Not exactly a common sight in Kyrgyzstan, Red hair can make heads turn, but it could have been so different if ancient records are to be believed

As I listened to the Global News podcast from the BBC, I wasn’t sure if I could believe what I was hearing … in Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, a Gay Canadian comedian was leading a Ginger Pride Parade as part of the Fringe … it has to be a joke, I thought … but no, even though it might well have been an instrument for promoting his show, Ginger Nation, at the Edinburgh Festival, apparently it also had a serious point.  (You can hear the report here.)

Apparently, there aren’t that many redheads in the world; they make up only about 1 or 2 percent of the population, but I was very surprised to hear that Scotland is home to about 19% of all the world’s redheads – and apparently they represent some 13% of the population of Scotland.

It seems that it can be difficult being born with red hair … children are subject to taunts, (or being called names such as Irn Bru! Carrot top! Ginger minger! Duracell! and the like), leading to a sense of isolation and of being discriminated against … not to mention a skin sensitivity that leads to intensive sunburning.  There was even some coverage f a family forced to move home as a result of the bullying, ridicule and even physical violence that they suffered – all on account of their red hair.

For the record: Red hair is inherited – the result of a genetic mutation in a chromosome, and can be passed on to children even if neither parent has red hair … provide they both carry the appropriate genetic code which they have in turn inherited from their ancestors.

As far as I am aware, there is no such thing as a International Day for Redheads … although I am sure that will come as a lot of Minority Groups are now adopting such a day to celebrate their otherness, to give support to members of their community and raise awareness of the issues that affect them in the wider population.

As it happens, however, there Redhead Day: a Dutch summer festival that takes place each first weekend of September in the city of Breda, in the Netherlands … and this year that falls on August 31st and September 1st.

Although there are some, “Redheads” are not exactly a common sight in Kyrgyzstan, and so they can be a cause for people to turn their heads … in Asia, it is always consider impolite to “stand and stare”.

As it happens, if the ancient chronicles are to be believed, this might not always have been the case.  Chinese Chronicles dating from the second century BC describe the Genkun or Jiankuna people, which have been identified as the ancestors of the Kyrgyz, as a tall people, “red-haired with fair complexion and green (blue) eyes”.  It’s said, (for example on the website of the Kyrgyz embassy to the USA and Canada), that there are some Muslim sources dating from the seventh to the 12th centuries that also support this.

Looking at the Kyrgyz of today this sometimes seems as an incredible anomaly – as they tend to have a dark complexion, (especially those that have spent the summer months on  a jailoo tending their livestock), and sporting straight jet back hair.

In texts which date from the Tang dynasty, the Genkun or Jiankun who had dark hair and eyes were identified as descendants of the Chinese General Li Ling.

To be fair, (no pun intended), the Kyrgyz like most nationalities are a fairly heterogeneous group displaying a wide variety of characteristics, probably as a result of occasional inter-marriages with peoples from other ethnicities with whom they came into contact – either because their territory straddled across the routes of the Great Silk Road, or the various empires that came and went.

Certainly, this question has raised several heated and detailed debates on internet forums

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Interestingly, one of the legends about the origin of the Kyrgyz tells about their ancestor from whom they were descended: Kyzyl Taigan, (Red Dog – or Red Wolf).

The daughter of a local khan was in the habit of taking long walks in the company of 40 maidens, (servants).   On one occasion they returned home to discover that their ail, (village), had been attacked and ravaged by a band of enemies.  So complete was the devastation that in all the village  and they found only one creature still alive: a  red dog.  The princess and her 40 maidservants become mothers, (in a company where there was only one male – the red dog … hence he is considered the ancestor of the peoples).   The 40 maidens, (or kyrk-kyz), began to be called Kyrgyz.

Incidentally, a cult of the Heavenly Dog was widespread between the ancient peoples in and surrounding China.

The generally accepted theory of the origin of the Kyrgyz holds that the Kyrgyz that appear in the Chinese records were from the northern Altai Mountains – where the trees grew so tall “that an arrow could not reach their peaks”.  A Kyrgyz Khanate stretched from the Yenesei River in the Eastern Tien Shan, (which was later superseded by other Turkic empires: the Karakhanid, the Mongol, Chagatal, … Khokand and finally by the Russians and the Soviet Union).

Among Kyrgyz historians there seems to be a modern trend which, whilst accepting this traditional view, suggests that this was only one group of Kyrgyz.

Kyrgyz traditional tells of forty tribes … although I have seen lists which have different numbers … and some of those tribes, (for example, the Azyk, Bugu, Cherik and Sary Bagysh), may well have migrated from Yenesei with the collapse of the Kyrgyz Khanate, others were already resident here in what is now Kyrgyzstan, drawn from the ancient Sakas, (Sythians), and Usuns.

Ethnically, the Kyrgyz tend to resemble somewhat the Mongols or Chinese, while the Uzbeks and the Uighurs, (the latter live mainly in China), resemble more the people of Turkey.

There used to be some confusion in identifying the Kyrgyz, themselves, and the Kazakhs. This is because the Kazakhs, (a larger nationality), were often referred to as “Kyrgyz”, (some suggest that this was to avoid confusing them with the “Cossacks”), whilst the Kyrgyz themselves were often referred to as “Kara-Kyrgyz” (= “Black Kyrgyz”) to distinguish them.

The Kazakhs were nomadic pastoralists who herded animals on the steppes – and it is sometimes said that the Kyrgyz were nomads who wandered from place to place vertically whilst the Kazakhs were nomads who wandered from place to place horizontally.

Berdemlek invitation featuring the Duslyk ensemble

A short while ago I was invited to a Concert in the Seitek Youth Center by the Tatar Folk Ensemble Duslyk - which is Tatar for “friendship” or “Commonwealth”.  It’s their twentieth anniversary – and also the fifteenth anniversary of the Tatar Union “Berdemlek“, (which is Tartar for Unity).

To be honest, I knew from previous concerts that I had been to that, in some ways at least, it was going to be a bit of an ordeal … in that virtually everything would be in the Tatar language … the speeches, so I wouldn’t understand a word! – and most of the music – which, I supposed, shouldn’t be too much of a problem … after all, music is music and even if it helps if you understand the lyrics, you don’t really need to in order to appreciate a good tune and a talented performance.

Berdemlek is one of over 30 Associations of Russians here in Kyrgyzstan – at least four of them representing members of the Tatar Diaspora – two based in Bishkek, one in Osh and another in Karakol.

The Tartars are a Turkish people from the Volga region in Russia – where they have their own Autonomous Republic, centred around the capital: Kazan.  Although they are descended from the Mongol Golden Horde, most resemble Russians rather than the other Turkic peoples. 

There are about seven million Tatars, most of whom live in the Russian Federation, but there are a number of separate identifiable groups which stretch across Asia and into Europe, including most notably: The Crimean, Lipka  and Astrakhan Tatars found in Europe and Siberian Tatars in Asia. (Actually, Crimean Tatars are also found in Central Asia, as a result of the mass deportation that took place towards the end of the Second World War.)  

