reported to the tsar, “The Transcaucasian provinces can be called our colonies, and must deliver important goods, which are made in the southern climates.”5 Using the South Carolina plantations as models, the Ministry of Finances studied the methods of cotton cultivation in the American south and distributed in Transcaucasia brochures detailing these methods. Acting on these suggestions, the “Transcaucasian Society for the Advancement of Agricultural and Manufacturing Industries and Trade” called for the promotion of the cultivation of tobacco, silk, cotton, grapes, rice, saffron and madder.6 Openly referring to the region as a colony, Paskevich and Kankrin suggested abandoning reliance on the traditional Islamic strata and modeling the Caucasus on the legal-administrative structure of the inner Russian provinces, employing a purely Russian cadre of officials. However, there were opponents to these plans, exemplified by Paskevich’s successor, Baron G. V. Rosen, a staunch localist, who supported local “rights, customs and laws” and held that Paskevich’s plans for introducing Russian laws and civil officials “would create discontent and lack of faith among the uneducated Asiatic peoples used to autocratic rule.” (Petrushevskii has argued that Rosen’s defense of the local customs against Russification was an extension of his anti-Russian stance in the Baltics, his native region.)7 In 1830, Paskevich worked on a joint project with senators P. I. Kutaisov and E. I. Mechnikov for revising the administration of Transcaucasia. After conducting a detailed study of the deficiencies of the current administration, they identified four major weaknesses. Firstly, local rule had an extreme multiplicity of forms. Second, the rights and responsibilities of all authorities were ill defined, and this gave rise to confusion, arbitrariness, disorder and abuse of powers. Third, the mixing of Russian and local customary law had resulted in arbitrariness in legal and judicial decision making. And lastly, there was no financial section in the administration. All of these factors, according to the report, led to slow and confused administration and caused the natives to view the current order as temporary and unstable. Hence the population “dreams of the return of its previous government and mistrusts the most beneficial measures we take in its interests,” reported the senators.8 Furthermore, the senators pointed out that the military-commandant system was so rife with abuse and arbitrariness that nowhere in the empire were non-Russians treated as harshly. The people bore witness to the senators:

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The sirdar had ordered that only amounts the people had previously paid the khan be taken from them; however, they were forced to pay twice as much and even more, and whoever refused to pay was beaten half-dead, not only men, but also women and small children.9 The only way to counter the aforementioned problems, in the opinion of the senators, was to introduce Russian guberniia administration, with a few necessary alterations, in accordance with the special character of the inhabitants.10 Plans to centralize the administration of the Caucasus and use the Russian model as a standard were in conformity with the spirit of Nicholas I’s new regime, with its stated policy of Official Nationality. The Mechnikov and Kutaisov plans for transforming the Caucasus had Paskevich’s blessings, and were founded on three principles: introduction of regular Russian administration, colonization by Russians, and reliance on the nobility (introduction of the Russian nobility and creation of a Muslim nobility). Russian agriculturalists and soldiers were to be settled to create a special class of “military agriculturalists.” Additionally, the plans proposed that Russian officials and nobles be granted lucrative lands in the region, as an incentive to settle. As for the “Muslim nobility,” by bestowing rights upon them, they would be rescued from their formerly precarious position under the khans, and in return were expected to express loyalty to Russia. The project even ventured so far as to suggest that the khan’s family be granted princely titles and those beks capable of proving their lineage for three generations receive noble status.11 These plans did not materialize. The Russian nobility, in particular, was reluctant to move into “Asiatic” lands, which it regarded as hostile. The emperor soon decided he needed Paskevich in Poland, and after his departure in 1831, his successor abandoned the above plans in favor of a localist approach. Paskevich’s successor, Baron Grigorii Vladimirovich Rosen (1831–37), opposed Paskevich’s decision to introduce guberniia administration into the region. Rosen believed that the region was unsuitable for the introduction of such drastic reforms, and that if implemented they would harm state interests. Instead Rosen promoted the traditional Muslim elite and employed this group. The Muslim clergy was sanctioned in its judicial activities in the Sharia courts, which facilitated arguments between Muslims. Sharia courts were to be approved by the authorities but were prohibited from interfering in criminal, political, financial and civil affairs.12 Rosen also secured the rights of Muslim landowners, and proposed granting beks who could prove their lineage for five generations the status of hereditary nobility.13 Rosen’s conciliatory attitude towards the Muslim population was not solely a product of his personal disposition or his understanding of the plight of the non-Russian. He too was forced by his circumstances to reexamine previous policies, which had neglected local needs and exacerbated antigovernment sentiments.

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Rosen’s tasks were further complicated by the workings of the Caucasian Committee, which also had jurisdiction over the Caucasus and included members of the central ministries. The committee’s objectives were at odds with Rosen’s plans, as it blatantly viewed the Caucasus as a colony and was in favor of introducing Russian administrative practices in the region. Furthermore, the Caucasian Committee considered the Caucasus an unprofitable colony and hence its actions were directed towards better integrating the region with the empire at large. In an open declaration of intent, the committee stated, “At present the region benefits us only in the strategic sense, . . . and in order to make it useful, it is necessary to connect it with Russia through civil and political uniformity and to force the inhabitants to speak, think and feel in Russian.”14 The State Council, yet another central organ, was also in favor of reorganizing the legal and administrative system of Transcaucasia to best serve Russian interests. Affirming the Paskevich-Mechnikov-Kutaisov plans in 1833, it put forward an elaborate project for the transformation of Transcaucasia. These plans included the introduction and translation of Russian laws into the languages of Transcaucasia, the introduction of Russian settlers, and encouraging the production of cotton and the setting up of factories to process local products.15 In other words, the State Council considered the area a de facto colony of Russia and sought to consolidate this status. Although the State Council project was idealistic from the imperial point of view, it nevertheless indicates the ideological readiness of tsarist Russia to assume a colonialist attitude vis-à-vis the Muslims of Transcaucasia. Justifying colonialism as a natural outgrowth of economic and cultural disequilibrium, the project stated: Centuries of history and numerous examples of peoples have shown us the incredible and rapid transformation of savage tribes into civilized people when they are colonized by educated people. . . . Colonies carry within themselves the manners, customs, language, arts and industry of their metropoles. . . . At present the situation in Transcaucasia entirely resembles that which was formerly present in America: in the region there is no industry and manufacturing; even villages are poor. . . . They lack homes and agricultural instruments; some tribes to this date live in places more resembling caves, and in some areas they live underground like wild beasts.16 Claiming that “the only thing that the various tribes of Transcaucasia share in common is their ignorance,” the State Council project was especially condescending towards the Muslims, describing them as a “barbaric” and “halfsavage people” who had never lived under laws.17 However, the Russian government did not at this point assume the hypocrisy of a “civilizing mission” and openly confessed to its interest in gaining an income from the region, so that Muslim Transcaucasia not only paid for its own administration but further made a contribution to the general expenses of the state.18

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In order to attain these ends, the members of the State Council deemed it necessary to recreate Transcaucasia in the image of Russia, and to aid this process of Russification through the introduction of ethnic Russians and particularly the Russian nobility. The Russian nobility was thought to be the cornerstone of state security, as it had utmost loyalty to the throne, and was experienced in civil and military service. It was considered superior to the Georgian and Muslim nobility: The Transcaucasian region lacks a Russian nobility; although Georgia and Imeretia have a nobility, they carry the marks of an Asian character, and their loyalty to the Russian government will always be based on material gain. Therefore the Russian government does not have a strong and stable basis for its well-being here, and needs to import the Russian-born nobility.19 The imperial ideal was to staff the Transcaucasian bureaucracy exclusively with Russian noblemen—individuals who would “provide the living example for the natives on how to live and feel Russian.”20 The difficulty, however, lay in enticing the Russian nobles to settle in Transcaucasia, an area they considered to be wild, pestilential and isolating. Although the state promised land grants—which were obtained through confiscating the bek lands—few were lured into resettling. The State Council was also confronted with the awkward question of whether to introduce Russian serfs into the region, given that serfdom did not exist in Transcaucasia. Surely this would not reflect positively on the Russian system, since Muslim peasants were free. Or should Russian peasants be set free in Transcaucasia?21 The plan to introduce Russian nobles existed only on paper, however its desirability, and impracticality pointed the way to another possibility—that of making use of the native nobility. And so the State Council project also considered Russian policy towards the former khans’ families and the Muslim landed elite. Viewing the former khanates as types of Asiatic despotisms, where only khans and slaves existed, the Russian strategists saw an opportunity for winning over the “princes of the blood,” especially since many had fallen into poverty after the Russian conquest. “Naturally such a twist of fate must be hard and insulting. Their pride and self-esteem hinders them from committing to the Russian government,” reasoned the authors of the project. And yet, if they were to go over to the Russians, they would also bring along with them entire populations.22 But how were they to trust the loyalty of the Muslim nobles? It is at this juncture that the authors of the project were at their imperial best and inspired by the integrationist thinking of Paskevich; they suggested that a Russian education would Russify (obrusit’) the young “Mohammedans” and assimilate them into Russian culture. The first step would be to educate them in special schools, in Tiflis, where they would learn Russian. Once they turned twelve, these Muslim noblemen would be sent to St. Petersburg or Moscow to continue their edu-

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cation and would continue to live in European Russia for an additional five years. At this point they would be considered to be ready for their return to the Caucasus.23 However, how were the Russians to know who was a nobleman and who was falsely posing as one? What criteria did they use to determine noble status among the Transcaucasian Muslims? Or were they to select a new nobility from the midst of the old? At any event, the Russians were faced with the difficult task of verifying the social status of the beks, in a situation where very few families had written proof of their status or even deeds for properties to which they laid claim. Those not having written proof of their titles were required to demonstrate that their noble lineage extended to three generations.24 On the whole the Russian administrators were not ill-disposed towards the beks and could conclude agreements with this group, based on mutual selfinterest. The Russians saw the main threat to their authority originating not from the ranks of the beks, but from the ulema, whom they considered to be “owners of the property and souls of Muslims.” The Muslim clergy was assumed to be orchestrating anti-Russian disturbances and was therefore seen as Russia’s most serious foe. It follows that Russian policy was directed towards stemming the power of this very influential group and containing the proliferation of its numbers. Inspired by Catherine’s experience with the muftiate, the nineteenthcentury administrators of the Caucasus moved to prevent the creation of new clerical cadres, and strictly observed the old cadres.25 The bureaucratization of the clergy had begun in Russia under Peter the Great, by institutionalizing the Orthodox Church through the Holy Synod. Likewise, the Muslim clergy were to be transformed into “state mullahs” (shtatnykh mullov), who were salaried civil servants. The number of such mullahs was legally restricted to two individuals in each village. The ulema’s contact with their coreligionists abroad was to be limited, and they were to receive their clerical education in seminaries within the Russian empire. The hope was to control and eventually weaken Islam and supplant it with Orthodox Christianity. As General Paskevich summed up the Russian objectives: “Let us not forget our sublime and blessed goals: That the inhabitants be graced with the light of the Orthodox Christian faith. . . . And I do not foresee major difficulties here.” According to Paskevich the Transcaucasian Muslims lacked the “savage fanaticism” that distinguished the Constantinople Turks.26 Clearly Paskevich and the central organs of the Russian bureaucracy had underestimated the vigor and force of Islam in the Caucasus. They had discounted the overriding influence of Islam in the daily lives of the people, its concept of law and justice, and its cultural heritage. During the thirties, the Russians faced numerous revolts in the Caucasus and Transcaucasia, the largest of which took place in Kuba in 1837, where under the influence of the Naqshbandiyya Sufi leader Sheikh Shamil, 12,000 people took to arms.27 These outbreaks proved difficult to repress, and Shamil’s dynamic leadership inspired considerable fear in the Russian officials, who admitted that “Shamil had put the [Russian] troops in the most desperate position,” and grudgingly recognized him as the “lord of the mountain.”28

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It was during the period of Rosen’s appointment that the Naqshbandiyya Sufi brotherhood, which the Russians knew by the name of the Murid movement or Muridism, gained influence in Caucasia.29 In December of 1831, Rosen wrote, “I arrived here at a time of very great disturbance. Never were the mountain tribes so insolent or so persistent in their undertakings.”30 Rosen’s policies were later criticized as strengthening the Muslim religious leaders. A. I. Bariatinskii, the future viceroy of the Caucasus, for example, believed that the localist policy adopted by the first representatives of the government, who had relied on the Muslim clergy, involved frightening consequences. According to Bariatinskii, the population, which had formerly been fragmented into different communities, then “merged into one religious nationality and allowed one person to become the worldly and spiritual leader of an entire region.”31 Muridism was seen by the authorities as an anti-Russian movement, since it did not recognize any worldly authorities who did not descend from the Muslim prophet. In addition Muridism had a strong egalitarian appeal, as it treated all social classes as equals.32 Immediately after the final conquest of the Caucasus in 1828, the mountaineers, under the leadership of their Imams, had declared a holy war (Qazavat) against the Russian “infidels.” The first Imam was Kazi Mulla; the second was Hamzad, and the third and most distinguished of the Imams was Shamil. It took the Russians thirty years to defeat the Murid movement, and the Caucasus was plunged into a civil war until 1859.33 In the Murid movement religious and social protest had merged to create formidable antiauthoritarian tendencies. The commandant system, with its rampant abuses, was much to blame for sparking armed uprising against the Russians. Even when the Russians extended concessions to the locals by allowing the beks to administer villages, the sole criterion for selecting the beks was their degree of loyalty to Russia. Hence, the most questionable local elements attained control over the people and did not hesitate to take every advantage of their newly found powers. As early as 1818, villagers were petitioning the authorities to remove the khans and beks, “who like rapacious wolves have fallen upon our lives and property,” and to replace them with Russian officials.34 The onset of rebellion within Caucasia gave the central government a strong impetus to reform the administration of the region and bring it under the control of St. Petersburg. The region had been shaken by revolts in 1809 and 1826, and now once again in 1837. Disregarding Rosen’s entreaties in favor of a local administration tailored to regional needs, the authorities in the capital pushed for centralization.35 In September of 1837 Nicholas I visited the Caucasus and, finding Russian progress in the war against Shamil unsatisfactory, dismissed Rosen. The Muslim landed elite were punished by massive confiscation of lands—lands the administration planned to give to members of the Russian nobility who were willing to settle in the Caucasus. Baron Rosen was succeeded by General Evgenii Alexandrovich Golovin (1838–42). With the assistance of Privy Councillor Senator Baron Pavel Ivanovich Hahn, Golovin assisted in introducing civilian administration to Transcau-

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casia, thus bringing the military-commandant system to an end in the “Muslim provinces.” Baron Hahn, a German nobleman, had studied at Heidelberg University, and had joined the military and diplomatic services. A Baltic German who was ignorant of the conditions of the Caucasus and barely spoke Russian, Hahn was ironically a staunch proponent of imperial uniformity and Russification.36 He had been assigned by Nicholas in 1837 to the Caucasus to head the “Committee for the Restructuring of the Caucasus.” Under his direction, the committee reviewed the whole range of administrative issues in the Caucasus: political divisions of the region, building local administration and the order of introducing Russian laws into the Caucasus.37 In a letter to Tsar Nicholas I, explaining his policies and visions for Transcaucasia, Hahn suggested a program of linguistic Russification, especially among the Georgians and Armenians. Through discouraging the use of their literary languages, he hoped to forestall the young from “dreams of a false nationalism.” As for the Azerbaijani Muslims, it was better for the Russians to learn their language, as the local population was deemed disloyal, and hence their translators could not be entirely trusted.38 At this juncture, the integrationists in the bureaucracy had prevailed, and Golovin and Hahn introduced civil administration to Transcaucasia. Arguing that the commandant system was detrimental to the dignity of the Russian state, they called for the dismantling of the former military-administrative system. The law of April 10, 1840, created a central administrative apparatus, introduced guberniia, oblast and uezd administration, and redivided the region into two parts, disregarding the former territorial divisions. Religion was used as a guide to dividing the territories. The GeorgianImereti guberniia consisted of the Georgian and Armenian populations, whereas the Caspian oblast included the former khanates, which were Muslim. The administration of these areas was to be modeled on that of inner Russia, and the administrators in chief were to have the same rights as the governor-generals of Russia. Northern Caucasus (Kuba, Derbent, Daghestan), the stronghold of the Murid movement, was to remain under military rule.39 Transition to Civil Rule Initially, “the people accepted the new order with delight,” and deputies from the beks and ordinary citizens thanked the authorities for freeing them from the ruthless military commanders and their local appointees. “Liberated from the iron grip of the military,” the population entertained hopes of a peaceful existence.40 However, the new civilian rule rapidly disenchanted the Muslim population. The regulations instituted by Golovin and Hahn included “special measures” that offended the traditional Azerbaijani elite. Intended to Russify the administration, the new law stipulated that all officials, bureaucrats and police personnel must be of Russian origin and called for the removal of Muslims from local administrative positions. Naibs were dismissed from provincial administra-

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tion and replaced by Russian officials (chinovniks). Agalars and beks were also removed from village administration. They received compensation for their lost income, but not for their properties, as they were considered “not real owners but only fulfilling police functions over villages entrusted to them.” Upon death, a bek’s property was to revert to the treasury, in effect disinheriting the landowning groups in Azerbaijan.41 The policy that combined localism with Russification had alienated the Muslim elite, which had initially favored cooperation with the Russians. After they had been deprived of their social positions and their property, these groups ceased to pin their hopes on Russian justice. No longer associating their interests with the ruling groups, the beks and agalars incited the population to rebellion. Taking advantage of the anti-Russian sentiments of the population, Shamil also stepped up the intensity of his campaigning between 1840 and 1842. Bewildered, Golovin concluded that “we have never had in the Caucasus an enemy so savage and dangerous as Shamil. Owing to a combination of circumstances his power has acquired a religious-military character, the same by which, at the beginning of Islam, Muhammad shook three-quarters of the globe.”42 Such was the awe that Shamil inspired, when supported by the local elite. The centralizing policy of Hahn and Golovin had clearly backfired and created greater perils for Russian security. In their haste to Russianize and integrate the region with the empire, these policy makers had abandoned pragmatism and offended local sensibilities. Subsequently, once again the scales were turned and the tsar, calling for a more moderate, regional approach, appointed the war minister, A. I. Chernyshev, to chair a commission in 1842 for investigating the causes of massive discontent in Transcaucasia.43 Lacking a social base in the region, tsarism had no alternative but to retreat from its integrationist impulses until a more opportune date. The Caucasian administration had failed to entice the Russian nobility to move into the inhospitable Caucasian lands, and hence lacked the support of its traditional ally. Now it could not afford to alienate the Muslim elite as well. For the time being, the gradualist localist approach to governing the Caucasian borderlands had prevailed. The first half of the nineteenth century was a period in which Russia not only won the possession of the Transcaucasian lands from Persia and Turkey, but also began to develop an imperial administration for these areas. The initial decades of Russian rule were a time of great flux, during which Caucasian administrators were guided by trial and error. In this period two distinct and opposing philosophies of administration had appeared within the tsarist bureaucracy, and they were to contend for supremacy until the demise of the old regime.

3 TSARIST COLONIZATION POLICY AND CHRISTIANIZING THE CAUCASUS

I

n the course of the nineteenth century the Russian State took an avid interest in colonizing its newly acquired Transcaucasian territories with nonnatives. State policy promoted the settling of German religious sectarians into Transcaucasia after the Napoleonic wars, Armenians after the RussoPersian and Russo-Turkish wars of 1826–28 and 1828–29, and members of the various Russian Old Believer sects after the 1830s. Only in 1881 was emigration to the Caucasian region made possible for the Russian Orthodox peasantry, and it was not until the turn of the century that the state took serious measures to facilitate this move.1 State motives for the promotion of one ethnic group over others varied through time. Initially, the ideas of the Enlightenment had prompted the Russian autocrats to give refuge to the German sectarians. Later, state concerns focused on increasing the number of Christians in Transcaucasia, in order to secure Russia’s hold over the newly conquered Caucasian borderlands. In the first half of the nineteenth century, the state did not discriminate between the Gregorians, Lutherans and Russian Orthodox. The settling of the Armenians into the Russian empire also served military and diplomatic ends, as these settlers were the erstwhile inhabitants of Muslim governments. The Russian sectarians were exiled to the region not so much for the purpose of Russianizing Transcaucasia, as to alleviate the political and economic problems of inner Russia and to mete out punishment to the sectarians by placing them in a hostile environment. Only the settling of the Russian Orthodox peasantry was part of a rational long-term policy that, unlike that applied to the other groups, was not a reaction to other processes such as Russia’s internal and external insecurities, but was a planned attempt to utilize colonization to overcome social and economic pressures in the core Russian areas. Migration was not solely the result of conscious state planning. It was also inadvertently brought about by war, industrialization, famine and political repression. In Transcaucasia, demographic changes were a result of four major aspects of migration: (1) movement from rural to industrial areas within a region; (2) flight or expulsion as a result of war; (3) efforts to escape economic or political hardships; and (4) deliberate social engineering, such as the tsarist government’s plans for the colonization of Transcaucasia.

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All of these factors share in common a relationship to the activities of the tsarist state. State policy was responsible for the tempo of industrialization in the region, leading to rural-urban migration. The Russian State engaged in wars with its neighbors and negotiated the treaties that led to the emigration of Christians into the empire. It determined the regulations and laws pertaining to internal and external migration, and even fostered migration in the form of exile. Through the granting or denying of privileges, the state controlled the flow of migration. It was not until the last decade of the nineteenth century that the tsarist regime consciously formulated a “colonial policy.” Russian colonization policy varied over time and was marked by inconsistency, reversal and contradiction, as a result of bureaucratic conflicts and the absence of a unified government. In her pre-industrial era, Russia attempted to emulate the traditional British and French colonialisms, although she only succeeded to do so in form. The report of the chairman of the Caucasian Committee, Prince A. I. Chernyshev, to Nicholas I in 1845 about the “System of Administration of the French in the Algeria and Ours in the Caucasus” demonstrates this tendency. Chernyshev claims that the French and Russian administrations are very similar, and hence the French regulations in Algeria should be translated and distributed among the Caucasian administrators. A closer look at Chernyshev’s descriptions of the respective administrations in fact discloses that the two administrations were fundamentally dissimilar. The French had divided their administration of Algeria into three parts: civil, civil-military, and military. The decisive factor in assigning a type of administration to each region was the number of French residing in the area. Hence areas that were mostly French benefited from civil administration and were protected by French law. Mixed areas were under civilmilitary administration, where both types of administration were concentrated in the hands of a military official. The areas devoid of “Europeans” were called Arab regions and were placed under military rule. The French thus developed a racially based model of administration. By contrast the Russian model of administration was based on the “degree of civil development of the native population,” and not on the number of Russians in the region.2 Hence the mountaineers of the northern Caucasus were under military rule, but the Azerbaijanis were under civilian administration, although the number of Russians in Azerbaijan was insignificant at the time. Russia’s Caucasian borderlands after 1841 had adopted all-empire laws, the object of which had been to incorporate the region into the all-empire or “Rossiskii” system. Therefore, Russian administration, unlike that of the French, did not clearly demarcate the “colony” from the “metropolis,” and was not based on racial or ethnic discrimination. Only when Russia herself became an industrial power, in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, could she transform the relationship, impose economic domination over her internal colonies and draw close to the goal of being a metropolis in relation to these regions. Russia, however, did not uncreatively follow the examples set by her European rivals. Instead, studying the mistakes and failures of the other colonial powers of their time, Russian policy makers put

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forth their own version of a “colonial policy” more suited to the peculiarities of Russia and her internal colonies. As early as 1879, the yearly publication of the Chief Administration of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Kavkazskii Kalendar, published an article comparing British involvement in India with the Russian presence in the Caucasus. In this article the British colonial practices were brought under scrutiny: Regardless of the general conviction of the Russians in the wisdom and farsightedness of British administration, it appears that the expenses incurred by England for the possession of India are far more significant than the most exaggerated presumptions of the cost of the conquest of the Caucasus. British power in India is founded not upon the settling of the English in the region, but on the weakness and internal discord among the native population, on an exaggerated notion of British wealth and might.3 The article concluded that the expenses incurred for the conquest of the Caucasus were far more effective than those spent for the subjugating of India, with respect to the securing of state power. The lessons drawn are as follows: Nothing similar to this is taking place in the Caucasus. This land is being gradually and naturally colonized by the Russian population, which at present comprises 24 percent of the total population of the Caucasus, while in India, 100,000 British or approximately .004 percent of the total population is ruling over 240 million natives.4 The major factor distinguishing Russia and her Asiatic possessions from the British control of India is geographic. The European powers, being mainly sea powers and having no room to expand on their own continent, opted for distant lands situated on the opposite side of the globe. Russia’s situation more resembled America’s western frontier, open for the possibility of territorial expansion. Russia’s colonies were contiguous to the Russian heartland and this peculiarity provided for Russia’s unique solution to colonial control, what I call the concept of “contiguous colonialisms.” Instead of relying exclusively on the armed forces to restrain the “native” peoples, the state would dilute the composition of the native peoples by introducing massive numbers of Russians and incorporating the area into the regular provincial administrative system of the country. Furthermore, these Russians would maintain their loyalties to the state and would not entertain thoughts of separation, as was the case with the British white colonies, since they saw their new settlements as a natural extension of the Russian core area. This peculiar and advantageous position of Russia in relation to her colonies was well known by the high officials of the time. A. A. Kaufman, author of Pereselenie i kolonizatsiia, contrasts emigration from Europe with that from Russia. Kaufman states that when Russians resettled within the boundaries of the

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empire, they were involved in an internal phenomenon, whereas the European colonists would move to a country weakly connected to the metropolis and would thereafter desire to sever all ties with their country of origin. The particularity of Russian colonization was that it was confined to regions belonging to the Russian state territories.5 The new territories “are in the full meaning of the word a continuation of Russia, . . and therefore Russian colonists do not feel as if they have abandoned their country.”6 They had simply migrated. Introduction of German Sectarians The first case in which the Russian state consciously altered the demographic composition of Transcaucasia was the introduction of the German colonists. These colonists, who arrived in Transcaucasia between 1817 and 1818, belonged to various religious sects that had broken away from the Lutherans. Religious dissidence was especially powerful in Wurttemberg, Switzerland and Bavaria. In 1816, the representatives of these sectarians had appealed to Alexander I as he was traveling through Stuttgart and asked for his permission to settle in the Caucasus. By 1817 some 7,000 German sectarians had set off for Russia, and by the following year seven German colonies had been formed in the Caucasian and Transcaucasian regions.7 By 1823, the Russian government had paid 1,065,642 rubles for the expenses of the colonists, given them land, had constructed houses for them, and had also extended loans for the purchasing of cattle and agricultural tools.8 In addition, the military defended them from possible attacks.9 The colonists, however, seem to have disappointed the Russians’ expectations of them, which were to raise the agricultural level of the local population and set a positive example as an industrious people. While they were efficient in their agriculture, the German colonists maintained throughout the century a high level of particularism that made the Russian officials uncomfortable. A Russian journalist writing for Kavkazskii Vestnik in 1900 described their conduct as follows: “They have entirely transferred their way of life in the fatherland onto Russian soil and have kept their national character. The colonists are proud of their German origins and try to isolate themselves from the other nationalities.”10 The isolation of the German colonists was not entirely of their own volition. As early as 1829, a ukaz was issued barring the marriage between Georgians and the German colonists, and after the European revolutions of 1848, the Armenians and other Caucasian nationalities were prohibited from living in the vicinity of the German colonists.11 The German colonists, who were initially favored for being Christian and industrious, were by the 1890s suspected of having allegiances to Germany and were considered to be politically unreliable. Interestingly, a similar fate befell the Armenians during this period. The Armenians, who earlier had been courted by the tsarist regime, were now accused of harboring conspiracies. The declining fortunes of the ethnic minorities were bound with the ascendancy of Great Russian chauvinism, which was uncompromising in its demands for homogeneity.

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Immigration of Ottoman and Persian Armenians The second major change in state policy during the nineteenth century was brought about by an exchange of population sponsored by two treaties: Turkmanchai, ending the second Russo-Persian war (1826–28), and Adrianople, ending the Russo-Turkish war of 1828–29. They resulted in a massive shift of populations among Persia, the Ottoman Empire and the Russian empire. On one hand, a number of Muslims of the Russian empire decided to immigrate to Persia and the Ottoman Empire in order to flee their Christian rulers. On the other hand, Russian policy was directed towards attracting (and when that failed, forcibly seizing) the Armenian population of these two countries as well as the Greeks under Ottoman rule. The Turkmanchai treaty in fact stipulated that the Persian government was obliged to assist those Armenians wishing to immigrate to the Russian empire. Article XV of the treaty stated that the Armenians were to be given one year “to transport themselves freely with their families from Persian States into Russian States” and to sell or export their movable properties. They were accorded five years to dispose of their immovable properties. This was to be accomplished “without the governments of the local authorities being able to place the least obstacle in the way thereof, not to deduct previously any tax or any recompense on the goods and objects sold or exported by them.”12 The number of Armenians settling into Karabagh, Nakhjevan and Erevan within 100 days of the signing of the Turkmanchai treaty has been reported to be as high as 40,000.13 Like Turkmanchai, the Treaty of Adrianople also stipulated that the Armenians of the Ottoman Empire had eighteen months to sell their movable and immovable properties and to immigrate to the Russian empire. By the end of 1829, 105,000 Armenians had immigrated to the Russian empire from Persia and the Ottoman Empire.14 The question, however, remains as to how and why thousands of Armenians would leave their countries of residence and rush to join the Russian empire. The emigration of the Armenians residing in Persia is even more quizzical, for they were not experiencing harsh and unbearable political repression as were their brethren under Ottoman rule. Abbas Mirza, the Persian crown prince and governor of Persian Azerbaijan, in his letter to the Russian colonel L. Y. Lazarev, expressed his surprise and cynicism: “If we conscientiously judge, how can it be possible that several thousand families would honestly and voluntarily desire to leave their thousand-year residence, in order to become homeless and deprived of their possessions?”15 Why, then, did the Armenians consent to emigrate from Persia? In his letter to Colonel Lazarev, Abbas Mirza had also written that the Cossacks paid the Armenians who emigrated, and “in those villages where the Armenians are reluctant to emigrate, they send so many soldiers and Cossacks that the inhabitants, experiencing extreme oppression, leave their homeland.”16 During the Russian occupation of Northern Iran, the use of force by the Cossacks to “convince” the Armenians to emigrate is quite believable, in view of the rapidity with which emigration took place after the signing of the peace treaties.

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General Paskevich’s notes written circa 1829 also support the hypothesis that force was used by the Russians to “convince” the Armenians to leave their villages. Paskevich states that it is desirable to increase the number of Armenians in the newly conquered territories and openly supports the use of force as a viable means of accomplishing this end. Furthermore, Paskevich suggests that similar measures also be taken for the “settling of the Turkish Armenians in Russia.” Paskevich writes, The liberation of Armenian villages from the Persian yoke may be considered complete only when the population of Ararat and Nakhjevan provinces is increased. This may be attained by two means: Firstly by the occupation of Tabriz, Khoi, Salmaz and Maraghe by Russian troops and the resettling of all the Armenians inhabiting them to the provinces of Nakhjevan, Erivan and Karabagh, based on their desire. Secondly, to use prudent strong measures, as they based on their shortsightedness can not see the advantages in store for them under the benevolent protection and blessing of Russia.17 The emigration of Armenians to the Russian empire was part of a general plan for the “repatriation” of Armenians. Under General Paskevich a special committee had been formed to overlook the immigration of the Armenians as well as the Greeks to Erevan, Nakhjevan and Karabagh. It was believed that Russian tenure of these territories would be secured if they were inhabited by the Armenians. Colonel Lazarev was in charge of executing the decisions of the committee, along with his officers, the majority of whom were of Armenian origin and spoke Armenian. By the beginning of the 1830s, the Armenian colonists comprised one third of the population of the Armenian region of the empire.18 The Armenians who had immigrated to the Russian empire were in a most unenviable position. Having left behind the greater part of their wealth, they were unable to even feed themselves and hence petitioned the Ministry of Finances to allocate some funds for their relief. In October of 1831, the Ministry of Finances reported to the Committee of Ministers that upon the conclusion of the war the Armenians who had emigrated had done so “leaving in Persia their private houses with gardens, which are worth a considerable sum,” and that currently “they have no means to feed themselves.”19 The Committee of Ministers, in agreement with the Ministry of Finances, wrote the following about the Armenians in its journal of November 1831: “Upon emigrating they were deprived of significant properties in Persia and now, having settled on private lands, endure extreme privations.”20 The influx of Armenians to the Russian empire was coupled with the exodus of Sunni Muslims. As the Muslims were not discouraged from leaving the Russian empire, it is likely that the tsarist officials viewed the process of population exchange as a chance to Christianize the Transcaucasian region. Russia’s aggressive drive towards “protecting “ the Christian population in its neighboring Muslim countries was part of a general tendency culminating in her protection of the Orthodox Christians of the Danubian principalities and lead-

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ing to yet another war with the Ottoman Empire in 1876. On the eve of intervention, the government was pressured by the Slavophile movement to particularly defend those of the Orthodox faith. The Christianizing of the Caucasus also gained momentum with the strengthening of the Slavophile movement; however, there was a major difference between supporting the Christians within the empire and those abroad. During the eighteenth and most of the nineteenth century, the government as well as the Russian public regarded the Armenians as Christian brothers in need of their patriarchal support. This image of the Armenians was rather accurate, as they in turn saw the Russians as their saviors. The interests of the Russian State and the Armenian people were in harmony until the last years of Alexander II’s reign. The Armenians secured Russia’s Caucasian frontiers by establishing a Christian presence, and the Russian government in turn aided the Armenians and supported their cause in the international community. This collaboration was at its height after the conclusion of the Russo-Turkish War of 1877–78 and the signing of the Treaty of San Stefano, which stipulated that reforms must be carried out in the Armenian provinces of the Ottoman Empire. The tsar’s benevolence towards the Armenian people was also demonstrated by the appointment of an Armenian, Count Mikhail Tarielovich Loris-Melikov, as minister of interior. By the last decades of the nineteenth century, however, the fortunes of the Armenians were reversed, and their positive image was supplanted by one of Armenians as sly businessmen and conspirators.21 After the rapid industrialization and consequent urbanization of Transcaucasia, beginning in the late 1870s, tsarist officials started to promote the image of Armenians as usurpers of resources and exploiters of other Caucasian nationalities. In his notes to the tsar covering the period 1882–90, the high commissioner of the Caucasus, Prince A. M. Dondukov-Korsakov, presented his views on the nature of the Armenian peoples. He wrote that in the Georgian provinces, they developed their economic activities at the expense of the material well-being of the Georgian nobility. Dondukov-Korsakov’s attitude typified the disdain of the Russian nobility for the Armenians’ mercantilism, which they labeled “Armenian oppression.” He reported, “They have seized almost all of the trade, industry, city properties and lands of Transcaucasia.”22 It was therefore necessary to extend credit to the Georgians in order to protect them from the Armenian threat. The Armenians were regarded as a threat not only from the economic point of view, but also politically. In the opinion of Dondukov-Korsakov, “The Armenians generally do not present enough of a guarantee for political reliability.”23 The most suspect segment of Armenian society was considered to be the intelligentsia, which entertained “dreams of a future independent existence for Armenia,” and which the Caucasian administration vigilantly guarded so that their political tendencies would not penetrate the new generation of Armenians.24 The image of Armenians as conspirators was bounded with the appearance of the Armenian revolutionary and nationalist parties, the Hnchak in 1887 and Dashnaktsutiun in 1890. Armenian nationalism was partly a reaction to the

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ultranationalist policies of the Russian government after 1881 with the ascension of Alexander III to the throne. In the case of the Armenian nationalists it was certainly true that “one nationalism begat a competing nationalism.”25 The go vernment’s brazen Russification policies left little room for compromise with the ethnic minorities of the empire. Throughout the 1880s and 1890s the cultural and linguistic autonomy of the Caucasian nationalities came under attack. Armenian schools were closed in 1885, and no language other than Russian was allowed to be taught. Anti-Armenian policies reached a high in 1903, when the properties of the Gregorian church were confiscated. In 1905, when ethnic hatred flared in Baku, the state remained passive and did not protect the Armenian population. It was not until the viceroyalty of Vorontsov-Dashkov that tensions between the Armenians and the Russian government diminished. The tsarist administration’s preference for settling Armenians into Transcaucasia had alarmed the Slavophiles. One publicist and middle level government official, K. Borozdin, writing for the journal Russkii Vestnik in 1891, stated disappointedly, “Settling the Armenians into the desolate areas of Transcaucasia has in no way played into the hands of Russian interests, and we have not only not Russianized the region, but positively Armenianized it.”26 This author was enraged that the administration under Ermolov had settled Armenians into the Caucasus before Russians, and that the local administration had “closed the door on the Russian colonists.”27 For Borozdin, the Russian sectarians who had been “gathered from all corners of Russia and exiled to Transcaucasia” under Nicholas I were not considered as legitimate Russians.28 The Old Believer Settlers in Transcaucasia The Russian government had from the first days of its conquest of Transcaucasia shown a desire to settle Russians in the region. Yet this had not been feasible on a mass scale until the introduction of the Old Believers to the region. Initially, the central government attempted to settle members of the army who were stationed in the Caucasus, by encouraging the wives of the soldiers and officers to move to the region. However, this attempt did not suffice in securing a significant number of Russians, as the numbers of the military personnel were small, and they would return to Russia upon the completion of their duties.29 The government, under the legislation of Nicholas I, moved in October of 1837 to set up military colonies in Transcaucasia, in order to increase the number of Russians, secure the frontiers, and stimulate the development of agriculture, trade and industry in the region. Yet the failure of these military colonies had been conceded by 1857.30 In conjunction with the above, as early as 1833, plans were also being drawn for the introduction of guberniia administration by settling government chinovniks in the Caucasus as well as attracting the Russian nobility to the region. As the tsarist officials believed that only the Russian nobility was “able to create political and civil connection between Transcaucasia and Russia,” they proposed that chinovniks of the hereditary nobility in the area receive land grants, enticing them to stay.31 Proclaiming that “nobility is the necessary basis

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for autocratic rule,” officials also drew parallel plans to establish a “Mohammedan” and Armenian nobility.32 The first Russian settlers in Transcaucasia, if we discount the discharged military men of the Caucasian wars who may have opted to remain in the Caucasus, were the Russian sectarians. These mostly included the Molokans, Dukhobors, Subbotniki and Starobriadi, who were exiled to the region beginning in the 1830s.33 Ermolov had accordingly coined the nickname “warm Siberia” for Transcaucasia.34 The bulk of religious sectarian exiles came from Tambov, Voronezh, Kharkov, Samara, Penza and Riazan provinces.35 In Transcaucasia, they were mostly concentrated in Shemakha (later Bakinskii), Lenkoran and Shusha uezds, where they were primarily occupied with grain production, transportation of goods and handicraft. Among the sects, the Molokans and Subbotniki predominated.36 Under Nicholas I, state policy towards religious dissidents reversed half a century of toleration under Catherine II and Alexander I.37 On October 20, 1830, the State Council ratified the criteria for the settling of the Old Believers in Transcaucasia. These were published in the Journal of the Committee of Ministers in November of 1832. Article 1958 stated the following: All sectarians, recognized by the courts as guilty of spreading their heresy, corrupting others, and audacious behavior against the Church and the Orthodox clergy, will be placed in the service of the Caucasian Corps, and in the event that they are unfit for service, as like the women, they will be dispatched to the Transcaucasian province to be settled. . . . Sectarians are to be settled only in those areas of Transcaucasia where Orthodox peasants are not present.38 The settling of unreliable people in a frontier area was a curious policy, but one which had been practiced before with the Cossacks in Siberia.39 In the 1830s the Committee of Ministers was ambivalent about the benefits of exiling the sectarians to Transcaucasia. The committee feared that a large concentration of sectarians might influence the lower army officials and corrupt them; hence it was decided to settle the sectarians in various localities and in small numbers. In addition, they were concerned that the sectarians may disrupt the life of the Caucasian nomads by constraining their seasonal movements through pasturelands. The greatest fear, however, was that if the sectarians drew close to the native population, they would incite the latter to disregard the authority of the state. Thus the native population, only “just started to get accustomed to order, will now not be allowed to develop loyalty towards the state.”40 In order to diminish the influence of the sectarians on both the Russians and the native population, those sectarians who had emigrated based on their own volition were prohibited from settling in the cities, and could only settle in localities specified by the Caucasian administration.41 By the following decade, the advantages of settling sectarians into the region were becoming apparent. The Journal of the Caucasian Committee, in Novem-

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ber of 1845, carrying an excerpt about the Old Believers in Transcaucasia, expressed its satisfaction with the presence of the Old Believers in Transcaucasia (which by 1845 numbered over ten thousand in the region) and considered their presence “beneficial and necessary”: The committee on its part suggests that the settling of Russian peasants in the Transcaucasian region is extremely beneficial. Politically, it assists in the consolidation of the Russian dominion there, and in the merger of the region with the empire. . . . In addition, the settling of the sectarians with harmful heresies in Transcaucasia, in the committee’s opinion, also represents another advantage. It deprives them of the means to propagate the schism between the Orthodox population of the inner guberniia.42 The exile of the Russian sectarian peasants to Transcaucasia served multiple purposes. It not only “punished” these peasants by placing them in an unknown and often hostile environment, but also alleviated part of the problem of land shortage in the inner Russian guberniia. In addition, it contributed to Russianizing the Transcaucasus and establishing the Russian presence in the region after the withdrawal of troops. Few Russians were willing to voluntarily settle in the region during this period, and the bulk of the population who were enserfed could not have contemplated this move before 1861. Therefore the exile of thousands of sectarians to Transcaucasia served the colonial designs of tsarism. The following statement by the Tiflis governor illustrates this point: “They (the Dukhobors) . . . made all the local population respect them and on the far boundary it seemed they raised the Russian banner high. Spreading out over three guberniias among the miserable native population, their flourishing villages were pleasing oases, and on the political side, were staging points for the Russian cause and influence in the region.”43 Ironically, the sectarians, who were a source of concern in the inner guberniia where they had a destabilizing influence and harmed state interests, were considered the allies of the state in the Transcaucasian borderlands. On the frontiers of the empire, the Russian State had sought unlikely allies. From the German sectarians, to the Armenians of Persia and the Ottoman Empire, and finally to Russia’s own sectarian peasants, the Russian State had relied on securing its newly acquired Muslim territories in the Caucasus by infusing the region with Christian colonists. Ultimately, the Russian state opted for securing the religious frontier with its own Russian Orthodox peasants, but the challenge remained in place until the demise of the old regime.

4 THE MAKING OF THE CAUCASIAN ADMINISTRATION, 1840–1881

T

he abolition of the military-commandant system in Transcaucasia ushered in a new era in the relationship between the Russian center and its Caucasian periphery. By modeling the political divisions of the region on those of the center and introducing imperial laws, tsarism prepared the stage for the eventual social, political and economic integration of the region into the empire at large. Political incorporation was accompanied by fiat and decree; however, the redirection of the region’s economy towards the north would lag behind the political process by several decades. Under the dual impact of political and economic changes, Caucasian society in its turn gradually underwent a profound transformation. The period after the 1840s was one of the most dynamic periods in the history of the Caucasus. In these years the Caucasian administration underwent dramatic change, from a series of ad hoc committees into an independent entity with wide powers. It was in the early 1860s, after finally quelling the rebellions of the north Caucasus, that this administration could turn its full attention to local matters. This period also witnessed the rapid development of the oil industry, the creation of modern social groups (i.e., the intelligentsia, industrialists and workers), and extensive demographic changes. The making of the autonomous Caucasian administration, and its subsequent transformations, was a process inextricably bound with the developments of the Russian center. In the second half of the nineteenth century, political institutions in Russia were in a state of flux due to the introduction of the Great Reforms, and the ripples of these changes also reached the Caucasus and Transcaucasia. The Period of Transition: 1842–44 The centralizing reforms of 1840 that had resulted in the overall marginalization of the local Muslim elite provoked a political backlash. Faced with an intensification of the military campaign against the Caucasian mountaineers led by Sheikh Shamil, as well as the lack of indigenous support for the Russians, the Caucasian administration was compelled to retreat from its extreme integrationist and Russifying plans. In the first half of the 1840s, the Russians held on to their Caucasian acquisitions with uncertainty and trepidation. The administrations of General Adjutant Evgenii Alexandrovich Golovin (1838–42) and General Alexander Ivanovich Neidgart (1842–44) were marked by unsuccessful military campaigns

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against Shamil. Attempts to build a civilian administration in the Caucasus were only slightly more successful. During this period, as the documents gathered by the Caucasian Archival Commission suggest, Nicholas I developed a dual strategy for dealing with this turbulent region once it had been “pacified” by force. “I suggest,” he wrote, “that wherever we are met with obedience, there it is useful to leave the former rulers who have been humbled by us or other loyal members of this society who are loyal to us in power. But in those localities where the use of force is still called for, I prefer to leave in place the most promising of our military officials.”1 Throughout the forties, the Russian position in the Caucasus remained precarious. As the members of the Archival Commission lamented: Never before had our affairs in the Caucasus been in such a critical position as during this epoch. . . . On the other hand, the significance of Shamil clearly and truly developed due to his successes as well as his moral influence on the multitribal and multicultural population, which solidified his iron will into one mass. Under this situation, our battle against the mountaineers demanded incomparably greater strength than we had assumed it would have taken to repress the uprisings. We were scattered over an enormous expanse, in the midst of a hostile population, without roads, means of survival, or knowledge of this borderland and its people, and lacking a commander with military talent.2 The Russian troops were placed in a “most desperate position” follo wing the defeats of 1842 and 1843. To make matters worse for the Russians, “the weak-willed Neidgart showed no talent against Shamil, the general who was lord of the mountain.”3 Meanwhile Shamil was at the height of his power, and drastic changes were required if the Russians were to prevail. The Murid movement was not the only cause of concern. The Caucasian administration had proven insensitive to local needs. The local population was disaffected with the lengthy judicial procedures, introduced in 1840, that often failed to redress their grievances. According to the historian V. I. Ivanenko, the judges “reviewed a case several times and constantly reconsidered the case without meeting with the defendant or making inquiries. The decisions did not correspond to the demands of justice or the peoples’ interests, nor that of the government.”4 Furthermore, since all of the administrative and judicial procedures were carried on in Russian, the population was reluctant to approach the administration with its problems, and discontent boiled over into open opposition. A second problem arose with the weakening of the social base of tsarism in the Caucasus. After 1840, the assault on the Muslim landowners’ privileges turned the local elites against the tsarist administration. The rescript of April 25, 1841, deprived the Muslim landed elite of their estates in several guberniia. The law of March 24, 1842, excluded the Muslim landowners from the responsibility of administering the villages.5 By depriving the landowners of their traditional roles and powers, the Russian officials drove this group into opposition.

