The white gold of Central Asia

‘Tender the gold of the white atlas boon,

Green is the sheen of its robe iridescent

Under the hot gleaming sun of high noon.

                                        Aidin Sabirova, Uzbek Poetess 

                                        (reprinted in Dawn over Samarkand, p.160)

One of the earlier posts has already introduced Joshua Kunitz’s book. It is worth revisiting for its picturesque and telling story of post-revolutionary Central Asian cotton. It is described in the Dawn over Samarkand ninth chapter “Where cotton is king”:

Cotton harvester, vicinities of Osh, 2010

‘Whether one reads local papers, or listens to orators, or converses with workers, or visits schools, movies, unions, cooperatives, the first word or derivation from that word one is likely to see or hear is khlopok – cotton – the “white gold” of Central Asia. People here talk cotton, sing cotton, play cotton, work cotton, study cotton, dream cotton. Even the struggle with the counter-revolutionary Basmachi, until recently of intense concern to the people of central Asia, has now receded to a place of secondary importance. (…) Though tremendously stimulated by the Soviet Government, the Central Asia’s interest in cotton is not new. Cotton of inferior sorts has been grown here for centuries. One of the chief incentives of the czars for extending their imperial power to remote Central Asia was their determination to obtain cotton for Russia. Most of the Russian colonizers of Central Asia were people who in some direct or indirect sense were connected with cotton. Central Asian cotton was the basis of the rapid growth of the textile industries in the Northern capitals, and the source of immense private fortunes in Russia. After 1914, Russia’s hunger for cotton increased a hundredfold.’

Nothing more than the cotton triggered the construction of the Turksib railway. The line was to facilitate the transportation of cotton from Turkestan to Siberia and grain from Russia to Central Asia. The construction of the Turkestan-Siberian railway was portrayed in an outstanding documentary of 1929 ‘Turksib’. This masterpiece of cinematography and an example of skilful propaganda depicts the arrival of modernity in Soviet Turkestan and it will definitely feature in more detail in one of the future posts.

But back to cotton and Dawn over Samarkand. Kunitz, after explaining why the demand for cotton has grown in the post-WWI years, calls: “For Cotton – For Socialism!” and embarks on attacking what he calls “anti-cotton propaganda” which had supposedly been developing in the Soviet Union. What constituted this “propaganda” were mainly scholarly discussions, which Kunitz ridicules for their excessive scepticism and the absence of anti-capitalist rhetoric. These cotton concerns stemmed from the example of the South of the United States where cotton cultivation, among other things, exhausted the soil and aggravated racism.

‘It has always been a source of wonderment to me how the Soviet Government, in face of the concerted opposition and constant sabotage of the leading cotton experts, has managed to advance so rapidly toward cotton independence’’ (Dawn over Samarkand, p. 165).

Cotton harvester, vicinities of Osh, 2010

Kunitz, himself being utterly persuaded, explains how cotton is the best way towards regional specialization in the Soviet Union, which in turn makes national interdependence possible. Undoubtedly, large-scale cotton cultivation brings about also industrialization, which, undeniably, contributes to the fulfilment of the revolutionary ideal: ‘An increase in the number of native proletarians brings the communist dream closer to realization. (…) Then again, territorial specialization makes not only for national interdependence, but also for class interdependence (…) In view of all this, it is no exaggeration to say that cotton is the magic key to the maze of economic, political, and cultural inroads the Bolsheviks have made into the age-long immutability of Central Asian existence. (…) cotton is the natural medium through which the Bolshevik ideal can be realized’ (Dawn over Samarkand, p. 167).

On the road

The blog is about Central Asia but it at times diverts from the topic to take a closer look at those who travelled through the region and wrote about it. What were their motives, what pushed them to continue their journeys? Military missions, curiosity or – in the post-revolution period - ideological persuasion? How did they understand their role and explained it to those whom they had met on the road?