The Tsar had begun to encourage the Tartars to begin settling in Central Asia in the middle of the 19th century as farmers, traders and clerical workers, and also as soldiers and religious emigrants.  Apparently the Russian authorities had considered deporting of the Tatar peoples from the Crimea ever since the peninsula had been annexed in 1783, but the plans were never implemented. 

During the 1920′s and 1930′s there were several groups that migrated to Central Asia as part of the Industrialization programs and the Soviet Education Plan for Central Asia.  More arrived in the 1948 and 1960 as part of the reconstruction programmes that followed the Ashgabat and Tashkent earthquakes.

May 18th, 1944, saw the start of the mass deportation of the Tatars from the Crimea to Central Asia, (an event known to the Crimean Tartars as Sugunlik - which means “Exile” in the their language), with some 90,000 people forced aboard special trains, to be followed by 165,000 the next day and 183,000 on May 20th.

This wasn’t the first time that  According to the Stalinist regime, the justification for the measure was the alleged collaboration of the local population with the Nazi occupation of the peninsula since the German invasion of 1941.

32000 NKVD troops arrived in communities throughout the Crimea and gave the inhabitants half an hour to gather their possessions and board cattle trucks on specially arranged trains.    Almost 200,000 people were forcibly removed from their homes and resettled in other parts of the USSR – three quarters of them in Uzbekistan, and the rest scattered between  Kazakhstan and various regions of what is now the Russian Federation.

The process was poorly planned, with the designated destinations ignorant of the impending arrivals, and a resulting lack of planned accommodation and food for them.  Apparently many of the deportees were to be put to work on the notorious GULAG prison camp system.Many people were to die as a result of the process.  Depending upon whose statistics are quoted, the migrants were almost decimated in the first six months after the deportations, almost a third in the first year and a half, and almost half in in two and a half years.

As well as their own autonomous Republic in the Russian Federation, Tatars share a common culture. language, and religion, (although most would identify themselves as Sunni Muslims, there is a minority that belong to the Orthodox Church and Tatars tend to be tolerant of religious differences).

 Since Independence in 1991, a large number of Tatars have emigrated to either the Crimea or Russia, although there are still about 30000 Tatars in Kyrgyzstan in Kyrgyzstan, where there are a number of Tatar Cultural Associations which organize a variety of cultural activities and especially the annual Sabantui festival .

Interestingly:

• The publisher of the first book in Kyrgyz was Karimov Husainov and Co. – a Tatar publishing company.
• The Kyrgyz author and diplomat, Chinghiz Aitmatov, was descended from a Tatar mother. 

One of the internet portals in Kyrgyzstan, kloop, has an interesting series of posts: Faces of Kyrgyzstan, in which they publish a series of black and white photographs with each page focusing on one nationality … here is the page dedicated to the Tatars of Kyrgyzstan:  Kyrgyzstan faces Tatars | KLOOP.KG

Choose your passport ...

I am an ex-pat, a British citizen who happens to live and work in Bishkek, the capital of the Kyrgyz Republic, where I am the General Director of a couple of companies which run a tour company and a couple of hotels.  I have lived here since 1995 although, as I have written elsewhere, I originally came just for one year to help a friend set up an office.

I am often asked when I meet somebody new about where I come from and how long I have been here … mention of Britain usually elicits comments about football, the Beatles, David Beckham and Margaret Thatcher; whereas reference to seventeen years makes people gasp and joke about my being “half-Kyrgyz, already”.

That’s not true, of course … but I do have a Kyrgyz document which, as another “joke”, we refer to as my Kyrgyz Passport.  It is not a passport as such but a “Residence Permit” – a Veed na zhitilistvo.  To all intents and purposes it serves as a local passport – it can be used as my identity document for when I need one – to sign important documents, make official declarations or submissions, travel by plane to other cities in the Republic, and so on.  It records my registered address here in Kyrgyzstan, (my propiska), my marital status, (single), and even my social security and tax identification numbers.  It also takes the place of a visa and a work permit.

When I applied for the Residence Permit, I was actually asked if I wanted to apply for Kyrgyz Citizenship.  I … politely … turned it down.

I am not sure if, all other things being equal, I might be interested in applying for a Kyrgyz Passport … it might bring certain advantages: granting me additional rights when it comes to owning property; granting me rights to vote in elections; possibly increasing employment opportunities and increasing my entitlement to social programs, (education, health care pensions) and it would make it easier to travel to certain countries – such as to Kazakhstan and to Russia.

Having said that, having dual nationality can also bring certain disadvantages: I could not rely on the British Embassy assisting me if I should come into some form of conflict with the Kyrgyz authorities,(there are distinct limits on what assistance a consul may offer, in the best but in the case of dual nationality, they can do nothing to support or intervene in respect of the someone’s second nationality … ); there may be tax implications, (although, as it happens, as a resident of Kyrgyzstan, I am already liable to pay Kyrgyz taxes on any income derived anywhere in the world – not just that which is earned here or remitted to Kyrgyzstan); I may become liable for military service here, (although, at my advanced age, I don’t think that is likely to be an issue); as well as a number of other possible implications.

There was, however, one major reason which was critical in my decision to decline the suggestion of applying for a Kyrgyz passport and becoming a Kyrgyz Citizen … to do so, I would have been required to surrender my British Passport … and I wasn’t happy to do that.

Although, like many other countries, Britain is quite happy for someone to hold dual nationality and have two different passports … Kyrgyzstan does not.   Indeed there has been some considerable controversy when allegations emerge about some politician, official or prominent personality, that they have a foreign passport – usually Kazakh, but sometimes Russian.

In fact there is some concession that allows Kyrgyz citizens to also have Russian Passports, but that is very much an exception and, to be honest, I am not sure how it works in practice.

Although there would be no way that British diplomatic assistance could help me here in Kyrgyzstan, Without my British passport, there would be no way in which they could come to my aid anywhere in the world.  Although my newly acquired Kyrgyz passport might make travel easier in some parts of the world, without my British one it would be more difficult to travel in other parts – for example in Europe.

Even without a British passport … there would always be the question of allegiance – and the suspicion that, as someone with dual nationality, I might have divided loyalties.

The question of divided loyalties was a real dilemma for Theodore Roosevelt, who is famous for his campaign at the beginning of the twentieth century against the divided loyalties of “hyphenated Americans”, (German-Americans, Italian-Americans and so forth), and his insistence that there should be only one acceptable form of “hyphenated American”: American-Americans.

In this he was reflecting a commonly held, (although not universally held), opinion of his day.  Over half a century beforehand, the American historian and diplomat George Bancroft had maintained that it was not possible for a person to “belong to two countries”, (reminiscent of the biblical injunction that a man “cannot be a servant of two masters”).

In the 1930′s the League of Nations apparently maintained that everyone had a right to a nationality – and to only one nationality.  At the same time, in the Soviet Union, Josef Stalin decreed that all foreigners in the Union had to either receive Soviet passports or return home … Alexander Dubcek’s father who had come as a volunteer with the Czech Interhelper group decided to return home … he may have been a socialist – but he was first and foremost a Czech.

