When I first visited Central Asia in 2013, one of the first things I noticed was the emphasis placed in Tajikistan on defining what it means to be a citizen of Tajikistan and a practitioner of Tajik culture. In Kyrgyzstan, I’ve come upon a similar phenomenon, and upon further reading, have also seen aspects of it in other countries in the region. It’s been so interesting for me to explore because it has unexpectedly cast a new lens on how I see my own identity as an American.
Let’s start out with a thought experiment. How would you feel if you weren’t allowed to practice your culture or speak your language openly? How would it feel to have your collective identity dictated by a politburo thousands of miles away?
While Central Asia had a rich tapestry of cultures for thousands of years, during the communist era, most of this was suppressed in the name of ideological unity and homogeneity. It was a genuinely held belief that holding on to religion and old cultural customs would prevent the fringes of the USSR from developing into the modern communist world leader that the country sought to be. (By the way, this type of “forced assimilation” has been practiced in the USSR, Australia, the United States, and in many other countries towards indigenous and minority populations, so it’s not something unique here nor something that I have any sort of moral high ground over.)
But fast forward to 1992, and you’ve got five newly independent “-stans,” each of whose names and borders were constructed in the 1930’s both along ethnic lines and to break up ethnic concentrations. You end up with five countries whose only identifiable heritage is to the Soviet Union, a heritage with which they are still inexorably associated.
When faced with a new country, asserting identity is a challenge. Bringing people together behind the new flag can be supremely difficult. Because of the unique history of Central Asia, the key uniting factors came down to asserting an ethnocentric national identity. Kyrgyzstan, whose name literally means “the province of the Kyrgyz people” in Persian, would come to assert its national identity on the basis of the just over half of the population that identified itself as ethnically Kyrgyz.
How does one define this identity, at least in the pattern followed by all of Central Asia? Step one is to identify a founder or father figure of the nation. This figure is a historical figure whose association with the specific group’s “stan” is undeniable and significant.
For Kyrgyzstan, this was identified as Manas, the hero of the eponymous epic poem who fought and unified the 40 tribes of the Kyrgyz people against the Mongols. Manas’ name is frequently given to children in Talas and Naryn (said by many to be the most “Kyrgyz” oblasts), while his mausoleum is a revered site in Talas. Most cities have a statue of him, and one of the most reputable private airlines here is called Air Manas.
Tajikistan identified Ismoil Somoni as its father, the most significant ruler of the Samanid dynasty that ruled over Turko-Persian lands a thousand years ago. While the mythology tying Somoni to the Tajik people is less concrete than Manas to the Kyrgyz, he is still revered, and his name is used for the Tajik Somoni currency, Somon Air (the country’s first private airline), and statues and monuments across the country.
By the way, we do this same thing in the US by revering the “Founding Fathers” and other important leaders of our past. We just share the love between a bunch of old dead men instead of one.
Another part of this is a revival of many traditional forms of dress, including intricately embroidered vests and the ubiquitous kalpak, the national hat for men. Assertion of identity through clothing is a big part of this process of identity building.
Along the same lines, national foods and national drinks must be defined. Kyrgyzstan has asserted besh barmak to be its national dish, while Tajikistan holds that ash (also called “plov”) is its national dish. Osh also asserts that “ash” is its regional-national dish. Kymyz has been defined as the national drink (even though it is only available a few months a year).
What’s so surprising to me about defining identity through a single dish and single drink is that it ends up sort of forgetting about the other rich culinary heritage here in Kyrgyzstan. Our national foods here technically don’t include plov (“it’s Uzbek!”) or ashlyam-fu (“it’s Dungan!”), or even shashlik, but we all love and enjoy them all the same. Kyrgyzstani cuisine includes such a wide variety of dishes that I find myself wanting to celebrate all of them – they’re all an important part of the country to me.
In fact, something I love about living in Osh and spending time in Bishkek is how I can see here that there are many different but equally authentic ways to be Kyrgyz, to speak Kyrgyz, and the equal validity of all of this. It reminds me of a fantastic TED Talk by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, who spoke with great wisdom about how important it is to celebrate many facets of identity and the fact that there is not one single way to be.
Now, how has this changed the way I look at America? This process of defining what it means to be Kyrgyz means that many people I meet here approach other cultures the same way that they approach their own. People talk about “trying our national foods” and “this is our national drink” to some degrees in terms of absolutes. And, in their curiosity about America, they often ask questions from the same vantage point: “what is the national food of America?” “What is your national dish?”
Does America have what we would define as a singular national dish? I sat down to discuss this with some other Americans here, and we’re hard pressed to agree on anything except perhaps hamburgers, hot dogs, and french fries. But, these are hardly unique foods and most Americans I know actually avoid eating them.
What about regional foods? Can we choose just one? Alaska has salmon and halibut. California has surf and turf. The South has so many different diverse culinary traditions that identifying a “national dish of Mobile, Alabama” would be nearly impossible (hot sauce in one’s bag?).
“Well, then what DO you eat in America?” they ask. The very first thing I think of is all of the international cuisines that make up the majority of my food in the US. At home, we eat French, Swiss, Italian and Alaskan food. “But you’re German!” they ask (I’m seen as German here because my dad’s dad’s dad’s dad’s dad’s dad’s dad was full ethnic German). It’s really interesting seeing the way that our world views interact because of the different cultures in which we were raised. When it comes to what food we like to eat in America, regardless of how much of it is Columbused or prepared by immigrants, the food we like to eat is a reflection of our history as a nation of immigrants. And that level of diversity is actually quite unique worldwide.
In fact, this process of talking about “what defines our culture” has been one of the most surprising parts of my experience here, and has forced me to really think deeply about how in so many places, including the United States, we talk there being a single way to “be American,” or we discount the experiences of groups that are “not American enough.” It’s made me question things that I’ve done in my past that might be termed “performative practice of culture,” like wearing an American flag tank top, or captioning a photo “because America.” It turns out, there isn’t a single way to be American, just as there isn’t a single way to be rich, poor, white, black, Christian, Muslim, or anything else.
Building a sense of national identity is an important part of building a nation, and it’s been very eye-opening for me to see the ways that different countries in Central Asia have chosen to go about this. Some have imposed, some have suggested, while others have grown organically. What is exciting to me is to see the many different aspects of these identities, and how there isn’t one single way to be Kyrgyz or Kyrgyzstani. Its those moments that I live for and strive to elevate. And if you come to spend time in Osh, you’ll see for yourself how valuable diversity is as well.
This post is part of Blogging Abroad’s 2017 New Years Blog Challenge, week two: The Danger of a Single Story.