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The peasantry in turn launched attacks on the Russian officials, whom they blamed for increasing their dues and taxes to the state. The two classes joined forces in mounting more frequent and violent clashes against the authorities.6 The crisis brought about by the widespread resistance to Russian rule in the Caucasus prompted tsarist officials to seek local solutions to administrative problems. The metropolitan center was too remote and communication too slow to meet the complex and explosive needs of this region. Between 1842 and 1844, Nicholas I appointed Alexander Chernyshev, the minister of war, to head a committee for reviewing the Caucasian administration’s shortcomings. Nicholas demanded a detailed plan for the revision of the local judicial and executive organs in the Caucasus in order to eliminate existing shortcomings without losing sight of the needs of the Ministry of War.7 In 1844, a new epoch was inaugurated in the Caucasus with the removal of Neidgart from office and the creation of the office of the Viceroyalty of the Caucasus. The Viceroyalty of the Caucasus The viceroyalty or namestnichesvo was an institution with an ancient history in Russia. In Old Russia, the deputies of the princes of Novgorod were called na mest kniazia, or “in place of the prince.” This term was synonymous with that of voevoda, in the context of the thirteen and fourteen centuries. During the reign of Catherine II (1762–96), the title of namestnik was once more resurrected and was used interchangeably with that of general-gubernator’, or the governor-generals of the guberniia. In 1816, Speranskii put forth a project to divide the empire into twelve viceroyalties, each containing three or four guberniia. The council of the viceroy was to include members from all ministries. Although Speranskii’s project did not materialize in the Russian interior, the viceroyalty was introduced in the borderlands of the empire, such as Poland and the Caucasus.8 Some contemporary scholars have erroneously equated the viceroyalty with the governor-generalship.9 The interchangeable use of these terms for the mid-nineteenth century is anachronistic. In the Caucasus, the powers and prerogatives of the viceroy were fundamentally different from those of the governor-generals of the internal guberniia. To begin with, the tasks and responsibilities of the tsar’s representatives in the borderlands of the empire could not be the same as those administering the inner regions. Domestic and foreign policy were not clearly delineated along the borders of the empire. In the Caucasus, for example, the viceroys acted as de facto ambassadors to neighboring countries, commanders in chief of the armed forces, and the supreme regional authority, responsible only to the tsar. Furthermore, due to the lack of agrarian institutions of self-government such as zemstvos and land captains in the region, there were few institutional rivals to check the authority of the viceroyalties. The governor-generals, by contrast, were hedged in by rival interest groups, such as the local representatives of the ministries, the assemblies of the

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nobility, the zemstvos and the army commanders. They were obliged to maneuver between the ministerial representatives and the institutions of rural and municipal self-government. As Robbins has observed, the governors “possessed few direct controls over self-government, especially the zemstvos.”10 Worse yet were the marshals of the nobility who vied for power with the provincial governors and over whom the governor could exercise negligible control.11 Whereas in the inner guberniia, some tsars (perhaps deliberately) cultivated overlapping responsibilities among their officials, such ambiguities would have been crippling for the borderlands of the empire, where the local conditions drastically differed from within Russia. In administering the borderlands, specialized knowledge of these localities was crucial; delay or confusion in issuing commands could be disastrous. Therefore, the regional administrations were given more latitude in decision making. In particular, civil and military authority were traditionally concentrated in one person. In April of 1840, the office of the Administrator in Chief of the Civilian Sector of the Caucasus (Glavnoupravliayushchii Grazhdanskoi Chastiiu na Kavkaz’e) was established. In recognition of the remoteness and special conditions of the region, the administrator in chief held the military rank of commander of the Caucasian Corps and was endowed with plenipotentiary powers. He was also authorized to modify general rules and regulations as he saw fit, provided that he inform the respective ministries and the Senate.12 Therefore, even before the introduction of the viceroyalty, the administrators of the Caucasus had more extensive powers than the governor-generals of inner Russia. First introduced into the Caucasus in 1844, the viceroyalty existed in the Caucasus until the Russian revolution, with a hiatus of twenty-four years between 1881 and 1904, when it was replaced by the Office of the High Commissioner of the Caucasus. The viceroy was endowed with plenipotentiary powers and reported directly to the tsar. He thus concentrated in his hands all of the rights that previously belonged to the sphere of competence of the central ministries and could resolve nearly all questions on the spot without conferring with St. Petersburg. The viceroy was in possession of full civil and military powers in the Caucasus and immune from ministerial interference in his decisions.13 On November 17, 1844, Nicholas appealed to the sixty-three year old Prince Mikhail Semyonovich Vorontsov, a veteran of the Napoleonic wars and governor-general of Novorossia, to accept the position of viceroy of the Caucasus. Vorontsov was an experienced administrator with a distinguished name and a brilliant career. Nicholas promised Vorontsov unlimited plenipotentiary powers and asked him to serve for at least three years, while keeping his responsibilities in Novorossia.14 In his letter to Vorontsov, Nicholas I expressed boundless trust in and respect for Vorontsov. But he also made clear his high expectations. “Having presented you with all the means to use full power and to use your long-term experience in the affairs of governmental administration in the borderlands,” Nicholas wrote, “I truly believe that your actions will be accompanied with such successes as have up to now always distinguished your lengthy service to the throne and fatherland.”15 Vorontsov agreed to Nicholas’s terms.

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In his correspondence with Vorontsov, Nicholas expressed concern over the enmity of the Caucasian tribes towards Russia, and urged Vorontsov to take decisive steps.16 Vorontsov was familiar with the Caucasus, having served there forty years before, under the command of General Tsitsianov. On taking power in March of 1845, Vorontsov initially took command of the troops and began a campaign in Daghestan. In his letters, Nicholas had insisted on the immediate crushing defeat of Shamil. Vorontsov, recognizing the difficulties, had reluctantly acquiesced. As he had feared, a direct assault failed dismally. Adopting a cautious policy more congenial to his own views, Vorontsov elected to “choose a policy of cordon sanitaire, or gradual strangulation, as opposed to grand campaigns.”17 He then turned to the affairs of civilian administration and committed himself to the restructuring of the region, the result of which was the issuing of over forty-three thousand edicts. Official tsarist historians viewed his policies as that of enlightened fusion of the Russians and Caucasians. “The merging of the heterogeneous tribes of the Caucasus with the Russian people was his main goal, towards which he indefatigably strove,” wrote his contemporary biographers.18 Vorontsov indeed was one of the most flexible tsarist administrators of the borderlands, but he nevertheless did serve his tsar, and in the process invariably subjected the Caucasian peoples to colonial control. Although Vorontsov was granted plenipotentiary powers by Nicholas, he did not have an entirely free hand. Even though he stood close to the throne, he was often opposed by high government officials in St. Petersburg. One issue of particular contention was the privileges given to the beks and agalars regarding the cultivators on their lands. Vorontsov sought to ameliorate the unfavorable and onerous conditions facing the cultivators, but he met opposition from the ministries of Interior and State Domains.19 The main institutional check on his authority was the Caucasian Committee, Komitet Kavkazskii, established by decree on February 3, 1845, which was the continuation under a new name of the old Committee for the Restructuring of the Caucasian Region. Created under Chernyshev in 1840, it had remained rather inactive until 1846, when it was revived and its functions were significantly broadened. Thenceforth, the committee had served as a coordinator between Caucasian and general imperial affairs. The viceroy was to consult with the committee concerning cases that exceeded his jurisdiction. The Caucasian Committee, which continued to operate until January 23, 1882 (when it was abolished along with the viceroyalty), consisted of representatives of the State Council and the ministries of Finances, State Domains, Justice, and Interior, as well as members of special committees.20 Technically, the powers of the committee superseded those of the viceroyalty and the ministers. The Caucasian Committee in effect negotiated between the central and the Caucasian administrations. After 1865, the position of the chairperson of the Caucasian Committee was filled by the chair of the Committee of Ministers.21 Vorontsov faced several formidable tasks upon assumption of his tenure as viceroy of the Caucasus. These included orchestrating the administrative and territorial reorganization of Transcaucasia, building a social basis of support for

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his administration by co-opting the Muslim clergy and landowners, and creating a new strata of native officials. His overall aim was to consolidate the tsarist position in Transcaucasia without the use of brute force and to establish a conciliatory policy leading to the gradual assimilation of the Caucasus into the empire at large. Vorontsov started with the territorial reorganization of the region. In an effort to undo the damage caused by Hahn’s arbitrary divisions, he attempted to restore the ethnic territorial units. He divided the Caspian oblast into the provinces of Derbent, Shemakha and Erevan, roughly corresponding to the lands of the Daghestanis, Azerbaijanis and Armenians.22 This reform, aimed at eradicating anti-Russian feelings, worked best among the Armenians, who found their dreams of restoring greater Armenia were being realized.23 In contrast, the Muslim lands remained scattered and divided among the territories of several Transcaucasian guberniia.24 This territorial reorganization reflected a Christian bias on the part of the Caucasian administration. Vorontsov next sought to reverse the inflammatory policies of his predecessors. In 1842, following the local outburst against Hahn’s project, the government had begun to make its peace with the Muslim clerics and landowners in order to find allies against Shamil and the insurgent peasantry. This policy was pursued by Vorontsov, who believed that the government should “not only not encroach upon the rights of the higher Muslim soslovie but also safeguard and strengthen them with all measures.”25 In general, Vorontsov’s flexible ideas on civil rule sharply contrasted with those of the former military rulers of the Caucasus. The viceroy was convinced that he could win the favor of the native population if he only extended the advantages and privileges of the other subjects of the empire to Transcaucasia and acted in a “culturally sensitive” manner. This, he believed, would win trust and respect for state power. The rights and privileges of each social group, according to Vorontsov, had to be determined “without contradicting the ageold beliefs of the inhabitants.” Furthermore, his administration was in favor of supporting the privileged groups, who supposedly wielded influence over the people.26 As in other peripheral national enclaves, the state appealed to the selfinterest of the local elite. In the Caucasus, the Muslim landowners were the main target of the viceroy’s campaign to win over the local elites. As prominent members of the old khan state apparatus, this group had substantial influence over the local population. In a reversal of policies adopted in the 1830s and early 1840s depriving the Muslim elite of their privileges, Vorontsov appointed a special committee on bek and agalar affairs to sit in Tiflis and discuss the rights of this group to the land. It proposed that the lands of Muslim landowners be recognized as heredity property and that they also be granted lands in exchange for state service. This recommendation was approved by Nicholas and resulted in the rescript of December 6, 1846, “On the Landed Rights of Beks, Maliks and Agalars,” which recognized hereditary ownership of lands that had been owned personally or as tuyuls, prior to the final conquest of the Caucasus by Russia in

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1828.27 Despite earlier misgivings, Nicholas demonstrated that he was open to fresh views on regional rights and willing to co-opt the Muslim elite: If the higher Muslim soslovie of Transcaucasia is guaranteed of its means of existence by the confirmation of its ownership of lands currently under its use, it will always be prepared, regardless of its age or income, to join the ranks of our brave soldiers upon the first call to duty, and wholeheartedly justify the obligations placed by us on this soslovie.28 This legislation was supplemented by the rescripts of April 20 and December 28, 1847, known as the Poselianskoe Polozhenie, which regulated the relations between landlords and peasants. It was ominously reminiscent of serfdom. By the regulations of 1847, the peasants were legally bound to the landowners and the services the landlords were entitled to were standardized. Legal distinctions between the various types of peasants were eliminated, and all peasants received the name of mulkdar-tabigi or “beholden to the landlord.” In return for the use of five desiatinas of the landlord’s lands, men older than fifteen were obliged to pay taxes in kind amounting to one-tenth of the wheat harvested and one-third of the fruit and vegetable crops. In addition, one male from every ten families was to serve as a domestic servant of the landlord, and each family was to provide one of its members to work the landlord’s fields for eighteen days out of the year. In the event that a peasant disobeyed him, the landowner was even authorized to carry out corporal punishment. The end result of these rescripts was to increase the political as well as economic domination of the Muslim landlords over the peasantry.29 The position of the peasantry further deteriorated in February 1853, when the viceroy strictly prohibited their voluntary resettling from one village to another. During the 1850s the peasantry began to pay rent in cash rather than in kind. These monetary taxes were devastating since they did not take into account the peasants’ ability to pay. As the peasantry became impoverished and lost its freedom of movement, the landlords, taking advantage of new opportunities, enlarged their properties.30 By strengthening the position of the Muslim landlords, the autocracy was counting on creating loyalty towards itself—a loyalty it hoped would surpass ethnic and cultural identification of the local peoples among themselves. Paradoxically, Russia, a presumably more developed nation, in its attempts to incorporate the Caucasus into its empire had created more primitive and “backward” social relations in that region. Thus Muslim Transcaucasia, which had never practiced serfdom, came to adopt an order resembling Russian serfdom. And ironically, the introduction of serfdom into Transcaucasia took place on the eve of the emancipation of serfs in Russia proper! Vorontsov’s administration also tried to attract the Muslim elite by allowing them to enter the civil service. It planned to create a group of native chinovniks—a precursor to the Soviet korenizatsiia policy. This policy was not only meant to co-opt local elements but also to compensate for the perennial lack of

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trained Russian administrators. In the 1840s, the Russian civil service was not highly esteemed as a career choice, and hence the ranks of the Caucasian administration were understaffed and occupied by “petty careerists,” incompetent officials and even those accused of civil misdemeanors in Russia. “The Regulations on Educating Caucasian and Transcaucasian Natives in the Higher and Technical Educational Facilities of the Empire, at the Expense of the Treasury” was approved in 1849, in order to educate the native Caucasians and Transcaucasians for the assumption of official posts. The stated aim of the statute was to prepare the sons of the privileged social groups to assume positions in state service. A secondary goal was to educate the children of the merchant classes in order to facilitate the expansion of trade and industry in the region.31 The cadre of native officials created by Vorontsov, and especially those employed in the viceroy’s chancery as translators, gave rise to the first generation of the Azerbaijani intelligentsia. Vorontsov’s “native politics” came under attack by the Russian chinovniks, who felt threatened by the educated native population and feared for their own loss of privileges.32 The transformation of the natives into Russianized civil servants, however, was most successful with the Georgians and Armenians, who were Christian and hence less culturally estranged from the Russians. The responsibilities of the viceroy also included managing relations with Russia’s neighboring states. In Vorontsov’s correspondence, there are letters to regional heads of states, which attest to the viceroy’s diplomatic finesse. Writing to Mohammed Shah Qajar, for example, Vorontsov employed the same highflown stylized language as the Qajar court was accustomed to use. Vorontsov, while flattering the shah, unambiguously described his own role as the guardian of the Caucasian mountains and upholder of the peace treaty. In his letter he stated his aims: “To see peace and tranquility on the borders of Russia and the Persian monarchy has always been a constant and sincere desire of my heart, and I will use all the means available to me to promote the closer friendship uniting these two great monarchies.”33 The respectful tone employed by the viceroy was far removed from the bullying and outright abusive language used by Tsitsianov. Vorontsov was able to establish good will; in response to his letter of introduction he received a diamond-framed portrait of the shah.34 Vorontsov left behind an ambiguous legacy. From the vantage point of the Caucasian and Transcaucasian elites, Vorontsov may be viewed as a flexible, gradualist and even-handed administrator. However, viewing his policies from the point of view of the disadvantaged social groups, his policies appear less attractive. While rhetorically defending local customs and traditions, Vorontsov did much to undermine the traditional Muslim society by imposing an essentially Russian agrarian system and consolidating a Russian administration. On the eve of the Crimean War seventy-two year old Vorontsov was physically exhausted and mentally anguished by the idea of war between his beloved England and Russia. (Vorontsov had been raised in England and was an avid Anglophile.) Suffering from an attack of nerves, Vorontsov was debilitated and requested leave from the Caucasus. A few weeks after Nicholas’s death

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in February of 1855, Vorontsov resigned from the Russian civil service and left the Caucasus.35 The short tenure of Nikolai Nikolaevich Murav’ev as the second viceroy of the Caucasus (1854–56) coincided with the Crimean War and the resurgence of the Murid movement in the Caucasus, which was not unrelated to the war.36 Placed between the high-profiled administrations of Vorontsov and Bariatinskii, Murav’ev appears to have been slighted by the imperial chroniclers. History has judged Murav’ev rather harshly, as demonstrated by V. I. Ivanenko’s assessment of his tenure: “The viceroyalty of N. N. Murav’ev did not leave notable traces behind in the history of civilian administration in the Transcaucasus. Not one law or significant transformation was introduced during his tenure. His inability to defeat Shamil brought about his removal and replacement by the young, brilliant Prince Alexander Ivanovich Bariatinskii.”37 Prince Alexander Ivanovich Bariatinskii (1814–79), along with Vorontsov, was one of the legendary administrators of the Caucasus. He came from a long line of an old noble family, which traced its lineage back to the legendary Riurik. He was not a newcomer to the Caucasus; having enrolled in the guards at the age of seventeen, he had commanded a regiment in the northern Caucasus, where he was wounded by the Kuban mountaineers. Bariatinskii was decorated with a gold medal for his courage, and thus began his relationship with the Caucasus, which was to last for thirty years.38 The tenure of Bariatinskii, Alexander II’s boyhood friend, as viceroy and commander in chief of the Caucasus (1856–62), was distinguished by the defeat and capturing of Shamil, for which Bariatinskii received the Order of St. George second class. Bariatinskii’s military successes followed in the wake of the embarrassing Russian defeat in the Crimean War and comprised part of his plans for a “forward policy” in the East compensating for Russian weaknesses in the West.39 The defeat of Shamil in 1859 was in great part due to Bariatinskii’s military reforms in the Caucasus. Foreshadowing Miliutin’s reforms of the military, Bariatinskii, through the former’s lobbying in Petersburg, was able to implement his reform of the Caucasian army corps. This included the establishing of a clear and rational line of command, the founding of artillery and infantry training schools, and the rearmament and reinforcement of the Caucasian army.40 Eventually, through Bariatinskii’s recommendation, Miliutin was appointed minister of war. Bariatinskii’s true delight is evident in his letter to Miliutin dated May 24, 1861, in which he expresses his satisfaction with the appointment and assures Miliutin of his high opinion of the latter. He writes, “I know your honesty and loyalty to the state; you have those qualities it needs most of all, not to mention your other merits. Alas, such honest people are so few in Petersburg!”41 Through Bariatinskii’s alliance with Miliutin, the military reform in the Caucasus came to serve as a model for the all-empire military reforms and the creation of a rational and professional army structure.42 During A. I. Bariatinskii’s tenure as viceroy of the Caucasus, the Caucasian bureaucracy attained its highest degree of autonomy from Petersburg. Un-

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der no other administration would the region be as self-sufficient and independent. Here the viceroy sought to create an independent and rational structure, building on the accomplishments of Vorontsov’s administrative reorganizations. To begin with, Bariatinskii attempted to secure the financial independence of the region from St. Petersburg, as he saw in this issue a persistent problem weighing down previous administrations. He requested that the viceroy be entirely responsible for the finances of the Caucasus and keeping the budget in balance.43 Reverting to the pre-1840 fiscal order, all of the incomes and expenses of the region were to be separated from the supervision of the Ministry of Finances and placed under the control of the Caucasian administration. This request was submitted to the tsar within sixteen days of Bariatinskii’s acceptance of the position of viceroy, and met with the tsar’s approval. Overcoming the Ministry of Finances’ opposition to increasing the budget of the region, Bariatinskii now had the freedom to build an autonomous central administration.44 Bariatinskii’s efforts at localizing power in the Caucasus aimed at enlarging the autonomy secured by Vorontsov and reducing dependence on the Caucasian Committee and other higher governmental establishments. A generation later, tsarist historians judged his plans as follows: “Rejecting cooperation with the higher state organs, while wishing to give the Caucasus a civil administration well adapted to the local peculiarities, Bariatinskii established in Tiflis those same legislative and higher administrative and judicial organs he had ceased to use from Petersburg.”45 Thus the traditional chancery of the viceroy was replaced in Tiflis by functional units replicating the central ministries in St. Petersburg including interior, justice, finances and state domains.46 Furthe rmore, these departments, like the ministries, operated independently of one another, each reporting directly to the viceroy.47 The defeat of the Murid movement and the conquest of Daghestan confronted Bariatinskii with the need to introduce a new regional administration. Recognizing the political influence of the Muslim clergy in the region, he decided against the introduction of Russian law and the Russian courts. Instead Bariatinskii sought to weaken the influence of the Muslim law of Sharia used by Shamil by pitting the Adat, or customary law, against it.48 The viceroy preferred the Adat to the Sharia since he believed that the Adat “would weaken the significance of the clergy in the eyes of the population and, due to its arbitrariness, would draw them to general civil laws.”49 Bariatinskii viewed the Sharia as inherently subversive, enabling the Muslim clergy to “incite dissatisfaction with the government.” He considered the Sharia a socially egalitarian legal structure in the Muslim communities; it “was the best means [for the elite] to draw close to the masses” and hence the strength of Sufi or mystical Islam. Bariatinskii perceptively recognized the appeal of Sufism (which he referred to as Muridism): “Muridism is not only a religious order but also social law, which equalizes all classes and sostoianie, defines legal rights, and organizes the payment of taxes. It defies the legitimacy of worldly powers and does not recognize any government that is not headed by the legitimate heir to the Prophet.”50

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It was during Bariatinskii’s tenure that the city of Baku became the administrative center of Azerbaijan. Following the severe earthquake that devastated the old capital Shemakha on May 30, 1859, Bariatinskii suspended construction of public buildings and proposed that the government offices be relocated to another city, which would consequently become the new guberniia capital. Bariatinskii chose the port of Baku as the new site. He foresaw its commercial importance as a great port city and terminus of a railroad line running across the Caucasus range.51 The city governor of Shemakha, Prince Tarkhan-Mouravor, opposed this decision for self-evident reasons, objecting that Baku was unsuitable to become the guberniia capital. He argued that Baku was inadequately supplied with fresh water, woodlands, pastures and suitable land for growing vegetables. In addition, he described the climate as most disagreeable—with sharp and unexpected fluctuations in the temperature, heat waves during the summer, and dust winds throughout the year. By contrast, he argued, Shemakha was mostly inhabited by Russian chinovniks who were homeowners and whose welfare had to be considered.52 Given the vagaries of Baku’s climate and the harmful effects of its dust storms to the respiratory system, he concluded, “All this would in a few years exact more victims than all of the earthquakes in Shemakha in a hundred years put together.”53 Bariatinskii dismissed these arguments, and the guberniia center was officially moved to Baku in September of 1859. With Alexander II’s approval the guberniia was renamed Bakinskaia Guberniia.54 This move dramatically reshaped the social and economic life of the region, especially in view of the subsequent development of this city into a major oil producer on the world market. Bariatinskii’s foresight also showed itself in the larger context of international policy. Like Sergei Yulevich Witte, the architect of rapid industrialization in Russia, Bariatinskii was well aware of the potential role to be played by Russia’s “internal colonies” in the East, in compensating for losses in the West and securing Russia’s continued existence as a great European power. Thirty years before Witte, he had concluded that commerce, railroads and foreign capital could form the pillars of Russian policy in the East. Railroad building was an avenue both Witte and Bariatinskii considered as one of Russia’s chances for greatness. Bariatinskii viewed railroad building not only from the commercial point of view but also strategically. Having learned his lessons well from Russia’s defeat in the Crimean War, he considered railroads indispensable as a vehicle for rapidly transferring troops to the front. In his “Notes on the Railroad,” he observed that “Transcaucasia is connected with the empire only on the geographic map, but in essence it is a region separate from Russia proper in all respects. . . . Presently it would require months to transport troops from central Russia to the Caucasian line.”55 Railroads, Bariatinskii contended, “would make Russia the sovereign of Asia.”56 Also, commercially, railroads would turn Transcaucasia into the transit point between Asian and European trade, especially if the Black Sea and Caspian Sea were to

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be connected via rail.57 Bariatinskii, however, did not recognize the economic importance of railroads for Russia’s metallurgical industry. The similarities in Bariatinskii’s and Witte’s views were not coincidental. They shared a common link in the person of General R. A. Fadeev, Witte’s uncle and Bariatinskii’s friend, ally and publicist. In his article of 1865 entitled “A Letter from the Caucasus to M. N. Katkov,” Fadeev had praised the politics of Viceroy Bariatinskii. Fadeev, who steadfastly supported Bariatinskii’s interest in the capital, undoubtedly contributed to the rapprochement of these influential individuals.58 Bariatinskii’s position however was more traditional than that of Witte, since in addition to military and economic gains, he also concentrated on Russia’s role as a Christian power and believed in a religious “civilizing mission.” In particular, he used the Armenian church as a vehicle for Russian policy in Persia and the Ottoman Empire.59 This mission worked under the protection of the Russian consulate headed by Prince Dolgorukov.60 In order to counter Muridism he proposed the founding of a society for the spreading of Christianity within the Caucasus.61 This society would potentially spread its field of action to neighboring countries.62 Initially, Bariatinskii had high hopes for Orthodox proselytizing in the northern Caucasus, especially among the mountaineers. Claiming that these peoples had been Christians before the invasion of the Muslim tribes, Bariatinskii, in his letters to the tsar, expressed enthusiasm for their reconversion to Christianity. The viceroy viewed this avenue of action as one of the ways to weaken the appeal of Muridism in the northern Caucasus. Thus he proposed the founding of the “Brotherhood for Resurrecting the Holy Cross.” This organization was to construct churches in the Caucasus and was to operate under the guidance of the viceroy and the Gregorian church. The project did not meet with the emperor’s approval, as he questioned the cultural appropriateness of brotherhoods in Orthodox Russia, and feared that such action would alienate the Orthodox Church.63 However, Bariatinskii’s project provides an insight into his thinking about the responsibilities of the state in the moral and religious sphere. His was a devoutly Christian and nonsecular viewpoint. Under the leadership of Prince Bariatinskii, Russia consolidated her rule over the Caucasus. Not only was the region finally “pacified,” but Bariatinskii succeeded in creating a Caucasian administration independent of Petersburg. Bariatinskii was a localist par excellence. He realized that brute force could not secure stability for his administration and hence appeared to champion respect and tolerance for other nationalities. He described the principles guiding his administration of the Caucasus as such: “In order to connect the region to the state all the more, one must rule each nationality with love and with complete respect for their cherished customs and traditions.”64 On the international scene, Bariatinskii entertained ambitious plans concerning the international significance of the Caucasus in the European power games. Unlike most statesmen of his time, he realized that Russia’s chances for imitating European imperialisms lay in the East rather than in the West.

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Towards the end of 1862, Bariatinskii look leave of the Caucasus due to the deterioration of his health and finally relinquished his post as viceroy of the Caucasus in December of 1862. After a period of transition in which Orbel’ian took command of the region, the Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolaevich entered Tiflis in March of 1863 to assume the responsibilities of viceroy of the Caucasus for the next two decades (1863–81). Mikhail Nikolaevich was the fourth son of Nicholas I and the youngest brother of Alexander II. Trained as an officer, he became commander of the cavalry guards and artillery in 1852, at the age of twenty. In addition, the grand duke became a member of the State Council in 1855, and its chairman after 1881.65 Mikhail Nikolaevich started his tenure as viceroy with a reorganization of the Caucasian administration. The grand duke had substantial ties with Petersburg and hence not surprisingly was an adamant integrationist. Claiming that Bariatinskii’s local ministries had proven too costly and had elicited much complaint, Mikhail Nikolaevich set out to dismantle several of the independent administrative branches and merge them with other departments. Thus, in 1863, he abolished the Central Administrations of Agriculture and of Industry and assigned their functions to the Departments of Finances and State Domains. In 1867, a “Special Committee for the Administrative Transformation of the Caucasian and Transcaucasian Regions” was created. This committee took up the task of centralizing the administrative machinery and trying to overcome bureaucratic friction by concentrating the activities of the justice and finances departments into the newly created Department of Central Administration (Department Glavnogo Upravleniia) and transforming the Council of the Viceroy into the Council of Central Administration, which enjoyed wider powers.66 Mikhail Nikolaevich, unlike Vorontsov, was unenthusiastic about recruiting civil servants from the local Muslim population, which he mistrusted. The grand duke’s approach was high-handed, and he preferred to rely on his police force, employing coercion rather than persuasion. Mikhail Nikolaevich had no hope for the ability of the Caucasian Muslims to merge with the other subjects of the empire. The viceroy’s penchant for meting out collective punishment reached an extreme point during the Russo-Turkish War of 1877–78, when the mountaineers of Daghestan and Chechnya agitated on behalf of Turkey and participated in an anti-Russian rebellion. The viceroy mercilessly planned to deport not only the propagators of the rebellion, but an entire village of a thousand families. He wrote, “The only appropriate punishment that can yield the desired results is the exile of criminal societies from the region.”67 The events of 1877, later to be known as the Kuba uprising, created great alarm in the Caucasian administration. Revolt in Kuba broke out between September 14 and November 12, 1877, when the residents, influenced by the disorder in Daghestan, took to the streets, burning government properties and demanding the return of the old khan of Kuba, Hassan Bek.68

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Although the Russians arrested and executed individuals who were directly involved in the armed uprising, many participants were shielded by the native population. The local administrators were well aware of the villagers’ complicity with the fugitives and especially the village elders’ role in giving refuge to “criminals.”69 Hence, Mikhail Nikolaevich sought a more severe form of punishment. In April of 1878, Mikhail Nikolaevich asked the Caucasian Committee to aid him in his plans to exile entire villages that had participated in the rebellion to eastern Siberia or the inner guberniia of Russia. The viceroy’s request created unease in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, which had conflicting interests with the Caucasian viceroyalty. The minister of internal affairs feared for the spread of Muslim rebellion to the inner Russian guberniia and in eastern Siberia, which already contained one thousand Caucasian Muslims and had a total of nine hundred thousand Muslims out of a population of three million. In addition, he expressed concern about the ability of the mountaineers (gortsy) to survive under different climatic conditions. The mortality rate was over 50 percent among those who had already been exiled to Russia in 1867. Moreover, there were other reasons that exile of the Muslim Caucasians to the inner Russian guberniia was impractical. The paucity of buildings, the insufficiency of military commanders to control the exiled population, the deportees’ lack of knowledge of Russian and local crafts, and the fact that these areas were already filled with Muslims under surveillance were among the complicating factors mentioned by the minister of internal affairs. Not surprisingly, the minister of internal affairs pleaded with the viceroy to consider other ways of punishing the Caucasians besides exile.70 Mikhail Nikolaevich’s punitive approach had estranged the Muslim population from the local administration. In an effort to adopt a pragmatic solution to the impasse and to win the trust of the population, the viceroy decided to extend some cultural concessions to them. He drew up a project to introduce teachers’ seminaries for training native instructors to teach elementary school in their own language. Mikhail Nikolaevich conceded, “The population only trusts teachers from among its own milieu.” Hence, courses were to be taught in the native dialects, but with the use of the Russian alphabet (a precursor to the Soviet experiment), in order to facilitate the eventual learning of Russian.71 The above is yet another example of the uniquely Russian approach to the administration and education of colonial subjects. Aware of European colonial precedence, the viceroy observed, “Unfortunately, in this matter we cannot use the experiences of other European countries. The system of education the English use in India and the French in Algeria cannot serve as an example for us. Both of these powers look upon their colonies exclusively as a means for wresting the maximum material profits and do not much concern themselves with the education of the indigenous tribes.”72 As Mikhail Nikolaevich’s example and those of his predecessors demonstrate, the Caucasian high administrators adopted contradictory policies towards the local population, punishing and repressing one segment (namely the peasants and mountaineers), while attempting to co-opt and educate others.

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The Russian presence in the Caucasus had undergone dramatic transformation between 1840 and 1881; it changed from a regime of military occupation to a more established civilian administration. The Viceroyalty of the Caucasus, especially under the stewardship of Vorontsov and Bariatinskii, made conciliatory overtures to the Muslim elite and reversed some of the more egregious excesses of the military commandants. However, there were limits to Russia’s appeal, and Islam was still a formidable force opposing the viceroys’ “civilizing missions.” Successive viceroys had responded differently to Islamic social groups; some had tried co-optation, others repression, but in the Caucasus Islam was resilient and Russia’s truce with Islam transient and fragile.

5 THE MUSLIM CAUCASUS AND THE GREAT REFORMS

I

n the wake of the emancipation of Russian serfs in 1861, a host of reforms were introduced in Russia, propelling the nation into the modern age. These “Great Reforms” were eventually introduced into the Caucasus during the viceroyalty of Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolaevich. Although the autocracy showed no haste to introduce the various reforms stemming from and following the emancipation, it was nevertheless compelled to follow suit, albeit begrudgingly. When implemented, these reforms were often carried out in an abridged form as half-measures untrue to the spirit of the law. Some reforms, such as the creation of zemstvos, although debated, were never introduced. The appearance of other reforms such as land reform, judicial reform and municipal selfgovernment framed a colonial agenda under a veneer of legality and equality. Zemstvos were never established in the Caucasus and Transcaucasia, although their introduction was discussed for decades. This delay was not peculiar to the region and was in fact practiced by tsarism in other non-Russian borderlands of the empire. There are several reasons for the state’s reluctance to introduce zemstvos into the borderlands. Firstly, the authorities had come to view the Russian zemstvos as revolutionary hotbeds, seditious institutions colonized by the rural intelligentsia. Secondly, in the absence of a Russian nobility in the borderlands to counterbalance the radicals in the zemstvos and overlook local administration, the zemstvos could easily turn into antiautocratic centers of activity. The introduction of zemstvos into the Caucasus was periodically discussed until the dissolution of the empire, yet the tsarist officials never felt comfortable allowing this region to have self-government. In 1905, the Baku Municipal Board (Bakinskaia Gorodskaia Uprava) once again took up this issue and decided that the introduction of zemstvos was possible among the Russian population; however, “special necessary changes would have to be made, as the regulations must be tailored to the local conditions.”1 In establishing property qualifications the board chose to use size of holdings rather than income as the basis for determining voting rights. In Baku uezd, representatives were to be divided into four groups: large landowners, small landowners, city dwellers and villagers. Large landowners were defined as those owning over thirty desiatinas of land. In the city of Baku, those owning unmovable properties valued over 1,000 rubles were qualified. Also, it was stipulated that for every two representatives from Muslim villages, five were to be chosen from Russian villages. Those individuals who did not have a command of Rus-

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sian were disqualified.2 Although the plan above was never implemented, it nevertheless reveals the colonial mentality in thinking about reforms in the Muslim borderlands. Here a vote was not simply a vote, since religion was a strong determinant of national identity, making the Russian peasant more equal than the Azerbaijani peasant. Judicial Reform The first of the Great Reforms introduced into Azerbaijan was judicial reform, which was confirmed by the tsar on November 22, 1866. Interestingly, in Russia proper, the judicial reform logically followed the emancipation of the peasantry, as the freed peasants were no longer legally bound to the landlords. An independent judiciary was the natural corollary to an independent peasantry, which was to henceforth submit to the law, rather than the person of the landowner. In Transcaucasia and Azerbaijan in particular, judicial reform was introduced without first freeing the peasantry from bondage. Here, the Great Reforms were stood on their heads; the outcome preceded the cause, and the reforms lacked a representative character. Judicial reform was introduced to all of the parts of the Caucasian viceroyalty on October 9, 1867. Due to financial restrictions only thirty-one independent judicial divisions were set up in the Caucasus, each headed by a justice of the peace. These courts were slow moving and struggled with a considerable backlog of cases. In Baku guberniia, the justices of the peace could only process 14,000 of the 27,000 cases referred to them yearly.3 Not only did the courts operate slowly, but they were also inaccessible to those living in remote areas. Hence within a year of the initial operation of these courts, the population had become disillusioned with the process and often refrained from bringing their cases to Russian courts. Instead they tried to reach agreement out of court, often to the detriment of the party that had been wronged.4 The native population was also alienated from the courts since juries were not introduced into the Caucasus, and the people could not partake in the judicial process.5 The governor of Erevan province, reporting to the viceroy, traced the weakness of the judicial administration in the Caucasus to the way in which justices of the peace were selected in this region. In contrast to the inner Russian guberniia, here the justices were appointed by the viceroy rather than elected with a short term of tenure. In Russia the justices submitted to the Congress of the Justices of the Peace, whereas this organization was nonexistent in the Caucasus. In the Caucasus, this responsibility was assumed by the district courts, which held sittings once every year. Consequently, in this region the justices enjoyed vast, unchecked powers and privileges.6 This often led to arbitrariness in their decision making, especially as they “did not distinguish themselves from their chinovnik milieu, . . . not by their personal qualities, understanding and vision, service origins, or even their moral and general education.”7 In fact, the Caucasus was notorious for attracting the lowest quality of civil servants in the empire. Many were coaxed to serve in this remote region by the promise of a shortened length of service. The Pol’noe Sobranie Zakonov Rossiiskoi

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Imperii stipulated that “in the Caucasian region, each three years of service is counted as four in other areas of the empire.”8 The investigation of criminal cases was even slower than that of the civil cases. The justices and their deputies were inexperienced in carrying out investigations and were unable to easily identify the culprit in a criminal case, especially in the absence of a jury. They were handicapped by their lack of knowledge of the local language and customs.9 The proceedings, all carried out in Russian and by Russian justices, laid bare the colonial nature of the judiciary. The prosecutor, the plaintiff and the defender all used translators, which often led to ludicrous situations when the translators poorly understood one another.10 It was not surprising, then, that, as one discouraged high official had observed, “The justices of the peace in their thirty-five year existence failed to win the trust of the local population.”11 Many high officials in the Caucasian administration attributed the failure of the judicial reforms to the deep cultural differences that separated Russia from the Caucasus. The Baku governor General Koliubakin, for example, wrote that the reforms in fact discredited the entire Caucasian administration in the eyes of the natives. In the spirit of Orientalism, he argued that the population considered the division of power between the judicial and administrative sectors as a sign of weakness, since they had “been accustomed to centuries of oneperson rule.”12 The paternalism and outlook of the tsarist officials missed the mark. Contrary to their analysis, it was not the division of powers that caused the population to question the strength of the administration, but the unsatisfactory implementation of the judicial reform. The population, deprived of its usual avenues of conflict settlement (primarily through the Muslim clerics, whose jurisdiction had been reduced to family matters), was prevented from finding a viable and efficient alternative. In the villages, judicial reform proved ineffective in the absence of land reform, which was needed to properly delineate boundaries and privileges to the land. This led the peasantry, whose rights to the land and to the water supply were yet ambiguous, to take matters into their own hands when land disputes arose. Hence they would resort to seizure of the bek lands, refusal to pay dues, illegal cutting of timber, theft of cattle, and even armed uprisings and arson.13 Arson, which was one of the most popular misdemeanors of the 1870s, in turn led to a vicious cycle of punitive expeditions and repression.14 Land Reform and the Emancipation of Peasants Land reform was introduced to Baku province by the edict of May 14, 1870, entitled “On the Landed Structure of State Peasants Inhabiting the Lands of Members of the Higher Muslim Soslovie, as well as Armenian Maliks in the Guberniia of Transcaucasia: Elizavetpol, Baku, Erevan and Parts of Tiflis.” This legislation’s stated aim was to apply the law of February 19, 1861, to the aforementioned region. The regulations, however, were to be applied only to peasants residing on landlord lands, and not to those on treasury lands. In addition,

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the regulations did not apply to peasants who were living on landlord lands “willingly.” Therefore, emancipation was not compulsory. Those peasants who wished to own their own plots were entitled to a uniform amount of five desiatinas of land. However, until the completion of their redemption payments and the drawing up of ownership deeds, they were required to provide labor dues as well. For those peasants who did not purchase their own lands, the regulations of 1847 were still binding. These peasants continued to pay one-tenth of their harvest to the landlords as well as provide servants and laborers.15 The implementation of land reform in the Caucasus was even criticized by the new high commissioner. In his review of peasant reform in the Caucasus, Mikhail Nikolaevich’s successor, Dondukov-Korsakov, observed that the different levels of dependency of the peasants on landowners in the Caucasus had not been taken into consideration. In the Christian regions, such as Tiflis province, serfdom existed, as in inner Russia. However serfdom never formally existed in the Muslim parts of Transcaucasia, and peasants residing on landlord lands were still considered state peasants.16 The second major reform, the so-called emancipation of the peasantry, was also introduced to Azerbaijan on May 14, 1870, almost a decade after it had been introduced to Russia proper and six years after it had been introduced in Georgia. In Georgia, the terms of the emancipation had been worked out between Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolaevich and the Georgian nobility.17 This was not the case in Azerbaijan, where the reforms were introduced from above without consulting the local landowners. The statute of 1870, “Regulations Concerning the Structure of Landholding of Populations Inhabiting Government Lands, the Lands of the Higher Muslim Soslovie and the Armenians and Maliks in the Guberniia of Transcaucasia,” addressed three issues: the abolition of the peasants’ personal dependence on the landlords, the division of lands among landlords and peasants, and the redemption payments. As in the inner guberniia of Russia, the interests of the landlords were given precedence. Yet the peasants fared even worse in the Caucasus. What was considered a “beggar’s allotment” in Russia was considered the norm in the Caucasus. Each male peasant above the age of fifteen was assigned five desiatinas of land, but the landlord determined the location of the strip and was allowed to keep one-third of the land—invariably the most fertile—for his own use.18 Unlike in Russia, the government did not aid the peasants in meeting redemption payments by extending credits to them or establishing peasant land banks. In the Caucasus the peasants often were unable to raise enough cash to meet their payments. Finally the redemption process was not mandatory, as it was in Russia. In Baku guberniia redemption had turned into a myth, as the Baku governor in his report of 1900 admitted: “In Baku guberniia the law on the redemption of lands by the temporarily obligated peasants has remained a dead letter, more than ever in its thirty year history. In this respect Baku guberniia . . . even lag behind some Transcaucasian guberniia. . . . In Baku guberniia at present, almost nothing has been done in this regard.”19

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The conditions were considerably different for the Russian peasant colonists, who had been encouraged through state policy to immigrate to the Caucasus. By 1905, the Ministry of Finances had agreed to expand the activities of the peasant land bank to the Russian peasant colonies in Elizavetpol guberniia, in need of funds to purchase land strips.20 The contrast between the treatment of Muslim and Russian peasantry reveal the deep-seated colonialist mentality of the leading administrators in the region. Agrarian conditions in the Muslim areas remained largely unchanged right down to the end of the old regime. The reforms only touched a small percent of the peasants on private lands, and they were not applied to those peasants who were settled on crown and treasury lands until 1913.21 These peasants comprised nearly 70 percent of the peasant population of Baku guberniia.22 Even the Russian officials conceded that “nowhere in the empire were the emancipatory peasant reforms carried out so advantageously for the landlords and with such limitations for the peasants, as in Transcaucasia.”23 The Transcaucasian peasantry had in effect been expropriated and forced to rent the land under its use from the landowners. While the peasants had formally gained personal independence from the landowners, in actuality they continued to depend on them for survival.24 Municipal Self-Government The third major reform, municipal self-government, was in principle introduced to Azerbaijan in 1870. The need for an independent, all-soslovie city administration had long been recognized by the tsarist high officials. In the inner guberniia of Russia, officials were frustrated with the city dwellers’ reluctance to serve in the capacity of municipal elected officials. In March of 1858, the minister of internal affairs, S. S. Lanskoi, had written to the State Council that “the members of the City Council resort to various, even illegal means to refuse to serve. . . . Some even pay others to serve in their place, present false statements of malady, and do not appear on the job for an entire year.”25 Finally the government came to realize that in order for the population to participate actively in their own affairs an all-soslovie institution with a degree of autonomy was required. However, the government also feared that the new city Dumas would be transformed into a tribune for making political demands on the government and saw their attempts at autonomy as aiming to threaten “the entire autocratic power.”26 In order to forestall the growth of a political opposition, the Dumas were only allowed to discuss questions strictly relating to local questions of an economic character. Further, the composition of the Dumas was so arranged that the nobility and the propertied classes were overrepresented, so as to give the assemblies a conservative constituency.27 In Azerbaijan the political problem was more complex because the majority of the city population in Baku was non-Christian, and hence the administration was even more distrustful of the idea of a Duma. The Baku military governor’s report of 1867 reported that there were no city Dumas in the guberniia

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with consultative functions like those in Russia before 1870. Instead, he noted, “administering the local economy lies within the obligations of the city police.”28 It was eight years before the municipal reforms took effect in Baku in 1878, and those years witnessed high-level debate as to the advisability of such a move. For example, in 1871 Koliubakin, the Baku governor, had written that the native population was not sufficiently prepared for self-government and recommended that the reforms not be carried out in their entirety. Rather, he suggested that city government remain in the hands of the police, with the Duma merely assuming an advisory role. Even the viceroy had written to the Caucasian Committee in 1873, asking that the introduction of the municipal reforms be postponed to a more convenient date.29 Implicitly acknowledging the impracticality of involving their colonial subjects in self-government, the Caucasian administrators adopted new Russian institutions, while denuding them of their intended representative character. The voting procedures for local organs in Baku ostensibly replicated those of Russia with its three electoral curiae. Each of the three categories held its own elections for one-third of the seats. The criteria for each curia were based on property qualifications, not upon soslovie. The first category included the top ten large industrialists, entrepreneurs and wealthy property owners; the second the few hundred middle-level business people; and the third category embraced the thousands of small merchants and shopkeepers. Individuals who were not homeowners were excluded from the electoral lists, effectively eliminating the working class as well as the professionals and the intelligentsia. Women and men under the age of twenty-five were also excluded from participation in the elections. As was also practiced in relations to the Jews and Catholics in the Western borderlands, limitations were placed on the percentage of “non-Christians” in the assemblies, which in the Caucasus was not to exceed 50 percent. The end result of these limitations was that only 2 to 3 percent of Baku’s population was qualified for the Duma voting.30 Furthermore, the higher administrative powers had the right to assign and even dismiss the “elected” deputies of organs of self-rule.31 Military Reform The fourth major reform, the military reform of January 1, 1874, was applied to the Caucasus over a decade later, on March 28, 1886. Initially, the Caucasians had been exempt from military service as they were classified as “aliens” or inorodtsy. After the temporary abolition of the viceroyalty in 1881, the Ministry of War persistently raised the question of the introduction of general military conscription to the region. Within a few years, troops were being formed from among the Christians of the Caucasus and Transcaucasia. The Caucasian administrators were convinced that barrack life would lead to the merging of the different Christian populations of the Caucasus with the Russian element. Caucasian soldiers would hence learn Russian in the army.32 The Muslim population, however, was excluded from participation in the military. Although the Ministry of War was pushing for general conscription

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in the region and the creation of a Muslim regiment that would recruit one-third of the male population of the region, Dondukov-Korsakov, the new Caucasian high commissioner, vehemently refused to endorse this move.33 The high commissioner questioned whether it was wise to train Muslims in the use of firearms, given that their political loyalties were questionable. Certainly aware of the precedent of the Indian Mutiny, he argued, “Will it be in our state’s interests, and will it strengthen the military might of the empire if military education is spread among the fanatic population of these areas (Daghestan, northern Caucasus), and the masses are organized in the military, if they are capable of raising arms against us based on the smallest of pretexts?”34 The case of the Muslims of the Caucasus differed considerably from that of the Tatars of inner Russia, according to Dondukov-Korsakov. The Tatars were accustomed to Russian rule, comprised a minority surrounded by a sea of Russians, and had long lost their warlike characteristics, having settled down as agriculturalists and merchants. They lived sufficiently far from the borders with Muslim powers so as not to be affected by events abroad. In contrast, the Caucasian Muslims, as they had demonstrated in the 1877 uprisings in Chechnya and Daghestan, “have not forgotten their previous autonomy and are antipathetic towards the Russians.”35 In addition, they composed the majority of the regional population. Therefore, the high commissioner suggested that infantry not be created from among the Muslims, and that the Muslims mainly be placed in the reserves. Furthermore, it was crucial that they not be posted in cities, as they could easily join in revolts. If stationed in the countryside, they could be better observed by their supervisors and would even learn Russian.36 The Caucasian administration was caught between hopes to Russify the Muslim army and fears of the effect military training might have on inciting disorders. Consequently Russian colonial policy was conflicted as it sought simultaneously to integrate and segregate the Muslim population. Due to his superior knowledge of the region, Dondukov-Korsakov was placed in charge of implementing the military reforms. Dondukov-Korsakov, ever vigilant against political Islam, sought to minimize the participation of the Muslims in the military. They were to serve in the army for three years and be in the reserves for twelve. Muslim and Christian troops were also segregated, although the Muslim troops had Russian officers.37 The high commissioner hoped to utilize the Muslims who would acquire military training not as officers, but as low-level administrators such as elders of villages, village scribes, police officers, and guards.38 The Caucasian high administrators were naturally more sensitive to the dispositions of their Muslim population than were the policy makers in Petersburg. Dondukov-Korsakov, for example, repeatedly entreated the Ministry of War to reconsider the arming of the north Caucasians, who had yet not been disarmed since the rebellion of 1877. He wrote that they would “never lose their hopes for the victory of Islam” and were therefore sensitive to the happenings in Persia and Turkey.39 Islam was once again seen as a barrier to integrating the Muslims of the Caucasus into the empire at large.