In today’s “global village”, however, many countries, (apparently more than half of all the countries in the world), are been willing to accept the idea of people having more than one nationality; according to the Economist, “Armenia, Ghana, the Philippines, Kenya, Uganda and South Korea are all recent reformers. Haiti and Tanzania have new laws in preparation. Even Denmark, which places strict restrictions on citizenship, is mulling a change.”  Some countries seem to be so intent on welcoming new citizens that they elicit allegations of simply “selling” passports.

There are, however, a few exceptions such as in the Netherlands where rules are being tightened, for a variety of reasons, but often on ideological grounds.

Some politicians, for example, consider that holding dual citizenship poses a threat to national cohesiveness, (sharing a common identity and culture), and hence the sense of national pride and loyalty which the state can expect and demand from its citizens.   Similarly, some countries require that applicants for the citizenship have first to pass some test of knowledge or language ability in order to have citizenship conferred on them.

For the record, there are also arguments that acquiring a second citizenship enables someone to benefit from all the advantages conferred by the accepting state without having to contribute, and that dual nationality makes it harder to control certain aspects such as tax avoidance.

So much for the practicalities … but there is also a philosophical issue.  Although I am happy to consider that Kyrgyzstan is now my home, I feel a little uncertainty about what it would mean to be “Kyrgyz”.  Even if we were able to resolve the question of having two passports … is it possible for me to “belong” and be a full Kyrgyz citizen without being an ethnic Kyrgyz?

There are several different concepts and competing theories about status and nature of citizenship, nationality, subject, resident, domicile … and so forth.  Some are defined according to where one lives, others to where one’s loyalty and responsibilities lie; to where one can trace their origins, their ethnicity or where one was born and brought up.

Britain, The United States and The Soviet Union have tended to be assimilative communities … like the Roman Empire they represent Civic entities rather than Ethnic ones – resulting in a multi-ethnic societies.  Some countries, on the other hand, base their citizenship on a concept of ethnic cohesiveness.  (Every Jew, for example, is entitled to become a citizen of Israel, no matter where they were born or grew up.)   Citizenship, “membership of the state,

Here in Kyrgyzstan there has been a debate in recent years on the concept of the “Titular Nation”. This is Kyrgyzstan – which means Land of the Kyrgyz … the name of the country implies that it, (the territory, the land), belongs to the group of people called “the Kyrgyz”.

I think it is a fair question to ask: “Who are these people?”  Is it just the people who belong to the ethnic group known as the Kyrgyz … (wherever they happen to have been born, raised or currently live in the world?, as in the case of Israel) …  or should it include the people who were born in the territory of what is now Kyrgyzstan (irrespective of whether they are ethnic Russian, Uzbeks … or, for that matter, Brits, as is the case in America and Britain) … and what about the people who have applied for citizenship as part of the process of “naturalization” for whatever reason … (maybe that have married a Kyrgyz, been adopted by a Kyrgyz, or decided to retire here, or …).

There is a difference of approach in defining the different concepts and theories: one is inclusive, (concentrating on individuals and seeking to unite different people into groupings), whereas the other is  exclusive, (concentrating on the groupings and seeking to define who can belong).  Although it looks like a “opposite sides of the coin” scenario, it seems to me that they are not necessarily mutually exclusive options.  Both approaches have their advantages, their uses and validity, and it seems to me that it is a question of striking a balance between them.

It is not a “free for all” … and neither should it be.

There are, for example,  already some limits to the rights of citizenship in different societies.  Not just anyone can be elected as President of the United States … not even every American citizen can be elected to the post.  There are criteria to meet.  Likewise, Here in Kyrgyzstan, there are criteria to meet  it is a requirement in order to hold certain offices that the incumbent must not only be a Kyrgyz citizen, within certain ages, who has lived in the country for a certain period of time, and who is fluent in the Kyrgyz language.

All of these, (citizenship, age, residence, language), are factors or features that help to define who we are and the groups to which we belong.  There are other factors as well, such as: gender, ethnicity, family, and religion, not forgetting political beliefs and other interests.

A recent survey, published in March this year, asked how people identified themselves by different characteristics: by Gender, age, citizenship, nationality (or ethnicity), religion or what …  I was surprised that the number of respondents that claimed to consider their citizenship above that of nationality: Citizenship (82.6%), family, (67.2%), gender, (47%), ethnicity, (32%), and religion, (19.3%).   Although I found this encouraging, I can’t say that this fits in with my experience … many people say to me, “I am not Kyrgyz, I am Russian”, or Ukrainian … or whatever and I usually reply “if you have a Kyrgyz passport then you are Kyrgyz …  you may not be ethnically Kyrgyz, but you are Kyrgyz all the same … and this is your home.”

There is a debate that flares up from time to time about whether or not to eliminate “Nationality” from the Kyrgyz Passport.  Personally, I think that the effect of such a measure should be positive,  although take some considerable time to achieve.

An ethnic Korean in Kyrgyzstan

The Week of Korean Culture here in Bishkek came to an end yesterday.  It was organized to commemorate 20 years of establishing diplomatic relations and, as well as the official opening ceremony without which no official festival would be complete, there was a seminar, concerts and degustations of Korean cuisine.

Although I had put it in the diary and fully intended to go to some of the events, I have to confess that things cropped up, and I never actually made it.  By all accounts, it was my loss and I hope that I won’t have to wait another 20 years before another such festival is organized.

The Koreans, (or Koryo-saram, as they sometimes refer to themselves – a term that may refer to figures from a particular historical period), can be traced back to the Koreans who lived in the Russian Far East in the late nineteenth century.  Migration from the peninsular seems to have started in the 1860′s as a result of the decline of the ruling Korean dynasty, and seems to have grown somewhat rapidly.  (In the five years between 18978 and 1902, the number iof Korean speakers registered rose from just over 26,000 to over 310,000.

In the opening years of the new century, but the Russian Empire and Korea found themselves in conflict with Imperial Japan.  The Russo-Japanese War was not good for the Russians … the Japanese defeating two Russian fleets and sending shock waves through Europe as an Asian power defeated, or rather humiliated, a Europe one.  Following the war, Russia enacted an anti Korean legislation at the behest of Japan.   Land was confiscated and labourers “laid off”.

Despite this, many Korean nationalists and communists migrated, (fled, escaped), to Siberia.  Following the October Revolution, Soviet Koreans organized themselves into armed units in order to oppose the Japanese

It is said that the first Korean to migrate to Kyrgyzstan was a young woman call Pak, who arrived in 1935.   She was not alone for long.

For the record: She died in 1975  – aged 96 – in a small village in the Alamedin rayon, near Bishkek.

In 1937, the Stalinist regime, fearing that the Korean community might form a “fifth column” in support of the Japanese who were then occupying Manchuria and Korea just across the Soviet Union’s far eastern  borders, ordered a mass deportation of all 36442 families from Sakhalin, Vladivostok and the Russian Far East to Central Asia – a total of 171781 people.

The journey was harsh.  No one really knows how many people died in transit, or in their new home.  To make matters worse, members of the Korean Communist Party were amongst the first to suffer under the Stalinist repressions – being liquidated.

