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"Uruk kilosu kanja?"
"Tridsetz."
"Kanja?"
"Otuz."
The question, from my side, for the price of fresh plums is in Uzbek, the answer in Russian. Only repeated queries in Uzbek, and assertions that I don't know Russian, bring a response in kind. Understandable, perhaps, as I look far more Russian than Uzbek, but nonetheless a bit frustrating for me, as I understand Uzbek well enough but don't understand any Russian, and at the same time quite indicative and symbolic of the confused crossroads at which this country stands.
Confused because this and other former Soviet Republics, especially those in Central Asia, stand poised on the brink of an identity crises the like of which few countries have ever faced. Uzbekistan is independent, ostensibly free of Russian domination, free to set its own course; but what is Uzbekistan? We traveled the length and breadth of Uzbekistan in order to, among other things, come to grips with this question. Other things were those related to carpet production and the establishment of free business enterprises. Both of these programs led toward inquiries along related or parallel lines and similar assessments of the current situation.
We did find Uzbekistan -- it exists -- but to me not in Tashkent, not in Samarkand, hardly in Bukhara or Khiva, although these latter two cities capture the spirit and flavor of an intact medieval Central Asian Islamic city to a degree not to be found anywhere else in the world today. Uzbekistan exists in Karatokay, a village on the slopes of the Western Tien Shan, only two hours from Tashkent, in Urgut, in a valley of the Western Pamir Range south of Samarkand, in Karakulyon on the outskirts of Bukhara.
New susani being sold in the bazaar at Urgut, south of Samarkand |  |
City life is a different story. Russification has had a profound impact here. The elite or educated class of urban Uzbeks sometimes speaks more comfortably in Russian than Uzbek and in any case mixes in large amounts of Russian when they do speak in their native tongue. Likewise, although the urban elite pays lip service to revering Uzbek culture and traditions, they decorate their apartments in Russian style, watch Russian television and films, send their children to Russian school, and sometimes even eat Russian food. The wielders of power in the "new" independent Uzbekistan are to varying degrees almost entirely this Russified urban elite.
So here lies the essence of the Uzbek identity crisis: Independence is now a reality; it has only to be grasped and run with. The neighboring Islamic world is calling more and more persistently, "Stand up and be one of us, forge political and economic relations with us." It is here that the identity crisis comes into most acute focus. The what I might call "true" Uzbekistan, the millions of kolhoz-villagers feel quite comfortable with the impetus toward stronger political, economic, and ultimately religious bonds with the Islamic world. Most of them have always, without reservation, considered themselves to be Muslims; they abide by their own traditions and the traditions of Islam to almost the same degree as villagers in neighboring countries. The call for increased Islamization along with economic and political ties from the Muslim world is not a threat to their value system and lifestyle. If they must replace Russian television with Turkish television, for example, it is easily manageable, maybe even preferable.
Not so with the urban elite, the intellectuals, who represent an unbroken continuity with the previous (in fact, same) ruling government under Soviet communism. They are very uncomfortable with the mantle of "Islamic State" now being thrust on them from without, and an Islamic government would be as far from their own inclinations as a rigorous and orthodox practice of Islam itself. In fact, for most of the urban elite, while nominally Muslim, their actual knowledge and training as regards the practice of Islam is often somewhere along the line between tenuous and non-existent.
Then there is the even more awkward problem of what will become of the huge Russian population -- 40% in Tashkent and somewhat less in the smaller cities. They are entirely Western, modern, and the vast majority of them have never felt the need to learn even a few words of Uzbek. What is their place in an Islamic state?
Perhaps the ultimate irony, one is tempted to say travesty, is epitomized at Samarkand, the glorious if somewhat too brazenly restored capital of Timur, who ruled the whole of Inner Asia for a brief span. The Registan is the centerpiece of Samarkand's medieval court, a complex of madrasah, mosque, and bazaar, built on spatially monumental scale and now magnificently restored, albeit too perfectly for the taste of some. All of this was, of course, the work of a previous Soviet-Russian sponsored government. In the evening, several times a week, a narration and light show is given at the Registan for the benefit of the relatively few tourists who find their way to Samarkand. On varying evenings different language narrations are played -- English, Russian, German, French, but never Uzbek. This in itself might be irony enough, but the ultimate irony appears at the end of the show, a long narration recounting the history (primarily Uzbek) of the Registan, when the narrator recites,
"Then history made its final choice,
And heard the Russian people's voice."