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The Other Great Reform: Education Reform and Tsarist Educational Policy in Azerbaijan Tsarism’s discriminatory policies were conspicuous in the realm of education. The Caucasian administration at best left the Muslim peoples of the Caucasus to their own resources for educating their children and often even interfered with this task without offering any material or technical assistance. The reason for this neglect lay in the administration’s inherent mistrust of the Muslim population, expressed mainly in its fear that a Caucasian Muslim with Western education would organize the people, demand independence and conspire with revolutionary movements on Russia’s southern borders. Nikolai Ivanovich Il’minskii (1822–91), the celebrated Russian educator and theologian, had once said, “A Muslim fanatically hostile to the ‘infidels’ was less dangerous for the Russian state than a Muslim educated in European style, with a degree from a Russian or Western university.”40 Il’minskii was not mistaken. During the last decades of the nineteenth century one of the greatest perceived threats directed to the state from the borderlands was the importing of revolutionary ideas from abroad by the Caucasian intelligentsia. In Azerbaijan, lying on the periphery of Russia, Persia and Turkey, the intellectuals were exposed to the ideas of liberalism, socialism, pan-Islamism and pan-Turkism. Pan-Turkic ideas also reached Azerbaijan through the teachings of Ismail Bey Gasprinski (1851–1914). Gasprinski, a Crimean Tatar and founder of the newspaper Tarjuman, attempted to unify Russia’s Muslims by creating a common language for them. He had been greatly influenced by the pan-Slavs as well as the Young Ottoman movement and the Muslim philosopher Jamal alDin al-Afghani. Attempting to promote the education of the empire’s Muslims, he founded Muslim schools with new methods of teaching called the usul jadid. The Jadid schools taught Arabic phonetically, which proved to be more efficient than the conventional methods of teaching language. The new method of instruction substituted the Turkish language for the Arabic and facilitated the secularization of Muslim schools and was also adopted by the Tatar intelligentsia, who called themselves the “Jadids”. 41 Tsarist high officials were aware of the influence of pan-Turkic and panIslamic ideas among the Azerbaijanis and actively sought to determine the extent of this influence, and the possible implications of a new religio-ethnic identity. The correspondence between the Department of Police and the Baku provincial governor, carried out around the year 1900, concerning the adoption of the new methods of teaching in the Muslim schools is particularly illuminating. The police department was occupied with two questions that they connected to the spread of subversive ideas: the education of the Azerbaijanis and the political implications of the Jadid teachings, especially with regard to the possibility of international ties with Turkey. “Recently an entirely new tendency has been detected in Tatar [Azerbaijani] literature, threatening to shatter the age-old way of life of the Russian State’s fourteen million Muslim population,” wrote the minister of internal affairs to the Baku provincial governor.42 The minister explained that this influ-

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ence was first of all apparent in the “seemingly innocent” introduction in 1884 of I. Gasprinski’s new methods of teaching grammar. Founded on the European phonetic system, it significantly simplified the study of “Tatar” and Arabic grammar for the “Tatar” children. However the minister warned that alongside the phonetic system, a “new progressive tendency” was also propagated, which could well turn into “an entire intellectual and social movement.” What the police department meant by “progressive” was the growth of native Azerbaijani schools, “where the teaching of European science is combined with Koranic teachings and is taught in the Tatar language.”43 The police suspected the founders and teachers of these schools of concealing political messages behind a facade of cultural instruction. Consequently the Ministry of Internal Affairs instructed the Baku governor to monitor literary figures who wrote “progressive” essays; to collect information about their social and personal position; to explore whether there was any connection between this movement and that of the Young Turks, and whether they were “inspired” by other Muslim centers abroad, including Turkey; and finally to determine where and how the Muslim schools using the new method were founded in Baku province, who the teachers were, and under whose control the schools operated.44 The governor’s response was characteristically arrogant and dismissive. The local officials assured the Ministry of Internal Affairs that the majority of the population was too “ignorant” to follow such concepts: “The Muslims . . . are either entirely illiterate, or they are barely literate and are undoubtedly still not acquainted with the requirements of the new tendency.”45 According to another official, “The Shi’ites, as the more ignorant [sector of the population], are under the total influence of the clergy, and are removed from whatever new tendencies.”46 Having reassured their superiors that the Shi’ite population was safely ignorant and would remain so for a long time, thus being immune to any new teachings, the local officials compiled a list of individuals whom they considered prolific and progressive. These included Ali Mardan Bek Topchibashev, the editor of Kaspii and a lawyer by profession; Ahmad Bek Aghaev, Paris educated and also an editor of Kaspii; Hasan Bek Zardabi (Melikov); Nariman Narimanov; Mejid Ganiev; and Habib Bek Mahmudbekov. The governor admitted that he lacked specific evidence as to whether these individuals were connected with Muslim centers abroad in general, and with the Young Turks in particular.47 Given the authorities’ fear of educated Muslims, it is clear why tsarist policy opposed the spread of Azerbaijani cultural institutions. They were not only concerned with internal opposition to their colonial policies. On the periphery of the empire they perceived or imagined political ties between coreligionists wherever they encountered nationally conscious directed activity. This was especially true in the realm of education, where the Azerbaijani intellectuals attempted to promote the study of their native language and religion. In the face of administrative opposition to education, it was not surprising that the literacy level among the Azerbaijanis of Baku province was astonishingly low.

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According to the census of 1897, literacy among the Azerbaijanis or “Tatars” was only 2.5 percent, as compared with the average of 4.7 percent for the entire population of Baku province.48 In 1904, 82.5 percent of school-aged children in Baku province did not attend school. Senator Kuzminskii, in his 1905 report of Baku investigating the causes of the ethnic riots, noted that in the year 1904, Azerbaijanis comprised only 4.5 percent of this city’s student population, whereas Armenians and Russians comprised 41 percent and 34 percent, respectively. Conceding that the representation of Muslims was comparatively low, Kuzminskii wrote, “True, in the course of time the absolute number of Muslim students is growing, but in an extremely insignificant amount.”49 Tsarist educational policy in Azerbaijan recognized only two careers for the handful of literate males: the civil service and the ulema. During the first half of the nineteenth century, the Muslim clergy was the only group involved in the educating of the Azerbaijanis, and by 1850, nine out of ten Muslim children remained illiterate. In 1845, when Vorontsov took office as viceroy of the Caucasus, not one Azerbaijani had completed a Russian gimnazium. Under Vorontsov’s initiative, a number of “Muslim schools” were established, where Russian and science were also taught. These schools were to serve the purpose of creating a local cadre of civil servants. They were partially successful, but a heavy burden on the local population, which had to assume the operating costs of the schools. The administration only shouldered the salaries of the instructors of the Russian language.50 Vorontsov’s main efforts were directed towards the creating of a bureaucracy dominated by Georgians and Armenians, as indicated by his educational policies. At Vorontsov’s insistence, the Caucasian Educational District was created in 1853. This act was to bring the educational institutions under the direction of the viceroyalty, and to model them on the educational establishments of the inner Russian guberniia. Gimnaziums were set up in Tiflis, Stavropol’, Kutais and Ekaterinodar’, with the stated purpose of preparing Caucasian students to attend Russian universities. The curriculum was obviously partial towards Christian students. It included Orthodox theology, Russian language, geography, history, mathematics, physics, natural history, calligraphy and drawing. In principle, the teaching of other religions and languages was allowed; however, these schools were located in areas too far distant from Azerbaijani-populated areas to provide them with instruction.51 The administration was uneasy about the educating of the Muslims and the political implications of mass literacy. Until the 1860s in most areas of the Caucasus, education was limited to that provided by parochial schools, mektabs and medresses.52 After July of 1860, the Baku-Daghestan Directorate of Public Schools was founded under the auspices of the Ministry of Education. The functions of this directorate included control over the political reliability of teachers and students, repair and maintenance of schools, verifying professional qualifications of instructors and overseeing the curricula. The directorate supervised the activities of all primary schools, ethnic schools, village and factory schools, trade schools, etc.53

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In Azerbaijan, various types of these schools were in existence. These included the traditional Islamic schools, the mektabs and medresses, in which students were taught by mullahs; the secular “Russo-Tatar” schools; and the Russian gimnaziums. The mektabs and medresses were operated by the mosques. Here students studied the Koran and the Sharia as well as Persian, Arabic and the legendary history of Persia. After six to eight years of education in the mektab, promising students continued their traditional education in the medresses, where in addition to the subjects mentioned they also studied psychology, literature, philosophy, logic and history of the Muslim religion.54 The mass of the Azerbaijanis were educated in the mosque schools, whose graduates had an appallingly low level of literacy. The mektabs, according to the Baku governor, “did not satisfy the most modest of requirements. Upon completing these schools, after sitting there a number of years, the students acquired nothing but a bad knowledge of Tatar grammar and prayer in the Arabic language, memorized for the most part without an understanding of the meaning.”55 The first break in the colonial monopoly over schooling came in 1882 when several “Russo-Tatar” schools opened in Baku in 1887, with the help of Habib Bek Mahmudbekov and Hasan Bek Zardabi (Melikov). Privately financed, their curriculum was similar to the Russian primary schools, except that classes were conducted in the native language. The curriculum also included study of the Sharia; Azerbaijani, Persian and Russian languages; arithmetic; science; and geography. By 1907, there were seven such schools in Baku, and the demand for these schools continued to grow.56 The Ministry of Education, however, tried to interfere with the workings of these schools and pressured them to limit or even eliminate the teaching of the Azerbaijani language.57 While discouraging Russo-Tatar schools, tsarist educational policy did not encourage the admission of Azerbaijanis into the Russian schools. In addition, the curriculum, which was ill suited to the needs of the Muslim students, discouraged them from applying to these schools. After 1873, for example, the teaching of Greek and Latin became mandatory in the gimnaziums. The enrollment of Muslim students was extremely low in these schools. In the Bakinskoi Real’noe Uchilishche, Azerbaijani participants numbered 42 in 1878, 45 in 1888, 66 in 1898 and only 229 by the turn of the century. In the whole of Transcaucasia, by 1876, according to the Kavkazskii Kalendar’, there were only 541 Muslims in gimnaziums. These participants, who comprised only a fraction of the Azerbaijani school-aged youth, mainly came from the wealthy bek and merchant families.58 Tsarist educational policy discriminated against Muslim teachers as well as students, and withheld funds for the expansion and even survival of native schools. Muslims were also prohibited from entering state service, since “the moral origins of the non-Christian faiths are fundamentally opposed to Christian ethics.”59 In tsarist Russia, Muslims were only allowed to teach religion (Zakon Boga) or the Azerbaijani language in state schools. The Azerbaijanis tried to cir-

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cumvent this ban by calling themselves private tutors (domashnego uchitelia); however, a circular of the Ministry of Education dated 1899 stipulated that they could only conduct classes with people of their own faith. In the rare cases when Azerbaijanis were allowed to serve as teachers, secret inquiries were carried out to ascertain their “political reliability.”60 When Hasan Bek Zardabi (Melikov) petitioned the governor of Baku guberniia to open a school for Muslim children, the governor entrusted his case to the gendarme administration, where it was decided that “Hasan Bek Melikov is harmful to the population, as is generally so with respect to those who incite the inhabitants to protest and distort facts in the press in order to agitate the people, so therefore it cannot be said that he has been politically reliable.”61 In addition to placing obstacles before the employment of Azerbaijani teachers, the administration was also extremely reluctant to support them financially. The correspondence between the Shusha Muslim School and the district commandant and the military governor clearly demonstrate this point. On May 31, 1861, the director of this school wrote a letter to the director of schools of the guberniia, stating that the Shusha Muslim School had hitherto been financed by the beks, but that funds were running low and they could no longer afford to pay their teachers of the “Tatar” language. If the state did not cover some of the expenses the director of the school foresaw having to close the school.62 The financial difficulties however only affected the Azerbaijani teachers, as the salary of the teachers of the Russian language was “secretly being sent from the treasury of the viceroy of the Caucasus.”63 The district commandant communicated to the military governor that if the beks were reluctant to pay, he considered that “the abolition of the Muslim school will not be a great loss.”64 Indifferent to the propagation of native schools, the tsarist officials avoided directly assaulting the Muslim schools, preferring to let them decline by attrition. The educational predicament in the Azerbaijani villages was even more grave. In the pages of Kaspii, Zardabi expressed his outrage that the teaching of the Azerbaijani language was so poor “that after a three-year period of instruction in school, a boy can not even correctly spell his own name in Tatar [Azerbaijani].”65 Prevented from learning their own language adequately, the village children were put under pressure to learn Russian. In his articles Zardabi tried to convince the officials that since the villagers did not use Russian in their dayto-day life, their Russian lessons at school were superfluous, as students would soon forget all they had learned. Instead, he suggested, it was important to instill in them respect for school and education, and this was only possible if the schools paid attention to the native language and religion.66 In the late 1880s another source for the founding of schools was entrepreneurs, particularly those involved with the booming oil industry. Having been convinced of the positive correlation between the level of worker education and the productivity of labor, the first Congress of the Baku Oil Producers, which met in 1884, discussed the opening of schools for workers. In 1882 there was only one school in existence in the industrial district. In 1886 Nobel Brothers opened another one, and in 1897 the Congress of the Baku Oil Producers founded its first school for workers. Progress was slow: by 1905 there were

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twenty schools in the industrial districts surrounding Baku; however, with the exception of the industrialist Haji Zeinalabedin Taghiev’s school, founded in 1904, the schools predominantly accepted Christian workers.67 In 1904, out of 1,149 participants at eight such schools, only 29 were Azerbaijani.68 In the absence of governmental commitment to the propagation of education among the Azerbaijanis, the financially powerful groups of Azerbaijani society, namely the beks and entrepreneurs, took up this responsibility. Among the Azerbaijani industrialists, the contribution of Haji Zeinalabedin Taghiev to the flourishing of the national culture is most remarkable. In addition to founding Azerbaijan’s first national theater in 1873, he also financed a number of Azerbaijani-language newspapers and journals, among which are Kaspii, Haiat and Fiuzat’. Between 1895 and 1901, Taghiev founded a special village school for horticulture (1895), evening classes for workers (1897), technical and trade schools (1901) and the first Russo-Muslim Women’s School (1901). Between 1907 and 1915, Taghiev opened yet another sixteen primary schools.69 Tsarist educational policy, through neglecting the need of the Azerbaijanis to receive education in their own native language, had in effect relegated the education of the youth to the Azerbaijani intelligentsia, entrepreneurs and the clergy. Overall, in the Muslim Caucasus, the Great Reforms if introduced were stood on their head. Instead of establishing dialogue between the population and the administration, the truncated application of the reforms inhibited the participation of the people in institutions of self-government. The reforms were remarkably insensitive to the native customs and were thoughtlessly modeled on the Russian experience. In fact the reforms in the Muslim Caucasus were a parody of the reforms instituted in Russian proper. Similar in form, their meaning and content were transformed to better serve the colonial purposes of Petersburg and to better tie the periphery to the center. Frustrated by the inertness of the reforms, the population would periodically protest. This set off a cycle of insufficient reform, protest and repression.

6 TSARIST SOCIAL POLICY AND THE MUSLIM ELITE

I

n the Muslim Caucasus, the traditional elite under Russian rule was confronted with a contradictory and unstable social contract, on which it could not depend for its well-being. Tsarist social policy, similar to its administrative policies, was inconsistent and subject to bureaucratic fiat, representing different interests and perspectives towards the borderlands. Disillusioned with the Russian autocracy, the Muslim elite gravitated towards its own co-religionists and eventually eschewed cooperation with the tsarist regime. Tsarist Policy and the Landed Elite: The Beks

In Transcaucasia, Russian colonial rule had left its imprint on all major social groups and had changed their fortunes. The Muslim landed elite, the beks and agalars, were no exception. They were especially vulnerable to arbitrary policy shifts and Russian attempts at social control. During the first half of the nineteenth century, tsarist rule tended to reinforce this group’s social and economic position, in spite of temporary periods of policy reversal. In the second half of the nineteenth century, with the consolidation of Russian rule in the region, the administration no longer needed to rely on the support of the Muslim landed elite and rescinded privileges it had previously bestowed upon them. Before the Russian conquest of Azerbaijan, the beks and the agalars were responsible for the administration of villages, policing and judicial functions, as well as tax gathering for the treasury. Historically, in the Muslim areas of Transcaucasia the right of private ownership of land did not exist. All land belonged to the state, and those using it paid the treasury seven-thirtieths of the harvest and a small amount of cash. In lieu of a salary for their administration of the village population, the beks and agalars appropriated part of the state taxes, usually three-thirtieths of the harvest. The right to administer villages was usually hereditary; however, there were cases in which this right was denied by the local administration.1 The commandant system had preserved the traditional administration of village communities. In 1817, General Ermolov had begun a project to collect information on the areas under the administration of the agalars, and between 1822 and 1823, an effort had been made to compose lists of beks. By 1824, Er-

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molov had introduced regulations for the rights and obligations of the beks and agalars, recognizing their policing obligations in administering villages as well as their right to collect dues from villagers.2 In this respect they were initially treated as counterparts to the Russian landed nobility. The beks and agalars continued in their old ways until the law of April 10, 1840, introducing civil administration to the Caucasus, abolished their right to perform police functions and administer the villages. By the new regulations the agalars and beks were to be reimbursed for the income they had lost. Previously the agalars had only had police and management functions, whereas the beks had some claim to the land; but now the lands of the beks were to revert back to the treasury after death.3 In cases where the beks and agalars were suspected of seditious activities, their property was confiscated outright. The new policies proved perilous to Russian interests in the region. Beks and agalars who had lost power would no longer aid in “pacifying” villages and began to shift their allegiances to Persia. Local disorders were also difficult to control, as the agalars were no longer helping with policing, and the Russian chinovniks, who did not know the language and the customs of the people, proved ineffective. In the chaos that ensued, people were threatening to join Shamil.4 The privileged groups joined in the anti-Russian movement and fueled the peasant uprisings. Prince Chernyshev, the minister of war, found the divesting of the Muslim landlords of land and power “hardly just in its foundation and definitely harmful in consequences.” Chernyshev insisted that the personal rights of the agalars be firmly defined and added that the government “cannot discount the discontent of the agalars, who wield great influence among the peasant population.”5 In order to appease the agalars, in 1841, the Council of Main Administration of the Transcaucasian Region granted lifelong pensions to the agalars who had been removed from village administration. The payments were to cease upon the death of the individual agalar or bek. The pension was to be commensurate with previous income and was calculated on the basis of previous service rendered to the state, and not on property rights.6 Beginning in 1842, the Russian state changed its position on the question of the landed rights of the beks, fearing that agitating the Muslim elite would lead to complications in the borderlands. Upon Chernyshev’s insistence a “Committee on Agalars” was formed that recognized that the agalars, as a soslovie, had hereditary rights to govern villages and derive an income from them.7 Russian attempts to strengthen the local elites gained momentum in the 1840s. Following General Paskevich’s previous suggestions that the “higher soslovie” among the Muslims of Transcaucasia be organized following the example of the higher sosloviia of the empire, General Neidgart in 1843 proposed a project entitled “Concerning the Creating of a Higher Soslovie among the Muslim Population of the Transcaucasian Region.” Consequently, a committee was established with the goal of creating a “privileged soslovie” of Muslims in the region. Deputies from the privileged groups were included in the committee. The proceedings concluded with the decision to divide the privileged Muslim

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classes into a hereditary and service or personal category. The project was presented to the Council of Main Administration in 1844, but no action was taken as the council was preoccupied with urgent military matters.8 The question of the rights of the privileged Muslims of Transcaucasia remained unresolved until Prince M. S. Vorontsov, a champion of reform, assumed the post of viceroy. By the time that Vorontsov took office at the end of 1844, the tsar himself recognized that the confiscation of bek and agalar lands in 1840 “was a mistaken measure, and it is necessary to return these [lands] to them.”9 With Nicholas’s endorsement Vorontsov pursued his reform project through the bureaucracy. In April of 1846, he wrote to Chernyshev that granting rights to the Muslim elite would “forever strengthen their belief that their personal interests are connected with this great power.”10 Vorontsov believed that once the Muslim elite recognized their common interests with the Russian state, they would willingly volunteer to serve it. By making the Muslim elite beneficiaries of tsarism, Vorontsov hoped to forge loyalty to the crown. The rescript of December 6, 1846, “On the Landed Rights of Beks, Maliks and Agalars,” was a drastic reversal of policy. Drafted by Vorontsov and signed by Nicholas I, it confirmed the hereditary ownership of those lands that had been in the possession of beks, maliks (Armenian landowners) and agalars, “since the time of the joining of the Muslim provinces to Russia, and which currently belong to them undisputedly.” In addition, lands forcefully confiscated after 1840 had to be returned to their owners, if their loss was due to administrative rather than criminal or judicial procedures. The landlords were thus free to dispose of these lands as they pleased. Lands could be legally inherited, sold, rented or given away as gifts.11 The rescript also changed the status of the Transcaucasian peasantry. The various categories of peasants, which included the rayat, ranjbar, khalise and nuker, were all renamed mulkdar-tabigi, which in Azeri means “beholden to the landlord.” They were simultaneously considered state peasants. In return for the use of land, the peasants were obligated to pay various dues to the landlords. In addition, the landlords were responsible for keeping the peace among their peasants and the police administration of their lands. The rescript concluded with a plan to define the personal rights of the “higher Muslim soslovie” to resemble those bestowed upon the Russian nobility, within reasonable limits.12 A variety of motives inspired the Caucasian administration to return the lands and to recognize property rights of the landed elite. To begin with, Nicholas had insisted upon these transformations for raison d’état. The rescript stated that the measures were to give this group “the means to be useful to the state.”13 In addition, at this time the Caucasian administration was engaged in a brutal war with the Caucasian mountaineers in Daghestan. The administration could not afford to antagonize the landed elite as well, and rather sought to coopt this strata in order to provide itself with the social support it lacked in the region. The beks and agalars, with the influence they wielded in traditional soci-

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ety, could tranquilize the peasantry. Finally, restoring this group to their traditional role of village administration would remove this burden from the government, which was already suffering from the chronic Russian problem of undergovernment in the area. The state bolstered the interests of the “higher Muslim soslovie” even further by binding the Transcaucasian peasantry to the land. The laws of 1847 regulated the “mutual relations of agalars and peasants living on lands returned to agalars and confirmed to them by the rescript of December 6, 1846.”14 A senior official in the Ministry of State Domains, M. N. Kuchaev, observed, “In this manner, the peasant’s relations to the beks and agalars were entirely analogous to those of the serfs and their owners in the inner guberniia.”15 The state, however, refrained from openly referring to the Muslim peasants as serfs, since the enslaving of Muslims was forbidden by the Koran.16 The state had hoped to unite this borderland with Russia on the basis of creating loyalty to the throne among the local elite. The price was paid by the local peasantry. By giving privileges to the Transcaucasian landlords that were similar to those of Russia’s landed nobility, relatively free peasants were turned into de facto serfs overnight. The new status of the peasantry was outlined in the law of December 28, 1847. Peasants on private lands were to receive not less than five desiatinas of land for every male individual over the age of fifteen. In return for the use of this land, the peasant was to compensate the landowner with one-tenth of the harvest, as well as labor dues. The landlord was not responsible for supplying peasants with tools, seeds or cattle. Each peasant family was to have one of its members work for the landowner eight days of each year, or pay ten kopecks for each of these working days. Those villagers not involved with agriculture were to work as servants for the landlord. Peasants were to also pay dues to the village assembly, which was responsible for providing the funds and labor for the construction of bridges, roads and canals.17 In return for the above dues, the landlords were responsible for keeping the peace and disciplining the peasants on their lands, as well as police surveillance over the villagers. Landlords in turn were observed by the uezd administration, which was to identify cases of landlords abusing their powers. The uezd administration also confirmed the village elders and ascertained that peasant dues were paid and peasants did not leave the land without the permission of the landlord.18 By 1849, the “higher Muslim soslovie” had not only won economic privileges, but was also no longer subject to corporal punishment.19 The Muslim landed elite had gained their “charter of nobility.” After having won economic and social privileges for the “higher Muslim soslovie,” Vorontsov next turned his attention to the former princely families, the immediate descendants of the khans, and sought to guarantee their economic welfare as well as their personal rights. In a letter to Chernyshev in December of 1847, Vorontsov writes, “From the very beginning of my administration of Transcaucasia, I received requests from the members of the former khan’s family to grant them financial aid and the means to live.”20 In this letter, Vorontsov questions the practice of providing financial security and lands to the children of

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those who served the khans, while allowing the children of the khans themselves to fall into poverty and subsist on a miserable pension.21 The question of granting privileges to the khan’s family remained a point of contention between the ministries and the Caucasian administration for years. In June of 1850, Vorontsov had submitted a proposal to the Caucasian Committee, in which hereditary ownership of unsettled lands would be granted to the khan’s family. This group was only to include those individuals who were not more than three times removed from the khan, who served the state and who were in need of financial assistance.22 The minister of state domains opposed Vorontsov’s plans to compensate the khan’s family with immovable property. He argued that the granting of lands to the beks had been a mistaken measure. The minister stated that the law of 1846 had given the beks what they had never owned, and it had turned peasants into serfs, which they had never been. It would have been better to have assured the beks a hereditary annuity from the state’s income derived from the land, instead of granting them the land. Therefore, the minister saw no point in giving the khan’s family members what they had never possessed, while the peasants were in need of land and the government was responsible to consider their welfare as well.23 The Ministry of State Domains finally agreed to the granting of unpopulated lands to the khan’s family; however, as a result of ministerial discussions, the process of granting lands to the beks became more austere. After August of 1852, the regulations of the Caucasian Committee required that written proof of prior ownership of the land be presented by the beks before they could be confirmed as owners.24 During the viceroyalties of Bariatinskii and Mikhail Nikolaevich, the “soslovie rights of the higher Muslim classes” continued to be discussed. Bariatinskii preferred to offer the khan’s family pensions instead of land. Mikhail Nikolaevich also suggested that pensions be given for life, which would then revert to the children. These sums were only to be granted if the recipients “wholeheartedly serve the state.”25 Intraministerial wrangling delayed decisions for years. Vorontsov’s successors were not as enthusiastic towards the application of the rescripts of 1846 and 1847 and suspected those alleging to be of bek background of fraudulent claims. Bariatinskii in particular was concerned that the rescript of December 6, 1846, had been abused in Transcaucasia. He was skeptical about the possibility of ascertaining the validity of the beks’ claims: “But the number of owners who can prove such uncontestable ownership is limited; significant portions of the estates are located in the hands of people who use them without defined rights, to the detriment of the rural population and the undermining of state revenues.” Bariatinskii insisted that claims to ownership be strictly reviewed, as the rights of the peasants were also “ill-defined and unsatisfactory.”26 Bariatinskii’s reservations about freely granting lands to beks was to be expected, given that serfs were being emancipated in Russia during this period, and Alexander II had informed him of his desire to free the Transcaucasian peasantry from serfdom.27

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Bek committees were introduced to the Caucasus in 1864. The purpose of these committees was mainly to draw up lists of those claiming to belong to the “higher soslovie” of beks, khans, maliks and agalars, and to investigate their rights to own lands and collect dues from peasants. Those claiming bek status were of various origins; they were either heads of tribes, state servitors, individuals given titles by Persian shahs or Turkish sultans, or temporary beks who used the title while they continued to administer villages.28 In Baku province, the “Bek Committee for Determining the Personal Rights of the Higher Muslim Soslovie” met between 1871 and 1882 in the cities of Shemakha, Lenkoran, Baku and Kuba.29 Regulations for electing deputies from the beks to participate in the bek committees stipulated that one bek deputy be chosen from each uezd. This candidate had to be confirmed by the uezd chief. Candidates who were not literate in Russian were disqualified.30 The bek committees generally discussed the qualifications of petitioners to be formally granted bek status, by reviewing written documentation of their lineage and claims to the lands. Only individuals whose ancestors held titles under the khans were eligible. The “Instructions for the Baku Bek Committee,” issued in 1870, state that the committee, while determining the rights of the “higher Muslim soslovie,” “will not address the question of including this soslovie with the other privileged sosloviia of the empire” (italics are mine).31 Often, claims of lineage were checked against General Ermolov’s list of beks, compiled in 1822, as well as subsequent lists gathered in 1831, 1850, 1860 and 1873.32 For nearly fifty years, the administrators of the Caucasus had merely drawn up lists of beks, appeasing this group rather than granting them genuine equality of status with the Russian nobility. The long process of conferring bek rights continued under the viceroyalty of Mikhail Nikolaevich. The Department of Judicial Affairs undertook to determine the personal rights of the “higher Muslim soslovie.” In its revisionist study of the history of the beks, it reported to the Caucasian Committee in 1865 that in the Baku khanate the title of bek was not hereditary, and often sons of the beks merged with the mass of ordinary people.33 Indeed, Mikhail Nikolaevich’s administration was not favorably disposed towards the Muslim landowners. The personal rights of the “higher Muslim soslovie” remained unclear until the end of the old regime. Although Nicholas I had granted the Georgian princes and nobles the same rights and titles as their Russian counterparts, the same did not take place in the Armenian and Muslim provinces.34 Between the 1890s and 1905, the Caucasian administration was engaged in debates determining the personal rights and titles of the Muslim elite. There were proposals to grant the khan’s relatives the title vysokostepenstva and a rank of the highest level of nobility, and grant the beks hereditary nobility and the title of “honored citizen.” However, the Caucasian administration decided to keep the old titles of bek and agalar, claiming that these groups de facto enjoyed the rights of the hereditary nobility. Finally it was decided to give the title of hereditary nobility to a select number of beks, contingent upon the approval of the high commissioner. These details remained provisional until 1901.35

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Land Reform and the Beks Although land reform was not introduced to Baku province until 1870, it had been on the viceroy’s agenda since he assumed office in 1863. In 1866, Mikhail Nikolaevich had written the chairman of the Caucasian Committee concerning the emancipation of peasantry in Baku province. The viceroy admitted that current legislation was no longer as supportive of the beks. Earlier, in order to solidify its position in the region, the government had offered privileges to the beks under Vorontsov; now it planned to rescind those privileges. For example, formerly the landowner could designate village elders, whereas Mikhail Nikolaevich wished to introduce self-rule in villages. The support of the beks for the political establishment was no longer crucial. According to Mikhail Nikolaevich, granting concessions to the beks “was justified twenty years ago by entirely different political and economic conditions in the region and the necessity of relying at the time on the participation of the higher Muslim soslovie for keeping the order and peace.”36 As Shamil had already been defeated, the government was no longer in dire need of support from the local elite. Instead, Mikhail Nikolaevich wrote, at this juncture it would be better to take the interests of the majority of the population into consideration and abolish the advantages previously bestowed upon the beks.37 Once again the beks faced policy reversal. Mikhail Nikolaevich’s successor, Dondukov-Korsakov (1882-90), also opposed the privileges given to the beks in 1846, which he regarded as exacerbating the deprivation of the peasantry. Dondukov-Korsakov wrote that “as a result of the uncorrected mistakes committed in 1846, whereby beks and agalars were conceded the right to own private lands they had never owned,” a previously “nonexistent higher Muslim soslovie” was created by the state itself. Thus, according to the high commissioner of the Caucasus, as a result of the artificial creation of a “higher Muslim soslovie,” enormous stretches of land were closed off and the peasant plots were significantly reduced. In Dondukov-Korsakov’s opinion, the beks had assumed privileges not rightfully theirs and, taking advantage of the lack of demarcation of lands, seized treasury lands as well. The ambiguity in the ownership of the lands led to clashes between the beks and the peasantry, and often the peasants appeared as the “protectors of the interests of the treasury.”38 Although critical of the beks’ conduct, Dondukov-Korsakov’s relations to this group were ambiguous. He was cautious in applying the edict of May 14, 1870, to the region. Writing to the Ministry of Internal Affairs in December of 1883, Dondukov-Korsakov argued that the conditions in Transcaucasia widely differed from those of inner Russia. The peculiarities of the Caucasian geography, according to Dondukov-Korsakov, changed the norms designed for the inner guberniia. Here one desiatina by a river could feed an entire family, whereas fifty desiatinas in the mountains would not. Also, there was little commercial farming in the region. The peasants constituted a mass of individual farmers, and the local landowners were rarely engaged in farming activities. Instead, a large part of the landowners’ income derived from taxing the peasantry. Therefore, an exact application of the reform measures would prove harmful.

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For example, if the redemption of land was made mandatory, the landowners would lose their main source of financial support and the “higher Muslim soslovie” would turn into a burden on the government. In addition, the government could not risk extending credits to a peasantry that did not have “the culture” to understand the concept of loans, and therefore the peasants at present could not afford to redeem the lands in their use.39 The question of how land reform was to be applied to the region was further complicated by the overlapping activities of the ministries and the Caucasian administration. After the abolition of the viceroyalty in 1881 and the introduction of the Office of the High Commissioner of the Caucasus, the ministries once again extended their administrative responsibilities to Transcaucasia. The peasants on treasury lands, which by 1890 constituted 62 percent of the peasant population, were under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of State Domains, whereas the peasants on private lands were controlled by the local administration. This situation gave rise to rivalries between the two institutions. The high commissioner asserted his prerogatives, claiming that the land question was also a political question that determined both the loyalty of the local population to the government and its successful assimilation.40 The Ministry of State Domains on the other hand insisted that the government take a more active role in peasant affairs, also using state security as a pretext for its actions. This ministry proposed that the nomads be settled, and peasants not be allowed to freely dispose of their lands, so as to avert the creation of a “landless proletariat” along the borders of the empire.41 By and large not much changed in the Transcaucasian countryside after May of 1870, as many questions remained unresolved due to administrative tensions. It was not until December 20, 1912, that the redemption of land became compulsory in the province and the state aided the peasants to redeem lands.42 As a result of bureaucratic rivalries and the blatantly discriminatory practices of tsarism, landed policy in the Muslim Caucasus remained unresolved and indecisive for most of the imperial period, leading to the economic insecurity of both landlords and peasants. These policies left an indelible mark on the beks, making their coexistence with the Russian elite increasingly doubtful. Unable to integrate within the Russian system, the landed elite eventually turned to their own communities and shared in their ethno-religious nationalist sentiments. Tsarist Policy and the Ulema Tsarist policy towards the Muslim religious elite, the ulema, resembled relations to the landed elite. This policy vacillated from extremes of tolerance and efforts to co-opt influential personages, to limitation of rights and privileges, to outright persecution. As discussed, the first half of the nineteenth century was a period in which the Caucasian administration, especially under Viceroy Vorontsov, sought to recruit the traditional elites in order to win allies in the war against the Caucasian mountaineers and to prevent the spread of anti-Russian sentiments. After the battle against Shamil’s Murid movement had been won,

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the Caucasian administration was eager to pursue a centralizing policy and strictly applied imperial laws to the region. During this period, the Caucasian administration clashed head-on with the Muslim clergy. In particular, the materialization of the judicial reforms in Transcaucasia limited the jurisdiction of the ulema in their legal activities and prevented them from fully practicing the principles laid down by the Sharia. In order to control the Muslim clergy’s activities and increase their dependence on the Russian state, the authorities attempted to incorporate them into the local administration. The policy backfired. The Caucasian administrators drew plans to control the education of the Muslim clergy. In their project to introduce civil administration in the Caucasus (1840), Baron P. I. Hahn and E. A. Golovin had suggested that the education of the young Muslim clergy should be supervised by the government. They considered that if the clergy were to attain their education “outside of the government” and without the supervision of the administration, the consequences would be unpredictable: those who had acquired their spiritual education in countries hostile to Russia might exercise an unfavorable influence upon the local population.43 According to Baron Hahn, “As long as in Transcaucasia we do not have establishments for preparing young Muslims for religious callings under the influence of our administration, . . . nothing positive can be expected of the existing clergy.”44 Golovin, however, realized that these changes could not be instituted until civilian rule had been firmly established and the region had been “pacified.” As if to confirm the worst fears of the Russian administrators, the Murid movement threatened to sweep away the entire Russian colonial structure in the region. Muridism, which was considered by the Russian officials to be “hostile toward the social order,” appeared especially dangerous as its teachings “prohibited the followers of Muridism from recognizing any other power besides that of their spiritual mentor.” These mentors, the murshids, led secret societies outside of the purview of the mosques.45 In an attempt to neutralize the activities of the Murid movement, the Russian rulers of the Caucasus attempted to make a pact with the established clergy of the mosques, who according to the Russians disapproved of the movement as it threatened their spiritual authority. The Russians hoped to pin official Islam against Sufi Islam. In order to counter the Murid movement, the Caucasian administration sought to give the official clergy a stake in Russian rule. Under the viceroyalty of M. S. Vorontsov, the Caucasian administration attempted to produce a favorable impression on the local Muslim clergy by demonstrating signs of the justice of the government. Thus lands that had been confiscated from mosques and had gone to the treasury in the first half of the 1830s as a result of the mosques’ not being able to prove ownership of the lands on paper were returned to the mosques. This move significantly increased the incomes of the mosques from their religious endowments, the waqf.46

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In 1848, Vorontsov undertook a major survey of the ulema. He appointed a special official to tour Transcaucasia and gather detailed information concerning the social and economic condition of the Muslim clergy. N. V. Khanykov, also an employee of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, was a specialist in Eastern languages and had resided in the region for five years. His project for the organization of the Shi’ite clergy, issued on July 20, 1849, guaranteed full religious freedom for Islam, including the observance of religious holidays. In addition it protected mosques, cemeteries and shrines of Muslim saints by Russian law. In return, the Shi’ites of Transcaucasia were required to abstain from contacting their co-religionists abroad without the knowledge of the higher religious administration, respect the churches and holy places of other religions in the empire, and pray for the long life of the emperor.47 Khanykov’s project divided the Transcaucasian clergy into four groups of official clergy. The members of all four groups were exempt from paying monetary and labor dues. Those belonging to the top two levels were also exempt from corporeal punishment. The highest category, the mujtaheds, had to be confirmed by the central administration and were granted equal rights with the beks for up to three generations. The sheikh ul-Islams, in the second highest category, were chosen by their peers for five-year periods, and would enjoy the rights of “honored citizens” for three generations. The last two categories consisted of the qadis (judges) and the mullahs (mosque prayer leaders), who were also chosen by their peers and served for three-year periods. Ulema in the service of the administration received salaries from the treasury and were required to preach loyalty and obedience to the emperor.48 Interestingly, Sharia courts led by mujtaheds and including members of the clergy as well as representatives of the uezd administration were also permitted to operate. The Sharia courts had jurisdiction over questions of a religious nature, marriage ceremonies, inheritance, wills and the guardianship of minors, although they were excluded from the sphere of civil and criminal law. In cases where one side refused to abide by the court’s ruling, the uezd chief would make the final decision. The uezd chief was also responsible for mediating in the disputes between Shi’ites and Sunnis. The Sharia courts also had an administrative function to supply the administration with lists of mosques, mosque properties, mosque schools and all persons belonging to the Muslim clergy, as well as all of the decisions of the court.49 In spite of the presence and even interference of the uezd officials in the Sharia courts, the very existence of these courts in the centralizing climate of Nicholas I’s reign is puzzling at first glance. But the spirit of Official Nationality was less of a dogma than is normally portrayed on the periphery of the empire, where there were constant threats to the stability of the understaffed Russian administration. Expedient concessions to local cultures overrode ideological preconceptions.50 Until the application of the judicial reforms to Transcaucasia in 1866, the local administration had no choice but to accept the participation of the Muslim clergy in the legal process. However, recognizing that it could not disrupt the ulema’s religious influence, the Caucasian administration resolved to

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weaken the ulema’s civil and social influence over the population. In addition, the officially recognized Muslim clergy had by virtue of their cooperation with the Russian authorities lost stature in their communities and were no longer respected by their people.51 Viceroy Mikhail Nikolaevich considered the imminent possibility of relations between the Turkish and Persian clergy and that of Transcaucasia. In a letter to the chairman of the Caucasian Committee, he had explained the rationale behind his plans to create a Muslim religious hierarchy controlled by the Russian state: (1) to secure state surveillance and control over the activities of those religious figures opposed to the state, (2) to counter the consolidation of a corporate identity among members of the group who sought to contact one another and join forces, (3) to prohibit the entry of Persian and Turkish clerics to the region, (4) to limit as far as possible the sphere of activity of the Muslim clergy, (5) to place the influential segment of the clerics in direct dependence on the state and to connect their material interests with state service, (6) to monitor the activities of religious schools, and (7) to gather information on religious endowments so as to control the flow of waqf funds abroad for the support of the foreign clergy.52 The Muslim clergy were organized into Shi’ite and Sunni ecclesiastical boards (Dukhovnye Pravleniia) and had extensive powers. They were the highest Muslim courts in the region as well, and cases that remained unresolved at the guberniia-level assemblies, the mejlis, were referred to this organ. Clergy who had violated their responsibilities were brought before the boards as well as religious officials in line for advancement. The boards were also accountable for the accuracy of reports from mosques, religious schools, religious endowments and the clergy that were sent to the guberniia administrations. As the highest Muslim authority in the region, the board confirmed Muslim religious figures and drew up regulations and instructions for the seminaries.53 The guberniia mejlis operated under the auspices of the ecclesiastical boards. In each guberniia in which there resided a substantial Muslim population, a mejlis was established in the guberniia capital, and was presided over by the local qadis. The qadis were to overlook the mosque clergy, mosque schools and religious endowments and were to mediate quarrels among the Muslims. Qadis, however, could not mediate in cases involving criminal activity; these were reviewed by the civil courts. Members of the mejlis were confirmed by the viceroy and were obliged to follow his instructions. The mejlis itself served as a bridge between the guberniia administration and the local qadis and mosques.54 The mosque clergy, or mullahs, occupied the lowest rung in the administrative hierarchy of the Muslim religious establishment. The mullahs led the prayers in the mosque and delivered sermons on religious holidays, in addition to compiling statistics for official government use on births, deaths, marriages, school attendance and other data. They were also permitted to teach children grammar as well as Muslim theology. Their activities were overlooked by the local qadis, who were to assure the local authorities that “teachings and comments harmful to the government had not been disseminated.”55

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There were several serious problems that undermined the reforms. First, the advantages granted to the official clergy brought about general discontent among the unofficial clergy, who were not in state service. The Baku governor’s yearly report of 1864 indicates that the unofficial clergy, not having a distinct organization or salary, did not consider itself obligated to the Russian government and expressed discontent. The governor also indicates that this section of the clergy encouraged the people to defy the authorities.56 Second, as soon as the local religious personages had come under the tutelage of the state, they had lost their legitimacy. The local population turned away from the official clergy to render homage to the Persian and Turkish clergy as well as the unofficial clerics. And third, the bulk of the official clergy remained dissatisfied, as the concessions granted to them were not extensive enough and their status remained vaguely defined. The bureaucratization of the ulema, while theoretically appealing to the authorities, ultimately resulted in the further alienation of the Azerbaijani Muslims from the authorities, discredited the official ulema and enhanced the standing of the foreign ulema in the region. Altogether, misguided tsarist policies had unwittingly alienated the Azerbaijanis, who valued the autonomy of their religious institutions. Tsarist policies had brought about results diametrically opposed to the initial aims underlying these policies. Instead of influencing the population through a clergy dedicated to propagation of state interests, tsarist colonial policy had alienated the clergy from the state and the people from the clergy. Disillusioned with the official clergy, the Azerbaijanis did not renounce their religious beliefs, but instead incorporated these beliefs into a burgeoning anticolonial and autonomy-seeking movement. The Azerbaijanis continued to rely on the unofficial clergy and the foreign clergy for spiritual guidance and would not shed their Muslim identity until the demise of the old regime.

7 OFFICIALDOM, RUSSIFICATION AND REVOLUTION, 1881–1917

F

ollowing the murder of Tsar Alexander II by revolutionaries, the years between 1881 and 1905, known as the period of “counter-reforms,” were marked by major policy reversals. In the Caucasus, an inflexible administration, combined with the rapid industrialization of the region, created serious social and political impasses. Further, the new tsar, Alexander III, had abolished the Viceroyalty of the Caucasus on November 22, 1881, shortly after his ascension to the throne. In place of the viceroyalty, Alexander III established the Office of the Caucasian High Commissioner, or the Glavnonachal’stvuiushchii Grazhdanskoi Chastiiu na Kavkaz’e. Alexander III’s reign manifested itself in the Caucasus as a period of greater central control and restriction of Muslim participation in representative institutions. Imperial Russia was attempting to integrate its Caucasian frontier into the administrative body of the empire, by fiat, overlooking regional specificities. Alexander III also abolished all of the institutions affiliated with the viceroyalty, such as the Council of the Viceroy, the Special Chancery of the Viceroy, and the Department of State Domains. Forests and lands owned by the viceroy’s bureaucracy reverted back to the central ministries. The Caucasian Committee was also abolished, and once more the ministries in St. Petersburg formally extended their functions to the Caucasus.1 The viceroy’s position was to be filled by that of the high commissioner, who was to have rights comparable to Russia’s governor-generals. However, the high commissioner was also involved in foreign relations and border relations and received special orders from the tsar concerning these spheres of activity.2 Thus, although he was formally to be on the same footing as the governorgenerals of Russia and was to have similar relations with the Committee of Ministers, the high commissioner in fact continued to enjoy greater authority, due to the special needs of imperial administration in the frontier regions. Mikhail Nikolaevich had insisted that it was imperative for the high commissioners to receive wider powers than those of the governor-generals. His rationale was as follows: “It is necessary to uphold state authority before the eyes of the native population, as the exchanging of the viceroyalty for regular administration by high commissioners would be too sharp a transition.”3 The struggle of the high commissioners to wrest greater powers of autonomy from Petersburg

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marked the Caucasian administration in the last two decades of the nineteenth century. Abolishing the viceroyalty corresponded to the spirit of the times. The Caucasian administration was so divested of power that the new high commissioner complained that the limitations of his powers and the need to confer with the ministries in St. Petersburg on the smallest of decisions not only delayed the process of decision making but was outright embarrassing.4 Referring problems to St. Petersburg also resulted in decisions that were insensitive to local needs and customs. At the very time when new economic developments increased the need for an efficient administration, the Caucasian administration was deprived of its freedom of action. The abolishing of the viceroyalty coincided with the explosive growth of the oil industry, the appearance of class and ethnic tensions, and the emerging of a nationalist movement in Azerbaijan. The administrations of Prince A. M. Dondukov-Korsakov (1882–90), Count S. A. Sheremetev (1890–96) and Prince Grigorii Golitsyn (1896–1904) were unable to resolve the social tensions gripping Azerbaijani society, especially in the city of Baku. Their policies even exacerbated these contradictions, provoking an outbreak of ethnic violence in 1905, referred to by its contemporaries as the “Tatar-Armenian War.”5 Finally, in a frantic effort to “urgently establish peace in the Caucasus,” the viceroyalty was once again reinstated by Nicholas II and entrusted to Count I. I. VorontsovDashkov on February 26, 1905.6 Alexander III’s counter-reforms substantially curtailed and even reversed the limited introduction of the Great Reforms in the Muslim Caucasus. In 1892 the municipal status of 1870 underwent revision, as did many other regulations during this period. The “municipal counter-reform” of 1892 was designed to keep the activities of the municipal self-government under close surveillance. The governor legally gained the right to remove candidates from office or rebuke them. Also, the legislation of the Duma could not go into effect without the confirmation of the governor. The new regulations also further limited the qualifications of the Duma candidates. Property qualifications were raised to a minimum ranging from 300 rubles to 3,000 rubles (depending on the town), and only the merchants and entrepreneurs of the top two guilds were granted representation. As a result, the percentage of the population eligible for participating in the Duma elections was reduced fourfold, to the appalling figure of 0.89 percent of the population.7 The electorate was further reduced by the imposition of stricter limits on the national representation of the Muslim population. Correspondence between the Baku governor and the mayor of Baku elucidates that the Caucasian administration and the minister of internal affairs had agreed to “reform” the Baku City Duma and hence, according to article 44 of the municipal status of 1892, “the non-Christian electorate could not exceed one-third of the total number of candidates.”8 The Municipal Board had been placed in an awkward position and resorted to a stratagem of guile and craftiness in order to satisfy the immediate demands of the higher tsarist administration. They deviously planned the new elections on a date on which no more than one-third of the Muslim elector-

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ate would be present. They held the elections in July, when due to the oppressive heat and threat of a cholera epidemic, they were assured that “an enormous number of the electors—more or less the homeowners and merchants of the first two guilds—have gone out to their dachas, abroad or to different cities in Russia to carry out trade.”9 Those who remained behind were mostly small homeowners, petty traders and the intelligentsia, who were not qualified to participate in the Duma elections.10 These manipulations illustrate the degree to which the local officials were fearful of the Muslim people’s reaction to the new regulations if they were introduced by fiat. Hence the Municipal Board resorted to obfuscation to both satisfy the high officials and to avoid violent protest. The nationality restrictions placed on the Duma elections were finally removed on December 14, 1900. The second round of elections held after the municipal counter-reforms had elicited vocal protest from the native population, especially the Azerbaijani merchants and industrialists, who were both qualified and interested in participating in the City Duma. Haji Zeinalabedin Taghiev, the most prominent member of the Azerbaijani oil entrepreneurs and patron of the Azerbaijani arts, theater and press, took the lead in actively opposing the limitations placed on the Muslim electorate. In his petition of March 1897 sent to the Baku provincial governor, Taghiev, representing Baku’s Muslim population, objected to the list of candidates put forth by the Municipal Board for the 1898–1901 period. In the petition, Taghiev explained that of the 7,491 units of immovable property in Baku, 6,252 were owned by Muslims and only 1,239 belonged to the other nationalities, and yet the Muslim representation was less than that of the other national groups.11 In the following decade, humble petitions gave way to daring demands and exploded into a formidable national movement after 1905, when various social groups in Azerbaijan joined forces. Participation in the City Duma gave valuable experience and fed the ambitions of Azerbaijani political leaders, who after 1905 sought election to the Russian State Duma.12 The Azerbaijani national movement began to take shape in the 1880s with the development of organs of self-government, the appearance of the Azerbaijani press, the boom in the oil industry and the extension of repressive colonial politics of tsarism in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. Azerbaijani nationalism was also in part a reaction against Great Russian nationalism, which reached its peak under the reign of Alexander III. Russification and the High Commissioners of the Caucasus: 1882–1905 The transition from the viceroyalty to regular administration, with the enhanced involvement of the Petersburg ministries and the creation of multiple centers of authority, could not be simply decreed. From within the heights of government, unsatisfied murmurs were audible. As was mentioned, Mikhail Nikolaevich was skeptical about the loss of authority of the Caucasian administration and the impact of this on the local population. Status Secretary Baron Nikolai, who was on assignment to study the local conditions in the Caucasus,