In 1959 there were only 3346 living in Kyrgyzstan.  By 1994, this figure had risen six fold, and now it is estimated that there are over 20000 ethnic Koreans in the country.

At first life was not easy.  Koreans were forbidden, for example, to enter University.  Things apparently got easier for the community in the 1950′s – following the death of Stalin.

They established social structures: cultural clubs, schools, clinics and even a Korean language newspaper.  However, many of the young people have “forgotten” their mother tongue and, nowadays, most cannot speak or read it – only Russian.  (That doesn’t detract from their identification as, and pride in being Korean.)

As conditions improved and new opportunities opened up, members of the community assimilated into society in their new homeland and young Koreans, in particular, were “economically active”, often being promoted to management positions.

Most of the Koreans (just over half of them) live in Bishkek.  Another 20% live in the northern Chui and Issyk Kul oblasts, with just over 10% in the southern Osh and Djalal Abad oblasts.  Most of them live in the towns – however, about three quarters of the community are commonly involved in agriculture and in many places the markets stalls are dominated by Koreans.

The Koryo-saram have preserved Korean cuisine particularly well, with several Korean restaurants being established in Bishkek and ingredients and spices available in markets.  The cuisine of the Koryo-saram is supposed to be closest to that of the Hamgyong provinces in North Korea, and is dominated by meat soups and salty side dishes, (including, somewhat controversially, bosintang – dog-meat soup – which is traditionally served to honored guests).

There is a Korean Community Center in Bishkek – with its own hotel.  Korean language lessons are run and as well as many ethnic Koreans eager to lean about their cultural heritage, about half of the students are “interested locals”.

There is also an evangelical Christian Church which has a strong presence amongst Bishkek’s Korean Community.

There is some interest from Korean businessmen interested in investing in Kyrgyzstan … mainly in agricultural projects, but not exclusively.

Dungan Mosque in Karakol

At the moment there is an exhibition in the Frunze Museum about the  ”The Dungans of Kyrgyzstan” – a photo-documentary exhibition of the history of the Dungans beginning with their transfer to Central Asia in the late 19th century.

I have mentioned the Dungans in some previous postcards, (notably in Nationalities, the DunganMosque in Karakol and Dungan cuisine), but it seemed to take a closer look at who they are.

Dungans are ethnic Chinese Muslims, from the Kansu and Shensi provinces of northwestern China. In China they are known as Hui.   They refer to themselves as Hui-Zu, (or “Chinese Muslims), and have their own newspaper, Huiming Bo, (or “Muslim People”), although the Russians, and hence the Kyrgyz, referred to them as Dungans.

The name Dungan is of obscure origin.  It is mostly used to describe the Turkic- and Tajik-speaking neighbors, both in Xinjiang and in the former Soviet republics, and has been presumably borrowed from the Turkic languages into Russian, (dunganin (sing.) and dungane (pl.); ), Chinese (Donggan zu), and also English (Dungan, and also earlier, Tungan).  One theory suggests that this was derived from the Turkic döñän, (“one who turns”), which can be compared to Chinese (huí), which has a similar meaning.   There is another theory that suggests it is derived from the Chinese Dong Gan, (“Eastern Gansu”), which is the region to which many of the Dungan can trace their ancestry, (however the character gan used in the name of the ethnic group is apparently different from that used in the name of the province).

Although technically Muslim, it seems that the young, in particular, tend to adopt a more relaxed attitude to religion and, according to one source, become more committed or devout at about the age of 40.

Like the Uighurs – the original Dungan community arrived in Central Asia, (predominantly Kazakhstan – where there were over 35,000 according to the 1999 census – and Kyrgyzstan – where there were were over 50,000 in the 1999 census), as refugees from persecution after a series of failed Muslim rebellions between 1862 and 1877 and the especially severe winter of 1877.

One group of refugees, about 1000 people, from the area around Turfan in Xinjiang, arrived in Osh.   Another group, of over 1100, arrived and settled in the region around Karakol.  A third group, of over 3000, settled in the village of Karakunuz, (which means “camp” or “encampment”), just North of Tokmok in what is now part of Kazakhstan.  (In 1965 the village was renamed Masanchi after a local Dungan leader, a participant in the Communist Revolution and a Kazakh statesman.)

Another wave of immigration followed in the early 1880s.  The Treaty of Saint Petersburg, (1881), required the withdrawal of the Russian troops from the Upper Ili Basin, (the Kulja area of Xinjiang), and the Hui and Uighur people of the region were allowed to opt for moving to the Russian side of the border. Most choose that option, and according to the Russian statistics, 4,682 Hui moved to Russian Empire under the treaty.  They migrated in many small groups between 1881-83, settling in the village of Sokuluk some 30 km west of Bishkek, as well as in a number of points between the Chinese border and Sokuluk, in south-eastern Kazakhstan and northern Kyrgyzstan.

Today, there are over 110,000 Dungans in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan.  In particular, people from Kansu settled in the mountains and valleys of Kyrgyzstan, and people from Shensi living in Kazakhstan, mainly concentrated in the river valleys.

Although they have, on the whole, assimilated into the local community, (for example, many of the Dungan in Kyrgyzstan adopt contemporary Western style clothes), they have maintained certain features of their traditional culture and identity.

Many Dungan, for example,  speak Kyrgyz, and the young people also speak Russian,  in addition to their own, native, Dungani language, (a form of Mandarin Chinese which is heavily influenced by Arabic, Perian and Turkish), and they write using the Cyrillic script.  Although children in school are taught most subjects in Russian, they may also receive instruction in Dungani for a couple of hours a week

The Dungan are primarily farmers, growing rice and vegetables such as sugar beets. Many also raise dairy cattle. Many live on kolkhoz, or “collective farms,” with Dungan chairmen, doctors, and teachers.  A few live in the cities, but those few have found jobs as writers, linguists, historians, poets, and newspaper editors.

As well as being farmers, Dungans taking great pride in their gardens.  Generally, Dungans are wealthy, wealthier than their Kyrgyz counterparts. This has sometimes led to problems between the two communities but, on the whole, the two communities get on well.

The Dungan tend to marry within their own community, (that is, they are “endogamous“).  The Dungan in Kyrgyzstan are less conservative than are those in Kazakhstan, permitting their girls to marry another Dungan from any other place. Practices such as having multiple wives, (polygamy), and the payment of a bride-price, (a dowry), were abolished in 1921.  They believe in having as many children as possible and apparently, according to one source, the average number of children in a family is eight.

The Dungan are famous for their hospitality and they hold many ceremonies and banquets which help to preserve their former culture.  These include elaborate and colorful observances for birthdays, weddings, and funerals.  In addition, some schools have special museums which help to preserve other parts of their culture, (such as embroidery, traditional clothing, silver jewelry, paper cuts of animals and flowers, and old traditional tools).

Their cuisine remains a striking feature of their culture and Dungan restaurants and cafes are popular.  It involves of plenty of meat, (especially lamb and chicken), vegetables, (which are mainly fired) and noodles, all lavishly seasoned with garlic and vinegar.  Most Dungans still eat with chopsticks.

