Literature and Politics: Mohammed Salih

The road to independence was a long one, and in order to fully understand the events covered in this paper, a brief background of the history of Uzbekistan is necessary. Before it became a republic of the Soviet Union, much of the area of Uzbekistan was part of the larger Turkestan, which began to he colonized by the Russian empire during the nineteenth century, first through trading practices and then through the establishment of military and administrative centers. Shortly after the Bolshevik revolution in 1917, the Soviet government somewhat arbitrarily carved up Turkestan and the territory of the recently abolished Bukharan Amirate and the Khivan Khanate into five republics. This was part of the strategy of ensuring Central Asian weakness and continued central control by the Soviet government. The policy created an Uzbekistan, an "Uzbek" people and a distinct "Uzbek language."

Another scheme for keeping ethnic minorities in submission and ensuring Russian dominance in language, culture, and history, was the Stalinist purge of the 1930s which swept the whole Soviet Union. Stalin ordered the executions of thousands of Central Asians, including Uzbek's, many of whom were well educated: the elite, the writers, the historians and the respected elders in society. In addition to destroyed lives, Uzbek history for that period was distorted. The central government forced Uzbek authors to write about and glorify. only Russian events and conquests, implying that Central Asians were less cultured and less civilized.

Beginning in the 1930s, Moscow also promoted unification of Soviet peoples by Russifying all minorities through the language policy it promulgated. Moscow insisted that Uzbek's learn Russian and rely on it for communication with the administration and within governing bodies. Most education also stressed the use of Russian; in most disciplines it was impossible to go beyond secondary school studying in a language other than Russian. Thus, the entire elite had to speak, read and write fluent Russian. This caused the use and knowledge of the Uzbek language to decline.

All of the above affected the Uzbek's sense of culture and identity, but the cotton monoculture affected their economy, their land, and their health, essentially destroying all three. Before the Russian conquest, people in what became Uzbekistan grew their own rice, grain, and vegetable crops, as well *as cotton. Then the Russian tsars began to increasingly rely on Turkestan's cotton, so the Turkic people increased the amount of land under cotton cultivation. After the Bolshevik revolution, Moscow continued to rely on Uzbekistan's cotton especially, and pressured Uzbeks to increase their production and sell the raw cotton to the Russian republic far below market cost. In Russia, factories transformed the cotton fiber into fabric. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, the central government, through the cotton plan, compelled Uzbeks to abandon their traditional system of crop rotation and letting the land lie fallow to regain nutrients, and forced them to increase the amount of land under cotton production at the expense of grain and other edible crops. Therefore, Uzbeks had to rely on Russian imports to feed their own people. The increased land under cultivation, along with inefficient irrigation systems and increased use of pesticides (to ensure a fuller cotton crop) brought about the desiccation and poisoning of soils, water shortage, air pollution, and overwhelming health problems. The cotton monoculture continued, although, even as early as the 1960s, reports surfaced that the level of the Aral Sea was dropping because no water was reaching it. This is the Uzbekistan in which Muhammad Salih grew up, and these are some of the problems which he addressed.

Salih's background provides important insights into what made him the person he

is how he came to be a writer and why he felt more freedom to express his thoughts than

those of the older generation, even in the days before glasnost. He was born 20 December

1949 in the province of Khorezm in a small village named Yangibazar. After finishing

middle school in 1968, he served two years in the Soviet army. From 1970 until 1975 he

studied in the Faculty of Journalism at Tashkent University, and later spent two years

studying literature in Moscow. Those years of study enabled him to further develop his

writing skills as well as to study the works of other writers. After completing his

education, Salih worked in the Writers Union of Uzbekistan, and in 1988 he was elected to a secretary position. Muhammad Salih has been a writer since his youth. His poetry began to be published in 1966, and by the early 1990s twelve books of his poetry and prose works had been published in Uzbekistan. He divorced his first wife, an Uzbek woman, leaving her with three children. His second wife, a Polish woman, bore him two more children. Simply because of his date of birth, he is a part of a new era; he did not live through the purges of the late 1930s or World War R and therefore did not fear repression from Moscow as did those of the previous generation. He grew up during a time when Khrushchev attempted to undo much of Stalin's terror and build a better, freer society. Also, he was able to achieve a high level of education which has made him part of the elite of Uzbekistan who enjoy more privileges.

The printing of Salih's works on Uzbekistan presses depended very much on the time period, the political atmosphere, and what he wrote. Much of his early poetry was published in Uzbekistan, and some has been translated into other languages and even published abroad. He is mostly known for his poetry, but Salih also wrote short stories, and more recently, articles, which discuss politics in Uzbekistan. His early pieces, published in Uzbekistan, are all poems. Many of his short stories and articles, written between 1977 and 198 8 were not published in journals or anywhere else until 1990. The fact that they were not published before then reflects Salih's boldness in writing about sensitive issues and the censorship, which existed in Uzbekistan. Most of the works discussed in this paper are Salih's short stories and articles, some of which were not published for some time after they were written. Whether a work was published at the time it was written will be noted as each is discussed, as this plays an important role in the development of the thesis.

The period of Salih's writing covered in this paper, from 1977 to early 1995, correspond to the periods outlined above and coincide with four distinct periods in the political development of Uzbekistan. Throughout all four periods, his style of writing changed and parallels the political developments of the time. To some extent his subjects vary, although the common theme of the importance of the Uzbek language in the republic/nation is seen throughout. In order to provide some background for the rest of Salih's works, this paper will begin the discussion of the relationship between Salih's writings and political developments with a work written in 1977. At that time Uzbeks still focused on fulfilling the cotton plan each year, and although the resulting ecological and environmental problems began to stare them in the face, the officials ignored them. Administrators and common citizens alike did little to address these problems. Salih's works reflect this closed society, as he writes using images and symbols.