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was also strongly critical of attempts to reduce the powers of the high commissioners to the level of the governor-generals. Baron Nikolai reminded his superiors that the authority wielded by a governor-general was insufficient to deal with the problems of Transcaucasia and especially with the disorders of the northern Caucasus. Arguing for the greater independence of the Caucasian administration from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, Baron Nikolai pointed to the wisdom of Nicholas I in relation to administering this region: “The Emperor Nicholas realized that the unity of the empire did not conclude in the uniform administrative practices, . . . but that a singular government policy might demand different forms of expression.”13 A ccording to Baron Nikolai, Nicholas I had understood that merely changing the form of administration to be identical with that of Russia would not suffice. It was more important to win the trust of the local population and to win respect for Russia. Furthermore, he observed, the ideal model of governor-generalship was a myth. The rights of the governor-generals greatly varied based on special circumstances, and therefore the governor-generals of inner Russian guberniia did not have the same rights as, say, those of Warsaw, Siberia or Turkestan, who enjoyed a greater degree of autonomy. In the case of Transcaucasia, it was of paramount importance, in Nikolai’s view, to give more freedom to the local administration, so that it could accommodate the interests of this peculiar region. Located far from the centers of state power, on the crossroads of Europe and Asia, and bordering two Muslim states, Transcaucasia had a special position on the periphery of the Christian and Muslim worlds.14 Alexandr Mikhailovich Dondukov-Korsakov The first high commissioner of the Caucasus, an old Caucasus hand, Prince Alexandr Mikhailovich Dondukov-Korsakov (1820–93) was uneasy with the overlapping powers of his administration and the ministries. Trained as a lawyer in St. Petersburg University, he subsequently entered the military service as an adjutant for Viceroy Vorontsov and fought against the mountaineers. In the 1850s, he commanded troops in the Kars and Don regions. In 1877 during the Russo-Turkish War, he commanded thirteen regiments, after which he became the commander of the Eastern flank. A member of the State Council since 1880, he was assigned to be the high commissioner of the Caucasus and commander of the Caucasian Corps from 1882 until 1890.15 From the onset of his appointment as high commissioner of the Caucasus, he argued for a transition period in the Caucasus during which he kept some of the plenipotentiary powers of the viceroy. The discussions of the Committee of Ministers with Dondukov-Korsakov over the extent of his autonomy in the Caucasus illustrate the ebb and flow of tensions between the center and periphery in the empire. In his letters to the tsar, Dondukov-Korsakov defined his tasks as (1) simplifying the complex administrative system of the region, (2) fusing the administration of the Caucasus with the general administration of the em-

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pire, and (3) significantly reducing the expenses of the Caucasus. Yet he was reluctant to take steps to further these goals.16 Dondukov-Korsakov, in his correspondence with Mikhail Khristof Reutern, the chair of the Committee of Ministers, expressed concern that since the Caucasian Committee had been abolished, there were no institutions with special knowledge of the Caucasus that could assist him in making quick decisions. As a result, his initiatives would languish in Petersburg. The more his status in the eyes of the natives shrank, the more powerless he would appear. In order to forestall his complete loss of legitimacy, Dondukov-Korsakov requested that he retain temporary control over the fiscal system of the Caucasus so that it would not be absorbed into the rest of the empire.17 The concerns Dondukov-Korsakov raised during the first year of his appointment to the Caucasus remained points of contention throughout his rule. In his notes to the tsar over the eight-year period from 1882 to 1890, DondukovKorsakov repeatedly warned that ministerial interference had resulted in dangerous and embarrassing consequences for the local administration.18 Do ndukov-Korsakov argued that the ministers were overburdened with responsibilities and could not effectively deal with the Caucasus, which was too remote from the capital. As a result of his perseverance, the State Council in July of 1887 expanded some of the rights of the high commissioner. Dondukov-Korsakov still found his powers to be insufficient, but the ministries dug in their heels. They were already dissatisfied with the increase in the high commissioner’s powers. By protesting decisions at the State Council in his favor, the ministries prevented Dondukov-Korsakov from increasing the number of members in his council and hence expanding the local administration.19 Dondukov-Korsakov, although he wished for the powers and the independence of the viceroys, was openly critical of the way his predecessors had introduced the Great Reforms into the Caucasus. Most of the reforms, he contended, were introduced into the Caucasus without sufficient preparation. Writing to the minister of internal affairs in December of 1883, the high commissioner noted that conditions in the Muslim areas of the Caucasus were considerably different from those of Russia. Here local landowners rarely farmed, and a large part of their income was derived from taxing the peasants on their lands. Thus an exact application of land reform would destroy the landowners, and the “higher Muslim soslovie” would turn into a burden on the government. In addition the peasants could not afford to buy back lands, but DondukovKorsakov did not endorse extending credits to the peasants either. Positing that the local population lacked the culture to understand credits, he considered the extension of credits to be a liability for the treasury.20 Reflecting his long experience in the region, Dondukov-Korsakov took a clear-cut localist approach. He contended that the land question was ultimately a political one and therefore had to involve the Caucasian administration and not only the Ministry of State Domains. Resolving it, he insisted, would determine the loyalty of the population to the government and the success of assimilation.21

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Dondukov-Korsakov also criticized the application of the judicial reforms to the region and condemned as inept the interferences of the Ministry of Justice. Strongly convinced of the necessity to reorganize judicial institutions, the high commissioner pointed to the “sad situation of judicial affairs” and the “profound discord existing between the legal consciousness of the Caucasian peoples and the principles of our judicial, civil and criminal laws.”22 Recogni zing the interests of the periphery, Dondukov-Korsakov noted in 1883: Upon introducing judicial reform to the region, necessary attention was not given to the local conditions that distinguish Transcaucasia from the other borderlands of Russia. The ignoring of local peculiarities has brought the judicial administration to such a predicament that there is general consent that it cannot be left as it is. As it stands, this administration satisfies neither the needs of the authorities, nor those of the population, and antagonizes the various tribes, rather than drawing them to the state.23 The main problem, as Dondukov-Korsakov saw it, was “the profound lack of confidence of the people in the courts.” The Muslim population questioned the impartiality and justice of the courts as there was a sharp contradiction in the way the judges and the people regarded the law. This was exacerbated by the blunders of translators and the two sides not understanding each other’s language.24 Therefore, the high commissioner suggested that due to the differences in language and customs between the Russians and the local population, exceptions to the laws had to be made.25 Dondukov-Korsakov exhibited the same dual standards that characterized most tsarist administrators. Although he wanted more independence from Petersburg, and theoretically stood for tolerance of local ways and customs, he was ambivalent about introducing Muslims into the local bureaucracy. After the rebellion in Kuba in 1877, Dondukov-Korsakov seriously considered reforming the local administration and changing the uezd chief to employ a Muslim. He recognized the most competent candidate for the position to be court councillor Bala-Bek Gasan-Bekov, who was also a police officer.26 But the high commissioner was reluctant to appoint him. Dondukov-Korsakov rationalized, “But he cannot become the uezd chief. He is Muslim, a native of Kuba, a local landowner and poorly educated.”27 The Tsarist Police The rule of the high commissioners was characterized by the strengthening of the police apparatus in the Caucasus. Police surveillance sharply increased after the turn of the century with the escalation of revolutionary activities among the multinational workers of Baku. The Baku governor’s report of 1900 lamented the shortage of police officers in the city and admitted that the 1899 quotas were no longer capable of guaranteeing “peace, quiet and social security.” According to the governor, Baku, which had developed into a major

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trading center and port with rails linking it to the empire at large, attracted all sorts of people with different backgrounds, nationalities and professions; it was truly an explosive mixture: In addition, each year the flow of workers from the inner guberniia of Russia to this region increases—workers who have already been acquainted with the questions raised by the leaders of the workers’ movement. . . . This is especially dangerous in Baku, where the agitation of a mass of workers can also escalate based on national and religious grounds. . . . The danger of the consequences here is greater than in all of the other localities of the empire.28 The colonial nature of Russian rule in the Caucasus was manifested in the administration’s distrust of the region’s multiethnic population and the employment of an excessively large police force. Furthermore the local population had to shoulder the expenses of being policed. Expenses corresponding to the upkeep of the police force were deducted from the income of each guberniia, mainly derived from taxation of the peasantry. Not only was the Transcaucasian peasantry taxed seven times greater than the peasants of the inner Russian guberniia in the 1880s (78 kopecks per desiatina versus 10.5), but between 1893 and 1895, 64 percent of the income of Transcaucasia went towards paying for the police force and the bureaucracy.29 Between 1895 and 1900, the police expenses had risen 4.5-fold from the previous five-year period.30 Sergei Alexandrovich Sheremetev The tenures of Count Sergei Alexandrovich Sheremetev (1890–96) and Prince Grigorii Golitsyn (1897–1904) as the last high commissioners of the Caucasus were marked by the emergence of the Armenian question in the Caucasus, ethnic strife and a serious effort on the part of the Caucasian administration to promote the settlement of the Russian Orthodox peasantry into the region. Moreover the tension between the central and local administrations over power sharing continued fiercely. The second high commissioner of the Caucasus, Count S. A. Sheremetev, was well acquainted with the Caucasus even before assuming his post. Between 1858 and 1862, he too had participated in campaigns against the Caucasian mountaineers. In the 1870s, Sheremetev commanded various cavalry units in the Caucasus. He had been assigned the chief of the Kuban oblast in 1882, and in 1884 became the aid to Dondukov-Korsakov.31 In his report of 1895 to the tsar, Sheremetev, like his predecessor, lamented his loss of power in comparison to that of the viceroys and wrote that he had “inadequate means for attaining important duties in the administration of the region.” In an effort to win wider authority for his office, Sheremetev attempted to convince the tsar to place the local representatives of the ministries under the jurisdiction of the high commissioner. However, even though the tsar

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noted (in the margins of Sheremetev’s report) that it had been easier for the viceroys to rule, Sheremetev’s wish was not granted.32 Ruling Caucasia had become considerably more complicated in the aftermath of the Armenian massacres in Turkey in the early 1890s. Not only was the Caucasian administration faced with the problem of accommodating thousands of refugees, but the intensification of the activities of the Armenian nationalist and revolutionary parties also threatened local security. It was in the 1890s and early 1900s that official policy began to shift against the Armenian population. In addition, the Armenians were regarded as rivals for landed resources the Caucasian administration was planning to designate for the Russian peasant colonists. The 1890s were a period in which the Caucasian administration relied more heavily than at any previous time on the Russian Orthodox elements. It rejected its older allies, namely the Armenians and the sectarian peasants, who had immigrated to the Caucasus in the 1830s and 1840s. No longer viewing these groups as its supporters, the Caucasian administration, under Sheremetev, planned to exile them from the empire.33 Golitsyn, the Last High Commissioner Prince Grigorii Golitsyn was the last high commissioner of the Caucasus. He was a controversial figure who made powerful enemies during his tenure in the Caucasus. Count Witte, the minister of finances, was particularly critical. He contemptuously noted in his memoirs that “Prince Golitsyn went against all of the nationalities inhabiting the Caucasus, as he wanted to Russify them all.”34 In reviewing the policies of the Caucasian viceroys and high commissioners, Witte saved his most withering remarks for Golitsyn, who in his eyes had the added disadvantage of being an ally of the minister of internal affairs, V. K. Pleve: Prince Golitsyn became an object of hatred in the Caucasus because he was not Caucasian, did not understand the Caucasian spirit and carried out policies that are at the root of the disorders in the Caucasus during the past decade. Golitsyn was the first to attempt to Russify the Caucasus not through moral and spiritual authority, but through violence and the police apparatus. And he paid for it.35 A devout integrationist and Russifier, Golitsyn alienated most all of the Caucasian nationalities. By divesting the Muslim villagers of land in order to support Russian settlers, strictly censoring the press, assaulting the autonomy of the Armenian and Roman Catholic churches, and heavily relying on police brutality, Golitsyn’s policies exacerbated social and religious conflict.36 Under Prince Grigorii Golitsyn’s rule, anti-Armenian tendencies were ominously reinforced. The government responded to the surge in the Armenian national movement in the 1890s by driving the Armenians out of the bureaucracy. In 1903 it confiscated the properties of the Gregorian Church, while at the same time seeking a rapprochement with the Muslims. Golitsyn’s overture to the

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Muslims was purely tactical. He distrusted them as well, and suspected their ties with their co-religionists abroad. However, he shrewdly perceived that he could play one ethnic group against another. The Azerbaijanis’ social and economic grievances could be exploited by identifying the Armenians as their major rivals for the local resources. Having earned the wrath of the Armenian revolutionaries, Golitsyn became the target of several assassination attempts, and left the Caucasus in early 1904. Golitsyn’s departure from the Caucasus was followed by a time of revolutionary and ethnic upheaval, which lasted for a year. The disturbances in Azerbaijan reached a crisis point in early 1905, when the Azerbaijani and Armenian population of Baku and other major cities engaged in hatred-killing of one another, while the tsarist police remained conspicuously absent and passive. By February of 1905, events had so spun out of control that Nicholas II restored the Viceroyalty of the Caucasus and appointed Count I. I. Vorontsov-Dashkov, a second cousin of M. S. Vorontsov, as the new viceroy of the Caucasus. The institution of the viceroyalty would remain in place in the Caucasus until the end of Romanov rule. With the reinstituting of the viceroyalty, the administration of the Caucasus had come full-circle. During the sixty years between the initial appointment of Vorontsov and that of Vorontsov-Dashkov, the administrators of the Caucasus had experimented with various styles of ruling over the native population and various ways of dealing with the cumbersome interference of St. Petersburg in their affairs. Some had opted for an integrationist approach, defending the interests of the central state, whereas others saw the wisdom of a localist approach and guarding the interests of the periphery. After the 1890s, with the strengthening of Russian nationalism, the scales turned in favor of an integrationist and centralizing policy; however, the events of 1905 once more demonstrated the need for a flexible and localist outlook. Crisis in the City of Baku and its Oil Industry: 1901–5 In Azerbaijan, the revolutionary events of 1905 were intricately connected with the politics of oil. By the turn of the century, Russia had been transformed from an importer of kerosene to its number one exporter. The primary source of crude oil was the vast petroleum reserves located around Baku, on the Apsheron peninsula. Although the petroleum industry experienced a boom in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, between 1901 and 1903 the Baku oil industry and the international markets at large underwent an economic crisis.37 Beginning in 1900, the price of oil started to drastically fall, and by the end of this year it had decreased by over 48 percent. By 1901, the Caucasian administration was openly referring to an “oil crisis,” which it attributed to the falling price of oil, the decreasing demand for oil products and the concentration of oil export in the hands of foreign firms.38

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As enterprises decreased their production and dismissed large numbers of workers, a wave of protests and strikes swept the region. By 1903, workers began to openly demonstrate in the streets and were restrained by the Cossacks. The demonstrating workers were predominately Armenian, according to the governor’s reports. In the first half of 1903, incidents of disagreement between workers and management were sharply rising, leading the factory inspectorate and the police to regularly interfere. By mid-July, in Baku and the outlying regions, over 20,000 workers participated in a general strike that encompassed almost all of the industries, factories and enterprises. The Baku governor observed that although the workers’ demands were the usual requests such as increase in pay, shorter working days, better living quarters and clean drinking water, “it was evident that these requests were put forth not so much under the impact of the workers’ living conditions, as under pressure from revolutionary circles.”39 The tsarist officials therefore saw the economic strikes as a pretext, hiding the true political motives of political parties behind them. The political parties, not having succeeded with purely political propaganda, according to the authorities, turned their attention to the working class. In this light, the governor believed that the strike started with the mechanical factories since “the workers are more intellectually advanced as well as economically secure, earning wages considerably higher than workers in other factories and industries.”40 The strike began on the second and third of July, simultaneously in the oil districts located at opposite ends of Baku. The workers of fourteen firms stopped work. On the fourth of July, the railroad workers joined the strike. On the sixth and seventh, the strike began to spread to the city of Baku itself. Those who continued to work did so under threat from the strikers. The crowd made attempts to sever telephone lines, close electric stations, and stop the movement of passenger and freight trains. Four regiments were employed to pacify the crowd, which was nonviolent on the whole. Additional troops were moved in, and by July 15 all of the firms were working once again. During this period, similar strikes took place in other cities of the empire, including Odessa, Kiev and Tiflis.41 The minister of internal affairs, Pleve, upon receiving news from Baku, sent a telegram to the army command, urging them to use military power “energetically” in order to establish order.42 The revolutionary parties were most successful among Christian rather than Muslim workers. During the July strikes, the Ministry of Justice reports that Russian railway workers on the Transcaucasian line, armed with sticks, announced their solidarity with the Baku factory workers. They carried red flags and banners reading “Down with autocracy, long live the Social-Democratic republic,” and “We support the striking workers of Baku.”43 The wave of strikes once again resumed in Baku in the following year, and on December 31, 1904, resulted in the first successful case of collective bargaining between workers and industry in the empire. This collective agreement between the oil producers and the oil workers resulted in a nine-hour working day, one day off without pay per week, a three-month period of pay during ill-

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ness, a definite minimum wage for each category of workers, dining halls and other benefits.44 Throughout January of 1905, Baku’s police chief reported the resurgence of strikes in factories and other enterprises. By the end of the month, in Baku and other Caucasian cities large demonstrations and simultaneous strikes were held as a sign of solidarity with the Petersburg workers massacred on “Bloody Sunday,” January 9, 1905.45 The strikes continued into February and assumed an ethnic dimension as well. On February 14, representatives of the Armenian and Jewish workers’ intelligentsia gathered on the streets and called for an armed uprising against the autocracy, which they accused of stirring interethnic enmity.46 The “Tatar-Armenian War” The ethnic disturbances in Baku, which reached their apogee between February 6 and 10, 1905, were ostensibly triggered by the murder of a Muslim villager, Aga Reza Babaev. Babaev, who had fired into a crowd of Armenians standing around their cathedral in Baku, had been killed by a member of the Armenian nationalist party, the Dashnaktsutiun. This confrontation turned into a murderous rampage during which Muslims and Armenians indiscriminately killed one another with daggers and revolvers. By the second day, individuals were being attacked in their homes and businesses, which were set on fire. After February 8, the violence spread to Baku’s oil-producing environs.47 The damage to the oil industry as a result of fires amounted to 19.5 million rubles.48 Most enterprises suffered a loss of over 20 million rubles and remained inoperative for over two months.49 Luigi Villari, an Italian historian of Russia and a witness to the devastation of Baku and its surrounding industries, recorded his observations of the ruin of the industrial suburb of Bibi-Eibat as follows: I visited the premises of several oil companies at Bibi Eybat soon after the fires, and the spectacle presented simply defies description. . . . Out of the 200 derricks of Bibi Eybat, 118 had been destroyed, and the majority of the other buildings were heaps of black ruins. The whole area was covered with debris and wreckage, thick iron bars snapped asunder like sticks, or twisted by the fire, . . . broken machinery, blackened beams, fragments of cogged wheels, pistons, burst boilers, miles of steel wire ropes. . . . The whole atmosphere was charged with the smell of oil.50 The minister of finances, V. Kokovtsev, reporting to the tsar on February 15, wrote that “the Baku disturbances (smuty) were of an extremely serious character, and in the course of several days complete anarchy had ruled over Baku and its industrial suburbs.”51 The minister identified the nature of the disturbances as “national-religious” and mainly between the Armenians and the Muslims. He reported that the February incidents would have a grave impact on the local economy as well as that of the empire on the whole. Masses of Russian

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workers and specialists were leaving the area, and the disturbances were also affecting Russian credit worthiness abroad.52 This assertion is supported by the letter of the Baku Oil Producers to the viceroy, in which they describe the abysmal state of the working force four months after the February events. They wrote, “The exodus of responsible employees, the mass flight of panicked workers, has made the continuation of industrial activity entirely impossible.”53 The ethnic violence subsequently spread to the villages and other areas of Transcaucasia. In August there was a repetition of the February atrocities. While the Azerbaijanis were resentful of the superior economic position of the Armenians, they had never before engaged in open confrontation. The Armenians owned fifty-five large and medium enterprises in the oil industry, as opposed to the forty-nine small firms owned by the Azerbaijanis. They did have a greater proportion of skilled workers, but then so did the Russians.54 The cause of the bloody conflict, which came to be known as the “Tatar-Armenian War,” was certainly not solely economic envy. Curiously, while Baku and its surrounding industries were enveloped in flames, and madness had taken over the city’s inhabitants, the tsarist police were conspicuously absent from the scene. Senator Kuzminskii, later sent by the tsar to report on the Baku events, had concluded, “The Baku police displayed complete passivity and inactivity in the face of the killings and devastation taking place in Baku. All throughout the February events the lower police cadres were almost not visible on the streets.”55 The police chief, although he had Cossacks under his command, did not interfere in the confrontations nor did he disarm the participants. Senator Kuzminskii openly expressed his doubts as to whether the indecisiveness of the local administration was in fact unintentional. He reported that the Armenian delegation he had received explained the ethnic animosity not in terms of national, religious or even economic factors, but as a direct result of the provocations of the local administration, which had systematically aroused the Muslims against the Armenians. The Armenians suggested that in the aftermath of political demonstrations organized by them, the agents of the secret police (Okhrana) had circulated rumors among the Muslims that the Armenians had prepared explosives to use in their antigovernment campaign, which they would first direct against the Muslims.56 Villari too observed that both the Armenians and the Muslims agreed that “the authorities promoted, or at least encouraged, the feud relying on the old principle of divide et impera.”57 The passive response of the local administration to the Baku upheavals led the oil industrialists to petition the authorities to offer them protection. The oil producers were willing to contribute 500,000 rubles annually from their funds.58 In October of 1905, the Baku Oil Producers took a further step, and in a petition to the minister of finances offered to accept a tax increase of one-half kopeck per pud of oil, in return for police protection of the oil industries and representation on the advisory organs of the new Baku city administration.59 The events of 1903–5 well show that the autocracy was ambivalent in its defense of the interests of industry in the Caucasian borderland. When faced

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with a rising revolutionary movement directed against it, the autocracy preferred to divert the revolutionary movement and turn the participants against one another. Thus the inactivity of the police during the massacres of February 6–10, 1905, which also resulted in millions of rubles of loss for the oil industrialists. Ultimately for the tsarist government, political considerations overrode economic interests. The Revolutionary Period and Restoration of the Viceroyalty: 1905–17 The revolution of 1905 and the disturbances in the Caucasus had forced Nicholas II to reconsider the restoration of the viceroyalty in the Caucasus. His choice fell upon Illarion Ivanovich Vorontsov-Dashkov (1837–1916), the scion of two prominent noble families dating their lineage to the fifteenth century. Vorontsov-Dashkov also had the added benefit of having been Alexander III’s personal friend, minister of the court and state domains, and member of the State Council. A powerful figure in the Russian court circles, VorontsovDashkov enjoyed the patronage of the dowager empress, even after he had been relieved of his ministerial position upon the accession of Nicholas II to the throne. Active in the unofficial court circles, Vorontsov-Dashkov was known as an unflagging proponent of Russian imperial expansion, and was blamed by Witte as being the unwitting originator of the Russo-Japanese War.60 Vorontsov-Dashkov’s association with the Caucasus coincided with the beginning of his military service in the 1860s, and his ensuing command of the Russo-Turkish War in 1877–78. He was also to end his career in the Caucasus, after a ten-year period as viceroy to the tsar. On April 26, 1905, Nicholas appointed Vorontsov-Dashkov as viceroy of the Caucasus; however, the viceroyalty was never to regain the independence it enjoyed under its first viceroys, Vorontsov and Bariatinskii. The new viceroy, although unconstrained in theory, found himself besieged by the central ministries. The Caucasian Committee had been abolished and affairs concerning the region were to be jointly decided by the viceroy, the State Council and the Committee of Ministers, thereby making the viceroy vulnerable to opposing political currents. In addition, as the viceroy could not directly participate in official meetings held in St. Petersburg, much of his business was negotiated through a plenipotentiary representative, further removing him from the seats of power.61 While according to the tsar’s ukaz the viceroy was to have been entitled to the same rights and powers as the previous viceroys, in fact only a select number of these were extended to the new viceroy.62 Aware of the limitations on his powers and the faltering monarchy’s inability to move decisively, Vorontsov-Dashkov in his reports to Nicholas candidly discussed issues relating to Caucasus and the empire at large. Adopting an avuncular tone, he did not shy away from cautioning Nicholas to protect himself from the surging revolutionary movement by abiding by the terms of the October Manifesto. He warned Nicholas that violating the principles laid down by the Manifesto, which had transformed Russia into a constitutional monarchy,

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would result in greater anarchy, strikes and political assassinations. “All of our hopes are on the Duma and the representatives of the Center,” he wrote to Nicholas.63 A supporter of the moderate parties in the Duma, Vorontsov-Dashkov was a political liberal; however, this did not outrule his use of force to repress the rebellious Caucasus. In the city of Baku, over one thousand people were arrested for political crimes by the beginning of the year 1908.64 Time and again, the viceroy impressed upon the tsar that circumstances in the Caucasus were more volatile than in Russia. “In central Russia the police are rarely forced to act against an armed mass, in the Caucasus, constantly,” wrote Vorontsov-Dashkov. Furthermore, Vorontsov-Dashkov contended that the rebels were armed with the latest weapons, whereas the police had only poor-quality pistols.65 Similar to the first viceroy of the Caucasus, Vorontsov-Dashkov had been appointed to “pacify” the region, and like his relative he employed a combination of repression and moderation to quell the uprisings. One of VorontsovDashkov’s first moves was to put Tiflis under marshal law and continue to keep Baku and Batum under marshal law for another two years. In the Caucasus the viceroy encountered a plethora of revolutionary movements, ranging from the Russian revolutionaries (Bolsheviks, Mensheviks, Social Revolutionaries and Anarchists) to the Armenian nationalists (Dashnaktsutiun and Hnchak parties), the Georgian social-federalists and autonomy seekers, and the Muslim revolutionary party.66 In his search for local allies, the viceroy became the defender of the Armenian population. This policy was also harmonious with his overall belief in a forward military policy in Turkey and Persia and the potential use of the Turkish Armenians in the event of a war. Criticizing Russia’s anti-Armenian policies of the 1890s, he urged Nicholas to return to the policy of protecting the Armenians.67 Realizing the volatile nature of Caucasian politics, Vorontsov-Dashkov pressed the tsar to grant the viceroy sufficient autonomy from the center so that the peculiarities of the region and the special needs of its inhabitants could be addressed. Extreme centralism and disregard for local conditions, he warned, could result in the colony’s break with the metropolis, similar to the American colonies’ break with Britain.68 Vorontsov-Dashkov experimented with introducing limited reform into the Caucasus, in order to diffuse social discontent. In particular, he traced much of the agrarian disorders in the Caucasus to the antiquated dependence of Muslim peasants on the beks, a situation he saw as no longer tolerable. He regarded peasant rebellion as a symptom of economic and legal privation, and urged that peasant dependence be abolished, since peasant resentment of landlords was also extending to the administration. The peasants, according to VorontsovDashkov, regarded the government as entirely unconcerned with their welfare. “In the last thirty-five years, not one law has changed the peasants’ lives for the better.”69 When in December of 1905, concerned about the possibility of peasant rebellion, Vorontsov-Dashkov put the question of land redemption before the State Council, he was denied the necessary funds to repay the beks for lands un-

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der peasant use.70 This was yet another manifestation of how the scales had tipped in favor of a more centralizing relationship between St. Petersburg and the borderlands, especially under Alexander III and Nicholas II’s regimes. By necessity, Vorontsov-Dashkov had responded by adopting a localist point of view, realizing that the security of the regions under his command required that the population be reasonably satisfied. Peasant unrest escalated in the first decade of the new century, and by 1910 there was a widespread refusal to pay redemption dues. It took two additional years for the state Duma to approve a bill that ended peasant dependence on beks. A reluctant central government provided ten million rubles to buy back peasant lands.71 To complicate agrarian matters even more, Stolypin’s reforms had increased the surge of Russian peasant colonization of the borderlands and the viceroy of the Caucasus was pressured into providing suitable lands for colonization. The viceroy opposed such plans for the Caucasus and wrote Nicholas that “unfortunately, as concerns the Caucasus, the possibility of colonizing it on a large scale must be ignored.”72 Arguing that the treasury lands were needed by the “native population” and that because of land shortage violence often broke out between the Russian colonists and their Muslim neighbors, the viceroy sought to dissuade Nicholas from further pursuing widespread colonization. He also employed technical agricultural reasoning, implying that the region lacked sufficient irrigation to support the type of agriculture to which the Russian peasants were accustomed. As the pressure mounted to accept Russian Orthodox peasant colonists, Vorontsov-Dashkov finally acquiesced, and by 1910 over 100,000 Russians had been settled into the region. However the viceroy limited the areas of settlement to the Mughan steppes in Eastern Transcaucasia and the Black Sea coast. These numbers were not impressive in comparison to the colonizing of Siberia; however, they were significant considering the modest means available in the Caucasus. Most of the colonists who had not been acclimatized to the Caucasus previously perished from malaria and typhus.73 The experiment altogether was a failure. Yet the theoretical benefits of colonization were not limited to alleviating land shortage in Russia proper or providing a safety valve for dissipating social discontent. Colonization was seen by the viceroy and his predecessors as a means of importing Russian culture into the region.74 Indeed, in the twentieth century Russification was one of the pillars of official policy in the Caucasus and the empire. The most direct means of introducing Russian education and culture was through the educational system. “To implant the Russian language among the population is, without doubt, the single greatest factor uniting the multitribe native population of this region to the empire,” wrote the viceroy to the tsar.75 Propagating the official state language, however, was not simple. Villagers, with their low levels of literacy, hardly spoke any Russian, and the urban population showed resistance to learning Russian. The administration of the viceroy decided to adopt the Il’minskii system, popular in the empire, in order to introduce

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Russian and the native languages simultaneously. This system was based on conversation and translation, allowing students to gradually replace their native language of instruction with Russian. Not feeling that their native languages were under threat, the students would be better disposed towards learning Russian and ultimately “assimilating” Russian culture.76 Vorontsov-Dashkov considered this gradual introduction of Russian to be superior to previous practices of “forceful Russification (obrusenie),” which had led to an outburst of nationalist feeling in the Caucasus. In the 1880s in particular, the educational policy had been hostile to the local languages and had resulted in a nationalist backlash, as demonstrated symbolically in a wave of name changes—Georgians reverting back to the dze and shvili suffixes in their names, Armenians reverting back to ian, and both groups discarding the Russian ov. This was accompanied by nationalist demands for mandatory study of native literatures in schools.77 The gradual introduction of Russian seems to have been successful among the Georgians. The Azerbaijani Muslims, however, remained outside of the main currents of policy. The number of educated Azerbaijanis was still surprisingly low. They were regarded by the authorities as suffering from “cultural backwardness and profound ignorance.”78 In 1910, out of over 16,000 elementary-school children in the viceroyalty, only 1,405 were Azerbaijani. Moreover, due to the absence of zemstvos in the region, the government was unable to introduce adequate schooling.79 Overall, the educational policy of tsarism towards the Azerbaijani Muslims was marked more by neglect than purposeful planning. During the prewar years, the Caucasian administration had treaded cautiously, attempting to placate nationalists and to avert separatism. However, labor unrest continued to mount, and after the Lena gold field massacre of 1912 in Siberia, the workers’ mood turned distinctly antigovernment in Baku and other industrial centers. Waves of strikes followed in solidarity with the Siberian workers. Inspired by the Russian revolutionaries, the strikes continued in Baku’s oilfields, and by the summer of 1914 a general strike was underway, threatening to bring the local economy to a standstill.80 World War One On the eve of World War One, Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan, was resembling a prototypical colonial city, with its segregated native and European quarters, European architecture, and above all its preponderance of nonnative peoples. In fact, as the results of the census of 1913 indicated, the number of Russians in Baku even exceeded that of the Azerbaijanis, with a relative representation of 76,000 Russians to 46,000 Azerbaijanis.81 The mutual mistrust between the colonizers and the colonized was compounded by the economic and legal inequity between the two groups and an open bias against the Muslim population of Azerbaijan. Even within the organs of municipal self-government, the Muslims could not exceed a 50 percent representation—a restriction that became the cornerstone of nationalist demands.

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The Muslim delegates of the Baku municipal Duma repeatedly called for the rescinding of this law, which they considered humiliating.82 Once the war broke out, the tsarist administrators of the Caucasus kept a vigilant eye on the activities of the Muslims, doubting their sympathies and their reliability. The governor of Baku province, reporting on the state of the general mobilization and the mood of the population, was convinced of the patriotism of the local Russians. The disposition of the Muslims, however, was more difficult to ascertain. They “fulfilled their obligations,” providing horses and supplies; however, as the war spread to Turkey, their patriotism waned. The governor reported to the viceroy that the Muslims seemed more interested in the news of Turkish success, and attributed this sympathy to their common religion. The spiritual connection with Persia was even stronger, and the governor anxiously observed the events in Persia, gauging the level of anti-Russian sentiments in this country and its potential effects on the Caucasus.83 With these uncertainties in mind, the Russian administrators of the Caucasus debated whether general conscription should be extended to the Muslim population. The governor of the Elizavetpol province in western Azerbaijan, for example, was convinced of the “loyalty” of the Muslims, as was evidenced by their forming voluntary fighting units. He appealed to the viceroy that by their voluntary action on the battlefields, they had “shown themselves to be deserving sons of Russia,” and that it was time to extend the full rights of citizenship to these legitimate sons of the motherland.84 In their public statements, the Russian officials did not display their ambivalence, and lauded the efforts of the Muslims to serve the empire. Visiting the Caucasus in November and December of 1914, Nicholas congratulated his troops on serving him and Russia. He gave special thanks to the Muslims for withstanding hardships and for supplying the army with six cavalry units, which were led by the tsar’s brother Mikhail.85 Nicholas also extended this formality to all of the other major ethnic groups living in the Caucasus. Nicholas II’s interest in leading his troops directly influenced the fate of the viceroyalty. When in August of 1915 the tsar assumed the supreme command of the Russian armed forces, he removed Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich as commander in chief of the armed forces and instead appointed him viceroy of the Caucasus. Nicholas telegrammed Vorontsov-Dashkov informing him of the decision. A relieved Vorontsov-Dashkov then cautioned Nicholas about the severe ramifications of assuming personal responsibility for the fate of the army. Prophetically, he reasoned, “It is necessary that the army be successful under your command. Failure would be ruinous to the future of your reign.”86 As for the appointment of Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich, while formally congratulating Nicholas on his choice, Vorontsov-Dashkov warned the tsar that the new viceroy might find the responsibility too burdensome and request a leave. “But does he want this post?” he asked Nicholas.87 Vorontsov-Dashkov seems truly to have relished his release from the position and openly wrote to Nicholas, “Now I can live out the remainder of my days in peace.”88 He died within a year.

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Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich was the last viceroy of the Caucasus. His short tenure as viceroy was marked by hopeless efforts to counter a mounting revolutionary movement, which would ultimately unseat him and bring the monarchy to an end. Before his assignment as viceroy, Nikolai Nikolaevich had served as the chairman of the Council of State Defense (1905–8) and commander of the St. Petersburg Military District (1905–14). He had served as commander in chief of the Russian armed forces for a little over a year. Nikolai Nikolaevich was thoroughly a military man and from a young age had been involved in the military, under the immediate supervision of his father.89 Unlike his more experienced predecessors, Nikolai Nikolaevich, with his military-minded approach to administrative problems, was unable to strike a balance between reform and repression. Rather than co-opting local leaders and using their “patriotism” to the administration’s favor, he alienated the local population by opting for force. Indifferent to the local mood, Nikolai Nikolaevich urged his subordinates to use force even when they advised against such action. When the February revolution brought the Romanov autocracy to an end, there were no defenders of the old regime in Azerbaijan and the Caucasus at large. After the abdication of Nicholas II, Nikolai Nikolaevich was reinstated as supreme commander of the Russian armed forces; however, he was forced to renounce this appointment under pressure from the Soviets and Provisional government.90 When Nikolai Nikolaevich had been appointed as viceroy of the Caucasus, the mood among the liberals in the empire, and in Azerbaijan as well, was distinctly patriotic. M. E. Resulzade, the eminent Azerbaijani journalist and activist, wrote in the Azeri-language journal Achyg Sez, “We, like all the citizens, wish for the success and victory of Russia.”91 In the 1914–16 period, Azerbaijani liberals participated in numerous organizations dedicated to the support of the war and to relief operations. Military-industrial committees were set up in Baku in 1915, supported by the likes of the Muslim industrialists Taghiev and Naghiev; the Muslim faction in the Duma supported the war effort, and Azerbaijani officers volunteered in the army.92 However, until the end of the old regime in Russia, the Azerbaijani Muslims were denied equal rights with their Christian compatriots. The impossibility of integration into the Russian imperial system further alienated those who were principally willing to assimilate. Marked as culturally inferior, the Muslims of the Caucasus were even segregated in the army, where the derogatory term “savage division” was used to describe the native Caucasian cavalry divisions. Political disaffection quickly turned into general discontent in 1916, after it had become clear that the Russian army was losing the war. The Muslim faction in the Duma had turned exceedingly critical of the establishment, and had joined the progressive block. The Azerbaijanis had ceased to believe in the cause of the war and suffered as well from severe economic privation. The Transcaucasian railroad was no longer used for the transport of food and consumer goods to Baku and other major cities, and served the needs of the front instead, trans-

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porting men and supplies. As in the capital, bread was scarce in Baku, wages were in arrears and worker unrest had brought production to a standstill. The striking workers in the Baku oil industry threatened to starve Russia of fuel (the production of oil was at one-tenth of prewar levels), the revolutionary parties were active organizing the people, and the administration was unable to diffuse the political and economic tensions.93 When in February of 1916 major disorders shook the city of Baku, the military governor of the city refused to follow the viceroy’s command to open fire on the rioters. The viceroy consequently brought his case of insubordination and inaction before the State Senate. The disorders in Baku, which had resulted in the looting of 116 retail establishments and three million rubles of damage to local businesses, were understood by the governor to be motivated by economic desperation. The disorders had begun in the bazaars, with women and children in the forefront (asking that the price of necessary staples be lowered), and had then spread to the industrial districts of Baku. The police had arrested large numbers, but were told by the governor to use arms only for self-defense. The Baku governor later cited the fraternizing of the soldiers with the people as his reason for disobeying higher command to shoot. An angry Nikolai Nikolaevich telegrammed the governor, urging him to follow orders and to use “the most decisive” means to end the demonstrations. The demonstrators were fired upon on February 16, bringing an end to any possibility for reconciliation with the old order.94 The February Revolution in Russia found Baku tranquil. When the revolution arrived in Azerbaijan, it was welcomed as a northern import.95 In the Caucasus, Imperial Russia’s power disintegrated within a few days. An unnerved Nikolai Nikolaevich surrendered power, while declaring, I recognize the new order in Russia, for I regard it as the sole means of salvation for our fatherland. As Commander-in-Chief of the armies I will allow no reaction of any kind. But I appeal to my countrymen to preserve order, and not to break discipline in the army; for even in republican France the principle “L’armée est sacré” is observed.96 The Viceroyalty of the Caucasus was abolished on March 9, 1917, after the triumph of the liberal revolutionary movement in Russia. Imperial Russia’s experiment with a colonial administration had come to an end—or so it was believed.

8 MUSLIM SOCIETY AND ITS RESPONSE TO RUSSIFICATION

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uring the reigns of Alexander III and Nicolas II, the Caucasian administration intensified its practice of Russification in Azerbaijan. Coupled with official disregard for local interests, these policies alienated the traditional elite of beks, ulema and merchant-entrepreneurs. Official intolerance and neglect led to the Muslim elite’s sympathy for the emergent revolutionary intelligentsia and the Muslim political parties. The Beks in the Last Years of the Old Regime

The personal rights of the “higher Muslim soslovie” remained unclear until the end of the old regime. Although Nicholas I had granted the Georgian princes and nobles the same rights and titles as their Russian counterparts, the same did not take place in the Armenian and Muslim provinces.1 Between the 1890s and 1905, the Caucasian administration was engaged in debates determining the personal rights and titles of the Muslim elite. There were proposals to grant the khan’s relatives the title Vysokostepenstva and a rank of the highest level of nobility, and grant the beks hereditary nobility and the title of “honored citizen.” However, the Caucasian administration decided to keep the old titles of bek and agalar, claiming that these groups de facto enjoyed the rights of the hereditary nobility. Finally it was decided to give the title of hereditary nobility to a select number of beks, contingent upon the approval of the high commissioner. These details remained provisional until 1901.2 With the assumption of power by the ultranationalist Prince Grigorii Golitsyn in the Caucasus (1897–1904), the hopes of the Muslim elite for attaining noble status were dashed. In August of 1904, Golitsyn informed the Ministry of Justice of the finality of his review of the question of the soslovie rights of the Muslim population of the Caucasian region. Golitsyn adamantly held that the massive granting of nobility rights to the natives was “unfair to the Russian nobility,” which had distinguished itself in state service from ancient times. In his opinion, it was even unfair to the remainder of the Russian population, which had borne the weight of state building and did not enjoy those nobility rights being offered up to the inorodcheskoe population. In Golitsyn’s opinion nothing positive would come of granting nobility status to the Muslim elite. He suggested that no one be given the princely titles, save by the will of the monarch, and that

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the number of nobles from the native population be limited, their Russian titles being restricted to “honored citizen.”3 Consequently, Golitsyn recommended to the State Council that the soslovie rights of the Transcaucasian natives be restricted. His report states that the Muslims should benefit from fewer rights than the other nationalities. By 1905 this proposal had been accepted by the Ministry of Justice, and it was decided that the khan’s relatives be denied princely titles.4 The rights and privileges of the Muslim landed elite not only remained legally unclear, but a movement had begun within the governmental apparatus to restrict the possibility of this group gaining noble and princely status in the future. The beks were not only disaffected by their lower social status, in comparison with the Russian dvorianstvo, but they also suffered from the administration’s indifference towards their economic well-being. Beginning in 1910, the Muslim landed elite, inspired by the example of the Russian nobility, petitioned the authorities to assemble congresses of the landowning soslovie, in order to discuss the economic and social needs of its group.5 The beks meant to elect deputies, who would bring their concerns to the attention of the viceroy, and the authorities in St. Petersburg, if needed.6 The Muslim landed elite was alienated by the Caucasian administration’s landed policy under Vorontsov-Dashkov’s administration. Attempting to win popular support, avert further revolutionary activities and replicate the reforms in Russia proper, the viceroy’s administration had introduced the mandatory redemption of peasant lands, through the law of December 20, 1912. This regulation produced a major backlash among the beks, who, unlike the Russian landed nobility, had not been consulted in the process and were resentful of government intervention in their affairs. The chancery of the Viceroy was overflowing with petitions by the beks, asking for reconsideration of their settlement and accusing the administration of measuring their lands without their prior knowledge.7 The issue remained unresolved until the demise of the old regime. The social status of the beks also remained unresolved, albeit much discussed by the authorities. The discriminatory practices of tsarism in its Muslim borderlands had left an indelible mark on the leaders of those communities, making their assimilation with the Russian elite improbable. Unable to integrate within the imperial system, the landed elite became sympathetic to anti-Russian movements and awakened to ethno-religious nationalist sentiments.8 The Muslim Clergy The Muslim clergy, or the ulema, was especially impacted by Russificatory policies as their services were circumscribed by the administration and they increasingly lost autonomy of action. The Muslim clergy often expressed its dissatisfaction in petitions directed to the authorities. When Prince Dondukov-Korsakov assumed responsibility in 1882 as high commissioner of the Caucasus after the viceroyalty had been abolished, the Muslim clergy of the Caucasus petitioned him asking for clemency.

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The petitioners reminisced fondly of Vorontsov, whom they considered to have treated them fairly, “bestowing his kindliness equally on the Christians and Muslims of the region.” “Therefore,” they wrote, “we dare to hope that your Highness will also take us under your special patronage and show us Muslims the same goodwill . . . as did the wise ruler Prince Vorontsov.”9 In particular, as examples of Vorontsov’s kindness, they cited his efforts to open schools for Muslim children. Most of these schools were closed after Vorontsov left the region, and consequently Muslims met formidable obstacles in the path to obtaining an education. The petition concludes, “Muslims thirst for renewal and education on an equal level with the other subjects of the Great Russian monarchy.”10 Dondukov-Korsakov seems to have been aware of the necessity of taking the local people’s culture and customs into consideration, in order to successfully carry on his task of administering and developing the region entrusted to him. In his critique of the judicial reforms in Transcaucasia, he states that these reforms were indiscriminately applied to the region, ignoring regional particularities, and hence resulting in a great discord between the people’s and the administration’s understanding of the meaning of the law. The justices of the peace had taken over the most minute of cases; had left the traditional courts of the people (Sharia and village courts) powerless; and had repelled the local population from the new order, which they found burdensome and inefficient.11 The judicial reforms had further marginalized the official clergy and had resulted in a massive turn to the unofficial clergy on the part of the local Muslim population. The early 1880s were replete with official reports on the persistent activities of the unofficial and foreign clergy in Transcaucasia. Furthermore, as the official clergy considered their salaries to be paltry and their status still unsettled, this group’s complaints escalated during this period. The officially recognized clergy also felt threatened by the foreign clerics, who were competing with them for influence and wealth, and requested the local administration to banish such individuals, as had been stipulated by the law. By the summer of 1882, the activities of the Persian ulema had alarmed the authorities. In July of that year, the chairman of the Baku Shi’ite mejlis reported to the governor that a Persian cleric had appeared in the guberniia and that the local population were drawn to him. The Baku clerics had not reported him earlier as they feared the wrath of the population. The chairman had written to urge the governor to enforce the law of April 5, 1872, prohibiting all Persian subjects from performing religious rites in Transcaucasia.12 In June, the Lenkoran uezd chief had reported that a Persian subject, Haji Mirza Ahmad Mulla Sadegh Ogly, had been residing in the uezd and had taken upon himself the role of qadi, fulfilling all kinds of religious duties. The cleric had even taken part in Muslim courts, claiming to be a plenipotentiary of the higher Muslim officials. The uezd chief considered his teachings to be “intolerant of the government,” and suggested that this individual be deported from the region, in accordance with the law of 1872.13 The activities of the Persian ulema had even extended to Georgia, to the city of Tiflis (Tbilisi), which had a significant Persian community. In July of

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1882, the sheikh ul-Islam of Transcaucasia informed the Tiflis governor of rumors circulating that in the Turkish city of Kerbala a leading Shi’ite mujtahed, Seyyed Hossein, had passed away. Consequently, the Shi’ites of Tiflis had gathered in their mosque to discuss which of the Persian clerics they should now emulate as their spiritual leader. At the mosque, two Persians were also present, who were plenipotentiaries of a Persian mujtahed and had collected religious dues on his behalf. In his report, the sheikh ul-Islam expressed consternation over the presence of the Persian clerics, whose ideas had a “perilous influence” on the native population, inciting them to defy the local authorities, and once again requested the authorities to “prohibit the preaching of those Persian subjects posing as the clergy.”14 The above case clearly illustrates that the official clergy in Transcaucasia were intimidated by the appeal of the Persian clerics and sought governmental protection in guarding its sphere of influence. In September of 1882, the chairman of the Shi’ite Ecclesiastical Board, Akhund Ahmed Hosseinzade, wrote to the uezd qadis in Persian, warning them of the presence of the foreign ulema, who were busy proselytizing and preaching in the mosques, performing religious rites and collecting money from the Muslims of Transcaucasia by “deceiving them.” Hosseinzade commanded all local clergy to prevent the foreign clerics from preaching in the mosques and to report the existence of all such persons to the authorities so that the latter might drive them out of the region.15 With the increasing presence of the foreign clergy in the region, the official clergy found themselves increasingly isolated and discredited. Few were willing to cooperate with the local officials, and those who did expected the material benefits to outweigh the losses they invariably incurred. In April of 1881, the head of the Baku guberniia mejlis petitioned the Shi’ite Ecclesiastical Board of Transcaucasia concerning an increase in the mejlis deputies’ salaries. In the letter, which was written in Persian, he argued that the current salaries did not suffice to attract competent mullahs, who demanded twice the amount being offered. The petitioner hoped that the board would intervene on behalf of the mejlis with the administration and increase salaries so that the qualified members of the ulema would consider working for the government, work that some even considered dishonorable.16 The head of the Shi’ite mejlis of Tiflis also lamented the predicament of the mejlis qadis, of whose situation he wrote to the Ecclesiastical Board in May of 1881, “In order to fulfill such responsibilities as bookkeeping placed upon us by the government, we have neglected our own work, and the people no longer pay us any money. We unfortunate ones are neither considered to be part of the peasantry, in which case we would receive lands for agriculture and sustain ourselves, nor to be civil servants.”17 Instead, according to the petition, the official clergy were expected to raise their own incomes while continuing to serve the government and had therefore accumulated substantial debts.18 Obviously the official clergy found themselves in a hopeless situation. Alienated from their communities, they could not easily supplement their incomes by performing religious services. At the same time, they were alienated from the Russian administration, which ne-

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glected their need for a secure and defined position with adequate material benefits. By the time of Prince Grigorii Golitsyn’s tenure as high commissioner of the Caucasus, the Russian administration officially acknowledged that its experiment with co-opting the local religious elite was in ruins. In his report of 1890 to the tsar, Golitsyn questioned the effectiveness of the regulations of 1872, which had created the ecclesiastical boards and had incorporated them into the local administrative apparatus. Golitsyn, conceding that this move may have compromised the Muslim clergy, wrote, “The religious officials do not have the trust of the Muslim population, who as before continue to appeal for their spiritual needs to the mullahs who are not in state service as well as the foreign clergy.”19 Nevertheless, the Caucasian administration did not bend to the demands of the official clergy. Rather, it continued to enlarge their obligations to the state without providing them with adequate incentives. In September of 1904, the Baku Shi’ite mejlis, coaxed by the Caucasian administration, issued a directive to all the qadis and mullahs ordering them to use Russian in all official correspondences with the guberniia administration. The qadis rose up in protest. They argued that they did not know the Russian state language, had served without a salary and had not received money from the government even for administrative expenses such as hiring secretaries with a knowledge of Russian. As the qadis continued to carry on their correspondence in Persian and Azeri, the administration considered assigning positions only to those qadis with a knowledge of Russian.20 The guberniia administration refused to compromise with the qadis who petitioned to use their native language in official correspondence. In October of 1904, the Baku governor wrote to the Baku guberniia’s Shi’ite mejlis that the uezd qadis had seldom reported to the police administration, while “writing in Russian does not incur substantial expenses for the qadis.” As according to law all establishments were obliged to carry official correspondence in the official language, the governor uncompromisingly wrote, “I cannot express agreement with granting the uezd qadis the right to conduct official correspondence in the Muslim language.”21 By 1905, the grievances of the Muslim clergy and the Muslim population had accumulated to such a level that these groups openly demanded autonomy in their own religious affairs. In February of 1905 the Muslims of the Caucasus petitioned the Committee of Ministers asking for religious freedom and legal protection to practice the Sharia. They wrote, “Regardless of laws allowing for religious toleration for all, not one of the government’s edicts permits the Muslims of Russia to perform their religious rites according to the laws of their Sharia.”22 The petitioners vehemently sought the right to freely elect their own spiritual authorities, whom they claimed had “lost all of their significance and authority,” and requested that the religious administration, operating under the auspices of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, be abolished and instead placed under the control of Muslim society.23 They also demanded that the mosques’

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properties be returned to them and that the mosques gain the right to decide questions concerning their endowments. Other points raised were the right to teach Islamic theology in the schools and the right of religious officials to work without the precondition of knowing Russian. The petitioners emphasized their right to freely practice their religion and fulfill their religious duties without interference from the authorities.24 The petition concluded that the appointed sheikh ul-Islams and muftis lacked spiritual influence and had lost stature in their communities: Now, however, the sheikh ul-Islams and the muftis are only administrative officials from whom the fulfilling of clerical duties is demanded; they are denied influence in religious affairs and on other Muslim clerics. They do not have moral influence as the Muslims themselves have taken no part in their appointment. . . . The head of the Muslim clergy in the Caucasus receives the same salary as the district superintendent of the police!25 In 1905, when the Azerbaijani national leaders were voicing their discontent at having been neglected as a people, the grievances of their clergy were among the main points brought to the attention of the authorities. The Caucasian administration’s policies directed towards bringing the Muslim clergy under state control had proved unsuccessful. The state had failed to incorporate the Muslim clergy into its administrative apparatus, as the Muslim clergy were denied the privileges granted to other state bureaucrats and were troubled by the Russification campaigns, which limited their freedom of expression. The official clergy was consequently estranged from both the state and the Azerbaijani people, who had lost faith in a clergy serving the “infidel.” During the years between the 1905 revolution and the revolutions of 1917, the official Muslim clergy were not only alienated from Azerbaijani society, but also faced division and dissent within their own ranks. Emboldened by the official Russification campaigns, the younger members of the Muslim clergy, who had assimilated into Russian culture, challenged the old guard, who were traditional, resistant to Russification and yet in control of the official Muslim establishment. Not surprisingly, the Russian administrators of the Caucasus found themselves in the position of arbitrators in this conflict, a position they relished, since it made them privy to the inner workings of the Muslim establishment. Considering all Muslims as “having a tendency towards strife and intrigue” as well as “a tendency to exaggerate,” the Caucasian high administrators were skeptical about the validity of the reports they received.26 In one such case the chair of the Shi’ite Ecclesiastical Board complained that a certain young member of the board had compromised the dignity of the calling by his depravity. He had supposedly appeared in regular clothing; attended balls, clubs and theater; and shaved his beard in the European fashion. Obviously amused at the accusations of the old guard, the viceroy’s council discounted them as personal and based on career rivalry. However, the counteraccusations of the young mullahs were taken rather seriously. Lamenting the “despotism” of their elders, the young accused the chairman of abusing his power,

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and further insinuated that he had previously been involved in anti-Russian political activities and hence was politically unreliable.27 More specifically, they accused the chairman of supporting the Young Turks, propagating pan-Islamic ideas in the medresses, and publishing Azeri-language journals with a pan-Islamic tendency. The chairman, who was called Pishnamaz-zade, was also related to the Crimean Tatar activist I. Gasprinski by marriage, and this was yet another liability, as Gasprinski was editor of the controversial newspaper Tarjuman. These assertions were taken seriously by the authorities; they investigated the validity of the accusations, and while the chairman was not found grossly guilty, the final judgment was not in favor of him either. Official reports describe Pishnamaz-zade as having “a poorly developed intellect” and being “crude and uncultured.” He was deemed “hardly in a position to inspire respect and to influence others.”28 Pishnamaz-zade’s major transgression appeared to be his “complete ignorance of the Russian language” and his indifferent and apathetic attitude towards learning Russian. Having promised to learn the language, he had after three years only learned to sign his name in Russian.29 However, the Russian administrators found it difficult to find replacements for the chairman. Individuals who were well versed in Russian and in Islamic jurisprudence were a rare find. As for the pan-Islamic tendency, hardly any Muslim was immune. Tsarist reports from the year 1911 suggest that approximately half of the medresse instructors affiliated with the large mosques were educated in Turkey “in the panIslamic spirit.”30 Naturally, when the First World War started, the Muslim clergy along with their followers were concerned about the fate of their co-religionists abroad. However, the Russian administrators of the Caucasus made use of the mosques to support the war effort. In particular, the mosques were used as tribunes for the distribution of government announcements and bulletins. The mullahs, who were indirectly in state service, were compelled to say prayers for the victory of the Russians and the health of the tsar.31 Regardless of formalities, the Muslim religious establishment was the least Russified group among the Azerbaijanis and did not compromise its religious standards throughout the imperial period. Form letters used by the Muslim administration to determine the qualification of mullahs in the year 1917 listed the prerequisites of becoming a mullah as follows: (1) knowledge of Eastern languages and literacy in Azeri and Persian; (2) ability to deliver the adhan or call to prayer; (3) knowledge of funeral rites; (4) ability to teach literacy; (5) knowledge of the prayers; and (6) ability to lead marriage and birth ceremonies.32 Partic ularly interesting among these criteria was the mandatory knowledge of the Persian language. This pointed to the continuing influence of the Persian clergy and Persian culture in Azerbaijan. To the end of the old regime, the ulema continued to resist bureaucratic Russification. The very nature of their education and their belief in the unity of the Muslim people (umma) placed them in inevitable conflict with Russian officialdom and sympathetic to neighboring Muslim states. This conflict remained unresolved even under Soviet rule.