Dungan cuising first appeared in the Russian province of Semeriechye, (Seven Rivers – one of which is the Chui river in Northern Kyrgyzstan), in the late nineteenth century when a number of Chinese Muslim refugees (who later became known as Dungans) crossed the border and migrated to Russia.  Culinary art was an important aspect of life for them and family members would learn the necessary skills and technique from early childhood – with girls as young as 6 and 7 helping to prepare meals.

Dungan cuisine can be divided into three distinct types: daily, celebratory and ceremonial.  Of particular importance are the certemonial meals.  There are many cermonies associated with the life of a child – especially in the case if the eldest son in the family.  The grandparents arrange a celebration, Shityan, for the father of the newborn to which close relatives are invited.  Others are connected with courtship and weddings.  Gu Hua, for example, is a celebration given by an intermediary for the bride and groom when the bride consents to the marriage.  A Dungan weedding normally lasts for 3 or 4 days, and on the fourth day, when the bride arrives at the home of the groom, visitors are treated to a special wedding dish: Shi.

Dungan cuisine utilises a wide variety of spices, and their skillful use is considered to be an art.  Amongst the spices commonly used are: cloves; aniseed, coriander, ginger, cinamon, red pepper and fennel.  For most dishes a special mix of five different spices, tyochoe, is used.

Seasonings, as opposed to spices, also play an important role in Dungan cuisine and these require special preparation.  These preparations are applied to many different dishes – and some (such as U pe lazy, can be added to any dish.  The preparation of most seasonings involves the use of vinegar.

Vegetables also have an important place in Dungan cuisine and they are to found in all Dungan dishes.  From early Spring until late Autumn, Dungans use fresh vegetables in their cooking, and in the Winter, when fresh vegetables are scarce, they make use of they make skilful use of various pickles, marinades and other preparations.  For example, fried string beans and dried aubergine added to rice and sauerkraut (Suan Byitse and Suan Lyanhuaby) become staple vegetables dishes on a Dungan table.  Dungan salads always use fresh vegetables, sliced immediately before serving and usually use vegetable oil and red pepper – so they tend to be sharp to the taste.

Over the centuries, Dungan cooks have developed a technique of cooking vegetables involving fast frying and steaming – taking at most 10-15 minutes.  The vegetables are first fried in a little vegetable oil in a kazan – a heavy pan similar to a large “wok” – with, or without, meat and then steamed.  As well as being used as seasoning, the fried vegetables can also serve as separate dishes in their own right.

The various dishes of Dungan cuisine are prepared with noodles or rice – referred to as “fan”.  In fact, the fan is used also used to refer in general.  One of the most widespread and favourite dishes of Dungan cuisine is Lumyan – although more commonly known as Laghman, (according to the authors of the book “Dungan Cuisine”, this name is derived from the Dungan “Lyonmyan”), but it is also known as Gungur Myan, Ban Fan and Lyonmyan.  Lumyan is prepared with noodles, (made from flour, salt and water), stretched into long strings, (maybe as much as 4 meters long), and boiled in salted water.  Various vegetables are then added as a sauce to the noodles.

Other dishes also involve noodles and broth, such as Tontyanchur, Tontyanpyar and Tontyantyer.  Yet others are made with rice as a base – such as Ganminfan.

Baked and fried sweetcakes also figure prominently in Dungan cuisine.  They serve as an integral part of the traditional tea table.  They are made from ingredients which are easily to hand, such as vegetable oil, flour, and eggs.  Ton Mehmeh, for example, are stuffed sweet puff pastries and Ton Byanshi are puff pastries fried in oil and Sanzi is fried pasta.

In the Karakol city centre, on the corner of a crossroads, there is small, tranquil courtyard which sees a number of visitors descend upon it throughout the week. Many of these of tourists coming to see a remarkable building, probably one of the most photographed buildings in Kyrgyzstan – the Dungan Mosque.

The Dungans are ethnic Chinese Muslims – in China they are known as Hui.  It is said that they are descendants of Chinese Arabs.  Like the Uighurs – the original Dungan community arrived in Kyrgyzstan as refugees from persecution in 1882 after a series of failed Muslim rebellions.

One of the Dungan communities settled in the area around Karakol.  In 1904 they set about building a mosque.  An architect was sent from China along with twenty master craftsmen.  The architect included several oriental elements in his design, including dragons, and some Buddhist elements, and it is painted in a variety of colours, each of these elements giving it a unique and distinctive style and character.

Local materials, wood and stone, were used – but despite the fact that it was basically a wooden building, it was constructed without any nails being used.

In the courtyard outside the mosque there is a square wooden tower that serves as a minaret.

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During the Soviet period, when religious buildings were taken over by the state, the mosque was put to use as a both a storehouse and also a dance club.

The mosque is currently undergoing reconstruction.

Although they have, on the whole, assimilated into the local community, (for example, only a few of them still speak their native Chinese and they write using the Cyrillic script), the Dungan community in Kyrgyzstan has maintained certain features of their traditional culture and identity, (for example, they have their own newspaper – Huiming Bo = Muslim People), and their cuisine remains a striking feature and Dungan restaurants and cafes are popular.

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Here is a 3D spherical panorama of the interior of the mosque … if you scan upwards, then  in the roof rafters there is some Chinese writing, and this is apparently a list of those who participated in the construction of the mosque.

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There has been a certain amount of controversy about the state of journalism in Kyrgyzstan in recent weeks.  Part of this may well have been associated with the World Press Freedom Day, which was commemorated earlier in May.  In fact, however, there has been much discussion about the state of journalism in the republic for some time … covering issues such as:  control over the state TV, ownership and control of different “private” TV channels; threats and attacks on journalists … and so on.

One of the current issues of concern was sparked by a report published in a local Kyrgyz language newspaper, but which then gained wider notoriety because it was translated into Russian and posted on the internet by a Russian news agency.  It has been cited as an example of  Kyrgyz-language news outlets exploring “the limits of editorial freedom, publishing articles expressing chauvinistic and xenophobic views”.

In what was fairly emotive language, (for example, using a pejorative term zhidy instead of the more generally acceptable, neutral term yevrei to refer to the Jews; stating that Jews have, “over a number of years, and in many different countries, developed anti-state policies” and even making reference to a rumour that Maxim Bakiev, son of former President Kurmanbek Bakiyev, was Jewish),  it blamed Jews for most of the country’s current problems.

In the light of this, I thought it might be a good idea to write a postcard about the history of the Jewish community here in Kyrgyzstan especially on the eve of Shavuot – the Jewish festival commemorating when the occasion Moses received the Torah from God on the slopes of Mount Sinai.

So, For the record:

In fact, the Jewish community in Kyrgyzstan is very small and, in fact, always has been.  According to historical census data, for example, Jews used to make up about 2% of the population of the region in the days of the Russian empire and some scholars think that the proportion has never been higher than this.  The number grew dramatically, however, during the Second World War, with an influx of refugees (some 20,000), but since then the community has been declining.   Nowadays, there are estimated to be only about 3000 Jews living in Kyrgyzstan. Most are located in Bishkek and equally divided between Bukhara Jews and Ashkenazi.