This is followed by a brief allusion to the historical preëminence of the Marxist-Leninist order of things, brought to the Uzbeks, of course, by their Russian mentors. While this continues to play, several times weekly, the local Uzbeks remain apparently oblivious to its insult and irony, playing on in an independent Uzbekistan where history has made a subsequent choice, yet the master of the house hesitates to assert the authority that has come into his hands.
 | New Uzbek kilims for sale at Juma bazaar near Urgut |
More pertinent to my own work and research in Uzbekistan was the current state of new carpet weaving. While contemporary carpet production as it exists today is almost all of inferior quality, still we saw enough potential in terms of materials and skills to give us encouragement.
 | Left |  |
Coloration was likewise without variation among the total number of looms and was somewhere on the verge of what one might call difficult to unsalable in the West, what with strong oranges and electric greens. Weave quality was perfectly acceptable, if uninspiring, somewhere in the 80 to 90 knot per square inch range. Materials were probably the lowest factor in the whole equation, being a blend of 30% wool with 70% synthetic fiber. Inquiries regarding the necessity for such a blend were met with explanations comprehensible by the logic of a state-ordained, closed system command economy, if somewhat complicated to enter into in detail here.
Perhaps the most cogent element governing the whole system we looked at here, something which became clear in discussion with Sharafet Hanim, the Uzbek woman director of this enterprise, was the understanding that everything this factory produced was immediately and unquestionably sold. None of it is exported, all is absorbed by the Russian or Uzbekistan internal market, where, as with most other things, there is a shortage of carpets. So with no competition to speak of, and all production being sold, even at a substantial profit, at least within the closed accounting logic of the state system, naturally the impetus to struggle toward product improvement is decidedly lacking. What's more, the fact that all the production is immediately sold, even with great demand for more, leads the workshop managers and all involved in the enterprise to honestly have no doubt that their product is of excellent quality.
Such is the nature of a socialist command economy, and thus there was little fault I could find with this enterprise, given the circumstances under it had developed and operated. I could only mildly suggest that the future might not be so easy. If something worthwhile is to be created in terms of an exportable carpet here, it will require a substantial effort from the ground up. We hope to be able to report on some progress in this direction in a subsequent article.
The remains of past civilizations in Uzbekistan, primarily Timurid and somewhat later, are highly impressive. While some have decried the perfectness of the Soviet era restorations, in general the massive sweep of the clean, pure lines of the Central Asian architecture, seen in the huge, sprawling, but so delicately conceived complexes of Mosque, madrasah, tomb and minaret, are unparalled anywhere else in the world. Certainly the profusion, richness and, at the same time, clear expansive openness of the tile work, always offset by the uncompromising lines of Central Asian-Persian architecture and the blue emptiness of the Central Asian sky, is not to be seen if not here. Samarkand is impressive, Bukhara is better, more intact and medieval, and Khiva perhaps is best. By far the most remote, Khiva is separated by more than 600 kilometers from the rest of Uzbekistan in the ancient Khwarezm Oasis and is a largely intact, walled, and a more or less medieval Central Asian town. Tourists are not much in evidence, particularly in Khiva, which was devoid of this 20th century phenomenon, at least during the time we were there. For us this was not unwelcome; for Uzbekistan, given its desperate need to attract hard currency, it made one ponder what they were not yet doing right, or is it perhaps just the uncertain reputation that parts of the ex-Soviet empire have in these turbulent and rapidly changing times.
The only certainty we are faced with is that an era has ended for Central Asia and the era which is now commencing will sweep in new forms -- politically, economically, and culturally. We hope and believe that this much conquered, much traveled, much dreamed of, yet little known and understood center of the worlds largest continent will be as resilient in the face of new forms, invasions, and challenges as it has been in the past.