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Tsarist Policy and the Azerbaijani Merchants and Entrepreneurs The Azerbaijani merchants and entrepreneurs constituted the third group of the traditional elite, along with the beks and the ulema. The Azerbaijani entrepreneurs had generally accumulated their initial capital through trade and the crafts, and had risen from among the ranks of the merchantry. Tsarist policy towards the economic elite, however, differed from that adopted towards the religious and landed elite. There were no major efforts to co-opt this group, and on the whole the economic groups were at best neglected and occasionally mistreated.33 As Alexandre Bennigsen had observed of Russian policy regarding the Muslims of the Caucasus: “In the first place, the Russian rulers never tried to attract the powerful merchant and industrial bourgeoisie. . . . This course led to profound consequences. All nationalist movements and all separatist trends that occurred after 1905 originated in the bourgeoisie.”34 This consequence was certainly realized in Azerbaijan, where the Muslim entrepreneurs allied with the intelligentsia assumed the leadership of a movement for the recognition of the Azerbaijanis’ equal rights with other nationalities in the empire. The Azerbaijani Merchants The bazaar merchants were a social group closely linked to the Muslim clergy and sharing in their Islamic weltanschauung and traditional lifestyle. The close ties between mosque and bazaar are a feature common to all Islamic cities, where the mosque is located in the heart of the bazaar.35 In this setting, the merchants and the ulema carry on a symbiotic relationship, whereby they mutually assist one another. The merchant on his part relies on his connections to the religious community to enhance his reputation as a pious man, resulting in greater respect and greater profits. The ulema, on the other hand, rely on the merchants as one of their sources of income; they receive religious taxes and charitable funds from the merchantry.36 Caucasian Azerbaijan, although under Russia rule, was no exception. By the twentieth century, in Baku three of the four major mosques of the city were entirely financed through the renting of lavki or selling stalls to the bazaar merchants. The income derived from renting the lavki was used towards the maintenance of the mosques and the salaries of the mullahs.37 The sympathy of the Muslim clergy for merchants and tradesmen dates back to the inception of Islamic doctrine. The Hadith, “a narrative record of the sayings or customs of Mohammed,” depicts trade as a superior way of life. The Prophet is reported to have said, “The merchant who is sincere and trustworthy will (at the Judgement Day) be among the prophets, the just and the martyrs” and “Merchants are the messengers of this world and God’s faithful trustees on Earth. . . . A dirham lawfully gained from trade is worth more than ten dirhams gained in any other way.”38 The Russian conquerors of the Caucasus did not share in the Islamic appreciation of the merchantry. Already suffering discrimination based on their ethnicity and religion, the Muslim merchants were also subjected to arbitrary

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rules that were disastrous to their enterprises. The merchants however did not accept their fate passively, and petitioned the authorities, the City Board and City Duma of Baku. The merchants’ cause was also supported by the Muslim oil entrepreneurs who were active within the Baku City Duma, represented by such individuals as Musa Naghiev, Haji Zeinalabedin Taghiev, Shamsi Asadullaev and Khalygh Akhundov.39 The initial response of the bazaar merchants to religious discrimination however was not to resort to legal means of conflict resolution. Instead, they sought to avenge themselves on the most accessible representatives of the Russian presence, the Russian workers. The latter responded in kind. The violence between the Russian immigrant workers and the bazaar merchants peaked between 1881 and 1882, which also coincided with extensive political changes including the abolition of the viceroyalty, tighter control by the central ministries and the consequent neglect of the needs of the local population. The first recorded disorders appeared to stem from ethnic and religious conflict fed by economic factors. In his yearly report of 1881, the Baku governor recounted that in the city of Baku, on Easter Day, confrontations had flared up between the Muslim bazaar traders and Russian factory workers. This had been the first such incident ever brought to the attention of the administration. The disorders continued for five days, and it was necessary to mobilize the military forces to extinguish the unrest. According to the governor, the Russian coopers had long resented the Muslim traders for making “crude jokes” directed at the Russian workers and their wives when they appeared in the bazaar to make purchases. The Russian workers also blamed the traders for the drastic increase in the prices of products, and considered this a deliberate ploy.40 The following year, Dondukov-Korsakov received an anonymous letter, written with capital letters so as to be unidentifiable, signed “the oppressed.” This letter, dated March 20, 1882, was most probably written by Russian workers and addressed the same issues that had provoked the confrontations of the previous year. Among the major demands made by the authors was the lowering of the prices of vital products and polite treatment by the Muslim merchants. The letter states, “Presently, women can not go to the bazaar, where even the Russian men are insulted by the native merchants. The police are not vigilant and only take bribes, and the police chief sells posts.”41 The Russian workers perceived the merchants’ attitude as threatening; however, they did not specify their interpretation of “polite” behavior. In September of 1895, the economic situation of the Muslim merchants took a turn for the worse when the Baku City Board determined that trading activity on Sundays should be limited to one hour (12 to 1 P .M .) following the completion of the Orthodox liturgy in the Nikolaevskii Church. This issue was brought before the City Duma for discussion, and in the Journal of the Baku City Duma, the Duma representatives openly admitted that “the interval allotted for trading activity is so insignificant that the merchants, according to the board, will entirely abstain from opening their shops, and Sundays will become a day of rest.”42

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The Muslim representatives in the Duma—and in particular Musa Naghiev, a well-known entrepreneur—voiced their opposition to the arrangement, indicating that it was inconvenient for the Muslims, since their Sunday services at the mosque began at 12 P.M . and continued for two hours. Naghiev argued that one hour of trading was insufficient for the merchants, and it was better not to limit them at all. The Duma, however, did not accept these arguments but only considered altering the trading period so that it would commence at 2 P.M., when the mosque services had been completed.43 The City Board accepted the alterations and issued a decree limiting trading hours to between 2 and 3 P.M. on Sundays for all trading establishments, except pharmacies and those involved in the sale of foodstuffs.44 Within a few days, on October 5, 1895, the “Baku Society of Muslim Merchants” sent a petition to the governor concerning the new regulations. The petition reads, We consider the regulations of September 30 of this year to be wrong, constraining us, the Muslim merchants, and subjecting the merchantry to inevitable losses incongruous with our status. The Duma has, for some reason, categorically in its resolutions remained silent concerning the rights of the Muslims to carry on trade on Sundays, which is not a holiday for them, . . . as they only recognize Friday as their holiday, on the basis of their religion. . . . Opening and closing our shops on Sundays between two and three in the afternoon does not make sense, as during the course of one hour it is not only inconceivable to trade, but it is outright impossible even if one so desires.45 The Muslim merchants found it unjust that their Christian counterparts could tend to their business and their religious duties without serious difficulties, whereas the Muslims faced financial ruin if they attempted to observe the dictates of their own religion. Furthermore, they attempted to prove to the governor that the edict was in contradiction with existing laws. The petitioners cited the law of 1890, which sanctioned trading activities on Sunday, provided that they did not begin until the liturgies had been completed in the parish churches, and on this basis claimed that the Duma had overstepped its authority in virtually prohibiting trade on Sundays. They wrote, “The Duma regulations are therefore synonymous with prohibiting the Muslim merchants from trading on Sundays. The Muslims, who observe their holiday only on Fridays, must abstain from trading two days a week, and this will have an entirely ruinous effect on them.”46 The petition concluded with a request that the governor rescind the Duma decision limiting trade on Sundays.47 The Muslim merchants did not elicit a response from the governor, and hence in August of 1896 once again submitted petitions to the governor as well as to the Senate. The petition of the “Baku Muslim Merchants, Artisans and Workers” to the governor of Baku guberniia reiterates, “We the undersigned have petitioned in order that as Muslims we be granted the right to trade and work on Sundays and other holidays recognized by the Orthodox church.”48 The pet itioners were once more armed by knowledge of existing laws and cited the

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March 5, 1896, resolution of the Senate, which allowed for non-Christian master craftsmen and skilled workers to work on Sundays and even be hired by Christians during this period. Resolved to carry out their economic activities on Sundays, the petitioners requested of the governor that the Baku city police not inhibit their activities, which they considered to be lawful regardless of the Duma decisions.49 At the end of March, Nicholas II instructed the Senate to hold a hearing on the complaints of the trustees of the Baku merchants and artisans of the “Mohammedan” faith. The Senate was sympathetic to the plight of the Muslim merchants, who had to either “forgo the basic dogmas of their own religion or observe two holidays in a week, which must harm the local population economically and morally.” However, after reviewing the history of the case, the Senate decided that the Duma had acted within its rights to determine the hours of operation of trading enterprises, and hence the hearing was closed with the following decision: “No action will be taken on the current complaints of the plaintiffs.”50 The bazaar merchants had appealed in vain to the highest levels of government, yet they did not relinquish hope. In March of 1898, on the eve of the “Muslim New Year,” the “Society of Bazaar Fruit and Vegetable Vendors” used the occasion to once more petition the Baku governor to obtain permission to trade on Sundays and holidays.51 Requesting that they be allowed to keep their stalls open, they wrote, “Although by law we are required to stay closed on official holidays and Sundays, given our predicament, how can we underprivileged people earn enough to feed on a morsel of bread when we also pay 600 rubles a year for renting our stalls and pay taxes?”52 The petitioners also complained to the City Board of police harassment when they did engage in trade on days when it was prohibited.53 The merchants’ activism finally won the Baku governor to their side, and on March 6, 1898, he ordered the City Board and the Baku police that Muslim fruit and vegetable vendors were to be allowed to trade on the Sunday before the “Muslim New Year” and were not to be inhibited.54 Three major points may be gleaned from the documents cited above. First, during the 1890s, the Caucasian administration’s policies towards the economic activity of “non-Christians” were harsher and even in contradiction with imperial policies sanctioned by the Senate. Given that the notoriously reactionary Prince Golitsyn was in command of the region during this period, this condition is not surprising. Second, discrimination against the Muslim merchants was also evident in the Baku City Duma, which was an arena where the conflicting economic interests of different ethnic groups were fought out. Third, the Muslim merchants were well aware of their prerogatives as subjects of the empire and did not shy away from appealing to higher authorities and ultimately to the emperor himself. They were determined to seek a legal solution to their problem, as their level of consciousness had been raised from the previous decades and they realized that local violence would only impede their cause. On the eve of the 1905 revolution, the discriminatory policies of the Caucasian administration had become notorious. The viceroy’s own chancery brought to his attention the fact that regulations in Transcaucasia concerning

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the economic activities of the merchantry were considerably more restricted than in the other provinces of the empire. In November of 1905, Baku’s Muslim merchants sent a petition to the Baku Customs Division of the Ministry of Finances (which was promptly conveyed to the viceroy’s chancery), in which they asked that the passport requirements for trading with Persia be facilitated. The merchants complained that they were required to show a new six-month passport every time they crossed over the Transcaucasian border. The Ministry of Finances, which tended to support commerce irrespective of ethnic concerns, found their concern “entirely justified,” as article 179 of the law, which granted one-year passports to merchants who frequently traveled abroad, had not been applied to Transcaucasia. The ministry’s branch in Baku wrote, “The request of the Baku merchants can only be satisfied when article 179 is uniformly extended to all merchants, without exceptions.”55 The Muslim merchants of Baku then petitioned the viceroy, complaining of the petty bureaucratic annoyances that hampered foreign commerce. They lamented the “unfair customs practices that have kept many from continuing trade relations with Persia.” The requirement of acquiring a new passport every time they traveled to Persia, even if their passport had not expired, was an onerous burden on the merchants. Many had made the trip up to twenty-five times each year, and the increased fees for new passports as well as the waiting period could bring about their ruin.56 In January of 1906, twenty-nine Baku merchants demanded that the new-passport requirement be abolished for crossing the southern borders. According to the viceroy’s chancery, in Transcaucasia six-month passports were given to merchants conducting trade with Persia and Turkey. These were issued under the supervision of the uezd chiefs, once it had been ascertained that the individual wishing to travel abroad did not have a criminal record and was not on trial, and that there were no obstacles to his leaving the country. The prolonged deliberations were thus a form of political control over the Muslim population of the region. This is demonstrated by the following statement made by the chancery: “In the interests of precaution and political foresight, the passports for travel abroad are only issued to individuals heading abroad for business and for a period not to exceed six months.”57 The viceroy’s chancery informed him that conditions were entirely different in the Western provinces, where merchants were given yearly passports and those owning properties across the border could travel to those regions for periods of up to two months. These regulations, which had been in place in the Western provinces since 1836, were reconfirmed in 1857 and extended to Poland in 1878. The law of 1857 had stated, “With the issuing of the new rules on passports for travel abroad, the merchants of the Western provinces, traveling abroad for trading purposes, are issued yearly passports for multiple exits from this border, and this extends to all merchants of the empire as well as the guberniia of Poland.”58 Well aware of the “injustice and hypocrisy” of this law, the chancery commented, “From this information the conclusion might be drawn that the granting of privileges to the merchants of the empire was only relevant to their crossing of the Western border.”59

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The Transcaucasian Muslim merchants were struggling to win rights that had been granted to merchants in European Russia over half a century before. It therefore comes as no surprise that the Muslim merchants were not among the supporters of autocracy in Azerbaijan, and those individuals from their ranks who had attained wealth and status were drawn to their own communities and retained their own cultural outlook. The Caucasian administration’s religious discrimination against the Azerbaijani merchants and entrepreneurs strengthened their self-identification as Muslims. The Muslim Entrepreneurs The entrepreneurs, although they had newly emerged as a social group, maintained close ties to their communities and retained their religious identity. This group defended the interests of the merchants in the City Duma, as was demonstrated in the Duma discussions about Sunday trading hours. In addition, the Azerbaijani entrepreneurs supported their intelligentsia financially and were active in promoting the development of their national culture. The Azerbaijani entrepreneurs formed a powerful social and economic group active in various branches of the economy, including the oil industry, shipping, trade, textile manufacturing, silk production and agriculture. Up to the beginning of the 1870s, the Azerbaijanis predominated in the ownership of the oil industry, and during this period they owned 54 percent of the kerosene factories around Baku. In the refining and extracting sectors of the oil industry, the Azerbaijani entrepreneurs were represented by H. Z. A. Taghiev, S. Asadullaev, M. Naghiev, and M. Sultanov.60 All of these individuals were elected representatives of the Baku City Duma.61 In the Baku City Duma, the Azerbaijani entrepreneurs openly protested the unfair economic policies of the administration. They focused attention on the high tax evaluation of their landed properties, factories and shops.62 In add ition, they used the Duma tribune to voice their preferred economic policies, such as the abolition of the excise tax on kerosene and the construction of the Transcaucasian pipeline. Azerbaijani representatives in the Duma also voiced their concerns about their people’s unequal political rights, as compared with non-Muslims, and strove to convince the Duma to finance cultural projects for the Azerbaijanis. By March of 1893, the position of the Muslim entrepreneurs in the Duma and Muslims in general was exceedingly precarious, as a result of the application of the counter-reforms of Alexander III. The minister of internal affairs and the high commissioner of the Caucasus agreed on new municipal regulations limiting “representatives from the non-Christians to one third of the total number of representatives” and requested that the Baku city chief put the new regulations into effect immediately.63 The City Board, fearing protest, resorted to subterfuge and decided to hold the new elections in July when “those having the smallest means will leave the city in the hot summer months, and a great number of voters, mostly homeowners and merchants of both guilds, will have gone to their dachas, abroad or to different Russian cities for business, . . .

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and as the majority of eligible voters will not be in the city, the voting will not yield more than one third of the total electorate.”64 The Muslim inhabitants of Baku, including numerous members of the merchant and entrepreneurial groups, protested the new regulations and warned the governor that the “unjust” regulations that underrepresented them in the Duma would make Muslims indifferent towards public affairs, as their significance had been greatly diminished. They wrote, “We believe that in the improving of the city’s welfare and prosperity, the important question is not to which nationality or religion the Duma representatives belong.”65 Such pleas continued intermittently until the end of the old regime. The Muslim representatives of the Duma clearly voiced their dismay and humiliation at being underrepresented.66 Their entreaties to rescind the unequal representation of Muslims proved futile, as the Caucasian administration, under pressure from St. Petersburg, was reluctant and perhaps unable to reverse the regulations. Barred from public office and limited in their participation in organs of city administration, the Muslim entrepreneurs resolved to influence their community through cultural and educational means and became patrons of the artists and intellectuals. This group gravitated towards their own ethnic community, as the tsarist rulers had not succeeded in winning their loyalty and may not have intended to either. One of the most prominent figures among the Azerbaijani entrepreneurs and a leading figure in Azerbaijan’s cultural renaissance was Haji Zeinalabedin Taghiev. Taghiev, one of the wealthiest individuals in Baku, had made a fortune investing in the oil lands surrounding Baku and striking an oil fountain in 1878. A man with eclectic interests, he then founded refineries, a trading house, textile factories, a shipping company, a machine factory and a paper factory.67 Taghiev’s contribution to the arts, publishing and education in Azerbaijan was equally impressive. He was the founder of the first Azerbaijani national theater in 1873 and convinced the Duma to build a new theater in 1882.68 Taghiev was the owner and financier of several journals and newspapers and the founder of the first school for Muslim women (1896), as well as numerous evening schools for workers and villagers. He established a number of vocational and technical schools around Baku, including a school of horticulture and a technical school. Taghiev retained his national and religious outlook while engaging in educational pursuits. In his evening schools, which he established for the workers of his textile factory in 1903, and which the villager children of Akhmadly also attended, the Russian and “Azerbaijani” languages were taught.69 He has been quoted as saying, “The light of knowledge must also warm the poor village children who are not given opportunity by birth,” and “In order to introduce Muslims to the modern world, the road to education must be taken in order for them to recognize their inalienable human rights.”70 Taghiev also included the study of the Sharia in the curriculum of his school of horticulture. To the graduates of his Russo-Muslim Women’s School, Taghiev presented Korans on graduation day, accompanied by these words:

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My dear children! In the world there is no word more true and more just than the word of God, placed down in our holy Koran, which was bequeathed to us by the glorious Prophet when he parted from life. I give you the Koran so that your actions and efforts will be in accordance with its teachings; your words and deeds will be firm and honest; and you will always create good, win yourself a respected name, move upon the right path, struggle for progress and the advancement of your people, and live with honor and conscience. I wish you success, my children!71 After the 1890s, Taghiev drew closer to the leading figures of the Azerbaijani intelligentsia, journalists and publicists such as A. M. Topchibashev, H. B. Zardabi (Melikov), A. Aghaev, A. Hosseinzade and others. These individuals edited journals and papers financed by Taghiev. Among the publications owned by him were Kaspii, Hayat (Life), and Fiuzat. During the 1905–7 period, Kaspii became the major tribune for the national self-expression of the Azerbaijanis.72 Taghiev’s collaboration with the Azerbaijani intelligentsia reached its high point in March of 1905, when the leading representatives of the Azerbaijani entrepreneurs and intelligentsia gathered at Taghiev’s residence to write a petition to the Committee of Ministers titled “From the Muslims of the Caucasus,” in which they urged the authorities to extend reforms to Transcaucasia. The petition, penned by Topchibashev, an editor of Kaspii, denounced infringement on the Muslim’s political rights, as was manifested in their underrepresentation in organs of city self-government, state and military service, higher education, and the free professions. The petition also pointed to the Azerbaijanis’ deprivation of soslovie rights that were enjoyed by the Russian nobility and merchantry.73 During the last years of the tsarist regime the consciousness of the Azerbaijani merchants and entrepreneurs had evolved substantially. These groups learned to petition the authorities persistently and to use the tribune of the City Duma to defend the rights of their brethren. The Azerbaijani entrepreneurs also evolved into the protectors of their people and aided the development of Azerbaijani culture and thought by supporting educational, artistic and journalistic establishments. In this endeavor, the entrepreneurs came into contact with other social groups opposed to the colonial treatment of the Azerbaijanis. In addition to cultural and educational activity, the leading Muslim entrepreneurs involved themselves with charitable activities designed to elevate the living standards of their community. In April of 1913, Musa Naghiev, one of the leading Muslim entrepreneurs and civic-minded philanthropists, contributed funds for the founding of a surgical hospital especially designed to serve Muslims, with separate female and male divisions. The hospital, which was run by the Baku Muslim Charitable Society, was to begin operations in 1916.74 Once World War One had begun, the Muslim entrepreneurs worked together with the City Board to organize aid to the wounded and to help the government with the war effort. The Muslim Charitable Society designated 100 of its hospital beds for the war veterans.75

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Such willing “patriotic” participation on the part of the Muslim elite led the viceroy to contemplate granting the Muslims zemstvos—a move that had been discussed for over fifty years, but was never to materialize. In a muchpublicized public hearing held in April of 1916, the viceroy of the Caucasus, Nikolai Nikolaevich, led discussions on the possible introduction of zemstvos. Considering that grassroots organizations and citizens’ groups had aided the war effort, the introduction of zemstvos could have mobilized additional support for the war effort. However, the discussions did not result in zemstvos, and very little time remained for the old establishment.76 Eventually, due to discriminatory and negligent policies of tsarism, various elements of the Azerbaijani elite were ready to collaborate with one another. Old elites such as the beks, the ulema and the merchants were uneasy in their coexistence within the Russian system. The emerging elites, the entrepreneurs and the intelligentsia, were also dissatisfied and began to voice the will of the people. As the old and new elites began to be drawn together by their anticolonial sentiments, aided by a flourishing of the press, theater and literature, the concept of an independent Azerbaijani nation came into being.

9 THE AZERBAIJANI INTELLIGENTSIA, NATIONALISM AND REVOLUTION

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he Azerbaijani intelligentsia, which had come into being during the last decades of the nineteenth century, had evolved into the conscience of the nation by the 1905 revolution. In comparison, the Georgian and Armenian intelligentsia had appeared at a considerably earlier period and had already formed political parties by the end of the 1860s. The Georgians and Armenians were influenced by the Russian liberal intellectuals of the 1850s and 1860s, as well as by the populists of the 1870s and 1880s.1 As the educational reforms had been introduced in favor of the Christian population of Transcaucasia, the Armenian and Georgian youth were better prepared to enter Russian universities. It was in the Russian university centers that the Christian students from Transcaucasia made the acquaintance of such powerful Russian thinkers as Belinskii, Chernyshevskii, Herzen and Dobroliubov.2 The belated development of the Muslim intelligentsia in Azerbaijan was a result of low literacy rates among the population, censorship and also official neglect of Azerbaijani educational institutions. The Caucasian administration’s fear of the intelligentsia was well founded. Above all, it was the literary intelligentsia that voiced the needs and concerns of various strata of Azerbaijani society in the publications they had persistently supported. The intelligentsia formed the core of nationalist political groups that emerged on the scene after 1904. Most of the representatives of Azerbaijan in the State Duma rose from among the ranks of the intelligentsia. With the emergence of Azerbaijani-language periodicals for brief periods between the 1870s and 1905, it was the intelligentsia that articulated and defined the meaning of belonging to the Azerbaijani nation and speaking a language called Azerbaijani Turkish, rather than “Tatar.” The expression “Azerbaijani nation” first appeared in the 1880s in Keshkul, the only Azerbaijanilanguage journal published at the time.3 Furthermore, the issuing of Azeri publications was made possible by the cooperation between the intelligentsia and the Muslim entrepreneurs who were financing the newspapers. This partnership also extended to other areas of the national culture, including the construction of theaters, schools and libraries, where the leading Muslim entrepreneurs had become patrons of the national art and culture.

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Although the Azerbaijani intelligentsia preoccupied itself with literary activities during the last quarter of the nineteenth century, by the early twentieth century it had moved into the sphere of high politics. In particular, Ali Mardan Bek Topchibashi or Topchibashev (1862–193?), editor in chief of Kaspii and a Russian-educated lawyer, was a deputy to Gasprinski in the first two All-Russian Muslim Congresses, and was elected chairman of the Third All-Russian Muslim Congress in August of 1906.4 The Azerbaijanis, although they were not the most numerous of the Muslim nationalities of the empire, were second to the Tatars in assuming leadership of the all-Russian movement of Muslims. The Azerbaijani intelligentsia evolved from mimicking everything Russian to having an appreciation for their own ethnic heritage and ultimately striving to preserve their culture. Whereas the first generation of Azerbaijanis literate in Russian were Russophiles and viewed Russia as a civilizing source, the later generations of Azerbaijani thinkers, educated in Russia and abroad, were more critical, and looked to their own language and culture for inspiration. Yet the new generation had appreciation for Russian institutions of self-government and Russian constitutionalism. The first generation of the Azerbaijani intelligentsia was inadvertently created by the policies of viceroy Vorontsov, who employed the Azerbaijanis in the military and civil service as translators and bureaucrats.5 Educated in the Cadet Corps and the chanceries of the viceroy rather than the Russian universities, the select Russian-speaking Azerbaijanis were Russophiles. Among this first generation of the Azerbaijani intelligentsia, the writers Mirza Fath Ali Akhundzade or Akhundov, Abbas Quli Baki Khanov and Ahmad Bek Djavanshir are most prominent. During the second half of the nineteenth century, Azerbaijanis were purged from state service, and hence the next generations of the intelligentsia originated not from the midst of the civil servants, but from the graduates of Russian universities who were employed as teachers and journalists.6 Finding the option of civil service closed to them, the next generation of the intelligentsia was politically radicalized and turned against the autocracy. This attitude was compounded by its association with the radical Russian intelligentsia in the universities. The second generation of the intelligentsia came of age in the 1860s and 1870s when the educational reforms had been introduced into Transcaucasia and provided an opportunity for select Muslim children to attend the gimnaziums and those exhibiting talent to subsequently enroll in Russian universities. This group is best represented by Hasan Bek Zardabi (Melikov) a n d Najaf-bek Vezirov. Zardabi (1842–1907), a science teacher at the Baku modern school (real’noe uchilishche); journalist; and founder of the first Azerbaijanilanguage newspaper, Ekinchi (Ploughman), was called “the Father of the Muslims of the Caucasus” by his contemporaries. Born in the village of Zardab, he was one of the first Azerbaijani villagers to attend a Russian university. After completing the Tiflis gimnazium in 1861, Zardabi studied natural sciences at Moscow University. These were years of student activism in Moscow, and Zardabi’s thinking was profoundly changed by his environment. Returning to Azerbaijan, Zardabi engaged in cultural, journalistic and scientific pursuits. Zardabi was a

AZERBAIJANI INTELLIGENTSIA, NATIONALISM & REVOLUTION 131 staunch proponent of land reform in the Caucasus, and many of his articles in Kaspii, Kavkaz, Novoe Obozrenie and Zemledel’cheskaia Gazeta touched upon the condition of the peasantry and the tribal economy. In 1873, Zardabi founded the first Azerbaijani national theater. Two years later, he began publishing the first Turkic-language newspaper in the empire, the Baku newspaper Ekinchi, in which he tried to find “a common language with the people.” This newspaper subsequently became the center around which the intelligentsia gathered, until it was closed on the eve of the Russo-Turkish War of 1877–78. Among those who contributed to the paper were the poet Seid Azim Shirvani and the renowned Azerbaijani dramatist of the turn of the century, Najaf-bek Vezirov.7 The second generation of the intelligentsia was ridden with guilt, as it belonged to a minority of educated people, felt responsible for its brethren and was alienated from state service, which was closed to the Azerbaijanis. This group, which was mainly composed of professionals, was especially drawn to improving the life of the people through raising their cultural level by education, theater and exposure to new scientific methods. The second generation of the intelligentsia resembled the Russian populists in their idealizing of the simple folk and the peasantry, and in fact had been exposed to the narodniks in the Russian universities. The various editors, journalists and teachers active in Azerbaijan during the final quarter of the nineteenth century were self-conscious and aware of their social responsibilities, which weighed on their conscience. Zardabi’s letter to M. F. Akhundzade, written in 1873, reveals the weltanschauung of the new generation of the intelligentsia and its conflict with its predecessors. Zardabi takes offence to Akhundzade’s assertion that he has no time to write and needs rest, and openly marvels at how Akhundzade, unlike most people, has grown less serious with age: “Maybe you wonder why you must labor and not another, why you must labor for free and not even hope to receive appreciation, . . . but such thoughts must be driven away; one receives the reward within oneself, as he cleanses his conscience.”8 In order to realize its objectives, the intelligentsia sought the patronage of wealthy Azerbaijani merchants and industrialists. The cooperation between Zardabi and H. Z. A. Taghiev was particularly fruitful. Ten years after Zardabi had founded the Azerbaijani national theater, Taghiev came to his aid and lobbied for funds in the Baku City Duma. In 1883, Taghiev erected a new building for the theater on his own property. In 1906, Zardabi and Taghiev founded the Neshir i Sherif, a philanthropic society instrumental in establishing Azerbaijanilanguage schools. This society, according to Zenkovsky, “laid the foundation for the unification of Azerbaijani liberal national forces and was the prototype of a purely Azerbaijani national party.”9 The third generation of the intelligentsia, or the revolutionary generation, was not solely concerned with abstract philosophical treatises and purely cultural pursuits, nor did it limit its political activism to journalism. Having matured in the last decade of the nineteenth century when Baku had developed into a multinational industrial center, this group was readily influenced by revolutionary political ideas. From the ranks of the third generation of the Azerbaijani intelligentsia rose the future leaders of political parties as well as the fu-

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ture leaders of the Azerbaijani republic. Many members of this generation eventually lost their lives in the Great Purge. The political views of the third generation of the Azerbaijani intelligentsia were diverse and spanned the entire ideological spectrum, reflecting Azerbaijan’s pivotal position among three major civilizations. Those individuals who had been exposed to socialist and liberal thought in Russia and abroad embraced those ideas. Others, particularly the Sunnis, who had lived and traveled in Turkey and were influenced by the Young Turks, espoused pan-Turkism (also as a reaction to pan-Slavism). Those of a more traditional background supported pan-Islamic ideas. Roughly of the same age as the non-Muslim leaders of the Bolshevik revolution, this generation is represented by Nariman Narimanov, Ali Mardan Topchibashev and Ahmad Aghaev. Although differing in ideology, these men were dedicated to collective action and demonstrated leadership qualities that had been lacking in their predecessors. Nariman Narimanov (1870–1925), a former assistant at the Baku Alexander III Men’s Gimnazium, a writer and playwright, a medical student in Odessa, and one of the leaders of the socialist party Himmat, was to become the head of the Azerbaijani Sovnarkom after the Bolshevik takeover.10 Ali Mardan Topchibashev, the famous lawyer and editor of Kaspii, was leader of the Muslim union Ittifaq, head of the Muslim caucus of the Second Duma, and was also to become president of the first Azerbaijani Republic. The pan-Islamic journalist Ahmad Aghaev (1870–1938), who had been educated in Petersburg and Baku, and had lived abroad in Paris and Constantinople, was also a major political figure, a leader in the Difai and Himmat political parties and a contributor to Kaspii and other newspapers. The Azerbaijani Press The first step taken by the intelligentsia towards the formation of the Azerbaijani nation was the creation of a national literary language uniting the people. In Azerbaijan during the second half of the nineteenth century, a cultural renaissance was underway in which the literary language began to incorporate the everyday speech of the population. This was mainly accomplished through the work of the literati, dramatists and journalists, and others who were aware of the importance of the press and literature in the development of national self-consciousness. Since the periodical press played a key role in the formation of Azerbaijani national consciousness, and served as a fulcrum for the Azerbaijani intelligentsia in presenting its views, it is not surprising that the tsarist censors relentlessly persecuted journalists and used the slightest pretext to close native newspapers. When at the turn of century the Main Administration for Publishing Affairs (Glavnoe Upravlenie po Delam Pechati, GUDP) sent a report to the Ministry of Internal Affairs describing the activities of the Azerbaijani-language newspapers, the minister wrote in response, “I find the publishing of newspapers in the Tatar [Azerbaijani] language absolutely undesirable.”11

AZERBAIJANI INTELLIGENTSIA, NATIONALISM & REVOLUTION 133 In order to reach out to larger segments of the population, the Azerbaijani intelligentsia began serious petitioning efforts to establish newspapers and journals. The Kavkazskii Kalendar’, an official yearly publication of the Caucasian administration, reports that in the year 1889 there existed only one “Tatar”language journal, named Keshkul (Dervish Bowl), which was published in Tiflis and had a circulation of only 480 copies. At this date, in Transcaucasia, the Georgians had five, the Armenians seven, and the Russians fourteen journals in their own languages.12 The first newspaper to be published in the Azerbaijani language was Ekinchi, which was founded by Zardabi in 1875. The paper was essentially a one-man operation: in addition to being its founder, Zardabi was also the editor, publisher, author, correspondent and even typesetter. It had taken four years for Zardabi to obtain permission to publish the paper, and this permission was granted on the condition that the newspaper predominately concern itself with peasant life and agricultural affairs.13 Zardabi, however, had other hopes for Ekinchi, of which he wrote, “Ekinchi is a doctor who wants to cure us of centuries of sleep through prescribing bitter medications. He wants to save the future generation from the disease that has befallen our social organism.”14 The cure was cultural awakening and the disease was oblivion and lack of a national identity. The pages of Ekinchi managed to inform the readers of the controversial questions of the day and domestic and foreign news as well as Russia’s relations with other states, and continued to so until September of 1877, when it was shut down by government decree.15 This coincided with the Russo-Turkish War of 1877–78, during which the tsarist censors forbade the discussion of political questions.16 The off icials also seem to have feared the newspaper’s possible support of Turkey. During its short period of existence, Ekinchi had laid the foundation of Azerbaijani journalism and had gathered around itself the national intelligentsia, among whom were M. F. Akhundzade, Seid Azim Shirvani and Najaf-bek Vezirov. After Ekinchi, other Azerbaijani-language publications began to appear on the literary scene. Jalal E. Unsizade, a teacher in the Tiflis Cadet Corps, along with his brother Said Unsizade, began to publish the newspaper Zia (Aurora) between 1879 and 1880, after which they changed its name to Ziaii Ghafghazia (Aurora of the Caucasus) and continued to publish it until 1884. Between 1884 and 1891, they published the literary journal Keshkul, which covered an array of topics ranging from linguistics, literature, art and politics to the reform of the medresses, purifying the Azerbaijani language, opening of new schools and various other topics relating to the national culture. It was among the pages of this newspaper that the term “Azerbaijani nation” was first used.17 During the last decade of the nineteenth century Azerbaijani journalists were actively involved in defining their people’s identity. In particular, they sought to distinguish themselves from the term “Tatar,” which the tsarist officials used indiscriminately to designate the Muslim subjects of the empire. This marked the beginnings of a regionalist and ethno-territorial consciousness that superseded identification with the larger Turkic-speaking and Muslim population of the Russian empire.

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Jalal Unsizade in particular went to great lengths to prove that Azerbaijanis were a people distinct from the Tatars. In his petition to the GUDP in 1892, Unsizade, as the former editor of Keshkul, sought permission to publish yet another Azerbaijani-language publication, to be named Azerbaijan. He wrote that Keshkul had been unsuccessful as it was published in Tatar, Persian and Arabic, “three languages foreign to the mass of the Transcaucasian population.” Unsizade, arguing for the existence of an Azerbaijani language, wrote, The Muslim population of Transcaucasia speaks the so-called Azerbaijani dialect and does not understand the Tatar language in which the Crimean and Kazan Tatars converse. . . . Therefore it is necessary for the local Muslim population of Transcaucasia to have their own published organ, which would be written in the comprehensible Azerbaijani dialect and would be used to educate them and familiarize them with contemporary life and literature.18 Unsizade, like other Azerbaijani journalists who were trying to convince the tsarist authorities that the publishing of newspapers in their native language would benefit the autocracy, argued that his proposed publication of the journal Azerbaijan would be a means for the people to get acquainted with Russian literature and the Russian people. This clever ploy, however, did not convince the GUDP officials, who refused his request, and repeated their refusals during the 1890s.19 In December of 1893, Ahmad Bek Aghaev’s petition to GUDP for the publishing of an Azerbaijani-language newspaper in Baku, to be named Mashriq (The East), was denied. Aghaev, an editor of Kaspii, also tried to appease the authorities by proposing to include in the content of the paper translations of official news, Russian chronicles and judicial news, in addition to questions of local concern. This approach also did not succeed in winning the trust of the authorities, who considered Azerbaijani-language publications “undesirable.”20 Six years later, Nariman Narimanov continued in the tradition of Unsizade to stress the importance of an Azerbaijani-language publication to the authorities in his petition of October 1899 for the publishing of the newspaper Taza Khabarlar (New News). Narimanov ventured further to present the GUDP with an implicit threat, suggesting that if the Azerbaijanis were denied an intellectual outlet, they would gravitate towards the Muslim intelligentsia abroad and read their publications. Even the “most energetic administration,” he warned, would not be able to stop the flow of literature to Transcaucasia from the Muslim world. In his petition he wrote, For nearly two million of the Muslim population of Transcaucasia, there is not one newspaper published in the Tatar-Azerbaijani dialect in which the majority of the Muslims converse, whereas the Armenians and Georgians, with relatively the same population, publish twelve newspapers. . . . In this respect the Georgians and Armenians have more favorable circumstances than the Tatars [Azerbaijanis], who do not have command over the Rus-

AZERBAIJANI INTELLIGENTSIA, NATIONALISM & REVOLUTION 135 sian language and are also deprived of possibilities for satisfying their intellectual needs through publishing. These conditions benefit the publishers of journals in Persia, Turkey and even India.21 In order to further intimidate the authorities, Narimanov described the publications abroad as able to “confuse the minds” of the Azerbaijanis and a channel of influence for the foreign clergy. An Azerbaijani publication would therefore be an antidote to the influences from abroad and would draw the Transcaucasian Muslims to Russia, since the government’s policies would be explained in the publication. Narimanov concluded his petition by claiming, “Such a newspaper will be of great service to the task of civilizing the dark masses of Transcaucasian Muslims.”22 These polemics were convincing to the minister of internal affairs as well as the minister of education, who—after having investigated Narimanov’s police records—were persuaded of the latter’s loyalty and “love of everything Russian.”23 The ministers voiced their approval for the publication. Narimanov’s police records indicate that he wrote a self-instruction of the Russian language and had “fame and authority among the Muslims.” Furthermore, the police were aware that the “local capitalists” would give Narimanov the means to publish his paper.24 Were it not for Golitsyn’s interference, Narimanov’s plans would have materialized. In February of 1900, Golitsyn wrote to the minister of internal affairs that he disapproved of Narimanov’s petition, as it would cause “serious troubles” for the censors. Such a paper, which sought to juxtapose non-Russian (inordcheskaia) and Russian life, according to Golitsyn, “does not respond to the current tasks of our state policy in this region.”25 The Azerbaijani intelligentsia persevered in the face of Golitsyn’s relentless policies, which were even more restrictive than those of the central ministries. In 1905, when it had won a relatively free press, the intelligentsia intensified its literary and journalistic activities in order to enlighten its people. The pages of the liberal Kaspii in the year 1905 are filled with editorial appeals to the people to awaken and to join the effort to defend the nation against “oblivion.” Ahmad Bek Aghaev and Ali Mardan Topchibashev, the prolific and revolutionary editors of Kaspii, were extremely active during this period, supplying their readers with a constant flow of analysis and commentary. In March of 1905 Aghaev wrote a provocative article titled “Necessary Clarifications to the Muslim Petition,” which appeared in two issues of Kaspii. This article was not only a call to action, telling the Azerbaijanis that they must set aside ideas of Qismat, or a “preordained fate,” and make their own future, but it was also a lesson in national identity. Aghaev likened the Muslim minorities of the empire to children whom the mother only feeds when they are crying out and wrote his compatriots that it was a crime to remain silent and to sentence themselves to oblivion. “The sun does not warm those who stand in the shade,” he warned, referring to the recently won democratic rights of the 1905 revolution, which he hoped would also benefit the Muslims of the Caucasus. The responsibility of bringing the needs of the Azerbaijanis to the attention of the law-

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makers, according to Aghaev, rested with the intelligentsia as well as the wealthy. He explained, “The main and most distinguished role in this mission befalls the intelligentsia and the wealthy. The first, with its intellect, talents and skills, comes to the aid of the people. . . . The second group, with its riches, will give the intelligentsia the material possibility of fulfilling this task.”26 Aghaev in his writings referred interchangeably to the Muslims of the Caucasus and those of the empire as a whole. Aghaev’s approach, which represented a major trend in the thinking of the intelligentsia, was an amalgam of pan-Turkic and pan-Islamic ideology, the two appearing side by side and devoid of contradiction—yet another outcome of Azerbaijan’s position at the Ottoman and Persian frontiers. This unique synthesis was unlike that found in the remainder of the Islamic world, where Arabic and Turkic identities clashed with each other and with the idea of a united Muslim umma. Islamic modernists in the Russian empire avoided the conflict between their religious and ethnic identities because the majority of Russia’s Muslims were of Turkic origins. As Aghaev explained to Kaspii’s readers, “All of this mass is composed of not only one religious community but also one ethnic organism, as all Russian Muslims, with little exception, belong to the Great Turko-Tatar race, speak almost the same languages and follow the same religion.”27 The Caucasian administration was well aware of the existence of a segment of the intelligentsia that, in the words of the Baku chief of police, “in general strive to make progress on the basis of Islam and Turkish ethnicity.” The police mistrusted this group as well as the more traditional clergy and were ambivalent towards both camps, not knowing where the interests of Russia lay, as they considered the clergy capable of forging foreign ties and the modernists capable of stirring revolution and cooperating with the Young Turks.28 In Transcaucasia pan-Islamic and pan-Turkic ideas did not preclude the existence of yet a third trend of thought: regional particularism and emphasis on the unique needs of the Muslim people concentrated in Baku and Elizavetpol guberniia, the majority of whom were Azerbaijanis. Regionalism and concern with local issues of the Muslim Turkic community was the strongest of the three tendencies and offered a viable synthesis of the intellectual trends of the times. A. M. Topchibashev, although a leader in the All-Russian Muslim Congresses, placed much emphasis on local activism and the founding of regional newspapers intelligible to the people. When the Azerbaijani-language newspaper Shiarky Rus’ (East of Russia) began to be delivered to Baku from Tiflis in 1905, Topchibashev hailed it as fulfilling “the important role the press in general plays in the enlightenment of the masses.” Gasprinski’s Tarjuman, which had been the only publication for the empire’s thirty million Muslims for two decades, according to Topchibashev was unable to fulfill this role for the Azerbaijanis. The task of Tarjuman, “to serve the interests of all the Muslims living in different corners of the empire,” in Topchibashev’s opinion, was not within the strength of one newspaper.29 Furthermore, all-Russian newspapers were incapable of addressing concerns of a purely local nature. Topchibashev’s editorials in Kaspii emphasized the necessity to “equalize the rights of the Caucasians with those of the inner parts