There is a tradition that the Bukharan Jews trace their decadency from the lost tribes of Israel – the Issachar, Naphtali, and Ephraim Israelite tribes that never returned to the Holy Land following the period of captivity in Babylon in the sixth century BC.  In the days of the Silk Road there were a number of Jewish communities that emigrated to Central Asia, often in the face of religious persecution.  Marco Polo mentions communities of Jews along the Silk Road and in China that he encountered on his journey to court of the great Kublai Khan.  There is archaeological evidence of Jewish traders, (Aramaic speakers), from Khazaria present in the area during the sixth century, when a number of such migrations took place, which resulted at some point in the 740s in the conversion of the then Kazakh kingdom to Judaism.

In Medieval times, the cities of Khorezm, Osh, Kokand and Samarkand hosted famous communities of Jewish scholars who called themselves khabr, (an Uzbek word derived from the Hebrew haver – friend or colleague).  The Arab geographer Al-Maqdisi mentioned the cities of Osh, Balasagun, Uzgen, Taraz (in Kazakhstan) and others as having communities of Jewish traders.  The atlas compiled by Abraham Crescas in Palma de Majorca, Catalonia in 1375-77 contains a map showing Kyrgyzstan with Lake Issyk-Kul and cites Talas as a holy city for Jews.

It is also worth noting that there are several mentions of Jews in the Manas epic and the star of David appears as decoration in Kyrgyz architecture and crafts from about the 8th Century onwards.

The Ashkenazi Jews are more recent settlers.  They trace their ancestry back to Jewish communities in medieval Europe, particularly the Rhineland.  In the mid-19th century, Russia absorbed Central Asia into its vast empire.  As part of the process of colonization, affluent Central Asian traders were allowed to participate in trade corporation and a number were to perform special diplomatic and espionage missions, in addition to their commercial activity.  One of these, Moses Raphailov, was a Jewish merchant from the Kashghar region (at the time Kyrgyzstan was a part of Kashgharia), who collected important strategic information for the Russian government and was subsequently awarded, in 1811, a gold medal for his “special contribution to the prosperity of the Russian Government”.

Amongst the groups that moved in the region were a number of Ashkenazi Jews who settled in the provincial cities of Karakol, Pishpek (now Bishkek), and Osh especially after the Russian Empire instituted a policy forbidding Jews to settle in villages.  The Karakol community was small.  In 1885 there was only one Jew recorded as living in the city, by 1900 there were fifteen and by 1910 the community had grown to thirty-one.  The community in Pishpek was larger: in 1885 there were eight Jewish residents and in 1900 some 250 Jews lived in the city, although another source suggests that in 1913 there were only forty two.  The largest Jewish community in the country was in Osh with, according to the 1900 census, a community of 800 Jews.  The city had a Jewish Cotton factory, a Jewish bank and the Singer sewing machine  The communities of Bukhanian and Ahkenazi Jews tended to live separately with the Bukharian Jews living in the old city and the Ashkenazi in the newer, European, section along with Russians and Tatars.  Despite their historical associations with the region, the Bukharian Jews were seen as foreigners and were not as accepted by Kyrgyz society as the Ashkenazi Jews were.

A report by the Governor General of Turkistan in 1910 classified the Jews of Kyrgyzstan in seven categories:

1. local Jews;
2. Bukharan Jews who became Russian citizens;
3. Jewish migrants from various parts of the Russian Empire;
4. Jews who arrived in the frames of educational census;
5. Bukharan and other Central Asian Jews who were not Russian citizens and had a status of temporary residents;
6. Jews willing to get the status of local Jew and had asked for permission from the Tsarist authorities;
7. other Jews who had temporary ‘business’ status.

The community had few institutional facilities.  There were no synagogues in the country until 1915 and people would congregate in the homes of local rabbis for services.  The only Jewish cemetery was in Osh although there was a Jewish section in the local Muslim cemetery in Pishpek and representatives of the hevra kadisha, (funeral association), from Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan would officiate at funerals.  There were no Jewish schools, and so some Bukharian families sent their children to heder in Samarkand, whilst Ashkenazi children went to Russian schools with Jewish traditions being maintained in the family home.

There was, however, a publishing house established by a former book trader who had settled in Pishpek, Pinkas Lipshits.  As well as religious literature, (mainly in Hebrew with commentaries in Yiddish or Russian), he also published works by Tolstoy, Goethe, and Shakespeare in Yiddish.  There was also a newspaper, Rahamim, in Fergana and Kokand.  The “Tarbut” cultural-educational association was established in Kokand, with branches all over Central Asia which ran a Yiddish theatre company.  There were some gramophone recordings in existence of Sephardi Jews made in 1910.

The start of the first World War saw an influx of Ashkenazi Jews from Europe.  Many of them had been exiled to the region as a result of their membership in various opposition political parties: Socialist Revolutionaries, Social Democrats, the Bund, and the Peasants Group.  Also, in 1916, groups of Jewish refugees, (along with prisoners of war from the German and Austro-Hungarian armies), were sent to Kyrgyzstan to work in coalmines, irrigation projects, factories, and railroad construction.   In general these new arrivals received a warm reception.  The Bukharian Jews, however, were subject to the severe regulations that affected all native “non-Slavic local population”, requiring them to serve the army through manual and technical labour – which led to the popular uprising of 1916.

During the Soviet period, despite the militant atheism and anti-religious policy of the regime, Jews continued to practice their religion in secret and were able to establish a Jewish institute which founded a number of primary schools and technical colleges for the preservation of Bukharian culture, as well as several clubs.  Between 1920 and 1940 the Soviets published some 750 books in Jewish languages, (which included Hebrew, Yiddish and dialects of Persian and Uzbek), and a Jewish newspaper.  The community in Osh was led by Alexander Volodarsky, who had been exiled from his native Belorussia for his religious beliefs, who served as shochet and kashrut expert and managed to secure a separate Jewish section of the cemetery in Osh to replace the Jewish Cemetery that they had lost and which they were able to retain until the beginning of the Second World War.

A number of Russian Jews moved to Kyrgyzstan during the Stalinist purges of the 1930′s in order to escape persecution.

There was another large influx of refugees during the Second World War, when a wave of more than 20,000 Jewish refugees fled to the country from the Nazi-occupied western regions of the Soviet Union, (including a theatre company from Warsaw – who returned to Poland after the war ended).  The majority of these immigrants were Ashkenazi Jews from Russia, Ukraine, and Poland.  Those who settled in the cities and villages fared better than those who settled farming communities who were often unable to keep up with the local production quotas.  Unlike their predecessors, they also faced antagonism form the locals who were suspicious of their “western capitalist background”.  Several Jews were imprisoned for alleged “counter revolutionary activity” and the “spreading of lies about the bourgeois way of life.”

The war, however, resulted in a change in official Soviet policy concerning the relationship between state and religion.  Religion was seen as having an important role in uniting the population against the common enemy, the Germans.  In 1941, the authorities allowed the establishment of a synagogue in Frunze, (as Pishkek had been renamed in 1926), in the city centre, to be followed by synagogues in Osh and Kant.  In 1945, 70 members attended daily services in the synagogue daily, 200 attended weekly services, and more than 2500 on the high holy days.  The community was allowed to celebrate holidays and continue their activities until the 1950s, when another change in official policy prohibited all religious activities, apart from services on the High Holidays.  Despite the new restrictions, the communities in Bishkek, Osh and Djalal Abad continued to operate.