‘Once you have become the companion of the road, it calls you and calls you again. Even in winter, when you have to walk briskly all day, and there is no sitting on any bank of earth or fallen tree to write a fragment or rest, and when there is no sleeping out, but only the prospect of freezing at some wretched coffee-house or inn, the road still lies outside the door of your house full of charm and mystery’ (Through Russian Central Asia, p.1)

This is what Stephen Graham would say to our first question. This undoubtedly convincing argument comes from his Through Russian Central Asia, a thick volume containing, except for the record of his journey undertaken in the summer before the World War I, some well-preserved photographs and a map indicating: railways, post roads and camel routes stretching between the Caspian Sea and the Chinese Empire (quite uncommonly, the scales are in both miles and Russian versts).

How did Stephen Graham attempt to explain his travels to those he met during his journeys. He gives us an account of a conversation held on the road from Tashkent to Chimkent with two Russian soldiers: ‘One of the soldiers was inclined to talk, the other not. Suddenly the silent one asked: 

“What are you doing here – making plans?” 

“No,” I said apprehensively; “I’m just walking along through the country to see what it is like. Afterwards I write about it.” 

“For a library, so to speak?” 

“That’s it.”

The record of Graham’s journey had been published in The Times but the author wished to postpone issuing the book:
‘to some quitter moment beyond the war. But the days go on, and we are getting accustomed to live in a state of war; war has almost become a normal condition of existence.’
The book was eventually published in 1916.

On the road, some hundred years later, Kyrgyzstan, Batken province

Lenin and the dustbin of history

This statue used to be among the greatest in the Soviet Union. Now it rests peacefully in the dustbin of history. The city which hosts the monument changed its name even before it removed Lenin from the central spot of its urban space. The name used to be Leninabad.

Khujand (former Leninabad), 21st century

Khujand (former Leninabad), 21st century

Khujand (former Leninabad), 21st century

See also an interesting photo-blog post Architecture as a mirror of the age: http://www.neweurasia.net/cross-regional-and-blogosphere/architecture-as-a-mirror-of-the-age-part-iii-pasts-condensed-presents-constructed/

The snow leopard

‘The rarest and most beautiful of the great cats’ – as described by Peter Matthiessen – was not supposed to be the theme of this post, nor was Matthiessen’s book ‘The snow leopard’. The book is a ‘misfit’ both spatially and temporally. Published in 1978, it covers north-western parts of Nepal. A bit too new and a bit too far from Central Asia, especially if we take the region to be defined by the five states of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. The snow leopard is, however, one of the characteristics, if not the defining feature of Central Asia. It has become an integral part of the countries' cultural heritage. The mountain cat is the symbol of at least three Central Asian cities: Bishkek, Samarkand and Almaty. It was the mascot of the 2011 Asian Winter Games, a sporting event held in Astana and Almaty. The region states are also more and more engaged in the protection of this endangered species. In a few months’ time Bishkek is to host the international forum for protection of snow leopards.



Almaty, coat of arms

Bishkek, coat of arms

Samarkand, coat of arms

Irby, the mascot of the 2011 Asia Winter Games

‘The snow leopard’ is also – in the most direct sense – a result of the recent visit to a small, community second-hand bookshop in Cambridge (http://www.amnesty.org.uk/content.asp?CategoryID=10996). The eye-catching cover, the beautiful map printed on the endpaper and the fine-looking graphic ex libris in the Art Nouveau style did their thing and here we are, reading a book by a traveller, environmental activist and novelist who, quite surprisingly, worked also as a fisherman and ship captain.

Peter Matthiessen writes: ‘In late September 1973 I set out on with GS [the zoologist George Schaller] on a journey to the Crystal Mountain, walking west under Annapurna and north along the Kali Gandaki River. (...) GS knew of only two Westerners – he was one – who had laid eyes on the Himalayan snow leopard in the past twenty-five years. The hope of glimpsing this near mythic beast in the snow mountains was reason enough for the entire journey’.

The snow leopard (Panthera uncia) is mostly known for its elusive behaviour and formidable adaptation to living in the harshest of all possible environments – the cold, high mountain ranges of Asia. Irbis, as it is more commonly known to the Russian speakers – is accustomed to living at the altitudes of up to 6,000 m (20,000 ft). Its geographic distribution covers the Hindu Kush in eastern Afghanistan and the Syr Darya through the mountains of Pamir, Tian Shan, Karakoram, Kashmir, Kunlun, and the Himalaya to the southern Siberia.