AZERBAIJANI INTELLIGENTSIA, NATIONALISM & REVOLUTION 137 of Russia.” However, he still opted for Russian-style political institutions and operating within the Russian system. “In other words,” he wrote, “our region must first of all receive zemstvos, juries and all other organizations that we have hitherto been deprived of and the absence of which has hindered our cultural development.”30 Objecting to the limitation of the Muslim’s representation in city Dumas, Topchibashev openly denounced the restriction of Muslim representation to one-fifth of the Duma members and asked for the abolition of the law of 1892.31 Topchibashev, Aghaev and other members of the liberal literary intelligentsia believed in the possibility of peaceful and legal reform. Pinning their hopes on the October Manifesto, they considered it of paramount importance to bring the condition of their people to the attention of the authorities, who would presumably then extend the liberties won by the constitutional revolution to Azerbaijan. Topchibashev, trained as a lawyer, naturally placed his faith in legal avenues of action. In one of his articles, he had hailed the October Manifesto as being “the sound of the archangel’s trumpet, announcing civil liberty in Russia to the entire world.”32 The Caucasian administration, however, was unresponsive to the appeals of the intelligentsia, and dashed all their hopes for fulfillment and selfexpression through the press. These conditions aroused the intelligentsia, which had hitherto concentrated on literary, educational and cultural activities, and thrust this group to political action. The political activities of the Azerbaijani intelligentsia began with petitioning the authorities in the Caucasus and St. Petersburg and extended to participation in the All-Russian Muslim Congresses and the State Dumas, as well as the formation of political parties. Eventually their activism would also involve them in the Persian Revolution of 1905–11. Legal Activism “The Petition of the Muslims of the Caucasus to the Committee of Ministers,” penned by Topchibashev and submitted in February of 1905, was a decisive moment in the Azerbaijani intelligentsia’s legal activism and assumption of the role of leader of the nation. It was the first public assertion of the rights of the Azerbaijanis as a people as well as an indictment of Russian colonial practices. This document revealed the transformation of the intelligentsia from a meek group, trying to convince the authorities that reform was to the state’s advantage, to a confident and courageous group, well aware of its rights. The petition openly denounced Russia’s role in the Caucasus, which had turned the Azerbaijanis into a people with the least rights in the region. It stated, “In the course of one hundred years, not only has the Caucasus not been blessed, but all has been done to artificially arrest its productivity, spiritual power and material well-being.”33 Unequal rights of the Azerbaijanis, compared with the other subjects of the empire, was a major point of concern. While they paid equal and in some cases heavier taxes, dues and duties, the Muslims of the Caucasus were labeled inorodtsy or “of another stock” and were consequently limited in their privileges

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and rights. “The Muslims of the Caucasus are de facto locked out of all higher civil and military posts. . . . In spite of the fact that Muslims shed blood in the army on the same basis as other nationalities, they are eliminated from the commanding posts,” wrote Topchibashev. Muslims, according to the petition, were also restricted in their rights to choose occupations among the free professions. Muslims with specialization were not allowed to be private tutors in the houses of Christians, they were not allowed to enter medical institutes, and Muslim students were denied government stipends. Muslims were also denied the soslovie rights of the nobility, merchantry and peasantry and in some areas of the empire were prohibited from living freely and acquiring immovable property and engaging in trade.34 The petition attempted to defend the cultural integrity of the nation by focusing attention on the Azerbaijani language. It stated, “Our native language has so been purged from all educational establishments that even the reading of a book in one’s native language is considered an offence. . . . The Muslims suffer under the heavy threats of the censor,” as the twenty-five million Muslims of the empire only had one organ of the press, Gasprinski’s Tarjuman.35 The teaching of the Azerbaijani language, literature and history as well as Muslim theology was demanded by the petitioners, as well as free elementary education, access to all educational establishments, and the right of Muslims to establish schools, open libraries and publish in their own language.36 The petition also discussed the Caucasian administration’s destructive role in the region. The intelligentsia complained that the chinovniks assigned to the area were incompetent, possessed a low moral quality and in general were rejects “driven out from service in other ministries.” In addition, imperial reforms were applied to the region in an altered form. Legal reform was introduced without a jury, Muslim participation in city government was restricted, peasants did not receive financial assistance from land banks after land reform, and zemstvos were never introduced.37 The demands put forth in the conclusion of the petition were of a national character, as they addressed the needs of all strata of Azerbaijani society, presented as a collective whole. The first demand was the rescinding of limitations and omissions of imperial laws and the granting of equality with the Russians in political, civil and religious rights. Other demands included the rights of Azerbaijanis to freely choose their own representatives; to occupy positions in state service and to enter the free professions without limitations; to live freely where they chose, own property and engage in trade; and to be judged in matters concerning marriages, heredity and family on the basis of Muslim religious laws.38 The petition to the Committee of Ministers also addressed interests of particular social groups. For the workers, it demanded the extension of legislation concerned with improving the life of the factory and industrial workers, which had already been applied to Russian workers. For the peasants, it asked for financial assistance to redeem their lands; establishment of peasant land banks; cessation of all colonization movements to the Caucasus, guaranteeing peasants their winter and summer pastures; and introduction of zemstvos. The

AZERBAIJANI INTELLIGENTSIA, NATIONALISM & REVOLUTION 139 Muslim clergy was to be granted the right to select its own religious officials, and Muslim officials were to be relieved of the precondition of knowing Russian. Muslim administration under the auspices of the Ministry of Internal Affairs was to be abolished, and mosque properties were to be returned to the Muslim community. The intelligentsia emphasized its rights to choose professions freely, attend universities, publish in the native language and enjoy civil liberties. The merchants were to travel freely and be granted long-term passports, as were the merchants of European Russia. The petition concluded that “only with these guarantees of rights can the Caucasus move towards a civil society.”39 The genesis of Azerbaijani nationalism began in the period leading up to and including the 1905 revolution, when Azerbaijani publicists, for once free to write as they pleased, educated the public and developed the concept of a distinct national language, distinct needs of the Muslims of the region (as opposed to the other Muslims of the empire), and a distinct history of their own, separate from that of the other Turkic people of the empire. An independent Azerbaijani state was not to be formed until 1918; however, the groundwork was already being laid during the 1905 period. Political Activism In its initial phase, Azerbaijani nationalism was merely cultural and did not include ambitions of a separate statehood. The intelligentsia strove to attain autonomy within the boundaries of the Russian empire and simply requested that their nation be treated on equal grounds with the other nationalities, and that they not be discriminated against as Muslims. During the first Russian revolution, the trend among the Muslims of the Caucasus was to join all-Russian movements rather than vie for separatism. In the First All-Russian Muslim Congress, held in Nizhni Novgorod on August 15, 1905, the Azerbaijanis were represented by Topchibashev, one of three leading figures in the Congress. The resolution drafted by the first Congress consisted of five points: (1) unity of all Russia’s Muslims in political and cultural questions; (2) establishment of a new democratic order in the empire; (3) abolishing of discrimination and injustice against Muslims and assurance of equality with Russians in legal, political, religious and property rights; (4) freedom for Muslims to open schools and publish their own books, journals and newspapers; and (5) establishment of local Muslim assemblies that would meet periodically.40 In January of 1906, the Union of Russian Muslims or Rusyanin Musleman Ittifaqi (Ittifaq) was created by the Second All-Russian Muslim Congress, which met in St. Petersburg. Ittifaq cooperated with the Constitutional Democrats in the elections to the Second Duma and pledged its loyalty to the tsar. The Azerbaijanis, however, found little opportunity to lobby for their cause through parliamentary means. Their representation fell from six candidates in the First Duma to four in the Second Duma and one in the Third Duma.41 The decline in the number of Azerbaijanis in the State Dumas was a result of Stolypin’s new discriminatory electoral laws, which drastically reduced the non-Russian representation in the Dumas after July of 1907. In addition,

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being the only Muslim nationality of the empire with a predominately Shi’ite population, the Azerbaijanis were not as comfortable with their position in organizations uniting Russia’s Muslims as were the Tatars, who shared more closely in their religious beliefs with the remaining, Sunni Muslims. Shi’ism strengthened the Azerbaijanis’ identification with Persia, as it was the Persian religious authorities, the mujtaheds, whom the majority of the population revered. Although the Azerbaijanis did participate in the Muslim Congresses, by 1905 they had also produced their own political parties, which concentrated on the special needs of the Azerbaijanis. Himmat, founded in 1904 by Nariman Narimanov and Mashadi Azizbekov, was the first clandestine political party formed in Azerbaijan, with ties to the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party, RSDLP. Unlike the liberal literary intelligentsia gathered around Kaspii, the Himmatists did not believe in the October Manifesto, which they viewed as a mockery of parliamentary systems. Himmat was also active in organizing the migrant Persian workers of Baku into a new workers’ organization called the Ijtimai Amiyyun (Persian for Social Democrat). The Himmat’s activities, however, were short lived, and the organization was dismantled by the tsarist police during the Stolypin era.42 The Azerbaijani socialists and the Baku branch of the RSDLP did not have significant support among the mass of the population in the revolutionary period of 1905. Senator Kuzminskii, sent to Baku to prepare a report about the causes of the “Tatar-Armenian” massacres, wrote that between 1902 and 1905 there were almost no Azerbaijani participants in the social-democratic and workers’ movement centered around Baku. Although the socialists actively sought to recruit Muslims, according to Kuzminskii, Muslims on the whole did not participate in antigovernment demonstrations and were “little receptive to the ideas of socialism and other political teachings.” He attributed the Muslims’ indifference to socialism to its conflict with the “basis of Muslim law,” which “cannot conceive of any other government but a theocracy.”43 The Baku Social-Democrats, using the language of class, asked the Muslim workers to unite with workers of other nationalities in order to fight their common enemy, the capitalists. A proclamation issued in July of 1905 stated, Brother Muslim workers: Your life and situation, as that of the workers of other nationalities, is wretched, difficult and tedious, because the capitalist factory owners and manufacturers exploit you and take away your earnings. The autocratic Russian tsar, chinovniks and police are on the side of the capitalists.44 The Muslim workers, however, after 1905 considered the Christian Armenians and Russians of all classes to be their common enemy, and not the Muslim entrepreneurs and factory owners, who like them were indignant of religious and ethnic discrimination. The Muslim workers could not easily envision the distant tsarist bureaucrats as their opponents; however, the more skilled Russian, Armenian, and other Christian laborers and foremen were easily targeted as their competitors and the usurpers of opportunities that could have been

AZERBAIJANI INTELLIGENTSIA, NATIONALISM & REVOLUTION 141 theirs. For the Azerbaijani workers, their religion and ethnicity was a sure determinant of their social position, and hence they were more receptive to religious and ethnic-based appeals than to the language of class. An Azerbaijani political organization that had some influence among the people was the group Difai (Defense), founded in Ganje in 1905 in the aftermath of the Azerbaijani-Armenian War. Tsarist police reports indicate that Difai’s leaders mostly belonged to the lower rungs of the Muslim clergy, with the exception of the publicist Ahmad Aghaev, who was a member of its central committee. The goal of the organization, as understood by the police chief, was to defend the interests of the people against Russian encroachment. Difai concentrated its efforts on improving the condition of the peasantry by raising their cultural level and advising them to withhold dues owed to the landlords. The police chief did not find Difai overtly political; however, he observed with great acuity, “In their work I see the first steps towards the political training of the people.”45 Police reports on Difai portray a sophisticated organization. Difai advocated friendly relations with the Armenians and considered the Russians to be their main foe. Consequently, by 1907 the organization was also engaging in acts of terror against local tsarist civil and military officials. Difai was effective as it had two to three representatives in every village; according to the authorities followed “social-democratic” teachings; and attracted a wide variety of social groups, including peasants, merchants, students and professionals. Its following did not include the beks, whom it had tried to expropriate.46 The tsarist police feared that Difai would soon begin to demand autonomy for the Muslims of the Caucasus. The local office of the Ministry of Interior in 1907 considered Difai to be “undisputedly a political party” and suggested that it be destroyed “as it endangers government interests.” This organization was also found to have “criminal goals” of boycotting government establishments and antagonizing relations between landlords and peasants.47 By the end of the revolutionary period of 1905–7, in the Caucasus the hand of tsarism had been exposed, and the representatives of the Azerbaijani and Armenian people blamed the autocracy for the ethnic warfare of 1905. The Armenian Revolutionary Federation or Dashnaktsutiun, in a proclamation dated 1905, wrote that tsarism “turns one section of the population against the other, one nationality against the other.” The Dashnaks, accusing the Caucasian administration of arming the Azerbaijanis and instigating the 1905 massacres, cited the noninterference of the Russian troops as evidence of their complicity. The proclamation stated the administration claimed they had insufficient troops, “but when workers demonstrate, they have enough troops to turn the entire city into a military camp. Yet now it does not benefit them.” In their conclusion the Dashnaks vowed, “We shall concentrate all our forces against our common enemy, the main culprit of these pogroms, the autocracy, . . . and its representatives, the police and gendarmerie.”48 The Dashnaks remained true to their word and in May of 1905 took responsibility for the killing of the Baku governor, Prince Nakashidze, by a bomb thrown at the Hotel Metropole.49 In the proclamation they issued taking re-

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sponsibility for killing the governor, they addressed the Armenian people: “Nakashidze is no more. . . . The Baku governor of the days of 6–9 [February] is no more; only justice is eternal, and this time it was delivered by the hand of the Armenian revolutionaries.”50 Both the Armenian and the Azerbaijani revolutionary intelligentsia had concluded that they must direct their energies against the autocracy and not against one another. The Armenian and Azerbaijani intelligentsia had independently arrived at the conclusion that they must cooperate with each other for the attainment of the regional interests they shared in common. The Kavkazskii Vestnik, an official monthly published under the supervision of the Caucasian administration, also confirmed that the Caucasian intelligentsia were “in general very tolerant of one another.”51 This cooperation was to eventually develop into the Transcaucasian parliament or Seim, after the disintegration of Russian control in 1918. The Azerbaijani intelligentsia had made great strides between the last decades of the nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth century. It had matured from being uncertain about its own identity and an emulator of everything Russian, to becoming the conscience of its people and the creator of the concept of the Azerbaijani nation. The intelligentsia befriended various social groups, gave them a collective identity, and defended and voiced their interests. In addition, the intelligentsia strove to foil tsarist stratagems for creating ethnic animosity in Transcaucasia and exposed the role of the autocracy in the bloody February days of 1905. In the last quarter the nineteenth century, the Azerbaijani intelligentsia had developed political consciousness, as a result of the discriminatory policies of the autocracy. The unequal relationship of all sections of Azerbaijani society with respect to the Russian and other Christian nationalities of the empire reinforced particularism and deterred the Azerbaijanis from integrating into the Russian system. In a sense, Azerbaijani nationalism was a response to competing nationalisms, particularly pan-Slavism and Armenian nationalism. Nationalism was the intellectual response to the marginalizing of the Azerbaijanis in their own territory and the narrowing of their opportunities in the face of competition from other ethnic groups. But for the mass of the Azerbaijanis, who were resentful of their lot, nationalism was still an esoteric concept in 1905. Lagging behind the intelligentsia, the masses could not see the hand of tsarism behind their predicament, and hence vented their resentment on their immediate rivals, the Armenians. Political Islam in the Last Years of the Russian Empire In the aftermath of the first Russian Revolution and with the meetings of the All-Russian Muslim Congresses and emergence of political groups such as Ittifaq and Difai, Islam had gained more credence as a political force in Azerbaijan.

AZERBAIJANI INTELLIGENTSIA, NATIONALISM & REVOLUTION 143 Official tsarist correspondence during the 1908–17 period is especially sensitive to the spread of political Islam and pan-Islamic ideas in the area. The officials believed that Islam did not exist separate from politics, and hence viewed this religion as inherently dangerous. After the Young Turks assumed power in the Ottoman Empire in the summer of 1908, tsarist authorities became increasingly anxious about the spreading of pan-Islamic teachings in Russia through the activities of the Turkish emissaries. By 1910, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had cautioned the viceroy of the Caucasus that the Young Turks “do not intend to restrict their propaganda to the Turkish borders.”52 The Ministry’s main concern was that the Turks would make use of the Islamic revival in the Russian empire if complications arose in Russo-Turkish relations. It feared that in the event of war, the Ottoman army would have potential allies and could even orchestrate uprisings in parts of the Caucasian army. The Gendarme administration in Baku even asserted that the Ottomans had already organized a special committee dedicated to revolutionizing the Azerbaijani soldiers and officers.53 Believing that the Young Turks had already infiltrated the empire under the guise of mullahs and traders, the viceroy ordered local authorities to keep close surveillance over Turkish travelers and the Turkish consulate. All mullahs who had visited Turkey within ten years were also suspect, as were the medresse and mektab teachers, who were thought to spread pan-Islamic propaganda among the masses. In sum, the viceroy requested of his governors to “observe the progress of the pan-Islamic movement among the population, in all of its details and manifestations.”54 The local governors’ reports indeed confirm the validity of the panIslamic resurgence. In Baku province, during the year 1910, officials reported on “an awakening of self-consciousness among the Muslim masses and particularly the urban population.”55 This was ascertained through observing a greater frequency of plays, school activities and publications among the Muslims. According to the tsarist authorities, the only obstacle to the success of the pan-Islamic movement was the opposition of the Shi’ite Muslims to the authority of the Ottoman Sultan, whom they, unlike the Sunnis, did not recognize as Caliph of all Muslims.56 The tsarist police continued to monitor the activities of the pan-Islamic movement in the Caucasus, and once the Balkan War had begun in 1912, official sensitivity to political Islam heightened. The authorities were concerned that pan-Islamic influences would lead the Muslims of the Russian empire to “an uprising in defense of Islam.”57 Consequently, local police kept a close eye on the activities of the “Turkish emissaries,” whom they accused of “awakening religious fanaticism and enmity towards Christianity.”58 Individuals of Turkish origin were subject to routine searching of their belongings, and those in possession of Persian or Turkish newspapers containing critical articles on Russia were labeled as “Turkish spies and pan-Islamic emissaries.”59 By November of 1914, the administration of the Caucasus was even granting 200-ruble rewards for those who successfully apprehended such emis-

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saries, as they were believed to be capable of inciting mass rebellion, in the event that Russia and Turkey went to war.60 Islam had gained such political influence that even former Social Democrats had began to use the language of religion in their newly constituted political parties. The nationalist party Musavat (Equality), which was founded in October of 1911 by Mehmet Emin Resulzade, called for the “unification of all Moslem peoples without discrimination by nation or religious practices.”61 The Musavat party program of 1912 called for equality of all the empire’s Muslims with the other nationalities of the Russian empire.62 However, although Musavat espoused pan-Islamic ideology and its founder was sympathetic to the panTurkic movement, the party supported the tsarist regime during the First World War.63 The political activities of Musavat were minimal until after February of 1917, when it was lured by the Bolshevik promises of national self-determination and supported a federative democratic republic as a future form of government.64 In the last years of the Romanov dynasty, the police were particularly concerned about the resurgence of revolutionary activity among the Muslims of Daghestan, an area historically inimical to Russian expansion and fertile grounds for the spreading of mystical Islamic groups. The authorities closely followed the activities of the Daghestan Pan-Islamic Committee and described the mullahs and qadis associated with the groups as “false pretenders and mercenaries” who controlled the interpretation of the Sharia.65 Citing the founding of numerous Arabic-language schools as indicative of the movement’s strength, the tsarist authorities claimed that pan-Islam had succeeded in planting “fanatical hatred towards the Russians” in the hearts of the natives; they were asking for “Daghestan for the Daghestanis.”66 World War One further complicated official policy towards the Muslims of the empire. Believing the Muslims to be morally against the war and seeing it in religious terms, the tsarist authorities were reluctant to recruit from among the Muslims of the Caucasus. The viceroy’s administration was convinced that the empire’s Muslims would oppose fighting a Muslim power (Turkey) as this contradicted the Sharia, and hence the Muslims were called upon to volunteer as laborers rather than armed soldiers. This insulted and infuriated the Azerbaijani Muslims, who experienced undisguised discrimination, and further discouraged any identification with the Romanov dynasty.67 Even those Muslims who had volunteered to aid the war effort through participation in special urban commissions were suspected by the authorities and appeared on police listings.68 During the war, official mistrust of the empire’s Muslims reached its highest point. As if to confirm the regime’s worst fears of pan-Islamic collusion against Russia, the sheikh ul-Islam of Constantinople issued a proclamation calling for a holy war against Russia.69 In 1916, after Russia and Turkey had directly engaged in war, the viceroy’s administration reported the formation of a group of “Muslim pan-Islamists” in Baku whose goals were purportedly to provide support to the Turks in their war with Russia by inciting the population of Transcaucasia to a “revolutionary uprising.”70

AZERBAIJANI INTELLIGENTSIA, NATIONALISM & REVOLUTION 145 Russia’s troubled relations with its Muslim population in the Caucasian region continued to the very end of Romanov rule. As disorders enveloped Baku and its environs beginning in February of 1916 as a result of food shortages, official communiqués urged the use of violence against the Azerbaijani population.71 The Baku city governor was officially reprimanded for hesitating to use arms against protesting civilians, most of whom were women and children.72 As Romanov rule began to falter in the Caucasian borderlands of the empire following the revolution of February 1917, the Azerbaijani population easily abandoned support for officialdom and embraced the revolutionary promises of national equality, bread, land and peace.

CONCLUSION

T

he study of Russia’s relations with its national peripheries is as relevant today as it was over a century ago. With the political disorders unleashed in the Caucasus after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, this region’s history is and has been on the forefront of political analysis. Names such as Shamil and Vorontsov have even found a place in the daily newspapers. Far from being an esoteric subject of study, the history of the Caucasus and Russian involvement in the area have become part of an essential body of knowledge, without which we cannot make sense out of contemporary political events. Furthermore, the world is now confronted with dilemmas, the seeds of which were sown under imperial and Soviet power. The implications of the nationality policies of tsarism, for example, are still evident in Nagorno-Karabagh, Chechnya and elsewhere in the former Soviet Union, where territorial conflicts remain unresolved. The Russian policy of assimilating elites has given rise to a Russified and bilingual national leadership in the newly constituted independent states of Eurasia, which cannot easily disengage from the Russian sphere. The first conclusion drawn from studying the formation of the Caucasian administration and the emergence of a colonial policy is that a well-formulated and consistent colonial policy did not exist and was a myth. The Russian administrators of the Caucasus were above all pragmatists and were willing to forgo ideology and cultural biases in favor of political stability. Yet disagreements existed both within the central administration and the regional bureaucracy over the best means to assure that stability. Throughout the imperial period, the Caucasian administration was locked in an internal struggle between the integrationists and the localists; and it was the localists who usually prevailed. The power struggle between the ministries in St. Petersburg and the Caucasian proconsuls also continued up to the demise of the old regime and resurfaced under Soviet rule. During times of political instability when Russian hegemony was in imminent danger, the tsars often resolved the tensions between the center and the periphery in favor of the latter, granting the viceroys of the Caucasus plenipotentiary powers. However, after the government regained control, the centripetal tendencies of the central bureaucracy once again began to encroach upon local autonomy. Tsarist colonial policy affected Azerbaijani society in a dualistic and paradoxical manner. While the elite was co-opted and ostensibly enjoyed privileges, it was discredited in the eyes of the local population and lost its traditional

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position of social leadership. Such was the case with the traditional elites who had collaborated with the Russians. On the other hand, the mass of the peasantry and the unskilled workers fared even worse under tsarist rule. In Russia’s attempt to model the social structure of Transcaucasia in its own image, peasants had been enserfed and society had been officially stratified. Plans for creating a Muslim nobility were meticulously drawn, yet were never put into effect, further antagonizing the potential supporters of autocracy. In attempting to create a new social basis for its colonial regime, tsarism invariably sowed the seeds of its own demise. The first generation of the Azerbaijani intelligentsia originated from the translators and staff of Vorontsov’s own chancery. In the last quarter of the nineteenth century, the literary intelligentsia was actively involved in its people’s self-definition as a group distinct from the official term “Tatar.” This group was able to rally around itself the representatives of other social groups and voice their grievances to the central authorities in the form of petitions and finally through participation in the State Dumas. However, politically, as was characteristic of a frontier people, the Azerbaijani intelligentsia had complex and overlapping loyalties, establishing cultural and intellectual links with Persia, Turkey and Russia and creating an uneasy synthesis of these three traditions. Indeed, both the Azerbaijanis and the Russians were conditioned in their attitudes and their actions by the frontier position of the Caucasus. The Russian administrators could not disregard the pull Islamic neighbors such as Persia and the Ottoman Empire exerted over Caucasia’s Muslim population. The Azerbaijanis’ affinity for their Muslim brethren made conversion, military conscription and assimilation increasingly impractical. Domestic policy could not be considered independently from international affairs, as the lines between these spheres blurred on the borderlands of the empire. The Muslim Caucasians were transformed by being situated on the crossroads of three great empires and even after independence must contend with the opposing influences of Russia, Turkey and Iran, each of which considers the region to be within its own sphere of influence. The heirs to the tsarist colonial policies in both the Soviet and post-Soviet periods have been forced to contend with this ambiguous legacy. An easy resolution of the tangled relationship between the Muslim Caucasus and its powerful neighbors is not in sight.

APPENDIX Azerbaijan Before the Russian Conquest

T

he lands of Caucasian Azerbaijan, situated to the north of the Araxes River, west of the Caspian Sea, east of the Armenian plateau and south of the Caucasian Mountains, lie on the crossroads of Europe and Asia.1 Azerbaijan has historically occupied not only a geographical frontier, but has also been on the cultural frontier of East and West, Islam and Christianity, nomadism and an urban lifestyle. The frontier has also meant an uncertain political fate for Azerbaijan, which has been conquered by the Persian, Roman, Arab, Turkish and Russian empires, and did not have independent statehood until the early twentieth century. Since antiquity, Azerbaijan was predominately influenced by Persia. Part of ancient Media and Achaemenid Persia between the seventh and fourth centuries B .C . and Sassanid Persia in the second century A .D ., Azerbaijan was bequeathed a strong Persian cultural influence. The etymology of the word Azerbaijan is traced to the Persian word Azer, or “fire,” Azerbaijan being the “Land of Fire.” Due to its plentiful reserves of natural gas, which created “eternal fires,” the lands of Azerbaijan became centers for Zoroastrian temples and attracted pilgrims from lands as far off as India.2 The Caucasus was under Sassanid and Byzantine rule until the seventh century, when the Arab Khalifate conquered Azerbaijan and converted the population to Islam.3 The Arabs ruled Azerbaijan until the end of the tenth century, after which it was conquered by the Turkish Seljuq dynasty. The twelfth century was a period of cultural flourishing, the pinnacle of which was Nizami Ganjavi’s writing of the Khamse, which consisted of five books in verse. The Mongols invaded the region in 1221, destroying cities and uprooting the people.4 During the next two centuries, the region experienced a great influx of Turkish-speaking people, who mixed with the local Persian and nomadic population, resulting in the development of the Azerbaijani dialect.5 In the fifteenth century, the local Shirvanshah family ruled Azerbaijan. Between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, the region came under the control of the Persian Safavids (1502–1722), under which Shi’ism was adopted by the majority of the population, binding them closer to Iran.6 After the destruction of the Safavid

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dynasty by invading Afghans in 1722, Peter the Great briefly occupied the Caspian coastline, hoping to extend his domain to the Indian Ocean. Although the first contact of northern Azerbaijan with the Russians dates as far back as the reign of Ivan the Terrible (1533–84), it was not until Peter the Great’s rule (1682–1725) that Russian troops appeared on the coast of the Caspian Sea. Peter’s conquests were not sustained by his successors, and the Russian armies were driven back in 1735 by Nadir Shah Afshar, who had established his rule over Persia.7 Russian interest in the area did not resume until the reign of Catherine the Great, which also coincided with a period of unrest and instability in Iran.8 Lying on the frontier of the Persian and Turkish empires, Azerbaijan’s unique cultural heritage had formed by incorporating elements from each of these civilizations. Nomadic migration, pilgrimages and political control had reinforced these influences. In the early nineteenth century, Russia appeared as a third cultural force, and was to dramatically alter traditional Azerbaijani society. The Khanates The khanates emerged in the mid-eighteenth century as a result of the interregnum in neighboring Iran, following the assassination of Nadir Shah Afshar in 1747. For half a century, Iran was fragmented among rivaling groups contending for the throne. In the absence of a central government and under the conditions of a power vacuum, Iran could not even maintain the semblance of rule over its Transcaucasian possessions, and independent khanates came into being in northern Azerbaijan. By the end of the 1790s, however, Aga Muhammad Khan, the founder of the new Qajar dynasty, was firmly in control of Persia as well as the Transcaucasian lands, bringing the independence of the Azerbaijani khanates to an end.9 Yet the Qajars did not succeed in absolutely reversing the independence of the khanates, which retained some of their powers and became semi-independent. In the lands of northern Azerbaijan, following the collapse of the Safavids, the erstwhile regional representatives of the Persian rulers (naibs) had assumed independence and declared themselves khans. During the 1740s, eighteen independent khanates and a number of sultanates (smaller areas that were vassals to khans) came into existence in Azerbaijan. The strongest and most stable of the khanates were those of Sheki, Karabagh and Kuba—their strength mainly being the ability to finance a powerful army, which often included the hiring of mercenaries.10 The khanates were unstable entities, as their independence was threatened not only by the Persian, Ottoman and Russian powers, but also by other, more powerful khans striving to subsume them. Under these vulnerable conditions khanates often made alliances with one power in order to protect themselves from another. Some khanates, such as the khanate of Karabagh, which had to ward off Persian (Qajar and Zand) advancing armies as well as those of other khans, appealed to Russia for protection. Until the reign of Catherine II,

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however, the Russians were reluctant to involve themselves in the region.11 By the nineteenth century, the Russians, Persians and Turks had all made use of the khanates to press forward their own claims to Eastern Transcaucasia and had fought proxy wars that had the outside appearance of petty squabbles among the khanates. The fragmented nature of the khanates made them vulnerable to expansionist designs by neighboring powers. Khanate Economy and Society The khanates were isolated pockets of mainly agricultural economies. Some localized industries, however, did flourish in the region, such as silk growing and processing in Shemakha, Ganje and Sheki, and fishing along the Araxes and Kura rivers. Around Baku, peasants worked in oil pits, and the Baku khanate became an exporter of salt and white oil. Although the khanates carried on trade with neighboring states, there were many obstacles to the free flow of goods. The existence of numerous customs points, duties and different monetary systems in each khanate limited economic exchange. The prevalence of banditry, due to the absence of a strong central government, was also perilous to the safe transporting of goods to centers. Hence cities did not significantly develop during this period of relative economic self-sufficiency. Cities were typically small and had a maximum of 10,000 inhabitants.12 In the independent khanates, the local ruling groups had remained relatively unchanged. Under Safavid rule, the social elite had been composed of the military and tribal leaders, the old local landowners, the high-level clergy, and the civil bureaucrats of the central and local governments. The tribes formed the backbone of the shah’s army, and received compensation in the form of crown lands. Thus the military and tribal leaders were transformed into large landowners.13 The mosques also had large endowments of landed and other immovable properties called waqf. Thus the social elite were also the large landowners, society being crudely divided into the owners of land and those who rented land and property. The social system within the khanates was similar to that of Safavid Persia, hierarchical and based on a combination of family relations.14 No group within the population, however, had inalienable corporate and individual rights. The khan had the power to bestow noble status on any individual, even those of most humble beginnings. As one prerevolutionary Russian historian had commented, “Upon the khan’s whim, today’s slave could easily be transformed into tomorrow’s bek.”15 The reverse was also true. In fact, the insecurity of life and property experienced by the khans’ subjects drew them closer to cooperation with the Russians. Under the khans, government policy was arbitrary and was decided at the whim of the ruler. Although the khanates had ruling councils called the divan, which were mainly composed of religious and landed elites, government was informal and the final word rested with the khan. The khan’s decisions could not contradict customary and religious law. These restrictions aside, the

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khan wielded considerable power. He was the supreme judge and legislator in the land, as well as the military commander.16 The historian I. P. Petrushevskii observed that the khanates, which came into existence after 1747, were similar to principalities, with centrifugal tendencies dominating their policies. The state apparatus, for example, had been greatly simplified compared with the previous era, and a significant share of the duties of civil servants had been transferred to the beks or landowners.17 The small state apparatus of the khanates was dominated by the Muslim clergy and the landed elite. The administrative organs of the khanates typically consisted of four ministries: state council, war council, finance council (tax-collecting) and administrative council, usually led by the relatives of the khan. The khanate itself was often divided into units called magali or mahala, and each was headed by a naib (vice-ruler), who controlled the administrative and judicial functions. The elders of each community in turn were responsible to the naib, particularly for the collection of taxes. The city elder (kalantar) and the village elder (kadkhuda) were responsible for taxing the city dwellers (mostly merchants and artisans) and the peasants respectively. These officials were not salaried and derived their incomes from appropriating a portion of the taxes they collected for the khans. This system of tax collection was especially harsh on the population, as it resulted in overtaxing by the local officials.18 As mentioned, the ruling groups all belonged to the landed strata of the population, which had either inherited their property or had been granted land for their services. As a rule, the higher the social position of individuals, the more taxes and dues they were entitled to collect. Middle-level officials were exempt from paying taxes, and the peasants shouldered the heaviest taxes. These taxes, which verged on the ridiculous, were imposed on almost everything: cattle, gardens, houses, wheat, silk, sheep, married people, bachelors . . .19 In the khanates, the social hierarchy was as follows: khans, sultans, the khan’s relatives, the beks, the agalars, tribal leaders and elders (collectively called the muafi-nukeri), the Muslim clerics (ulema), merchants and artisans, and peasants (the rayats and ranjbars). Agalars and beks were the mainstay of the khan’s government apparatus and resembled a landed nobility. Whereas the agalars were titled by birth, some of the beks had acquired land and their title through serving the shahs and the khans (those who had received their titles through the Persian shahs enjoying greater prestige and respect), while others were hereditary beks. The two terms were often used synonymously in documents and histories of the period. The term agalar derives from the Persian word aga, which means “sir” and is similar to the Russian gospodin. The Turkish term bek or bey means “a notable.” Beks and agalars typically owned or were in charge of one or more villages, from which they derived their income. There was one major distinction between the beks or agalars and the Russian landed nobility or dvorianstvo; the khan had the power to mete out corporal punishment to the beks and agalars and deprive them of their possessions and in some cases their lives.20 In addition, the landed nobi lity could not legally own peasants or the lands from which they collected taxes

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for the khan. The position of the landed elites was precarious under the khans, a fact that the Russian conquerors would later exploit to win the loyalty of this social group. In the khanates, there were two major forms of control over land: tuyul and mulk. Mulk was private property in land and was independent of services to the crown. Tuyuls were granted by the shahs or khans in compensation for services.21 The word tuyul originated from the Turkish verb tiqmaq, meaning “fall to a person’s share,” or acquiring an income from lands. The holders of the tuyul (tuyuldar’) were allowed to collect rent and services from designated villages. Additionally, the peasants were legally dependent on the tuyuldar’. A tuyul could be inherited only upon the approval of the shah or khan who had granted it, and could be annulled in the event of the granter’s death. Although tuyuls tended to become hereditary in the second half of the eighteenth century, it was not until the rescript of Nicholas I on December 6, 1846, that tuyuls became legally hereditary.22 Mulk property, on the other hand, was indisputably hereditary. This Arabic word literally means “ownership” or “estate.” Mulk, the private ownership of land and other immovable property, is sanctioned by Muslim law, and the institution of private landed property has existed since the first century of Islam. While shahs and khans could also grant their service people with mulk, they could not expect service in return for the lands. The most important distinction between tuyul and mulk properties was that the former could in no way be sold or given away, whereas the owner of the mulk property (mulkdar’) could dispose of it as he or she wished.23 Yet in extreme cases, a mulkdar could be divested of ownership by the khan’s order. A social group that later joined the ranks of the landed elite was the muafi-nukeri. The title of muafi-nukeri was either granted for life or in heredity tenure. This term, which in Persian means “servants who are exempt” (from taxation), was used to designate the khan’s bureaucrats and military leaders. This group, mainly drawn from the tribal leaders, formed the nucleus of the khan’s army and also included the kedkhudas, kalantars, naibs and other officials. The muafi-nukeri were not only exempt from paying taxes, dues and obligations (except for military and state service), but also received gifts from the khan in the form of horses, weapons, and even tuyul and mulk property.24 The muafi-nukeri did not receive regular salaries and were expected to live off of their income from the land. After the destruction of the khans’ armies this group, considered by the Russians as “not only useless, but even harmful, like a crowd of warriors, without a specific occupation,” was nevertheless used as a border guard until 1828, after which it was organized into the Shirvan Muslim Regiment.25 Another influential social group, which was exempt from taxes and dues but not from corporal punishment was the ulema. The Muslim clergy was responsible for the spiritual and religious guidance of the population as well as tending to civil and criminal justice and the education of the people. The Muslim clergy was divided into the high and the low, the former being free to interpret the laws of the Sharia. The khans tried to treat the Muslim clergy with re-

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spect, as they were acutely aware of the influence this group wielded among the population. The privileges of the ulema were rarely violated, and they received salaries from the treasury in addition to the religious duties they collected. The children of the ulema often joined the ranks of the landowning beks.26 The mass of the Azerbaijani population during this period was composed of peasants. The peasantry was divided into two categories, the rayats and the ranjbars, similar to the Iranian peasantry. Although tsarist and Soviet historians claim that the Azerbaijani peasant’s condition was analogous to that of the Russian peasant, a great distinction existed between the two. The Azerbaijani peasants were never formally enserfed. They could not be bought or sold.27 They were not legally owned by anyone, although they could be indentured to a landlord to whom they owed dues and obligations. The rayats belonged to village communities, which rented lands from landlords or the treasury and paid labor dues and a portion of the harvest. The rayats owned their own equipment and farm animals, supplied their own seed, and carried on agriculture independently of the owners of the land. By contrast, the ranjbars (literally meaning “those who suffer”) did not own farming instruments and were personally dependent on the landlord. These rural workers had three likely origins: The first group was composed of fugitives from other khanates who had settled on some landlord’s lands and in return for working his lands were given a portion of the harvest. The second were landless nomads who had been settled by the khan’s orders on a retainer’s estate. The third and most common group comprised rayats who had become impoverished and had been forced to sell their immovable possessions and cattle, and hence fallen into the ranks of the ranjbars.28 In the nineteenth century, the social structure of Caucasian Azerbaijan was to undergo dramatic transformations as a result of Russia’s conquest of the Eastern Caucasus, and the eventual incorporation of the region into the imperial legal and administrative system. The old social elites, particularly the khan’s family, the beks and agalars, and the ulema, were to be removed from decisionmaking positions and limited in their economic and political powers. Russian colonial practices also promoted the Christian elites of the Caucasus at the expense of the Muslims, eventually eliminating the Muslim social elites from positions of influence in the regional administration.

NOTES Introduction 1. This study mainly focuses on the regions of Eastern Transcaucasia, which roughly correspond to the Republic of Azerbaijan today. However, imperial policies often extended collectively to the Muslim Caucasus, and also included the lands of the Chechens and the Daghestanis. The Russians viewed the Muslims of the Caucasus as a collective group, and not until the end of the nineteenth century did they acknowledge separate nationalities. Archival sources point to regional and religious official classifications, and hence colonial policy toward the “Muslims” evolved as a group. In this text, the Caucasus refers to Greater Caucasia, including Transcaucasia. 2. Here the term colonial also includes the hegemonic power relations present in a land-based empire between the dominant governing nationality and the subordinate nationalities of the empire. 3. See Michael Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier: The Making of a Colonial Empire, 1500–1800 (Bloomington, 2002); Daniel R. Brower and Edward Lazzerini, The Russian Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1750–1917 (Bloomington, 1997); Mark Bassin, Imperial Visions: Nationalist Imagination and Geographical Expansion in the Russian Far East, 1840–1865 (Cambridge, 1999); Austin Jersild, Orientalism and Empire: North Caucasus Mountain Peoples and the Georgian Frontier, 1845–1917 (Montreal, 2002); and Thomas Barrett, At the Edge of Empire: The Terek Cossacks and the North Caucasus Frontier (Boulder, 1999). 4. For my discussion of colonial dilemmas about conversion see Firouzeh Mostashari, “Colonial Dilemmas: Russian Policies in the Muslim Caucasus,” in Of Religion and Empire: Missions, Conversion, and Tolerance in Tsarist Russia, eds. Robert Geraci and Michael Khodarkovsky (Cornell University Press, 2001). 5. In “Contiguous Colonization: Imperial Russia’s Settlement Policy in Eastern Transcaucasia,” in Extending the Borders of Russian History: Essays in Honor of Alfred J. Rieber, ed. Marsha Seifert (Central European University Press, 2003), I have written about the history of Russian settlement in the Muslim Caucasus. There were differences between the American and Russian experiences with colonization. As opposed to the American West, Russians were unsuccessful in settling the Caucasus with “whites.” Native Russians found the area undesirable, and mostly criminals, sectarians, Cossacks and other social exiles found their way to this region. Additionally, the Russians did not exterminate the native populations they encountered. 6. Examples of such an approach may be found in V. N. Ivanenko’s Grazhdanskoe upravlenie Zakavkaz’em ot prisoedineniia Gruzii do namestnichestvo Vel. Kn. Mikhaila Nikolaevicha—Istorichekii ocherk (Tiflis, 1901); V. A. Potto’s Utverzhdenie russkago vladychestva na Kavkaz’e 1801–1901, vols. 1–4 (Tiflis, 1901–8); N. Dubrovin’s Istoriia voiny i vladychestva russkikh na Kavkaze, 2 vols. (St. Petersburg, 1871); S. Esadze’s Istoricheskaia zapiska ob upravlenii Kavkazom, 2 vols. (Tiflis, 1907); and Colonel Romanovskii’s Kavkaz i Kavkazskaia voina (St. Petersburg, 1860). 7. Soviet historiographic literature was especially unreliable during the 1950s. The propagandizing literature is exemplified by the Azerbaijan Institute of History (ANAzSSR) publication Prisoedinenie Azerbaidzhana i Rossiia i ego progressivnoe posledstviia v oblasti ekonomiki i kul’tury (Baku, 1955). Other, more reliable, Soviet sources are A. S. Mil’man’s Politicheskii stroi Azerbaidzhana v xix–nachale xx vekov (Baku: Azerneshr, 1966);

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ANAzSSR’s Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 3 vols. (Baku, 1960–63); and A. V. Fadeev’s Rossiia i Kavkaz v pervoi tretii xix veka (Moscow, 1960). 8. Scholars like Marat Ibragimov, Dilara Seidzade and N. Tairzade have made impressive contributions to the understanding of Azerbaijan’s history. 9. Audrey Altstadt’s The Azerbaijani Turks (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1992) is a survey of Azerbaijani history, beginning with antiquity and ending with the present. As the title suggests, it views Azerbaijan mainly as a national and Turkic entity. Tadeusz Swietochowki discusses Azerbaijan in the twentieth century in his two books Russian Azerbaijan: 1905–1920 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985) and Russia and Azerbaijan (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994). Ronald Suny’s The Baku Commune: 1917–1918 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972) covers a brief although very important time period. In Prince Michael Vorontsov (Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press, 1990), Anthony L. H. Rhinelander discusses the administration of the first viceroy of the Caucasus (1844–55). Chapter 1 1. See John F. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest of the Caucasus (London: Longmans, Green, 1908); Alexandre Dumas, Adventures in Caucasia (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1962); and Luigi Villari, Fire and Sword in the Caucasus (London: Fisher Unwin, 1906). As noted earlier, when speaking of the Caucasus, I am referring to Greater Caucasia, which includes Transcaucasia. 2. See A. S. Pushkin’s Kavkazskii Plenik; M. Yu. Lermontov’s Geroi Nashego Vremeni; and L. N. Tolstoy’s The Cossacks, The Prisoner of the Caucasus and Hadzhi Murad. For additional analysis of literary imperialism see Susan Layton’s Russian Literature and Empire: Conquest of the Caucasus from Pushkin to Tolstoy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994) and her article “Nineteenth-Century Russian Mythologies of Caucasian Savagery,” in Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–1917, eds. Daniel Brower and Edward Lazzerini (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997). Also see Harsha Ram’s “Prisoners of the Caucasus: Literary Myths and Media Presentations of the Chechen Conflict” (working paper, Berkeley Program in Soviet and Post-Soviet Studies, Summer 1999). 3. Katya Hokanson, “Literary Imperialism, Narodnost’ and Pushkin’s Invention of the Caucasus,” The Russian Review 53 (July 1994): 336–52. 4. V. G. Belinskii, “Sochineniia A. Pushkina. Stat’ia shestaia,” p. 311, quoted in Hokanson’s “Literary Imperialism,” 341. 5. V. Potto, Kavkazskaia voina v otdel’nykh ocherkakh, epizodakh, legendakh i biografiakh (St. Petersburg, 1885), vol 1, 1. 6. Ibid., 3–4. 7. M. Vladykin, Putevoditel’ i sobesednik v puteshestvii po Kavkazu (Moscow: I. Rodzevich, 1874), 93–94. 8. Hokanson, “Literary Imperialism,” 336. 9. V. I. Velichko, Polnoe sobranie publitsisticheskikh sochenenii, V. I. Velichko, Tom I (St. Petersburg: M. D. Muretvoi, 1904), 190–93. 10. For additional discussions on Russian Orientalism and the civilizing mission see Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–1917, eds. Daniel Brower and Edward Lazzerini (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997); Of Religion and Empire: Missions, Conversion, and Tolerance in Tsarist Russia, eds. Robert Geraci and Michael Khodarkovsky (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001); Austin Jersild, Orientalism and Empire (McGill-Queens, 2002); and Kritika (Fall 2000). 11. For a comparison between British, French and Russian conquest, see Colonel Romanosov, Kavkaz i Kavkazskaia voina: Publichnyia lektsii (St. Petersburg: Obshchestvennaia Pol’za, 1860), 38–44. 12. Romanosov, Kavkaz i Kavkazskaia voina, 48. 13. See the debate between Khalid, Knight and Todorova in Kritika (Fall 2000).

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14. Edward Said, Orientalism (New York, 1979). Also see Culture and Imperialism (New York, 1993). 15. Said, Orientalism, 25. 16. See Susan Layton’s “Nineteenth-Century Russian Mythologies of Caucasian Savagery,” in Russia’s Orient, and Harsha Ram’s “Prisoners of the Caucasus: Literary Myths and Media Representations of the Chechen Conflict” (working paper, Berkeley Program in Soviet and Post-Soviet Studies, Summer 1999). 17. Ram, “Prisoners of the Caucasus,” 10. 18. Dubrovin, Istoriia voiny, 319, and Ivanenko, Grazhdanskoe upravlenie Zakavkaz’em, 207. The author believes that the term “Azerbaijani Muslims” is more historically accurate than “Azerbaijani Turks,” both from the point of view of the imperial writers as well as the local population, who simply referred to themselves as Muslims. 19. Ivanenko, Grazhdanskoe upravlenie Zakavkaz’em, 196. 20. Obviously Dubrovin is not considering Shamil’s Sufi movement as part of the Orthodox Sunni tradition, although the Naqshbandiya were a Sunni mystical sect. 21. Dubrovin, Istoriia voiny, 330. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid., 363–64. 24. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 65. 25. See V. S. Krivenko, Ocherki Kavkaza: Poezdka na Kavkaz ocen’iiu 1888 god (St. Petersburg: A. S. Suvorin, 1893); M. Vladykin, Putevoditel’i sobesednik; and A. L. Zisserman, Dvatsat’ piat’ let’ na Kavkaze: 1842–1867, 2 vols. (St. Petersburg: A. S. Suvorin, 1879). 26. See the introduction to Thomas Richards’s The Imperial Archive: Knowledge and the Fantasy of Empire (London: Verso, 1993). 27. V. O. Kliuchevskii, Kurs Russkoi istorii, 8 vols. (in Socheneniia, Moscow, 1956–59), I, 31–32, quoted from George Lantzeff and Richard Pierce’s Eastward to Empire: Exploration and Conquest on the Russian Open Frontier, to 1750 (McGill-Queens University Press, 1973), 226. For new interpretations of the frontier in Russian history see M. K. Liubavskii, Obzor istorii Russkoi kolonizatsii (Moscow, 1996). 28. Some of these factors are not exclusive to frontier colonialism and also exist in cases of overseas colonialism. See The Post-Colonial Studies Reader, ed. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin (London, New York: Routledge, 1995), 10, 183. 29. Ray Allen Billington, The Frontier Thesis: A Valid Interpretation of American History? (Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1966), 10, 29. 30. For a recent historiographic account of the frontier thesis debate see Alfred J. Rieber, “Changing Concepts and Constructions of Frontiers: A Comparative Historical Approach,” Ab Imperio 1 (2003): 23–46. 31. For an explanation of permeable or porous frontiers see Alfred J. Rieber’s “Persistent Factors in Russian Foreign Policy: An Interpretive Essay,” in Imperial Russian Foreign Policy, ed. Hugh Ragsdale (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 315–59, and “Struggle over the Borderlands,” in The Legacy of History in Russia and the New States of Eurasia, ed. S. Frederick Starr (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1994), 61–89. 32. Owen Lattimore, Studies in Frontier History (New York: Oxford University Press, 1962), 165. 33. The urge to expand in the face of weak bordering powers has been termed “turbulent frontiers” by John Galbraith. See his article “The ‘Turbulent Frontier’ as a Factor in British Expansion,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 2 (1959–60): 150–67. 34. For more information on this period see The Cambridge History of Iran, vol. 7 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 35. Ibid., 328. 36. Henri Brunschwig, French Colonialism, viii. 37. J. A. Hobson, Imperialism: A Study (London: Unwin Hyman, 1988), 223. 38. For solid analysis of the southern Caucasian regions of Armenia and Georgia see Ronald Grigor Suny’s The Making of the Georgian Nation (Bloomington and Indianapolis, 1988) and Armenia in the Twentieth Century (Chico, California, 1983).