The Jewish population in Kyrgyzstan has declined steadily since the Second World War, largely as a result of emigration to Israel – in 1990, just prior to independence, apparently more than 1000 emigrated to Israel.

The Jewish community in Bishkek continues to thrive and maintain a synagogue, a daily minyan (a congregation of 10 which is the minimum required for services), and operate a cultural/educational center, called “Menorah”, a school with approximately 70 students, and a number of social groups.

Anti Semitism is rare, although incidents  sometimes occur, for example, following the revolution in April, 2011, anti Semitic placards appeared, and a home made Molotov cocktail, or pipe bomb, was thrown over the wall of the Bishkek Synagogue.  One member of the community commented to a reporter from the New York based Jewish Daily Forward that “the Kyrgyz people are really warm people. What happened last year is really the first story of anti-Semitism.”

There have, however, also been some comments appearing in the press which could be said to be anti-Semitic, such as the one referred to in the introduction to this postcard.

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Last week one of our staff walked into my office and told me that I had a visitor from the Tatar Choir “Berdemlek”.  I said that it was OK, I knew who it was and what it was about.

Sure enough, it was one of the members of the choir who had brought me an invitation to a concert on Sunday in honour of the 125th anniversary of the famous Tatar poet Gabdulla Tuqay.  She had been to see a few weeks ago along with the Choir’s Director to tell me about the concert and ask for sponsorship.  I have known them for several years, the choir used to meet for practices in the music school behind our office and over the years we’ve occasionally offered support for some of their activities.  It is difficult to find sponsorship for cultural activities at the best of time, but in the current climate many firms have plenty of calls on their meager budget for charity and sponsorship.  We are no different in that respect, but as we have a long standing relationship with the choir, I was happy to agree again this time.

The Tartars are a Turkish people from the Volga region in Russia – where they have their own Autonomous Republic, centered around the capital: Kazan.  Although they are descended from the Mongol Golden Horde, most resemble Russians rather than the other Turkic peoples.  The Tsar began encouraging the Tartars to begin settling in Central Asia in the middle of the 19th century as farmers, traders and clerical workers.  In 1944 another trance were deported here by the Soviet authorities from the Crimea.  A large number have emigrated to either the Crimea or Russia since Independence and there are now just over 50,000 in Kyrgyzstan.

Despite the fact that they represent a particular ethnic group, the events put on by the various Tartar societies in Kyrgyzstan tend to attract a wide variety of support and attendance from several of Kyrgyzstan’s various ethnic communities.

This concert, however, looked as if it was going to be more concentrated Tartar affair.   Because the question of raising sponsorship was proving to be difficult, they had cut back on their plans for holding a major festival, however they still had an ensemble from Kazan and another local Tatar ensemble, “ Duslik” participating in the event.

So, that raised a question: Who on earth was Gabdulla Tuquay?

Born into the family of a local mullah on April 26th, 1886, Gabdullah was a poet, a critic and a publisher of Tartar classic literature.  He had a difficult childhood, growing up in a number of different families – something I could identify with as I spent the first two years of my life passed between relatives and eventually ending up in a children’s home whilst my mother recovered from TB.  Gabdullah wasn’t so luck as many of the people who helped to raise him died early.

His father, for example, died when he was only five months old, and his grandfather shortly afterwards and so he grew up in the household of an old woman in the village until eventually accepted into the family of his stepfather.  When he was six, his mother also died and he moved in with his grandfather’s family.

Times were tough, however, and he was taken to the capital, Kazan, in the hope of finding someone who would adopt or foster the boy.  He spent two years in the city with a tanner and his wife, but when they both died he returned to his grandfather once more, who found him some more foster parents in a nearby village where he began to attend the local madrassah.  His home changed once more when he was adopted by a merchant who sent him to a Russian school where he started to learn about Russian literature and became inspired to be a poet.

Once more death intervened and the Gabdullah moved into the madrassah and studied diligently.  By the time he was 16, however, he had grown critical of, and lost interest in, his religious studies, gave up   shaving his hair, he drank beer and even smoked, but his interest in poetry was developing.

As well as his interest in Russian literature, especially Pushkin, he started collecting folklore songs and epics.  He was exposed to a wide variety of influences, including Arabic, Persian and Turkish poetry.  He gained an interest in the Old Tartar language, which included a mix of Arabic, Persian and Turkish words.  Meeting with different poets he also learned about poems written in the Oriental tradition.

He was beginning to get his poems published and he participated in the publication of several magazines, which often featured his poems, articles and translations.  A political and socially aware activist, as time passed, he was outraged at the exploitation that he saw around him and over the years moved closer to the left of the political spectrum.  Some of his work fit the satirical tradition, poking fun at the religious teachers of his youth.  This didn’t exactly enamor him to the authorities, and although he was the subject of investigations and interrogations, he managed to escape the worst excesses of any repression.  Despite his interest in Russian literature, he was was a staunch nationalist and was even accused of being anti-Russian.

He continued to develop a wide variety of interests including linguistics, children’s literature and drama.

He suffered from ill health, having an eye condition known as “walleye”, which led to his being rejected from service in the Imperial Army.  Eventually he was contracted tuberculosis and died from the disease on April 15th, 1913, at the age of just 27.

He’s a national hero amongst the Tatars and his poem I, Tugan tel, (“Oh My Mother Tongue!“), is the unofficial hymn of the Tatar language.  He is often compared to Shakespeare and Lord Byron.  During the Soviet period, the main emphasis was on his social poems, but in recent times it is on his works on Tartar traditional customs.

This year marks the 125th anniversary of his birth and in Tartarstan 2011 has been declared The Year Gabdulla Tuqay.

Hence the concert.

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I was warned that I was going to be asked to give a speech – here’s what I said … or, at least, what I planned to say:

A couple of weeks ago, two ladies from the Tatar Union “Berdemlek” came to visit me in my office and told me that they wanted to hold a concert in honour of the 125th anniversary of Gabdullah Taqay.

To be honest, I asked: “Who?”

They explained to me that he was a classic of Tartar literature, a poet, who sadly died very young.

So I went and searched the internet and found some information about him, his life and work.  And, I have to agree with Mark Zaretsky, who wrote:

Поэта жизнь, короткая такая,
Была смертельный бой, великий труд.

The poet’s life, so short,
There was a deadly fight, great work.

As I read some of his poems, I found this verse which I would like to share with you:

Изгнать вражду пора пришла.
Друзья, — разделены тела,
Но души мы, не помня зла,
Объединим навеки.

Banish enmity, its time has passed.
Friends – separated bodies,
But in our hearts, forgetting evil,
United forever.

All that is left for me now is to say, Thank you for inviting me and introducing me to this poet, and also to wish you a successful celebration.

I had a little problem because one of the other speakers before me used a similar quote from Gabdullah’s poems so I had to own up and miss that bit out.