Bishkek, 2010

Dawn over Samarkand

Literature on the Soviet period is rich with works praising the communist project in Central Asia. Dawn over Samarkand, 1943 Calcutta, by Joshua Kunitz is one of the prominent examples. It was first published in Great Britain in in 1936 and a year earlier in the U.S.

This particular 1943 edition – as we can read on the verso of the title page – was prepared specially for the 26^th anniversary of the November Revolution. It starts with a poem:

‘No clouds! In a clear sky I see
The sun. No night to dim bright day!
No Czar! Our soil’s forever free!
Well done, O Bolshevik!

Kar-Molli (a blind seventy-year old Turkoman bard)’

This anniversary edition has been supplemented by a postscript: Chapter XIX Unity thru self-determination and Chapter XX Moslems as fighting patriots. Chapter XIX uncritically elaborates on the positive role of the Constitution of 1936: ‘The progress made in the formation of the national states of the Soviet federation is evident from the fact that at the time of the formation of the U.S.S.R. (December 1922) there were 4 Union Republics, 10 Autonomous Republics and 14 Autonomous Regions. In 1937, however, on the twentieth anniversary of the establishment of the Soviet State, the U.S.S.R. consisted of 11 Union Republics, 22 Autonomous Republics, 9 Autonomous Regions, and 10 National Areas.’

The extreme ideological leaning of the book seems to have escaped the attention of Foreign Affairs reviewers, who, in July 1935 edition summarized it simply as ‘An account of recent developments in the new republics of Central Asia under the Bolshevik régime.’

Khujand, 21st century

Batken, 21st century

Post office, Khujand, 21st century

Lt. Col. F.M. Bailey reports from the field

Central Asian states have been busy re-creating their historical imagery. The trend is to look much further back in history than the past ‘glory’ of the Soviet period. But – how the Soviets actually managed to establish themselves in Central Asia and how welcome were these developments? On the origins of the Basmachi movement : Lt. Col. F.M. Bailey reports from the field. The First World War in Central Asia.

Chapter IV Conditions in Tashkent: ‘South-east of here was a peasant rising in Semirechia, where the Government had about one thousand men engaged. South of this there was a serious Mohammedan rising in Ferghana, under a man named Irgash. They had been strongly reinforced when the Bolshevik Government has supressed the autonomous government at Kokhand in 1918. The directions of this movement had at times considerable success and large areas in Ferghana were under their control. But like many similar movements there was rivalry among the leaders who, one after another, fell. Irgash, the leader at the time I was in Turkestan, was killed in 1920. He was succeeded by Madamin Beg, who was treacherously murdered, when a guest at a meal, by his host.

At the time of our arrival Irgash was in command of about sixteen thousand men, among whom were White Russians and, it was rumoured, some Turkish officers. This movement was later taken on by various men in succession and developed into the Basmachi movement which survived up to present war in a latent form.’ Mission to Tashkent by F.M. Bailey, 1946, London

Kokand 1871

From Kokand: the journey across the Kokand Khanate I

Alexei Pavlovich Fedchenko book's original title is: Iz Kokana: svedeniya o puteshestvii po Kokanskomu Khanstvu.  Its first edition appeared in 1871.

The book presents Fedchenko’s account of his journey to the Khanate of Kokand, an expedition he undertook after roaming through Turkestan in the late 1860s.  Let us start from his description of Khujand:

‘Khujand has drawn my attention. This is the city of important manufacturing: sericulture, cotton, dyeing and weaving. In addition, there are all the necessary conditions for the further development of these industries: good climate, hard-working and smart Tadjik population, easy access to coal, neighbouring rich Kokand and the location on the Syr-Darya river.

The Kokand Khanate was established in 1709 in the Ferghana Valley but the legend surrounding the history of its rulers dates much earlier back in history. The Kokand khans were said to have been the descendants of Babur who – in his journey from Samarkand to Afghanistan, had to live one of his new-born sons in Ferghana. The baby was raised by the local inhabitants and named Altun-Bishik (the Golden Cradle) after a richly decorated cradle he had been left in.

Syr Darya, 21st century

Khujand, 21st century