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39. Michael Khodarkovsky in his article “Of Christianity, Enlightenment, and Colonialism: Russia in the North Caucasus, 1500–1800,” in The Journal of Modern History 71, no. 2 (June 1999), argues that the unique nature of Russian colonialism was an extensive contiguous frontier between Islam and Christianity. He terms the North Caucasus a “religious frontier.” 40. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, vol. 1 (Baku: Akademii Nauk Institut Istorii, 1958), 336–48. 41. Kavkazskaia Arkheograficheskaia Kommisiia, Akty sobrannye Kavkazskoiu Arkheograficheskoiu Kommissieiu (Tiflis: Arvkiv Glavnago Upravelniia Namestnika Kavkazkago, 1866–1904), 1: 607–8 (hereafter cited as AKAK). 42. Ibid., article 824: 610–11. 43. Luigi Villari, Fire and Sword, 33. 44. AKAK, 2: 8. 45. Muriel Atkin, Russia and Iran, 82–83. 46. AKAK, 2: 705, and Atkin, Russia and Iran, 75–76. 47. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 68. 48. AKAK, 2: 696. 49. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 65. 50. Interestingly, Soviet accounts and even some Western accounts use Tsitsianov’s letters to Alexander to erroneously conclude that the khanates indeed capitulated out of admiration for Russia and sought her protection against Iran and Turkey. 51. AKAK, 2: 713, 646, 647. 52. Ibid., 675. 53. Ibid., 677. 54. Dubrovin, Istoriia voiny, 4: 45. 55. Russkii Biograficheskii Slovar’ (Moscow: Aspect Press, 1991), 20A: 165. 56. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 7. 57. Moshe Gammer, Muslim Resistance to the Tsar: Shamil and the Conquest of Chechenia and Daghestan (London: F. Cass, 1994), 25. 58. AKAK, 3: 389–90. 59. Ibid., 455. 60. Ibid., 460–61. Interestingly, the translator has omitted these insults to the Russians’ intelligence, which appear only in the Persian version of the manuscript. 61. Ibid., 475. 62. Ibid., 4: 511. 63. Ibid., 5: 177 and 650. 64. J. C. Hurewitz, Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East, a Documentary Record: 1535–1914 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1956), 84–86, and Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 53. 65. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 97. 66. Entsiklopedicheskii Slovar’ (St. Petersburg, 1894), 11A: 675. 67. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 59. 68. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 92. 69. Ibid., 97. 70. Ivanenko, Grazhdanskoe upravlenie Zakavkaz’em, 99. 71. AKAK, 6: 701. 72. Ibid., 481. 73. Agalars and beks had been the mainstay of the khan’s government apparatus and resembled a landed nobility. Whereas the agalars were titled by birth, some of the beks had acquired land and their title through serving the shahs and the khans (beks who had received their titles through the Persian shahs enjoyed greater prestige and respect), while others were hereditary beks. The two terms were often used synonymously in documents and histories of the period. The term agalar derives from the Persian word aga, which means “sir” and is similar to the Russian gospodin. The Turkish term bek or bey means “a

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notable.” Beks and agalars typically owned or were in charge of one or more villages, from which they derived their income. 74. I. M. Gasanov, Chastnovladel’cheskie krest’iane v Azerbaidzhane v pervoi polovine xix veka (Baku: Izd-vo ANAzSSR, 1957), 36. 75. AKAK, 6: 696–97. 76. Ibid., 703–4. 77. Central State Archive of the Republic of Azerbaijan, f. 130, op. 1, d. 13: 37–38 (hereafter cited as TsGIA Az). 78. Mikhael Khodarkovsky in his article “Of Christianity, Enlightenment, and Colonialism: Russia in the North Caucasus,” Journal of Modern History 71, no. 2 (June 1999), also observes this policy in the northern Caucasus and refers to it as the “cooptation of the commoners.” 79. AKAK, 6: 710. 80. The Russian State Historical Archive, f. 1268, op. 1, d. 671a: 9 (hereafter cited as RGIA). 81. I. P. Petrushevskii, “Sistema Russkogo kolonial’nogo upravleniia v Azerbaidzhane v pervoi polovine xix v,” in Kolonial’naia politika Rossiiskogo tsarizma v Azerbaidzhane v 20–60-kh gg, xix v (Moscow, Leningrad: Izd-vo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1936), part 1: 12. 82. Ibid., 14. 83. Petrushevskii, “Sistema Russkogo kolonial’nogo upravleniia,” 10, cited from AKAK, 8: article 1. 84. Ibid., 8. 85. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 65. 86. TsGIA Az, f. 130, op. 1, d. 14: 246–48. 87. Petrushevskii, “Sistema Russkogo kolonial’nogo upravleniia,” 9–11, and Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 64–66. 88. AKAK, 6: 376. 89. Ibid., 368. 90. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 156. 91. Entsiklopedicheskii Slovar’, 11A: 675. 92. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 153. 93. RGIA, f. 1018, op. 10, d. 1: 49. 94. Ibid., 52. 95. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 159–60. 96. AKAK, 7: 1. 97. Entsiklopedicheskii Slovar’ (St. Petersburg, 1897), 22A: 920. 98. RGIA, f. 1018, op. 2, d. 423: 16. 99. Ibid., d. 179: 1. 100. RGIA, f. 1018, op. 10, d. 2: 117. 101. Ibid., op. 2, d. 174: 1. 102. Hurewitz, Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East, 96–102.

Chapter 2 1. Hamilton Rhinelander uses the terms “centralist” and “regionalist” to describe a similar concept, in his article “Russia’s Imperial Policy: The Administration of the Caucasus in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century,” Canadian Slavonic Papers 17 (Summer and Fall 1975): 218–35. 2. AKAK, 7: 423. 3. Ibid., 427–28. 4. Petrushevskii, “Sistema Russkogo kolonial’nogo upravleniia,” 19. 5. A. V. Fadeev, Rossiia i vostochny krizis 20-kh godov xix veka (Moscow: Izd-vo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1958), 30.

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6. M. K. Rozhkova, Ekonomicheskoe politika tsarskoe pravitel’stva na srednem vostoke vo vtoroi chetverty xix veka i Russkaia burzhuaziia (Moscow: Izd-vo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1949), 108–16. 7. Petrushevskii, “Sistema Russkogo kolonial’nogo upravleniia,” 20. 8. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 1, d. 671a: 13–14. 9. Akademiia Nauk Sovietskikh Sotsialisticheskikh Respublik, Kolonial’naia politika rossiskogo tsarisma v Azerbaidzhane, 1: 242. Report of the senators Kutaisov and Mechnikov, 1831 (hereafter cited as ANSSSR). 10. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 1, d. 671a: 14. 11. Ibid., d. 1B: 19–21, 69–79. 12. Ibid., d. 7Y, 283–84. 13. AKAK, 8: 485. 14. Petrushevskii, “Sistema kolonial’nogo upravleniia,” 21. 15. ANSSSR, Kolonial’naia politika, 1: 266. The State Council Project for Transforming Transcaucasia—1833. 16. Ibid., 286. 17. Ibid., 278–79. 18. Ibid., 279–80. 19. Ibid., 281. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid., 282. 22. Ibid., 283. 23. Ibid., 284. 24, Ibid. 25. Ibid., 292. 26. Ibid., 293. 27. A. S. Sumbatzade, Kubinskoe vosstanie 1837 goda (Baku: Akademii Nauk Az SSR, 1961), 117. Shamil was leader of the Naqshbandiyya Sufi movement in the Daghestan region of the Caucasus between 1834 and 1856. Also known as Muridism, this movement was directed against the Christian and Russian presence in the Caucasus. 28. AKAK, 9: 10. 29. The term Muridism derives from Murid, which in the Sufi terminology refers to the spiritual apprentice or student of a learned murshid, or master. 30. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 259. 31. A. L. Zisserman, Feld’marshal’ Kniaz Aleksandr Ivanovich Bariatinskii, 1815–1879 (Moscow: Univ. Tip, 1890), 2: 277. 32. Zisserman, Feld’marshal Kniaz, 278. 33. For detailed information on the Murid movement see Baddeley’s The Russian Conquest; also Moshe Gammer’s Muslim Resistance to the Tsar: Shamil and the Conquest of Chechnia and Daghestan (London, 1994); Marie Bennigsen Broxup, ed., The North Caucasus Barrier: The Russian Advance towards the Muslim World (New York, 1992); and Thomas Barrett’s “Crossing Boundaries: The Trading Frontiers of the Terek Cossacks,” in Russia’s Orient. 34. AKAK, 5: 728–29. 35. Rhinelander, “Russia’s Imperial Policy,” 229. 36. Ibid. 37. AKAK, 9, article 23. 38. ANSSSR, Kolonial’naia politika, 1: 313. Baron Hahn’s letter to Nicholas I, 1837. 39. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 1, d. 671a: 16–18. 40. Ibid., 23–24. 41. Ibid., 24–25. 42. Baddeley, The Russian Conquest, 355. 43. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 126–27.

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Chapter 3 1. For an in-depth study of Russian peasant colonization of the Caucasus see Firouzeh Mostashari, “Contiguous Colonization: Imperial Russia’s Settlement Policy in Eastern Transcaucasia,” in Extending the Borders of Russian History: Essays in Honor of Alfred J. Rieber, ed. Marsha Seifert, Central European Press, 2003. 2. ANSSSR, Kolonial’naia politika Rossiiskogo tsarizma v Azerbaidzhane v 20-60 gg. xix v, part 2 (Moscow: Ak Nauk SSSR, 1937), 286–90. 3. N. Shavrov, “Obzor proizvoditel’nykh sil’ Kavkazskago namestnichestvo,” in Kavkazskii Kalendar’ na 1880 god (Tiflis, 1879), 7. 4. Ibid. 5. A. A. Kaufman, Pereselenie i kolonizatsiia (St. Petersburg: Obshchestvennoi Pol’za, 1905), 5–6. 6. Ibid., 7. 7. P. Basikhin, “Nemetskaia kolonii na Kavkaz,” in Kavkazkii Vestnik 1 (Jan 1900, Tiflis): 14–15. 8. RGIA, f. 391, op. 2, d. 1065: 6. 9. G. KH. Mandzhgaladze, Nemetskie kolonisty v Zakavkaz’e (1817–1902)—Avtoreferat (Tiflis, 1970), 6–7. 10. P. Basikhin, “Nemetskaia kolonii na Kavkaz,” 25. 11. G. KH. Mandzhgaladze, Nemetskie kolonisty, 15. 12. J. C. Hurewitz, Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East: A Documentary Record: 1535–1914 (Princeton: Van Nostrand, 1956), 1: 99–100. 13. The numbers reported by various sources are conflicting. N. G. Volkova, in “Etnicheskie protsessy v Zakavkaz’e v xix–xx vv,” in Kavkazkii etnograficheskii sbornik, ed. V. K. Gardanov (Moscow: Nauka, 1969), 6, reports the number of Armenians emigrating within three and a half months to be 8,000. However, D. I. Ismailzade, in Russkoe krest’ianstvo v Zakavkaz’e (Moscow: Izd-vo Nauka, 1982), 32, reports this number as 40,000. A contemporary source, K. Borozdin, in “Pereselentsy v Zakavkaz’i,” in Russkii Vestnik 15, (St. Petersburg, July 1891): 128, also reports this number as 40,000, using Sobranyye akty po istorii Armianskogo naroda, 1835, as its source. 14. K. Borozdin, “Pereselentsy v Zakavkaz’i,” 128. 15. Ibid., 129. 16. Ibid. 17. RGIA, f. 1018, op. 2, d. 423: 14. 18. D. I. Ismailzade, Russkoe krest’ianstvo v Zakavkaz’e, 29–33. 19. RGIA, f. 1263, op. 1, d. 727: 114. 20. Ibid., 61. 21. Ronald Grigor Suny, Looking Toward Ararat, Armenia in Modern History (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), 31–43. 22. RGIA, f. 932, op. 1, d. 319: 9. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid., 10. 25. R. G. Suny, Looking Toward Ararat, 27. 26. K. Borozdin, “Pereselentsy v Zakavkaz’i,” 131. 27. Ibid., 121. 28. Ibid., 131. 29. D. I. Ismailzade, Russkoe krest’ianstvo v Zakavkaz’e, 34–35. 30. Ibid., 35. 31. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 1, d. 1B: 74. 32. Ibid., 76. 33. AKAK, 12, article 483: 552. 34. D. I. Ismailzade, Russkoe krest’ianstvo v Zakavkaz’e, 50. 35. Ibid., 35. 36. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 10, d. 127: 275.

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37. For a study of Catherine and Alexander I’s enlightened politics see Marc Raeff’s Understanding Imperial Russia (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984). 38. RGIA, f. 1263, op. 1, d. 789: 477. 39. Francois-Xavier Coquin, La Siberie: Peuplement et Immigration Paysanne Au XIX Siecle (Paris: Institut d’etudes slaves, 1969), 12. 40. RGIA, f. 1263, op. 1, d. 789: 478B–79B. 41. Ibid., 482. 42. AKAK, 10, article 97: 119–20. 43. A. I. Klibanov, History of Religious Sectarianism in Russia, 1860–1917 (Oxford; New York: Pergamon Press, 1982), 122.

Chapter 4 1. AKAK, 9: 5. 2. Ibid., 10. 3. Ibid. 4. Ivanenko, Grazhdanskoe upravlenie Zakavkaz’em, 307–8. 5. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 126. 6. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 90–91. 7. AKAK, 9: article 39. 8. F. A. Brokgaus and I. A. Efron, Entsiklopedicheskii Slovar’, (St. Peterburg, 1897), 20A: 516–517, s.v. “Namestniki” and “Namestnik.” 9. See Richard G. Robbins Jr., The Tsar’s Viceroys: Russian Provincial Governors in the Last Years of the Empire (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987). 10. Robbins, The Tsar’s Viceroys, 243. 11. Ibid., 153. 12. G. G. Evangulov, Mestnaia reforma na Kavkaza (St. Petersburg, 1914), 12. 13. AKAK, 10: articles 1 and 2. 14. Arkhiv Kniazia Vorontsova (Moscow, 1895), 40: 498–500. 15. AKAK, 10: article 1. 16. Arkhiv Kniazia Vorontsova, 500. 17. Anthony L. H. Rhinelander, “Viceroy Vorontsov’s Administration of the Caucasus,” in Transcaucasia: Nationalism and Social Change, ed. R. G. Suny (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1983), 95. 18. AKAK, 10: introductory essay. 19. Ibid. 20. F. A. Brokhaus and I. A. Effron, Entsiklopedicheskii Slovar’ (St.Petersburg, 1895), 15: 838, s.v. “Komitet” and “Kavkazskii.” 21. RGIA, “Kavkazkii Komitet,” f. 1266, Introduction: 1–2. 22. Rhinelander, “Viceroy Vorontsov’s Administration,” in Transcaucasia, 96. 23. Rhinelander, Prince Michael Vorontsov, 157. 24. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 133. 25. Ivanenko, Grazhdanskoe upravlenie Zakavkaz’em, 355. 26. Nakaz glavnomu upravleniiu Zakavkazskim kraem (Tiflis, 1855), 8–9. 27. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 139. 28. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 92. 29. Ibid., 93–94. 30. Ibid., 96–97. 31. Evangulov, Miestnaya reforma, 15–16. 32. Ibid., 16–17. 33. Archive of the St. Petersburg Branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences, f. 36, op. 1, d. 434: 10. 34. Ibid., 2–5. 35. Rhinelander, Prince Michael Vorontsov, 193–97. 36. AKAK, 11: introductory essay.

NOTES

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37. Ivanenko, Grazhdanskoe upravlenie Zakavkaz’em, 431. 38. Entsiklopedicheskii Slovar’ (St. Petersburg, 1891), 3: 140–141. 39. A. J. Rieber, The Politics of Autocracy: Letters of Alexander II to Prince A. I. Bariatinskii 1857–1864 (Paris: Mouton & Co, 1966), 65. 40. Ibid., 66–67. 41. Zisserman, Fel’dmarshal Kniaz’ Alexandr Ivanovich Bariatinskii 1815–1879 (Moscow: Univ. Tip, 1891), 3: 28. Letter of Prince Bariatinskii to D. A. Miliutin. 42. Rieber, The Politics of Autocracy, 66–68. 43. AKAK, 12: article 3. 44. Ivanenko, Grazhdanskoe upravlenie Zakavkaz’em, 432–33. 45. Ibid., 432. 46. Ibid., 433. 47. Nauchnyi Arkhiv Istorii Azerbaidzhana, “Administrativnaia Organizatsiia Azerbaidzhana vo vtoroi polovinie XIX v,” inv. no. 1525: 18 (hereafter cited as NAII Azerbaidzhana). 48. Ivanenko, Grazhdanskoe upravlenie Zakavkaz’em, 437. 49. Semyon Esadze, Istoricheskaia zapiska ob upravlenii Kavkaz’em (Tiflis, 1907), 1: 135. 50. Zisserman, Fel’dmarshal Kniaz, 2: 227–28. Notes of Prince A. I. Bariatinskii on the internal condition of the Caucasus. 51. AKAK, 12: article 326. 52. Ibid., article 327. 53. Ivanenko, Grazhdanskoe upravelenie Zakavkaz’em, 447. 54. TsGIA Az, Dokumenty po istorii Baku: 1810–1917 (Baku, 1978), 69. 55. Zisserman, Fel’dmarshal Kniaz, 3: 150–51. 56. Ibid., 155. 57. Ibid., 158–59. 58. B. V. Anan’ich and R. Sh. Ganelin, “R. A. Fadeev, S. Yu. Vitte i ideologicheskie iskaniia ‘Okhranitelei’ v 1881–1883 gg,” in Akademii Nauk Institute Istorii SSSR’s Isledovaniia po sotsial’no-politicheskoi istorii Rossii (Leningrad, 1971), 299–300. 59. Rieber, The Politics of Autocracy, 70. 60. AKAK, 12: article 512. 61. Ibid., 279. 62. AKAK, 3: 132. 63. Zisserman, Fel’dmarshal Kniaz, 3: 99–113. For more on Russian attempts to convert Caucasian Muslims to Orthodoxy, see Firouzeh Mostashari, “Colonial Dilemmas: Russian Policies in the Muslim Caucasus,” in Of Religion and Empire. 64. Ibid., 2: 415. 65. Entsiklopedicheskii Slovar’ (St. Petersburg, 1896), 19A: 485. 66. A. C. Sumbatzade, “Administrativnaia organizatsia Azerbaidzhana vo vtoroi polovinie xix v,” NAII Az, inv. no. 1525: 22–24. 67. Publichka article 18 293 1 140, “Letter of Caucasian Viceroy to Chair of Caucasian Committee—April 15, 1878,” 6. 68. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 23, d. 219: 111–15. 69. Ibid., op. 18, d. 182: 495–96. 70. Publichka article 18 293 1 140, “Letter of MVD Department of Police to Chair of Caucasian Committee—April 23, 1878,” 13–18. 71. Ibid., 145 “Vypiski iz zhurnala Kavkazkogo Komiteta—13 Marta 1879,” 2–5. 72. Ibid., 5.

Chapter 5 1. TsGIA Az, f. 1, op. 1, d. 1509: 30. 2. Ibid., 30–30B.

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3. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 191. 4. Semyon Esadze, Istoricheskaiia zapiska ob upravlenii Kavkazom (Tiflis, 1907), 1: 55–56. 5. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 185. 6. Esadze, Istoricheskaia zapiska, 1: 55–65. 7. Ibid., 57. 8. Ibid., 2: 114. 9. Ibid., 1: 58. 10. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 190. 11. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 151. 12. Esadze, Istoricheskaia zapiska, 1: 61. 13. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 193. 14. Ibid., 194. 15. Polnoe Sobranie Zakonov Rossiiskoi Imperii (St. Petersburg, 1874), 65, part 1, 1870, article 48357: 630–46 (hereafter cited as PSZ). 16. RGIA, f. 932, op. 1, d. 288: 7–7B. 17. Baron A. Nikolai, “Vospominaniia iz moei zhizni: Krest’ianskaia reforma v Zakavkazskom krai,” Russkii Arkhiv 2 (Moscow, 1892): 91–125, 124. 18. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 145. 19. RGIA, f. 1282, op. 3, d. 451: 45–45B (microfilmed for TsGIA Az). 20. TsGIA Az, f. 14, op. 1, d. 9: 19. 21. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 148. 22. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 146. 23. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 149. 24. T. S. Agaian, Krest’ianskaia reforma v Azerbaidzhane v 1870 gody (Baku, 1956), 210. 25. V. A. Nardova, Gorodskoe samoupravlenie v Rossii v 60-kh nachale 90-kh godov xix v. (Leningrad: Nauka, 1984), 13. 26. Ibid., 31. 27. Ibid., 152. 28. TsGIA Az, Arkhivnie i literaturnie materialy po teme “istoriia g. Baku (1840–1872),” 303. 29. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 207–8. 30. Ibid., 210–11. 31. TsGIA Az, f. 50, op. 1, d. 274: 4. 32. RGIA, f. 932, op. 1, d. 319: 92–93. 33. Ibid., d. 444: 2–3. 34. Ibid., 6. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid., 7. 37. Ibid., 1–4. 38. Ibid., d. 440: 4. 39. Ibid., 2–4. 40. Alexandre Bennigsen, “The Muslims of European Russia and the Caucasus,” in Russia and Asia; Essays on the Influence of Russia on Asian Peoples, ed. Wayne Vucinich (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1972), 151. For more information on Il’minskii see Robert Geraci, “The Il’minskii System and the Controversy over Non-Russian Teachers and Priests in the Middle Volga,” in Kazan, Moscow, St. Petersburg: Multiple Faces of the Russian Empire, ed. Catherine Evtuhov, Boris Gasparov, Alexander Ospoovat and Mark von Hagen (Moscow, 1997). 41. Serge A. Zenkovsky, Pan-Turkism and Islam in Russia, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967), 34–35. For more on the Jadid movement also see Adeeb Khalid, “Representations of Russia in Central Asian Jadid Discourse,” in Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–1917, ed. Daniel Brower and Edward Lazzerini (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997).

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165

42. TsGIA Az, f. 45, op. 1, d. 35: 1. 43. Ibid., 2. 44. Ibid., 2–3. 45. Ibid., 11. 46. Ibid., 34. 47. Ibid., 35. 48. Pervaia vseobshchaia perepis’ naseleniia Rossiiskoi Imperii, 1897 g, LXI. “Bakinskaia guberniia” (St. Peterburg: Izd Tsentral’nago Statisticheskago Komiteta MVD, 1905), IX. 49. Vsepoddanneishii otchet o proizvedennoi v 1905 godu po vysochaishemu poveleniiu Senatorom Kuzminskim revizii goroda Baku i Bakinskii gubernii (St. Peterburg, 1905), 97–98 (hereafter cited as Revizii goroda Baku). 50. N. A. Tairzade, “O musul’manskikh uchilishchakh v Azerbaidzhane v kontse 40-kh i 50-e gody xix v,” in Trudy muzeiia istorii Azerbaidzhana: Materialy po istorii Azerbaidzhana (Baku, 1962), 5: 143–68. 51. PSZ (St. Petersburg, 1854), 28, part 1, article 27646: 498–515. 52. L. C. Gatagova, Pravitel’stvennaia politika i narodnoe obrazovanie na kavkaze v xix v (Moscow, 1993), 17. 53. TsGIA Az, “Bakinsko-Dagestanskaia Direktsiia Narodnykh Uchilishch,” K spravochniky po istorii gosychrezhdenii dorevoliutsionnogo Azerbaidzhana, 1–5. 54. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 318–19. 55. RGIA, f. 1263, op. 2, d. 5053: 307. 56. NAII Azerbaidzhana, inv. no. 3476, 1: 209–12. 57. Ibid., 213. 58. Kavkazskii Kalendar’ na 1878 god (Tiflis, 1877), 309–18, and Narmin Tairzade, “Sostav uchashikhsia Bakinskogo real’nogo uchilishcha v poslednei chetverti XIX veka,” in Izvestiia Akademiia Nauk Azerbaidzhanskoi SSR 3 (1981): 33. 59. ANAzSSR, Azerbaijan v gody pervoi Russkoi revoliutsii (Baku: Izd-vo Akademii Nauk AzSSR, 1966), 59 (quoted from TsGIA Az, f. 1226, op. 103, d. 76: 61). 60. NAII Azerbaidzhana, “Pravovoe polozhenie uchitelei v dorevoliiutsionom Azerbaidzhane,” inv. no. 3476, 2: 4–6. 61. Hasan Bek Zardabi, Izbrannye stat’i i pis’ma (Baku: Izd-vo Akademii Nauk AzSSR, 1962), 8. 62. TsGIA Az, f. 309, op. 1, d. 31: 5. 63. Ibid., 6. 64. Ibid., 11. 65. Hasan Bek Zardabi, Izbrannye stat’i i pis’ma, 219. 66. Ibid., 220. 67. Narmin Tairzade, “K istorii narodnogo obrazovaniia v promyslovozavodskom raione Baku v kontse xix-nachale xx veka,” Izvestiia Akademii Nauk Azerbaidzhanskoi SSR 1 (1988): 63–65. 68. Ibid., 66. 69. Marat Ibragimov, “Prosvetitel’skaia deiatel’nost’ Gadzhi Zeinalabidina Tagieva,” unpublished manuscript (Baku, 1990), 2–5.

Chapter 6 1. Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy korennogo naseleniia Kavkazskago kraia i pravitel’stvennaia meropriiatiia po opredeleniiu ikh soslovnykh prav (Tiflis, 1917), 22–25. 2. M. N. Kuchaev, Svod materialov po izucheniiu ekonomicheskago byta gosudarstvennykh krest’ian’ Zakavkazskago kraia (Tiflis, 1887), 1: 5–6, and Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy, 29. 3. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 1, d. 671 A: 24–25. 4. Ibid., 24–30. 5. Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy, 31.

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6. Kuchaev, Svod materialov, 7–8. 7. Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy, 32. 8. Ibid., 30–34. 9. Kuchaev, Svod materialov, 9. 10. ANSSSR, Kolonial’naia politika Russkogo tsarizma v Azerbaidzhane v 20–60 kh xix v (Moscow; Leningrad: Izd-vo Akademiia Nauka SSSR, 1937), part 2: 81. 11. PSZ (St. Peterburg, 1847), 21, part 2, 1846, article 20672: 617–619. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid., 617. 14. Ibid. (St. Peterburg, 1848), 22, part 2, 1847, article 21825: 931. 15. Kuchaev, Svod materialov, 11. 16. Ibid., 12. 17. PSZ, 22, part two, 1848, article 21825: 931–33. 18. Ibid., 235–36. 19. Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy, 36. 20. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 2, d. 731 B: 1. 21. Ibid., 1–2. 22. Ibid., 190 B. 23. Ibid., 183–84. 24. Kuchaev, Svod materialov, 40. 25. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 2, d. 731 B 26. Kniaz Bariatinskii, Otchet namestnika Kavkazskago i glavnokomanduiushchago Kavkazskoiu armieiu, 1857–1859 (Tiflis, 1861), 225. 27. AKAK, 12: article 129, 200. 28. Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy, 26. 29. TsGIA AZ, K spravochniku po istorii gosuchrezhdenii na territorii dorevoliutsionnogo Azerbaidzhana: bekskie komissii, 1–3. 30. TsGIA Az, f. 55, op. 1, ed. khr. 39: 1. 31. Ibid., ed. khr. 1: 1–2. 32. Ibid., ed. khr. 19: 2B. 33. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 10, d. 129: 244. 34. Ibid., op. 1, d. 671 A, 40. 35. Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy, 43–47. 36. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 11, d. 109: 8–12. 37. Ibid., 13. 38. Ibid., f. 932, op. 1, d. 296, 5–6. 39. Ibid., d. 384, 1–5. 40. Ibid., d. 319, 20–22. 41. Vsepoddaneishii doklad ministerstva gosudarstvennykh imushchestvakh po poezdke na Kavkaze v 1889 (St. Petersburg, 1890), 10–12. 42. Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy, 36. 43. ANSSSR, Kolonial’naia politika, 336–39. 44. Ibid., 340. 45. AKAK, 12: article 318, 387. 46. ANSSSR, Kolonial’naia politika, 341. 47. Ibid., 345–47. 48. Ibid., 348–49. 49. Ibid., 352–53. 50. For additional information on official debates about the Sharia courts see Firouzeh Mostashari, “Colonial Dilemmas: Russian Policies in the Muslim Caucasus,” in Of Religion and Empire: Missions, Conversion, and Tolerance in Tsarist Russia, ed. Robert Geraci and Michael Khodarkovsky (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 241–42. 51. ANSSSR, Kolonial’naia Politika, 371, 379. 52. Rossia-Gosudarstvennyi Sovet, Departament Zakonov, Materialy, 59 (1871), project 33: 2.

NOTES 53. 54. 55. 56.

167

Ibid., project 28: 55–59. Ibid., project 9: 13–14. Ibid., 17–19. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 10, d. 127: 270–71.

Chapter 7 1. Obzor uchrezhdenie upravleniia Kavkazskago kraia (Tiflis, 1883), 3–6. 2. Ibid., 7–8. 3. Rossiia Gosudarstvenny Soviet Departament Zakonov, Materialy, 134, project 40, “Proekt rezoliuutsii po predmetu budushchago ustroistva mestnykh upravlenii Kavkaza,” 5. 4. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 154. 5. For a detailed account see Luigi Villari’s Fire and Sword in the Caucasus (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1906). 6. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 247. 7. Ibid., 215–17. For additional information on the Azerbaijani merchants see Audrey Altstadt’s “The Azerbaijani Bourgeoisie and the Cultural-Enlightenment Movement in Baku: First Steps Towards Nationalism,” in Transcaucasia, Nationalism, and Social Change: Essays in the History of Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia, ed. Ronald G. Suny (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1983). 8. TsGIA Az, f. 389, op. 1, d. 25: 52. 9. Ibid., 54B–55. 10. Ibid., 55. 11. Ibid., f. 50, op. 1, d. 60: 44. The dichotomy of Muslim versus other nationalities was used in this document and indicates that the Azerbaijanis at this point viewed themselves as a Muslim nation. They still do not differentiate between religion and nationality. 12. For information on this topic see D. B. Seidzade’s Azerbaidzhanskie deputaty v gosudarstvennoi dume Rossii (Baku: Az Gos Izd, 1991). 13. Rossiia Gosudarstvenny Soviet Departament Zakonov, Materialy, 9–10. 14. Materialy, 134, project 21: 1–3. 15. Entsiklopedicheskii Slovar’ (St. Peterburg, 1893), 11: 17. 16. RGIA, f. 932, op. 1, d. 392: 1. 17. Ibid., d. 323: 4–15. 18. Ibid., d. 319, 3. 19. Ibid., 100–101. 20. Ibid., d. 384: 1–3. 21. Ibid., d. 319: 21–22. 22. Ibid., d. 332: 1. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid., 1–2. 25. Ibid., d. 288: 4. 26. A court councillor (nadvorny sovetnik) is a civil servant of the seventh class, equivalent in rank to a lieutenant colonel. 27. RGIA, f. 932, op. 1, d. 330: 4. 28. Ibid., f. 1282, op. 3, d. 451, 30–31B (microfilm in TsGIA Az). 29. Semion Orest, Mestnago samoupravleniia: Zemskaia reforma na Kavkaze (Baku: Trud, 1910), 13, 17. 30. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 224. 31. Entsiklopedicheskii Slovar’ (St. Peterburg, 1903), 39: 494. 32. Vsepoddanneishaia zapiska glavnonachal’stvuiushchago grazhdanskoiu chast’iu na Kavkaze (Tiflis, 1895), 1–4 (hereafter cited as Zapiska 1895). 33. Ibid., 10. For further discussion of tsarist colonization see Firouzeh Mostashari’s “Contiguous Colonization: Imperial Russia’s Settlement Policy in Eastern Tran-

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scaucasia,” in Extending the Borders of Russian History: Essays in Honor of Alfred J. Rieber, ed. Marsha Seifert (Central European Press, 2003). 34. S. Yu. Witte, Vospominaniia (Moscow, 1960), 2: 207. 35. Ibid., 1: 42. 36. Vsepoddanneishaia zapiska glavnonachal’svyiushchago grazhdanskoiu chast’iu na Kavkave, 1897–1902 (Tiflis, 1903), 1–21. 37. Marat, Dzh. Ibragimov, Neftianaia promyshlennost’ Azerbaidzhana v period imperializma (Baku: Elm, 1984), 39–43. For histories of the Baku oil industry see John Mckay, “The Development of the Russian Petroleum Industry, 1872–1900,” Research in Economic History 8 (London, 1982); William J. Kelly and Tsuneo Kano, “Crude Oil Production in the Russian Empire: 1818–1919,” Journal of European Economic History (1977); and Firouzeh Mostashari, “Development of Caspian Oil in Historical Perspective,” in The Caspian Region at a Crossroad: Challenges of a New Frontier of Energy and Development, ed. Hooshang Amirahmadi (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000). 38. NAII Azerbaidzhana, inv no. 2267, 3: 171–75. 39. RGIA, f. 1263, op. 2, d. 5766: 339–40. 40. Ibid., 340. 41. Ibid., 340–45. 42. TsGIA Azerbaidzhana, f. 486, op. 1, d. 2: 14. 43. RGIA, f. 1405, op. 521, d. 457: 249. 44. ANAzSSR, Rabochee dvizhenie v Baku v gody pervoi Russkoi revoliutsii: Dokumenty i materialy (Baku: Akademii Nauk Az SSR, 1956), 34–36. 45. Ibid., 75. 46. Ibid., 77–78. 47. Vsepoddanneishii otchet o proizvedennoi v 1905 gody po Vysochaishemu poveleniiu Senatorom Kuzminskim revizii goroda Baku i Bakinskoi gubernii (St. Peterburg, 1905), 1–9. 48. RGIA, f. 1276, op. 2, d. 149: 82. 49. Ibid., f. 560, op. 26, d. 31: 162. 50. Luigi Villari, Fire and Sword in the Caucasus (London, 1906), 205–6. 51. RGIA, f. 40, op. 1, d. 59: 102. 52. Ibid., 102–3. 53. TsGIA Azerbaidzhana, f. 484, op. 1, d. 41, 1. 54. Tadeusz Swietochowski, Russian Azerbaijan, 1905–1920: The Shaping of National Identity in a Muslim Community (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 39. 55. Reviziia goroda Baku, 11. 56. Ibid., 17–18. 57. Villari, Fire and Sword, 169. 58. RGIA, f. 1276, op. 2, d. 149: 112B. 59. Ibid., f. 37, op. 66, d. 721, 1. 60. Hans Heilbronner, “Vorontsov-Dashkov, Illarion Ivanovich,” in The Modern Encyclopedia of Russian and Soviet History, ed. Joseph L. Wieczynski, 43: 63–66. 61. Kavkazskii Kalendar’ na 1906 god, 207. Nicholas’s Ukaz to the Senate, April 13, 1905. 62. Ibid., 215. 63. “Pis’ma I. I. Vorontsova-Dashkova Nikolaiu Romanovu,” Krasnyi Arkhiv 26 (1928): 101. 64. ANAzSSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 645. 65. Ibid., 104. 66. Graf Vorontsov-Dashkov, Vsepoddanneishaia zapiska po upravleniiu kavkazskim kraem (Tiflis, 1907), 20. 67. “Pis’ma I. I. Vorontsova-Dashkova,” 119. 68. Vorontsov-Dashkov, Vsepoddanneishaia zapiska, 157–58. 69. Ibid., 41. 70. Ibid., 43. 71. ANAzSSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 704–6.

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72. Ibid, 67. 73. Vorontsov-Dashkov, Vsepoddanneishii otchet za piatiletie upravleniia kavkazom (St. Petersburg, 1910), 34–37. 74. Ibid., 38. 75. Vorontsov-Dashkov, Vsepoddanneishaia zapiska, 103–4. 76. Ibid., 104–6. 77. Ibid., 107–8. 78. TsGIA Az, f. 1, op, 1, d. 474: 11 ob. 79. Vorontsov-Dashkov, Vsepoddanneishii otchet, 49–50. 80. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 711–29. 81. “Rezul’taty perepisi naseleniia g. Baku 22 Oktiabria 1913 g,” Izvestiia bakinskoi gorodskoi dumy (Baku, 1913), 16. 82. TsGIA Az, f. 1, op. 1, d. 1236: 1–2. 83. Ibid., d. 250: 1–3 ob. (Vsepoddanneishii otchet Bakinskago gubernatora za 1914 god). 84. Ibid., d. 474: 10–11 (Vsepoddanneishii otchet ispravliaiushchago dolzhnost’ Elizavetpol’skago gubernatora za 1914 god). 85. Kavkazskii Kalendar’ na 1915 (Tiflis, 1916), 11. 86. “Pis’ma I. I. Vorontsova-Dashkova Nikolaiu Romanov,” 123. 87. Ibid., 124. 88. Ibid., 123. 89. The Modern Encyclopedia of Russian and Soviet History, ed. Joseph L. Wieczynski, 24: 245–46, s.v. “Nikolai Nikolaevich.” 90. Ibid. 91. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 746. 92. Ibid., 745–47. Audrey Altstadt, in The Azerbaijani Turks, 76, convincingly argues that although private attitudes were critical of the regime, “public statements remained loyal to the Russian state as long as the empire fought.” 93. Ibid., 758–68. 94. TsGIA Az, f. 1, op. 1, d. 254: 1–10. 95. Ronald Grigor Suny, The Baku Commune 1917–1918: Class and Nationality in the Russian Revolution (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), 66, 68. For other Englishlanguage accounts of the February Revolution in Azerbaijan see Tadeusz Swietochowski’s Russian Azerbaijan and Richard Pipes’s Formation of the Soviet Union, 1917–1923 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1964). 96. M. Philips-Price, War and Revolution in Asiatic Russia (London, 1918), 286, quoted in Firuz Kazemzadeh’s Struggle for Transcaucasia (1917–1921) (Oxford, 1951), 33.

Chapter 8 1. RGIA, f. 1268, op. 1, d. 671 A: 40. 2. Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy korennogo naseleniia Kavkazskago kraia I pravitel’stvennaia meropriiatiia po opredeleniiu ikh soslovnykh prav (Tiflis, 1917), 43–47. 3. Chancery of the Viceroy of the Caucasus, Vysshie klassy, 185–89. 4. Ibid., 192–98. 5. TsGIA Az, f. 1, op. 1, d. 1235: 1. 6. Ibid., 2. 7. Ibid., d. 1185: 1–3. 8. Ernest Gellner, in Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca; London: Cornell University Press, 1983), 1, distinguishes nationalist sentiment from the nationalist movement, which he defines as anger arising from the incongruity of the national and political unit. This is often exacerbated when the national unit is incorporated into an empire. 9. RGIA, f. 932, op. 1, d. 395: 38. 10. Ibid., 39. 11. Ibid., d. 332: 1–5.

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12. TsGIA Az, f. 290, op. 1, d. 273: 3–4. 13. Ibid., 1–2. 14. Ibid., 5–9. 15. Ibid., 14–14B. 16. Ibid., d. 233: 1–1B. 17. Ibid., 2–2B. 18. Ibid. 19. Vsepoddanneishaia zapiska glavnonachalstvuiushchago grazhdanskoiu chast’iu na Kavkaze, (Tiflis, 1897), 28–29. 20. TsGIA Az, f. 44, op. 2, d. 854: 5–5B. 21. Ibid., 4. 22. RGIA, f. 1276, op. 1, d. 107: 65. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid., 70. 25. Ibid., 65. 26. TsGIA Az, f. 1, op. 1, d. 68: 1. 27. Ibid., 2. 28. Ibid., 3–5. 29. Ibid., 6b 30. Ibid., 13. 31. Ibid., f. 291, op. 17, d. 11217: 1. 32. Ibid., op. 1, d. 11297: 2. 33. Tsarist economic policy contributed to the marginalizing of the Azerbaijanis in the oil industry, as it favored the formation of monopolies. 34. Alexandre Bennigsen, “The Muslims of European Russia and the Caucasus,” in Russia and Asia, ed. Wayne Vucinich (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1972), 151–52. 35. For a discussion of the history and architecture of Islamic cities see Ira Lapidus’s Muslim Cities in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1984). 36. Ahmad Ashraf, “The Bazaar-Mosque Alliance: The Social Basis of Revolts and Revolutions,” Politics, Culture, and Society, 1, no. 4 (Summer 1988): 542. 37. Audrey Altstadt-Mirhadi, The Azerbaijani Turkish Community of Baku Before World War I, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation (University of Chicago, 1983), 225, 228. 38. Maxime Rodinson, Islam and Capitalism (New York: Pantheon Books, 1974), 16–17. 39. TsGIA Az, f. 50, op. 1, d. 151: 76. List of Baku City Duma candidates. 40. RGIA, f. 1263, op. 1, d. 4259: 13–14. 41. Ibid., f. 932, op. 1, d. 395: 23. 42. TsGIA Az, f. 50, op. 1, d. 41: 152B. 43. Ibid., 152–153. 44. Ibid., f. 45, op. 2, d. 245: 1. 45. Ibid., 15–15B 46. Ibid., 15B 47. Ibid., 16–17. 48. Ibid., 40. 49. Ibid., 40–40B. 50. Ibid., 50–51B. 51. The holiday referred to as the “Muslim New Year” was Novruz Bairam, a pre-Islamic holiday celebrating the advent of spring. 52. TsGIA Az, f. 50, op. 1, d. 84: 302 53. Ibid., 303. 54. Ibid., 297–298. 55. Ibid., f. 1, op. 1, d. 60: 2. 56. Ibid., 3–3B.

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57. Ibid., 5–6. 58. Ibid., 8. 59. Ibid., d. 1, 8. 60. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana (Baku: Izd-vo Ak Nauk, 1960), 2: 255–56. 61. TsGIA Az, f. 50, op. 1, d. 5: 76. 62. Ibid., d. 41: 161–79. 63. Ibid., f. 389, op. 1, d. 25: 52. 64. Ibid., 54–55. 65. Ibid., f. 50, op. 1, d. 60: 16–17. 66. Ibid., f. 1, op. 1, d. 1236: 1–2. 67. Marat Ibragimov, Predprinimatel’skaia deiatel’nost’ G. Z. Tagieva (Baku: Az Gos Izd-vo, 1990), 75–95. 68. Marat Ibragimov, “Prosvetitel’skaia deiatel’nost Gadzhi Zeinalabdina Tagieva,” unpublished manuscript (Baku, 1990), 2. 69. TsGIA Az, f. 309, op. 1, d. 814, 5: 12. 70. Ibragimov, “Prosvetitel’skaia deiatel’nost,” 3, 5. 71. Ibid., 7. 72. Ibid., 8, and Dilara B. Seidzade, Azerbaidzhanskie deputaty v gosudarstvennoi dume Rossii (Baku: Az Gos Izd-vo, 1991), 16–17. 73. Seidzade, Azerbaidzhanskie deputaty, 12–13. 74. TsGIA Az, f. 389, op. 1, d. 428: 3. 75. Izvestiia Bakinskoi Gorodskoi Dumy, September 1914, 4. 76. Ibid., March–May 1916, 43–75.

Chapter 9 1. Vartan Gregorian, “The Impact of Russia on the Armenians and Armenia,” in Russia and Asia: Essays on the Influence of Russia on the Asian Peoples, ed. Wayne S. Vucinich (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1972), 207–8. 2. David M. Lang, “A Century of Russian Impact on Georgia,” in Russia and Asia, 224. 3. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 276. 4. Society for Central Asian Studies, The Political Life of Russian Muslims Before the February Revolution (Oxford, 1987), 10, and Swietochowski, Russian Azerbaijan, 35, 48. 5. Tadeusz Swietochowski in Russian Azerbaijan suggests (p. 26) that Vorontsov deliberately encouraged the development of local culture, in order to ward off the Persian influence. 6. Swietochowski, Russian Azerbaijan, 23–24; ANSSSR, Ocherki po istorii filosofskii i obshchestvenno-politicheskoi mysli narodov SSSR (Moscow: Nauk, 1956), 2: 731–737; and ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 352–356. 7. Zardabi, Izbrannye stat’i i pis’ma, 7–10; ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 375; and Geidar Guseinov, Iz istorii obshchestvennoi i filosofskoi mys’li v Azerbaidzhane xix veka (Baku, 1949), 494–95. 8. Zardabi, Izbrannye stat’i i pis’ma, 465. 9. Zenkovsky, Pan-Turkism and Islam, 99. 10. Bol’shaia Sovetskaia Entsiklopediia (Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe Nauchnoe Izd-vo, 1974), 17: 251. s.v. “Narimanov.” 11. Zardabi, Izbrannye stat’i i pis’ma, 8. 12. Kavkazskii Kalendar’ na 1890 God (Tiflis, 1890), 139–40. 13. S. M. Yahya-zade, “K voprosy o strukture i temakike gazeti “Ekinchi” in Dokladi Akademii Nauk Azerbaidzhanskoi SSR 6, no. 7 (1950): 316. 14. Guseinov, Iz istorii obshchestvennoi, 10. 15. Yahya-zade, “K voprosy,” 317–18. 16. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 2: 402. 17. Ibid., 276, 404.

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18. RGIA, f. 766, op. 12, d. 8: 1. 19. Ibid., 10. 20. Ibid., d. 65: 1. 21. Ibid., op. 13, d. 135: 1. 22. Ibid., 2. 23. Ibid., 9. 24. Ibid., 10. 25. Ibid., 12. 26. Ahmad Aghaev, “Neobkhodimaia raz’iasneniia k petitsiiam musul’man,” Kaspii 57 (March 30, 1905). 27. Ibid. 28. TsGIA Az, f. 45, op. 1, d. 35: 1–3. 29. A. M. Topchibashev, “Gazeta na Tatarskom iazyke v Baku,” Kaspii 18 (January 23, 1905). 30. A. M. Topchibashev, “Kavkazskoe namestichestvo,” Kaspii 35 (March 3, 1905). 31. A. M. Topchibashev, “K otmene ogranicheniia prav musul’man v gordskom samoupravlenii,” Kaspii 156 (August 10, 1905). 32. A. M. Topchibashev, “Deistvitel’nyia mery k uspokoeniiu strany,” Kaspii 214 (November 6, 1905). 33. RGIA, f. 1276, op. 1, d. 107, 64. 34. Ibid., 65. 35. Ibid., 66. 36. Ibid., 70. 37. Ibid., 67–68. 38. Ibid., 69. 39. Ibid., 69–71. 40. Dokumenty po Russkoi politiki v Zakavkaz’e (Baku, 1920), 62. For additional information on the Muslim Congresses see the Society for Central Asian Studies publication The Political Rights of Russia’s Muslims Before the February Revolution (Oxford, 1987) and Serge Zenkovsky’s Pan-Turkism and Islam. 41. Swietochowski, Russian Azerbaijan, 50–51. 42. Ibid., 54–55, 66. 43. Revizii goroda Baku, 46–49. For an analysis of the Shi’ite conception of worldly government see Hamid Algar’s Religion and State in Iran: 1785–1906 (Los Angeles; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969). 44. Revizii goroda Baku, 47. 45. Dokumenty po Russkoi politiki, 7–8. 46. Ibid., 9–21. 47. Ibid., 24–32. 48. Central State Archive of Political Parties and Social Movements of the Republic of Azerbaijan (TsGAPP Az), f. 276, op. 8, d. 125: 1–3 49. Ibid., d. 110, 2. 50. Ibid., 7. 51. “Kavkazskaia intelligentsiia na obshchestvennom poprishche,” Kavkazskii Vestnik 1 (September 1905). 52. Osoboi Komissii pri Ministerstve Inostrannykh Del’ Azerbaidzhanskoi Respubliki, Dokumenty po Russkoi Politike v Zakavkazi (Baku, 1920), 54. 53. Ibid., 54–56. 54. Ibid., 55. 55. Ibid., 58. 56. Ibid., 59. 57. TsGIA Az, f. 524, op. 1, d. 31: 68. 58. Ibid., d. 33: 5. 59. Ibid., 37.

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60. Ibid., 38. 61. This segment of the Musavat party program was quoted in Ronald Suny’s The Baku Commune: 1917–1918 (Princeton University Press, 1972), 19. For a list of points from the Musavat party program also see Serge A. Zenkovsky’s Pan-Turkism and Islam in Russia, 101. For a discussion of Rasulzade’s role in the Persian revolution and his editorship of Iran-I nou see Tadeusz Swietochowski’s Russian Azerbaijan, 69. 62. Diliara Seidzade, Obshchestvenno-Politicheskaia deiatel’nost’ Azerbaidzhanskoi burzhuazii (1905–1917)—avtoreferat (Baku, 1993), 30. 63. Audrey Altstadt, The Azerbaijani Turks: Power and Identity Under Russian Rule (Hoover Institution Press, 1992), 73. 64. Aidin Balaev, Azerbaidzhanskoe Natsional’no-Demokraticheskoe Dvizhenie: 1917–1920 (Baku, 1990), 74. 65. Ibid., 82. 66. Ibid., 83–84. 67. Ibid., 222–25. 68. Ibid., 38. 69. TsGIA Az, f. 524, op. 1, d. 36: 42. 70. Ibid., d. 44: 9. 71. Ibid., f. 1, op. 1, d. 557, 1. 72. Ibid., 10–12.

