As someone who grew up in Soviet-era Qazaqstan, I am struck by how different it feels these days. When I was growing up, Russian language and culture were dominant among young urban Qazaqs. In Almaty, speaking Qazaq was seen as something that only people from rural areas did. 🧵
Qazaq culture was not seen as cool or interesting. It’s striking to hear Qazaq being used by young people downtown or see hipsters integrating traditional Qazaq design elements into their wardrobes. A lot of young people in Almaty now follow Qazaq language artists and musicians.
This was unimaginable in my youth. New Qazaq language content makes a life-long Russian speaker like me regret that I can’t fully understand what is being said. Basically, these days, Qazaq is cool. I can’t emphasize enough how different it is from the late Soviet period.
Contempt for all things Qazaq as backwards and hopelessly parochial, so common among the relatively more privileged Qazaq city dwellers during Russian rule, is a thing of the past. The brazenly imperial character of Russia’s war against Ukraine has dramatically accelerated this.
Russian TV channels with their propaganda are still broadcasting in Qazaqstan. Their impact is not to be underestimated. Fortunately, like their peers in many other countries, most young Qazaqs are not regular TV watchers as they tend to get their news elsewhere.
This means that they are less impacted by the poison of Russian propaganda than their parents. And those that primarily consume news and information in Qazaq language escape it entirely.
As usual, I am grateful to @anne_grundig for the invitation to reflect about these issues in her new piece for @watson_de politik.watson.de/international/…
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During the Soviet period, Russian language was portrayed as a priceless gift to all the non-Russian people in the USSR. As a kid going to school in the 1980s Almaty, I was taught that Russian was the all-important gateway to modernity, science, and civilization. 🧵
In contrast, the language of my own ancestors - Qazaq - was disparaged as hopelessly archaic. The opposite of worldly. Woefully inadequate for learning about the outside world and communicating with it. For these tasks, only “the great and mighty Russian language” would do.
When people from societies formerly colonized by Russia reject Russian in favor of English for communicating with the outside world, it’s a political act. A middle finger to the old colonial master. Failure to see this betrays ignorance about Russia as a ruthless colonial power.
Successfully obscuring the reality of the Soviet Union as a ruthless colonial power has got to be one of the most astonishing propaganda accomplishments in modern history and, simultaneously, one of the most consequential and problematic legacies of the USSR. 🧵
Inside Russia, the view of itself as a selfless and benevolent “big brother” that gifted modernity & prosperity to non-Russian societies which comprised the USSR is ubiquitous. The term “colonialism” is routinely used to condemn OTHER nations but the gaze seldom turns inward.
The refusal to recognize, let alone genuinely engage with, the issues of Russian colonial legacy & modern day Russian imperialism is a defining trait of modern Russia. This trait is shared by a wide range of people including, troublingly, some prominent critics of the Kremlin.
I love being in Qazaqstan. I read, write, & teach about it regularly. Yet, physical presence affords a visceral sense of societal changes taking place that is hard to fully grasp otherwise. And there are big changes underway. A short 🧵…
The biggest one is the fact that the Qazaq language is far more prominent than it has been. In the old capital, Almaty, where Russian language was absolutely dominant during the Soviet period, Qazaq is now heard everywhere, all the time.
The most striking thing is that it is used by lots of young people. This was simply not the case when I was growing up. When Qazaqstan became independent, the Soviet system of residence permits was abolished allowing large numbers of ethnic Qazaq families to move to the city.
Yesterday, May 31, was the Day of Remembrance of Victims of Political Repression and Famine in Qazaqstan. On this day, I remember my grandfather. Unfortunately, as time passes, memories begin to fade. However, one of the stories that he shared I still remember vividly. 🧵
In the early 1930s, he was a young man pursuing his post-secondary education in finance in the city of Semey. His family had long been affluent, which, in Qazaqstan at the time, meant having lots of livestock. At some point, he received a terrifying message from his father.
His father asked him to return home. All of their livestock had been collectivized and, to escape further persecution, they had to flee to a different part of the country with only the clothes on their backs. His father said they were not going to make it without his help.
Returning to Almaty brings back memories. Many are tinged with nostalgia and pleasant but some aren’t. When the USSR collapsed, Soviet-era street names began to be replaced. Yet, for years I chose to use the old ones. Why I did it and what it meant is unsettling to think about.🧵
My childhood apartment was located near the intersection of October and Dzerzhinsky streets. The former commemorated the 1917 October Revolution and the latter was named after the founding leader of the Soviet secret police and the famously ruthless architect of Red Terror.
My school was a short walk away on Komsomol Avenue. “Komsomol” was the ubiquitous Soviet shorthand for the “All-Union Leninist Communist League of Youth.” The old office of the central government was located just a block away on the corner of Komsomol and Communist Avenues.
Like many Russified Qazaqs of my generation, I ceased to be Soviet twice. First, in 1991, when the USSR disintegrated. Second, in 2022, when Russia escalated its attack on Ukraine to genocidal levels, blasting away the last bits of residual good will toward the Soviet Union. 🧵
The heinous nature of 🇷🇺invasion has erased any stray bits of nostalgia. The attack on Ukraine made it impossible to see Russia as anything other than a revanchist empire desperate to reverse the flow of time by reestablishing control over a sovereign country it once colonized.
Insistence on “Putin's War” narrative is misleading since it hides the role of 🇷🇺imperial revanchism in the war. It is especially disheartening to see 🇷🇺opposition members do it. When Russia’s best and brightest refuse to acknowledge the problem, it is hard to be optimistic.