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The auditorium was packed.  Most of the seats were already taken by the time that I arrived, and people were, literally, standing in the aisles.  Fortunately, I had a seat allocated to me … in the front row.

The concert was in two parts.  The first was an eclectic mix of national songs and folk music, (including some gutteral songs which might have been hard on the ear if I was hearing them for the first time but, fortunately, I had come across this form of “folk music” before and so was prepared for what to expect), recitals of various poems, some traditional dance, a re-enactment of  a folk tale, and a short talk on the life and work of the poet.

The second half consisted of a performance by a trio of young singers from Kazan, who had been sent with the help of the Ministry of Culture from Kazan: Marat, Artur and Aidar.  If the concert began with the ensemble Duslik in traditional costume, some of the later acts were performed in more traditional suits and dresses.  The three young men, however, sported jeans, black T-shirts and blue embroidered jackets.

I confess that the term “boy band” popped into my head because they had an extremely wide repertoire.  Most of the songs were, I think, traditional Tartar songs, but set to a wide variety of musical genres.  They encouraged audience participation and as well as clapping many of the audience  joined in singing the lyrics.

To be honest, I didn’t understand much of what was going on because everything was in Tatar.  However, the music was good.  There were two songs in Russian, but only two.  The woman next to me kept leaning over to tell me the theme of the each number which helped a little.  One of the performers, Marat, even said that in all their travels, they were pleased to be in a place where so many people spoke their native language, Tartar.  I think, however, that had there been any Kyrgyz present, then they would probably have understood a bit more, because Tartar is, like Kyrgyz, a Turkic language.

The audience was extremely mixed.  As well as pensioners, there were several young people, and a few children, and two young schoolgirls recited poems.   Even the pensioners were relishing the performance, with their feet tapping and on a couple of occasions some people stood up and were, (once again, literally), dancing in the aisles.

They had brought with them some specially prepared CDs, with a cover displaying a portrait of the poet.  When I asked where I could get one, however, I was told that they had all sold out.

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Once the concert was over, I was invited back to the “post concert” celebration at the home of the Vice President of Berdemlek.  There we were treated to some traditional Tartar cuisine and the singing continued.  After the traditional toasts, the accordionist moved around the table and people took turns to sing.  The group even managed to pick up a song written by one of the local people which they asked if they could include in their repertoire.

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For them, it was a flying visit.  Marat said that they have performed in  many places in the countries of the former Soviet, often entertaining members of the Tartar diaspora, but this was their first time in Kyrgyzstan.  Judging by the reaction, I think they will be back.  If they do come back, then I will certainly be looking for a ticket, and this time, I’ll be sure to get to the front of the queue to buy a CD.

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At that time, the Akaev regime even adopted as a slogan the phrase: Kyrgyzstan Nash Obshe Dom – Kyrgyzstan: Our Common Home.

With the events of recent years in mind, (and in particular those in the South of the country earlier this year), when ethnic tensions rose to the fore and some of the ethnic Kyrgyz politicians have adopted the phrase “the titular nation”, the question of the ethnic composition of the country has assumed a growing importance.

It was in the light of this background that my interest was aroused over the weekend, when I came across a newspaper report in response to a reader’s question: Could you publish the details of the population figures for Kyrgyzstan and the city of Bishkek for different nationalities between 1999 and 2009? (Presumably those two years were chosen, because that was when Kyrgyzstan conducted a National Census.)

In answer, the newspaper printed a table taken from a publication of the National Statistics Committee.

Here’s a copy of the table – although I have translated into English, and slightly rearranged it.  Fopr example, I have separated it into two tables: one for Kyrgyzstan and another one for Bishkek, and I have also moved the totals from the first row into the last, but the figures are basically the same:

Kyrgyzstan:

Bishkek:

You’ll also notice that I have coloured some of the figures red.  There’s a good reason for that – they are wrong, (or at least they are inconsistent with the rest of the data in the table).

The trouble is that the statistician in me asked some questions.

The first was … there are only 14 nationalities listed – what happened to the other 66?  The answer to that is probably quite simple – the last category is the catchall “Other” and that is actually bigger than the preceding ones.  Each of the nationalities which have been collected together is small in themselves, but when combined they constitute a small, but not insignificant, figure.

I then started looking at the figures to see how the composition of the population had changed.  That’s when I noticed that the percentages for the Dungan population for Bishkek seemed strange.  There were fewer Dungans than Uzbeks living in the capital, but the percentage figures in the table were larger.  So, I decided to investigate a little further.

Interestingly, the figures for the country as a whole in 1999 are consistent – so I presume they are correct.  I didn’t collect the date, so I don’t know for sure – but it seems a reasonable proposition.  The stated population for the country in 2009, however, is just under 60,000 less than the total for the individual nationalities are added up.  Now it might be claimed that 60,000 is not a particularly large figure when compared to the overall population of over five million – it’s only about 1.1%.

True, but notice that it represents more than ten of the different national groups identified in the table.

Add to that the furore following the parliamentary elections about the calculations of the threshold figures for the number of votes that each party had to obtain in order to win representation in the Jorgorku Kenesh – and the issue seems to raise a few, (not exactly unimportant), questions.

For the record, this is what I think the figures should be:

Kyrgyzstan:

Bishkek:

Next, I asked myself the question about the changes in the composition of the population.  From the tables below, you can see how the number of certain nationalities in the Republic has changed dramatically.  In the ten years, for example, although the population of the country has grown by only 12%, the numbers of ethnic Kyrgyz has grown by double that, by almost a quarter.  The fall in the number of Russians came as a little surprise given the stories of people wanting to emigrate, and the decline in the ethnic German population surprised me only in that I was under the impression that it had occurred much earlier than 1999.  What did come as a shock to me was the fall in the number of Ukrainians and some to the other nationalities.

Kyrgyzstan:

The fact that none of the Kurds in the republic apparently live in the capital struck me as interesting and so I turned my attention to that table.

The composition of the city’s population has changed in different ways compared to that of the country as a whole.  Whereas the number of Tajiks in the general population, for example, has grown by 8%, the number living in the capital has actually fallen – by about half.  Almost all the nationalities have shown declines in population – either in actual numbers of as a proportion of the city’s population, as shown in this table.

Bishkek:

It seems that although the population of Bishkek has grown by some 10% over the period, the city still represents roughly the same proportion of the country’s population as before, (some 15% in 2009 as opposed to 16% in 1999).

In fact there is relatively little change in the proportions of each of the nationalities that live in Bishkek as compared to the rest of the country as shown in this table:

I can see a couple of other trends emerging from the figures but, to be honest, I am not sure where all of this analysis leads … apart from the fact that the composition of the population is changing and it presents a fascinating picture.

Perhaps one of the most interesting points however, is where we started, in that the original, (official), figures  contained basic errors which should have been spotted somewhere along the line.

Don’t misunderstand me – mistakes happen.  I’m just surprised that nobody spotted them.  As a teacher of Statistics and Mathematics, one of the principal issues that we always tried to encourage in our classes was to look at the final answers or results and ask a simple question: Does this seem reasonable? – and if not, why not?