Appendix 1. For a detailed geography of Azerbaijan see Pervaia vseobshchaia perepis’ naseleniia Rossiiskoi Imperii, 1897 g, LXI, “Bakinskaia guberniia” (St. Petersburg, 1905), III; F. A. Brokhaus and I. A. Efron, Entsiklopedicheskii slovar’ (St. Petersburg, 1891), 2A: 770–72, s.v. “Bakinskaia guberniia”; ANSSSR, Geografiia khoziaistva respublik Kavkaz’ia (Moscow, 1966), and Institute Geografii, Atlas Azerbaidzhanskoi SSR (Moscow-Baku: Glavnoe Upravlenie Geodezii i Kartografii, 1963). 2. Zev Katz, Handbook of Major Soviet Nationalities (New York: Free Press, 1975), 191, and Tadeusz Swietochowski, Russian Azerbaijan, 1905–1920: The Shaping of National Identity in a Muslim Community (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 1. 3. For a study of Azerbaijan under Arab rule see Ziia Buniatov’s Azerbaidzhan v vii–ix vv (Baku, 1965). 4. Dzh. B. Guliev, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana (Baku: Izd-vo Elm, 1979), 60. 5. For an analysis of Medieval Caucasia see Vladimir Minorsky’s The Turks, Iran and the Caucasus in the Middle Ages (London: Variorum Reprints, 1978). 6. Audrey L. Altstadt, The Azerbaijani Turks: Power and Identity Under Russian Rule (Stanford, Hoover Institution Press, 1992), 5. 7. Swietochowski, Russian Azerbaijan, 2–3. 8. Muriel Atkin, Russia and Iran, 1780–1828 (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1980), 3–7. 9. ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana (Baku: Akademii Nauk, 1958), 1: 335–36. 10. Ibid., 334–35. 11. ANAZSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 1: 350. 12. A. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi Azerbaidzhana v xix–nachale xx vekov (Baku: Azerneshr, 1966), 28, and Gasi Abdullaev, Azerbaidzhan v xviii veke, 126–35. 13. I. P. Petrushevskii, Ocherki po istorii feodal’nykh otnoshenii v Azerbaidzhane i Armenii v xvi–nachale xix vv (Leningrad: Izd-vo Leningradskogo Gos Univ, 1949), 89. 14. Prerevolutionary Russian historians erroneously refer to the social order of the khanates as a soslovie or estate system. This terminology is unsuitable as the social groups under the khans’ rule had no corporate rights and were not legal entities. 15. N. Dubrovin, Istoriia voiny i vladychestva Russkikh na Kavkaze (Sankt-Petersburg, 1871), 2: 389.

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16. Abdullaev, Azerbaidzhan v xviii veke, 106–8. Tsarist and Soviet historians alike tend to exaggerate the absolute nature of the khans’ powers, portraying them as “oriental despots.” 17. Petrushevskii, Ocherki po istorii, 87. 18. Abdullaev, Azerbaidzhan v xviii veke, 110–11, and ANAzSSR, Istoriia Azerbaidzhana, 1: 370–72. 19. Abdullaev, Azerbaidzhan v xviii veke, 175. 20. Dubrovin, Istoriia voiny, 1, book II: 389. 21. The distinction between these forms of land tenure is analogous to the Old Russian pomestie and votchina. 22. Petrushevskii, Ocherki po istorii, 184–221. 23. Ibid., 222–24, 241. 24. Abdullaev, Azerbaijan v xviii veke, 159–60, and Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 34. 25. Dubrovin, Istoriia voiny, 392. 26. Ibid., 386–88. 27. Mil’man, Politicheskii stroi, 37. 28. Dubrovin, Istoriia voiny, 2: 395.

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INDEX A Adrianople, treaty of, 41 Afshar, Nadir Shah, 150 agalars, 21, 79, 152 privileges and duties of, 21 shifts in allegiances, 80 Aga Muhammad Khan, 12, 150 “Age of Empire,” Russia’s role in, 11 Aghaev, Ahmad Bek, 73, 127 activities during Golitsyn’s admininistration, 135 efforts to accomplish peaceful and legal reform, 137 efforts to publish Azerbaijanilanguage newspaper, 134 involvment in Difai, 141 member of third generation of Azerbaijani intelligentsia, 132 pan-Turkic and pan-Islamic ideology of, 136 Akhundov, Khalygh, 121 Akhundzade/Akhundov, Mirza Fath Ali, 130–131, 133 Alexander I, 10 immigration of German colonists and, 40 intentions towards Georgia and khanates, 15 localist tendencies of, 20 relationship with Tsitsianov, 14–15 state policy toward religious dissidents under, 45 Alexander II, 57 brother of Mikhail Nikolaevich, 61 desire to free Transcaucasian peasantry from serfdom, 83 localist tendencies of, 20 murder of, 93 relations between Armenians and Russian State under, 43 establishment of Baku as Azerbaijan administrative center, 59 Alexander III ascension to throne, 93 Caucasian administration under, 93 counter-reforms of, 94, 125 Great Russian nationalism under, 95

Alexander III (continued) relationship to Vorontsov-Dashkov, 105 Russification of Caucasus under, 44, 20, 107, 113 Algeria, French administration of, 38 All-Russian Muslim Congresses, 130, 136, 137, 139, 142 America, continental expansion compared with Russian , 11 Anarchists, 106 Apsheron peninsula, petroleum reserves on, 101 Armenian Revolutionary Federation. See Dashnaktsutiun Armenians conflict with Muslims, 103, 104 immigration to Transcaucasia, 41–44 intelligentsia, 43 revolutionary and nationalist parties of, 43 settling of in Transcaucasia, 37 Asadullaev, Shamsi, 121, 125 Azerbaijan conflicts between Azerbaijani and Armenian populations, 101 cultural renaissance in, 132 disinheritance of landowning groups, 35 division into two parts by treaty of Turkmanchai, 25 education available in, 75 emancipation of peasantry, 68 emergence of nationalist movement in, 94 February Revolution in, 111 first contact with Russians, 149 history, 149–75 intelligentsia, 56, 72 introduction of municipal selfgovernment, 69 khanates of, as Muslim provinces, 10 national movement, 95 oil industry and revolutionary events in, 101–5

188

ON THE RELIGIOUS FRONTIER

Azerbaijan (continued) political and geographical division of, 12 Soviet historiography regarding annexation, 3 tsarist educational policy in, 72–77 Western historiography of, 4 Azerbaijan (Azerbaijani-language publication), 134 Azerbaijani-Armenian War, 141 Azerbaijani Republic, 132 Azizbekov, Mashad 140

B Babaev, Aga Reza, 103 Bakinskii. See Shemakha Baku activites of Himmat in, 140 arrests for political crimes in, 106 as primary source of crude oil, 101 assassination of governor by Dashnaks, 141 attacks on Armenians in, 44 bek committee meetings in, 84 bek status in, 84 composition of population, 108 conflicts between Azerbaijani and Armenian populations, 101 confrontations between Muslim traders and Russian workers, 121 discontent among unofficial clergy, 90 disorders in, 111 distribution of Azerbaijani-language newspaper in, 136 domination of Azerbaijanis in oil industry of, 125 early industries in, 151 effects of ethnic disturbances on oil industry, 103 efforts to establish voting rights in, 65 emancipation of peasantry in, 85 ethnic disturbances in, 103 financing of mosques in, 120 food shortages in, 145 judicial reform in, 66 khan of, 16 land reform in, 67, 85 limitations imposed on Muslim merchants in, 121

Baku (continued) literacy levels in, 73 marshal law imposed on, 106 municipal reforms in, 70 pan-Islamism in, 143–144 regionalism in, 136 relocation of Azerbaijan administrative center to, 59 response of local administration to upheavals, 104 revolutionary activities in, 98 Russian railway worker support of factory workers in, 102 Russian Social Democratic Labor Party in, 140 schools, 74, 77 settlement of peasantry in, 68 Social-Democrats in, 140 strikes in, 102–103, 108 transfer to Russia by Treaty of Gulistan, 18 travel restrictions imposed on merchants of, 124 voting procedures in, 70 Bala-Bek Gasan-Bekov, 98 Balkan War, 143 Bariatinskii, Prince Alexander Ivanovich, 57–61 alliance with Miliutin, 57 attempts to weaken Sharia, 58 autonomy of Caucasian bureaucracy under, 57 consolidation of Russia’s rule over Caucasus, 60 defeat and capture of Shamil, 57 early experiences in Caucasus, 57 establishment of financial independence of Caucasus, 58 military reforms, 57 opposition to localist policies, 33 plans to convert Caucasian mountaineers to Christianity, 60 promotion of railroad building, 59 rescript of 1846 and, 83 resignation of, 61 soslovie rights of higher Muslim classes under, 83 use of Armenian church to counter Muridism, 60 views compared with Witte’s, 60 views on international policy, 59, 60 Vorontsov-Dashkov compared with, 105

INDEX Batum, marshal law imposed on, 106 beks, 21, 79, 152. See also Muslim elite attempts to determine social status of, 32 committees, 84 confiscation of lands, 31 criteria for selecting as administrators, 33 educational reforms and, 77 historical origins of, 151 land reform and, 85–86, 114 peasant dependence on, 107 reversal of policy toward, 85 shifts in allegiances, 80 Belinskii influence of, 129 legitimization of Russian territorial claims to Caucasus and, 8 Bestuzhev-Marlinski, 7 Bibi-Eibat, 103 Bloody Sunday, 103 Bolshevik revolution, 132 Bolsheviks, 106 Borozdin, K., 44 British imperialism, emulation of by Russian empire-builders, 11 Bucharest, treaty of, 18

C Cadet Corps, 130, 133 Caspian oblast, division of under Vorontsov, 54 Catherine II, 150 belief in enlightened Russian rule, 15 history of viceroyalty and, 51 state policy toward religious dissidents under, 45 Tsitsianov and, 14 Catherine the Great, 150 Caucasian administration abolition of viceroyalty, 86 autonomy under Bariatinskii, 57, 60 bias against Muslims, 108 compared with British in India, 39 compared with French model, 38 conflicts between localists and integrationists, 27 conflicts with central Russian ministries, 25, 86

189 Caucasian administration (continued) contradictory policies of, 62 control of Muslim clergy, 118 failure of judicial processes, 66 failures of, 50 favoring of Muslim elite over peasantry, 81 fear of intelligentsia, 129 in early 1840s, 49–51, 52 integrationist vs. localist approaches to, 20, , 33, 147 judicial reform, 66–67 laws affecting, 15, 50, 54, 81–83 military conscription of Muslims, 144 Office of High Commissioner of Caucasus introduced, 86 opposition to Azerbaijani-language publications, 134 opposition to pan-Islamic movement, 143 policy toward Armenians, 100 quality of staffing, 56, 66, 138 reduction of power under Alexander III, 94 regulation of landlords and peasants, 55, 80, 84 responsibilities of administrators, 19 retreat from integrationist efforts, 35 rights and obligations of landlords and peasants under, 82 Russification of Caucasus under, 113 settlement of land disputes, 67 settlement of Russian Orthodox peasantry, 99 transition between military and civilian systems, 34, 63 treatment of Caucasian royalty, 113 unresponsiveness to intelligentsia, 137 use of force against Azerbaijanis, 145 Viceroyalty of the Caucasus, 51–63 Caucasian army, size of, 23 Caucasian campaigns, 13–18 Caucasian Committee, 38, 45, 58, 62, 70, 83, 84, 85 abolition of, 53, 93, 97, 105 composition and views of, 30 creation and function of, 53 Mikhail Nikolaevich and, 89

190

ON THE RELIGIOUS FRONTIER

Caucasian culture, publications devoted to study of, 11 Caucasus, 14, 29, 71, 177 administrative incorporation into Russian empire, 27 anti-Russian revolts in, 21, 32–33 Armenians and, 41–44 as “turbulent frontier,” 11–13 as an object of study, 10 attacks on cultures and languages of, 44 attempts to introduce ethnic Russians and Russian nobility, 31 balance of power at end of the eighteenth century, 12 colonization of non-natives, 37–46 conditions compared to inner Russia, 85 conquest of vs. administration of, 12 depiction of in Russian literature, 7 economic and social incorporation into Russian center, 13, 25 education in, 74, 108 establishment of administrative departments in, 11 establishment of Russian military rule in, 13 ethnic violence in, 104 first Russian settlers in, 45 geographical peculiarities of, 85 holy war waged during1828–59, 33 immigration to Amenians, 100 Germans, 40 Old Believers, 37–46 reasons for , 37 refugees, 100 Russian peasants, 69 sectarian peasants, 40, 100 industrialization and urbanization of, 43 introduction of Russian political forms in, 13 military conscription in, 70 military reforms used as model for all-empire reforms, 57 private ownership of land in, 79 problems with applying frontier thesis to, 12 prohibition against religious rites, 115

Caucasus (continued) publication languages of journals, 133 redemption of lands by peasantry in, 68 reluctance of Russians to voluntarily settle in, 46 replacement of local laws with imperial law, 13 resistance to Russian rule in, 51 resistance to Russification, 13, 108 revolutionary period, , 101, 105–8 Russian subjugation of by force, 13 separation from Russian political center, 19 serfdom in, 55, 68 settlement of Russian army in, 44 shortage of Russian administrators in, 21, 23 South Carolina plantations used as models for agriculture in, 28 status of peasants, 68 steps in conquest of, 13 taxation in, 21, 137 transition to civil rule in, 34 tsarist police in, 98–99, 101, 104, 106, 121 wartime conditions in, 111 Chechnya, 61, 71, 147 Chernyshev, Prince Alexander I., 35, 51 correspondence with Nicholas I, 38 creation of Caucasian Committee, 53 support of Muslim elite, 80, 81 support of former khans’ families, 82 Chernyshevskii, 129 chinovniks defined, 11, 35 ineffectiveness of as administrators, 80 clergy. See Muslim clergy colonialism American vs. Russian, 177 defined, 177 geographical factors in, 39 in Imperial Russia, 2 Russian emulation of British and French, 38 Russian State policy on, 38

INDEX Committee for the Restructuring of the Caucasian Region. See Caucasian Committee Committee of Ministers, 127 Dondukov-Korsakov and, 96 Muslim demands for religious freedom and, 117 petition of Muslims of Caucasus to, 137–39 policies on exiling sectarians to Transcaucasia, 45 relationship of Caucasian high commissioner to, 93 role in Caucasian administration, 105 views regarding settlement of Armenians in Transcaucasia, 42 contiguous colonialism, 2, 39 Cossacks role in Armenian emigration, 41 settlement in Siberia, 45 used to restrain rioters during oil crisis, 102 Crimean War, 56, 57, 59

D Daghestan anti-Russian rebellion, 61 conquest of, 58 retention of Russian military rule over, 34 uprisings in, 71, 144 Vorontsov’s campaign in, 53 war with Caucasian mountaineers in, 81 Dashnaktsutiun, 43, 103, 106, 141 Decembrist movement, 23 Derbent, 54 khan of, 17 retention of Russian military rule over, 34 transfer to Russia by Treaty of Gulistan, 18 Difai, 132, 141, 142 divan as part of military-commandant system, 22 defined, 151 divan-begis, defined, 23 Djavanshir, Ahmad Bek, 130

191 Djevad Khan correspondence with General Knorring, 14 used as an example by Tsitsianov, 16 Dobroliubov, 129 Dolgorukov, 60 domashnego uchitelia, defined, 76 Domontovich, 19 Dondukov-Korsakov, Prince Alexandr Mikhailovich, 43, 85 appointment as first high commissioner of Caucasus, 96 conflicts between Muslim traders and Russian workers and, 121 correspondence with tsar, 97 criticisms of predecessors, 97 dealings with State Council, 97 effectiveness of, 94 efforts to retain powers of viceroy, 96 implementation of military reforms, 71 localist administrative approach, 97 Muslim clergy and, 114 opposition to military conscription of Muslims, 71 reversal of policies toward beks, 85 service of Sheremetev under, 99 support of peasantry, 85 views on Armenians, 43 views on judicial reform, 98, 115 views on land reform, 68 views on Muslims, 98 Dubrovin, N., 10 Dukhobors, 45 Dukhovnye Pravleniia, defined, 89 Dumas effect of counter-reforms on, 94 functions of, 69 manipulation of elections, 95 population represented by, 94 underrepresentation of Muslims in, 126, 139 dvorianstvo, defined, 152

E Eastern Transcaucasia. See Azerbaijan, Caucasus economic elite. See merchants, entrepreneurs

192

ON THE RELIGIOUS FRONTIER

educational system(s) as a means of Russification, 107 Azerbaijani demands for improvement in, 138 contributions of Taghiev to, 126 first Russo-Muslim school for women, 77, 126 Il’minskii system, 107 Jadid schools, 72 language instruction in, 107 neglect of in Azerbaijan, 129 “Russo-Tatar” schools, 75 teaching of Islamic theology, 118 Vorontsov’s support of, 115 Ekaterinodar’, gimnazium established in, 74 Ekinchi, 130, 133 Elisou, sultan of, 15 Elizavetpol, 15. See also Ganje regionalism in, 136 Russian peasant colonies in, 69 voluntary Muslim fighting units in, 109 emigration, Euopean compared to Russian, 39 England, participation in RussoPersian wars, 18 entrepreneurs, 70, 95, 125–28. See also individual entrepreneurs by name, merchants, Muslim elite alienation by Russification practices, 113 alliance of Muslim workers with, 140 alliance with intelligentsia, 120 as leaders equal rights movement , 120 Baku City Duma and, 125 charitable activities of, 127 counter-reforms of Alexander III and, 125 economic policies supported by, 125 educational, artistic and journalistic activities, 125–27, 129 evolution in political consciousness of, 127 fields of economic activity, 125 financing of Azeri publications, 129 founding of schools by, 76 oil industry, 125 partnership with intelligentsia, 129 political rights supported by, 125 representation of in Duma, 94

entrepreneurs (continued) support of intelligentsia, 125 support of merchants, 121 taxation of, 125 tsarist policy toward, 120 Erevan, 54 annexation by Russia in 1828, 25 Armenian settlement in, 41 immigration of Armenians and Greeks to, 42 Ermolov, General Aleksei Petrovich, 18–24 administration of Caucasus, 19–22, 27 Armenian settlement and, 44 dealings with Shamshid and Kazakh provinces, 21 depiction in Russian literature, 8 localist tendencies of, 20 loss of authority under Nicholas I, 23 policy toward Muslim borderlands, 19 protection of Christian and Georgian interests, 20 role in transition from military to civilian rule in Caucasus, 20 succeeded by Paskevich, 24 use and treatment of traditional Muslim social elite, 20, 79, 84 Etnograficheskii Sbornik Kavkaza, 11 Eurasia, Russified national leadership in, 147

F Fadeev, General R. A., 60 Fath Ali Shah, 12, 16 February revolution, 110–11 frontier regions, differing technological, cultural and military levels of,, 12

G Ganiev, Mejid, 73 Ganjavi, Nizami, 149 Ganje, 14., 15. See also Elizavetpol founding of Difai in, 141 invasion of, 15 khan of, 16 silk industry in, 151 transfer to Russia by Treaty of Gulistan, 18

INDEX Gasprinski, Ismail Bey, 72, 119 All-Russian Muslim Congresses and, 130 publication of Muslim newspapers, 136, 138 Georgia, 12, 14, 15, 16 attitude of Paskevich toward, 24 emancipation of peasantry in, 68 Ermolov as commander in chief of, 19 events following annexation, 14 introduction of Russian civil law in, 23 Persian ulema and, 115 rights of nobility in, 23 Russification in, 13, 108 social-federalists and autonomy seekers in, 106 Treaty of Gulistan and, 18 German sectarians, 37, 40 Glavnonachal’stvuiushchii Grazhdanskoi Chastiiu na Kavkaz’e. See Office of the Caucasian High Commissioner Glavnoupravliaiushchii, defined, 24 Golitsyn, Prince Grigorii, 99, 100–101 alienation of Caucasian nationalities, 100 anti-Armenian policies, 100 assassination attempts on, 101 denial of noble status to Muslim elite, 113 effectiveness of, 94 merchants and, 123 Muslim clergy and, 117 opposition to Azerbaijani-language publications, 135 policies, 135 Golovin, General Adjutant Evgenii Alexandrovich administration of, 49 failure of centralizing policy, 35 regulations instituted by, 34 replacement of militarycommandant system with civilian administration, 33 views on Muslim clergy, 87 gortsy, defined, 62 governor-generalship, 51, 96 Great Purge, 132 Great Reforms, 2, 49, 65–77 counter-reforms and, 94 Dondukov-Korsakov views on, 97

193 Great Reforms (continued) education reform, 72–77 emancipation of peasantry, 68–69 judicial reform, 66–67, 87 land reform, 67–69, 85–86 military reform, 70–71 municipal self-government, 69–70 reasons for failure of in Caucasus, 77 Great Russian nationalism, 95 Greek immigration to Transcaucasia, 42 Gregorian Church, confiscation of properties under Golitsyn, 100 guberniia administration, attempts to introduce in Caucasus, 44 Gudovich, General Ivan Vasil’evich, 16 Gulistan, Treaty of, 16, 18

H Hadith, 120 Hahn, Baron Pavel Ivanovich, 33 failure of centralizing policy, 35 introduction of civil administration, 34 regulations instituted by, 34 views on Muslim clergy, 87 Haji Mirza Ahmad Mulla Sadegh Ogly, 115 Hamzad, 33 Hassan Bek, 61 Herzen, 129 Himmat, 132, 140 Hnchak, 43, 106 Holy Synod, institutionalization of Orthodox Church through, 32 Hossein, Seyyed, 116 Hosseinzade, Akhund Ahmed, 116, 127 Hussein Quli, 16

I Ibrahim Khan, 16 Il’minskii, Nikolai Ivanovich, 72 Il’minskii system, 107 India, British administration compared with Caucasian administration, 39 Indian Mutiny, 71

194

ON THE RELIGIOUS FRONTIER

inordcheskaia, defined, 135 inorodtsy, defined, 137 intelligentsia, 103, 133, 138, 142 petition to Committee of Ministers, 127 activities during Golitsyn’s admininistration, 135 alliance with entrepreneurs, 120 Armenian, 43, 142 as national leaders, 137 association of Russian and Azerbaijani, 130 Azerbaijani, 56, 129–132, 142 Azerbaijani compared with Georgian and Armenian, 129 Baku newspaper Ekinchi and, 131 barred from civil service, 130 changing attitudes of, 130 composition of, 131 concept of Azerbaijani nation and, 129 cooperation of Armenians and Azerbaijanis, 142 creation of national literary language and, 132 development of, 129, 148 drawn from ranks of teachers and journalists, 130 educational reforms and, 77 efforts to accomplish peaceful and legal reform, 137 exclusion from electoral lists, 70 first generation of Azerbaijani, 130 Georgian, 129 importation of revolutionary ideas from abroad, 72 influences on, 129 Jadids, 72 legal activism, 137–39 liberal literary vs. Himmatists, 140 Muslim elite sympathy for, 113 pan-Turkic and pan-Islamic ideology of, 136 patronage of by economic sector, 125, 129, 131 Persian Revolution and, 137 petition of Muslims of Caucasus to Committee of Ministers, 137–39 politicization of, 130–132, 137, 139–42 press used to present views of, 132 resemblance to Russian populists, 131

intelligentsia (continued) revolutionary, 131, 142 Russian zemstvos and, 65 second generation of Azerbaijani, 130–31 Sunnis and, 132 support of all-Russian movements, 139 Taghiev and, 127 third generation of Azerbaijani, 131–32 Vorontsov’s influence on, 130 Iran, 41, 148, 149, 150 Islam as a model of resistance, 3 as major identifying factor in labeling Azerbaijanis, 10 conversion of Azerbaijani population to, 149 efforts to supplant with Orthodox Christianity, 32 official vs. Sufi, 87 political influence of, 142–45 Russian Orientalism and, 9–10 Sunni vs. Shi’ite, 10 viewed as enemy of Russian religion, 10 Ittifaq, 132, 139, 142 Ivan the Terrible, 149 Ivanenko, V. N., 10

J Jadid schools, 72 Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, 72 journalists, persecution of , 132

K kadkhuda, defined, 152 kalantar, defined, 152 Kankrin, Egor, 28 Karabagh, 16, 150 anti-Russian revolts in, 23 Armenian settlement in, 41 conversion from khanate to province, 22 historical appeals to Russia for protection, 150 immigration of Armenians and Greeks to, 42 khan of, 16

INDEX Karabagh (continued) transfer to Russia by Treaty of Gulistan, 18 Kaspii, 73, 76, 77, 127, 130, 131, 132, 134, 135, 136, 140 Kavkaz, 52, 93, 131 Kavkazskii Kalendar’, 75, 133 Kavkazskii Sbornik, 11 Kavkazskii Vestnik, 40, 142 Kazakh, Ermolov’s dealings with, 21 Kazi Mulla, 33 Keshkul, 129, 133, 134 Khamse, 149 khanates, 14, 150–54 administrative organs of, 152 annexation by Russia in 1828, 25 anti-Russian revolts in, 23 contribution to success of Russian campaigns, 13 conversion to provinces, 22 fighting and dynastic quarrels among, 12 Russian reliance upon, 22 social hierarchy, 151–152 taxation of, 152 transfer to Russia by Treaty of Gulistan, 18 under military-commandant system, 22 Khanov, Abbas Quli Baki, 130 Khanykov, N. V., 88 Kiev, workers’ strike in, 102 Knorring, General replaced by Tsitsianov, 14 Knorring, General, 14 Kokovtsev, V., 103 Koliubakin, 67, 70 Komitet Kavkazskii. See Causcasian Committee Koran, 27, 82 Kotliarevskii, depiction in Russian literature, 8 Kuba, 150 bek committee meetings in, 84 rebellions in, 32, 61, 98 retention of Russian military rule over, 34 transfer to Russia by Treaty of Gulistan, 18 Kuchaev, M. N., 82 Kutais, gimnazium established in, 74 Kutaisov, P. I., 28–29 Kuzminskii, Senator, 74, 104, 140

195

L Lanskoi, S. S., 69 lavki, defined, 120 laws enacted 1846, 153 1847, 55 1847, 55 1870, 85, 94 1872, 115, 117 1890, 122 1892, 94 1896, 123 1912, 114 Lazarev, Colonel L. Y., 42 Lena gold field massacre, 108 Lenkoran, 115 bek committee meetings in, 84 settlement of Russian sectarians in, 45 Treaty of Gulistan and, 18 Lermontov, 7 Loris-Melikov, Count Mikhail Tarielovich, 43

M Mahmudbekov, Habib Bek, 73, 75 maliks, defined, 81 Mechnikov, E. I., 28–29 medresses, 74, 75. See also mektabs mejlis, defined, 89 mektabs, 74, 75. See also medresses Melikov, Hasan Bek. See Zardabi, Hasan Bek merchants, 120–25. See also entrepreneurs, Muslim elite alienation by Russification practices, 113 close ties to clergy, 120 discrimination against, 123 financing of mosques, 120 foreign commerce, 124 Islamic doctrine and, 120 issuance of passports to, 124 limitations imposed on, 121 religious discrimination against, 122 representation of in Duma, 94 suspected of pan-Islamism, 143 taxation of, 123, 152 travel restrictions imposed on, 124 Tsarist policy toward, 120 use of legal avenues, 123

196

ON THE RELIGIOUS FRONTIER

merchants (continued) violence between Russian immigrant workers and, 121 migration, 37 reasons for, 37 Russian State control of flow of, 38 Mikhail Alexandrovich, Grand Duke, 109 Mikhail Nikolaevich, Grand Duke, 61–62 appointment as viceroy of Caucasus, 61 bek rights under, 84–85 change in approach toward administration of Caucasus, 62 introduction of Great Reforms, 65 land reform under, 85 mistrust of Muslim population, 61 plans to create Muslim religious hierarchy, 89 proposal to exile villages to Siberia, 62 reorganization of Caucasian administration, 61 royal ties, 61 soslovie rights of Muslims under, 83 support of peasantry, 68, 85 views regarding Caucasian administration, 93, 95 military-commandant system, 22–24, 34 abolition of, 49 abuses under, 22, 28 armed uprisings sparked by, 33 initial phase, 22 provincial legal system under, 23 role of divan in, 22 treatment of khans under, 22 Miliutin, 57 Ministry of Education, 74, 75, 76 Ministry of Finances, 28, 42, 58, 69 regulation of merchant travel, 124 settlement of Armenians in Transcaucasia and, 42 use of South Carolina plantations as agricultural models, 28 Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 143 Ministry of Internal Affairs, 62, 73, 85, 88 Azerbaijani-language newspapers and, 132 dependence of Caucasian administration on, 96

Ministry of Internal Affairs (continued) proposed abolition of Muslim administration under, 139 religious administration of, 117 Ministry of Justice, 98 denial of noble status to Muslim elite, 113 report on strike in Baku, 102 Ministry of State Domains, 82, 83, 86, 97 Ministry of the Interior, 141 Ministry of War, 51, 70, 71 Mirza, Crown Prince Abbas, 17 1826 invasion of Karabagh, 23 Armenian immigration to Transcaucasia and, 41 Mohammed, 56, 120 Mohammed Shah Qajar, 56 Molokans, 45 muafi-nukeri, 152, 153 mujtaheds, 88, 140 mulk, 152 mulkdar’, defined, 153 mulkdar-tabigi, 55, 81 mullahs, 88 function of, 89 prerequisites for becoming, 119 Murav’ev, Nikolai Nikolaevich, 57 Muridism, Murid movemen, t33 defeat of, 58, 86 described by Bariatinskii, 58 efforts by Bariatinskii to weaken, 60 growth of , 33, 57 use of Muslim clergy to neutralize, 87 Musavat, 144 Muslim clergy, 114–19, 153 bureaucratization of, 32 clashes with Caucasian administration, 87 cooperation with local officials, 116 demand for autonomy in religious affairs, 117 dissent within ranks of, 118 during First World War, 119 education of, 87 efforts by Bariatinskii to weaken, 58 financial difficulties of, 116 foreign connections of, 21, 115 involvement in education, 74 involvment in Difai, 141 judicial reforms and, 88, 115 loss of autonomy, 114

INDEX Muslim clergy (continued) Muslim attitudes toward, 115, 117 obligations to state, 117 official vs. unofficial, 90, 115 organization of, 88, 89 political influence of, 58 reliance on, 33 requirement to use Russian language, 117 return of confiscated lands of, 87 rights of, 139 role in administration of Caucasus, 21 role in conflict settlement, 67 role in Sharia courts, 29 Russification and, 114 Shi’ite and Sunni ecclesiastical boards, 89 state apparatus of khanates dominated by, 152 state control of, 118 suspected of pan-Islamism, 143 ties with merchants, 120 used to neutralize Muridism, 87 viewed as Russia’s foe, 32 Vorontsov and, 115 Muslim elite, 113–14. See also agalars, beks, entrepreneurs, merchants, Muslim clergy, ulema compared with Russian landed nobility, 27 cooperation with Russians, 13 divisions of , 81, 120 effects of collaboration with Russians, 147 efforts to attain representation, 114 entrepreneurs, 120 entry into civil service, 55 ethno-religious nationalist sentiments of, 114 exile of, 21 land reform and, 85–86 loss of traditional roles and powers, 50 marginalization of, 49 merchants, 120–25 origins of, 85, 151 restoration of privileges under Vorontsov, 54 khanates dominated by, 152 sympathy for intelligentsia, 113 sympathy with anti-Russian movements, 114

197 Muslim elite (continued) treatment of, 113 tzarist social policy and, 79–90 tzarist colonial policy and, 3 Muslim revolutionary party, 106 Muslims compared with Tatars, 71 conflict with Armenians, 103–104 denial of equal rights with Christians, 110 exodus of Sunnis from Russian empire, 42 fears regarding education of, 73 immigration to Persia and Ottoman Empire, 41 literacy levels among, 74 military service of, 109–110 mortality rate of those exiled to Russia, 62 removal from local administrative positions, 34 Russian attempts to convert, 9 underrepresentation in Duma, 126 viewed as enemies of Russian religion, 10 Mustafa Khan, 17

N Naghiev, Musa, 110, 125 activities in Baku City Duma, 121 founding of surgical hospital, 127 support of Muslim merchants, 122 Nagorno-Karabagh, unresolved territorial conflicts in, 147 naibs, 22, 150, 152 Nakashidze, Prince, 141 Nakhjevan annexation by Russia in 1828, 25 Armenian settlement in, 41 conversion from khanate to province, 22 immigration of Armenians and Greeks to, 42 namestnichesvo. See Viceroyalty of the Caucasus Napoleonic campaigns, effect on Russo-Persian wars, 18 Naqshbandiyya Sufi brotherhood. See Muridism, Murid movement Narimanov, Nariman, 73 efforts to publish Azerbaijanilanguage newspaper, 134

198

ON THE RELIGIOUS FRONTIER

Narimanov, Nariman (continued) founder of Himmat, 140 member of third generation of Azerbaijani intelligentsia, 132 police records of, 135 Neidgart, General Alexander Ivanovich administration of, 49 ineffectiveness against Shamil, 50 removal from office, 51 support of Muslim higher soslovie, 80 Neshir i Sherif, 131 Nesselrode, Count, 24 Nicholas I appointment of Vorontsov as viceroy of Caucasus, 52 Caucasian colonization policies, 44 correspondence with Chernyshev, 38 correspondence with Hahn, 34 demand for revision of Caucasian administration, 51 father of Mikhail Nikolaevich, 61 hereditary tuyuls and, 153 integrationist tendencies of, 20 Muslim elite and, 54, 81, 84 Official Nationality policy , 29 policy toward religious dissidents, 45 relations with Ermolov, 23 Russian sectarians exiled to Transcaucasia under, 44 Sharia courts under, 88 strategies for dealing with Caucasus, 50 treatment of Caucasian royalty, 113 views on Caucasian administration, 96 visit to Caucasus in 1837, 33 Nicholas II abdication of, 110 as supreme commander of Russian armed forces, 109 centralization of Caucasian administration under, 20, 107, 113 Muslim merchants and, 123 reinstatement of viceroyalty, 94, 101, 105 visit to Caucasus in 1914, 109 Nikolai Nikolaevich, Grand Duke, 109–11 appointment as viceroy of Caucasus, 109

Nikolai Nikolaevich (continued) characteristics of tenure, 110 compared with predecessors, 110 conflict with governor of Baku, 111 discussions on introduction of zemstvos, 128 military background of, 110 reinstatement as supreme commander of Russian armed forces, 110 surrender of Imperial Russian power in Caucasus, 111 Nikolai, Baron, 95 nomads, proposed settling of, 86 Novoe Obozrenie, 131

O obrusenie, defined, 108 obrusit’ defined, 31 October Manifesto, 105, 137, 140 Odessa, workers’ strike in, 102 Office of the Caucasian High Commissioner, establishment of, 93. See also Caucasian administration, Viceroyalty of the Caucasus Official Nationality, 29, 88 oil industry, 49 Armenian ownership in, 104 Azerbaijani ownership in, 104 boom, 95, 101 crisis, 101–5 damages during ethnic disturbances in Baku, 103 educational reforms and, 76 entrepreneurs and, 121, 125 growth of, 94 taxation of, 104 wartime strikes in, 111 Okhrana, defined, 104 Old Believers, 37, 44–46 Orbel’ian, Prince, 61 Orientalism application of Edward Said’s concept of to Russian empire, 9 tradition of Western, 10 used to justify Russian expansion, 11 Orthodox Church, institutionalization of by Peter the Great, 32

INDEX

P pan-Islamism, 72, 119, 136, 143 espoused by intelligentsia, 132 espoused by Musavat, 144 pan-Slavism, 72, 132, 142 pan-Turkism, 72, 136 espoused by intelligentsia, 132 Paskevich, Prince Ivan, 10, 24–25 administration of Caucasian territories, 27 appointment as Ermolov’s cocommander and successor, 23 Armenian emigration and, 42 attitude toward Georgia, 24 efforts to Russify Caucasian administrative apparatus, 28 influence on State Council, 31 plans for transforming Caucasus, 28–29 plans to supplant Islam with Orthodox Christianity, 32 project on conditions of peace with Persia, 25 role in expanding Russian territorial boundaries, 24 second peace treaty with Persia and, 24 support of local elites, 80 Tsitsianov compared to, 24 Paulucci, General Marquis, 16 peasantry Azerbaijani vs. Russian, 154 categories of, 81, 154 effects of tsarist rule on, 148 emancipation of, 68, 85 land redemption and, 86, 114 taxation of, 99, 152 Persia historical influence on Azerbaijan, 149 links of Azerbaijani intelligentsia with, 148 shift of bek and agalar allegiances to, 80 sympathy of Caucasian Muslims toward, 109 trade with, 124 Persian Revolution of 1905–11, 137 Persian ulema, 115 Peter the Great, 149, 150 bureaucratization of the clergy, 32

199 Peter the Great (continued) view that scientific knowledge aided imperial control, 10 Westernizing efforts compared with conquest of Caucasus, 9 Pishnamaz-zade, 119 Pleve, V. K., 100, 102 “porous frontier,” defined, 12 Potto, General V. A., 7 press, Azerbaijani, 132–37 Pushkin, 7 attitude toward Caucasus, 19 legitimization of Russian territorial claims to Caucasus and, 8

Q qadis, 88–89 Qajar, 12, 16 Qajar Iran, weakening of by successon struggles, 12 Qajar dynasty, 56, 150 Qazavat, defined, 33 Qismat, defined, 135

R ranjbars, 152, 154 rayats, 152, 154 real’noe uchilishche, 75, 130 Resulzade, Mehmet Emin, 110, 144 Reutern, Mikhail Khristof, 97 Romanov dynasty, 144 Rosen, Baron Grigorii Vladimirovich administration of Caucasus, 29 defense of local customs against Russification, 28 dismissal of, 33 growth of Muridism under, 33 “Rossiskii” system of administration, 38 Rtishchev, General Nikolai Feodorovich, 16 Russia “civilizing mission,” 9–10 acquisition of eastern coast of the Black Sea, 28 colonial expansion compared to that of France, 12 colonialist attitude towards Transcaucasian Muslims, 30 compared to French in Algeria, 8 conquest of Caucasus, 5–25

200

ON THE RELIGIOUS FRONTIER

Russia (continued) contrasted with European empires of nineteenth century, 11 depiction of Caucasus in literature, 7 depiction of ethnic groups in literature, 10 establishment of southern boundary with Persia at Aras River, 25 expansion compared with American continental expansion, 11 gimnaziums, 75 land shortage in inner guberniia, 46 poetry of, 8 prerevolutionary vs. Soviet and post-Soviet historiography, 3 quality of leadership in army, 17 size of infantry, 17 territorial division along religious lines, 34 territories extended by Treaty of Gulistan, 18 Treaty of Gulistan and, 18 Russian ministries, conflicts with Caucasian administration, 86 Russian nobility absence of in Russian borderlands, 65 attempts to attract to Caucasus, 44 disdain for mercantilism, 43 reluctance to move to Caucasus, 29, 31 Russian Orthodox peasantry, settling of in Transcaucasia, 37 Russian Revolution, 142 Russian Social Democratic Labor Party, 140 Russification, 20, 28, 31, 34, 35, 44, 95 as an official policy, 107 Muslim clergy and, 118–19 Muslim response to, 113–28 Vorontsov-Dashkov approach to, 108 Russo-Japanese War, 105 Russo-Persian wars Caucasian campaigns and, 13–18 effect of Napoleonic campaigns on, 18 first (1804–13), 16–18 participation of England in, 18 second (1826–28), 24–25 Russo-Turkish War, 43, 61, 96, 105, 131, 133

S Safavid dynasty, 149, 150 Said, Edward, 9 San Stefano, Treaty of, 43 Sbornik Materialov Dlia Opisaniia Mestnostei i Plemeni Kavkaza, 11 Seim, 142 Shamil, Sheikh 11 anti-Russian campaigns, 32, 35 defeat and capture, 57, 86 holy war against Russia, 33 military campaign against, 49–50 support of by local population, 80 Vorontsov’s campaign against, 53 Shamshid, 14 Ermolov’s dealings with, 21 Sharia, 58, 75 Sharia courts, 21 jurisdiction of, 88 prohibition from interfering in criminal, political, financial and civil affairs, 29 under Nicholas I, 88 Sheikh Ali Khan, 17 sheikh ul-Islam, defined, 88 Sheki, 150 anti-Russian revolts in, 23 silk industry in, 151 transfer to Russia by Treaty of Gulistan, 18 Sheki, 16 Shemakha, 54 bek committee meetings in, 84 replaced by Baku as Azerbaijan administrative center, 59 settlement of Russian sectarians in, 45 silk industry in, 151 Sheremetev, Count Sergei Alexandrovich, 99–100 early experience in Caucasus, 99 effectiveness of, 94 Shi’ite Ecclesiastical Board, 116, 118 Shi’ites attitudes toward, 73 challenge to Russian authority, 10 limitations on foreign contacts, 88 mediation of disputes with Sunnis, 88 opposition to authority of Ottoman Sultan, 143

INDEX Shi’ites (continued) predominant religious group in Azerbaijan, 140 Shiarky Rus’, 136 Shirvan conversion from khanate to province, 22 siege of, 17 transfer to Russia by Treaty of Gulistan, 18 Shirvan Muslim Regiment, 153 Shirvani, Seid Azim, 17, 131, 133 Shirvan, 16, 23 Shirvanshah family, 149 shtatnykh mullov, defined, 32 Shusha, 22 khan of, 16 Muslim school in, 76 settlement of Russian sectarians in, 45 Siberia colonization of, 107 Muslim population of, 62 Slavophiles, 43–44 smuty, defined, 103 Social Revolutionaries, 106 soslovie system, 28, 54, 55, 69, 70 rights of Muslim elite and, 80, 83 Soviet Union, 147 Speranskii, 51 Starobriadi, 45 State Council colonialist attitude towards Transcaucasian Muslims, 30 denial of noble status to Muslim elite, 114 expansion of rights of high commissioner, 97 influence of Paskevich on, 31 land redemption and, 106 role in Caucasian administration, 105 settling of Old Believers, 45 views and activities of, 30–32 Stavropol’, gimnazium established in, 74 Stolypin, 107 discriminatory electoral laws of, 139 dismantling of Himmat under, 140 Subbotniki, 45 Sufism, 58 Sultanov, M., 125 Sunnis challenge to Russian authority, 10

201 Sunnis (continued) mediation of disputes with Shi’ites and, 88 recognition of Ottoman Sultan, 143

T Taghiev, Haji Zeinalabedin A., 77, 125–126 activities in Baku City Duma, 121 Azerbaijani intelligentsia and, 127 background and activities of, 126 collaboration with Zardabi, 131 petition to Committee of Ministers, 127 support of Muslim electorate, 95 support of war efforts, 110 Talysh conversion from khanate to province, 22 Treaty of Gulistan and, 18 Tarjuman, 72, 119, 136, 138 Tarkhan-Mouravor, Prince, 59 Tatar, use of term, 10 "Tatar-Armenian” massacres, 140 Tatar-Armenian War, 94, 103–5 taxation bek and agalar role in, 79 entrepreneurs, 125 khanates, 152 merchants, 123 oil industry, 104 peasantry, 21, 51, 55, 85, 97, 99 under military-commandant system, 22 Tbilisi. See Tiflis teachers, discrimination against, 75 Tiflis, 22, 31, 46, 54, 58, 61, 67, 68 distribution of Azerbaijani-language newspaper in, 136 gimnazium established in, 74 marshal law imposed on, 106 Persian ulema and, 115 workers’ strike in, 102 Tolstoy, 7 Topchibashev (Topchibashi), Ali Mardan Bek, 73, 127 activities during Golitsyn’s admininistration, 135 efforts to accomplish peaceful and legal reform, 137 member of third generation of Azerbaijani intelligentsia, 132

202

ON THE RELIGIOUS FRONTIER

Topchibashev (Topchibashi) (continued) petitions to Committee of Ministers, 127, 137–39 political activities of, 130 promotion of Caucasian rights, 136 representation of Azerbaijanis at First All-Russian Muslim Congress, 139 support of regionalism, 136 Tormasov, Count Aleksandr Petrovich, 16–17 Transcaucasia. See Azerbaijan, Caucasus Transcaucasian railroad, 110 Tsitsianov (Tsitishvili), General Paul Dimitrievich administrative duties of, 19 assassination of, 16 attitude toward Muslims, 10, 15 Catherine II and, 14 Caucasian campaign and, 14–16 correspondence with khans, 15 depiction in Russian literature, 8 diplomatic skills of, 56 distortion of events in reports to Alexander I, 16 integrationist tendencies of, 20 intimidation of khans , 16 Paskevich compared to, 24 personality, 15 relationship with Alexander I, 14–15 turbulent frontier, Caucasus as, 11–13 Turkey, 18 Armenian massacres in, 100 links of Azerbaijani intelligentsia with, 148 pan-Islamism in, 119 surveillance of travelers from, 143 sympathy of Caucasian Muslims toward, 109 trade with, 124 treaty of Bucharest, 18 war with Russia, 24, 28 Turkmanchai treaty, 25, 41 tuyuls, 22, 152 tuyuldar’, defined, 153

U ulema, 86, 114, 152. See also Muslim clergy, Muslim elite clerical education of, 32

ulema (continued) effects of bureaucratization of, 90 influence of, 88 limited by judicial reforms, 87 restrictions on foregin contacts, 32 role in administration of Caucasus, 21 tzarist social policy and, 86–90 umma, defined, 119 Unsizade, Jalal E., 133–34 Unsizade, Said, 133 usul jadid, defined, 72

V Velichko, V. I., 8 Vezirov, Najaf-bek, 130, 133 Viceroyalty of the Caucasus, 51–63. See also Caucasian administration abolition of, 86, 93, 111 compared with governorgeneralships, 51 Council of the Viceroy, 93 Department of State Domains, 93 restoration of, 101, 105–8 Special Chancery of the Viceroy, 93 tasks and responsibilities of, 51 temporarily replaced by Office of High Commissioner of Caucasus, 52 Vorontsov, Prince Mikhail Semyonovich, 44, , 52–57 application of the rescripts of 1846 and 1847 by successors, 83 appointment as first viceroy of Caucasus, 52 approach to administration of Caucasus, 53 attempts to make peace with Muslim clerics, 54 cadre of native officials created by, 56 compared to former military rulers, 54 compared with Vorontsov-Dashkov, 105–6 creation of Azerbaijani intelligentsia and, 130, 148 diplomatic skills of, 56 early service in Caucasus, 53 efforts to recruit Muslin elite, 86 establishment of educational institutions, 74

INDEX Vorontsov, Prince Mikhail (continued) introduction of serfdom into Transcaucasia and, 55 legacy of, 56 Mikhail Nikolaevich compared with, 61, 85 Muslim clergy and, 115 policies attacked by Russian chinovniks, 56 relations with Russia’s neighboring states, 56 relationship to Vorontsov-Dashkov, 101 religious freedom under, 88 resignation from Russian civil service, 56 restoration of privileges to Muslim elite, 54 return of lands confiscated from mosques, 87 service of Dondukov-Korsakov under, 96 support of education for Muslim children, 115 support of former khans’ families, 82 support of Muslim elite, 81 territorial reorganization of Caucasus under, 54 Vorontsov-Dashkov, Count Illarion Ivanovich appointment as viceroy of Caucasus, 94, 101, 105 compared with earlier viceroys, 105, 106 correspondence with Nicholas II, 105, 109 death of, 109 early experience in Causcasus, 105 land redemption under, 106 Muslim landed elite alienated by, 114 opposition to colonization of Caucasus by Russian peasantry, 107 reforms introduced by, 106 relationship to Vorontsov, 101 replacement by Nikolai Nikolaevich, 109 repression of rebellion in Caucasus, 106 settlement of Russian Orthodox peasant colonists under, 107

203 Vorontsov-Dashkov (continued) treatment of Transcaucasian Armenians and, 44 views on Russification, 108

W waqf, defined, 87, 151 Witte, Count Sergei Yulevich, 59 criticism of Vorontsov-Dashkov, 105 criticism of Golitsyn, 100 women exclusion from electoral lists, 70 first Russo-Muslim school for, 77, 126 World War One, 108–11, 119, 127, 144

Y Young Ottoman movement, 72 Young Turks, 73, 119, 136, 143 influence on intelligentsia, 132

Z Zakon Boga, defined, 75 Zardabi (Melikov), Hasan Bek , 73, 75, 127, 130 collaboration with Taghiev, 131 correspondence with Akhundzade, 131 efforts to improve education, 76 founder of Ekinchi, 133 Zemledel’cheskaia Gazeta, 131 zemstvos, state reluctance to establish in Caucasus, 65 Zia, Ziaii Ghafghazia, 133 Zoroastrianism, 149