Glasnost and perestroika began making changes in society during the second period, which spanned the years 1985 to 1989. Gradually, Moscow allowed problems to surface and is analyzed, the Communist Party directed a campaign for the ousting of corrupt officials, and the press had increased freedom to report these events. Salih's writing reflects this openness; he became much more direct, and he specifically addressed the economic, political and social problems he observed. He even became so bold as to directly speak out against some of Moscow's policies.

This freedom was curtailed beginning in the middle of 1989. And despite the fact that Uzbekistan gained independence following the coup attempt in Moscow in August 199 1, little changed for the better. The small or even non‑existent ideological foundation for independence in Uzbekistan compelled authorities to attempt instantaneously to create an economically and socially viable nation. By exercising strict control over dissenting groups, Islam Karimov, the president established stability and an independent republic. Salih, too, became politically involved beginning in 1988. His writing at this time, at least that available to the public, was strictly political in nature as he tried to work within the political system for change.

The final period, from the end of 1992 to early 1995, demonstrates the increased authoritarian rule by Karimov, the control of the press, and economic and political disaster.

Chapter One‑ 1977‑1985

In analyzing Salih's writings, the period from 1977 to 1985 is important because it provides a foundation on which to build and a basis for comparison with the later periods. It leads up to the beginnings of glasnost and perestroika. Problems such as the desiccation of the Aral Sea, the shortage of water, deterioration of health, unemployment, and a high population growth rate existed in Uzbekistan during this period. But, because of continued pressure by Moscow to fulfill the cotton plan each year and a reluctance to address any issue which may be perceived as a negative reaction to the governing administration, neither citizens of the Soviet Union nor the press addressed such problems until after 1982. This period is indicative of control by Moscow; citizens did not have the freedom to express any discontent openly.

Muhammad Salih reflected this lack of freedom and discontent in his writing, using symbolism and imagery, because he was not free to come out directly against the restricting forces of the Soviet regime. He wrote on three major themes in this early period. The first, evident in “Letter to My Younger Brother,”[1] appears to be a cry to his fellow Uzbeks not to blindly follow Soviet ideology but to think for them selves. The second theme, seen in the three statue tales, "The Sculpture Who Lost His Way," "Those Who Stand Alone," and "The Meeting," seems to be a cautious statement against the Russian presence in Uzbekistan their authority, control and domination over Uzbeks. He portrays Russians as stubborn, tough, deceitful and even a little stupid. The final theme, which is a recurring one throughout all four periods, is the importance of the Uzbek language. The language theme is presented by two of Salih's poems: 1n an Alien land and "Speak in Turkii."[2] All these themes reflect Salih's thoughts about politics in Uzbekistan at this time.

Salih was not able to publish any of these pieces until years after they were written, a fact, which demonstrates both the sensitivity of the material and government censorship. The "Letter to My Younger Brother," written in 1977, and the three statue tales, written in 1979, were published in 1990 in Kozi Tiyran Dard (The Watchful Eye of Suffering). "Speak in Turkii," written in 1982, was also not published until 199 0 in a book of Salih's poetry. 1n an Alien Land," written in 1981, was published in 1986 in yet another book of Salih's poetry. The dates of publication indicate the delicate nature of the material and the gradual openness, which occurred in society. It is interesting to note that "In an Alien land was published in 1986, when, as will be shown, Uzbeks began clamoring for Uzbek to be their state language. On the other hand, "Speak in Turkii" was not published until several years later, after the state language law had been adopted and Uzbeks were on the verge of declaring their sovereignty. Why this poem was also not published in 1986 remains unclear.

The first work discussed in the period is entitled "Letter to My Younger Brother." It demonstrates the first theme a cry to Uzbeks to learn, study, and think for them selves. This piece serves as the preface to Salih's book of short stories and articles, Kozi Tiyran Dard. It begins the period from, 1977 to 1985 because it is the first story in the book and because its message reflects Salih's underlying desire in all his early writing to awaken the Uzbeks to understand what the central government was doing to them, to think for them selves, and to study and read on their own without undiscerningly accepting everything Moscow fed them. The "Letter to My Younger Brother" is written to his "uka" (younger brother), but more profoundly, it may be read as referring to Uzbeks, especially those of the younger generation. It serves as the preface to the book and was written in

1977, whereas all the other stories and articles in the book were written in 1979 and later. Thus the "letter" could be interpreted as Salih encouraging his readers to be his "uka," to follow his advice, to become discerning and not unthinkingly swallow Moscow's ideology. Then he provides them with the rest of his book as resource material for them to do just that.

In "Letter to My Younger Brother," Salih advises his brother to emulate the behavior of the child in the story Salih proceeds to relate. The child learns to read by delivering letters during the war. These letters to parents regarding their sons (soldiers serving in the war), were of two types: black or white. Black referred to those sons who died, and white to those who did not. This child is a 'lover of books" even though few books are available and his father has no money to buy him reading material. But the child manages to borrow and read whatever books he can find. Salih thus stresses the importance of learning to read on one's own. He also encourages his "uka" to love books and knowledge.

Illustrations in the books which the child reads become an important issue in Salih's story. The illustrations appear to represent the central government indicating a specific direction it wants the Uzbeks to go, and the particular way it wants them to view things, without giving them any room for their own imagination or to think for themselves:

Every illustration in the book is a hindrance to him‑ If the child's imagination says, "A certain hero is in this shape," the illustration stubbornly stands and says, "No, it is like !his," staring at his eyes. The peculiarity of the illustration increases the child's nervousness. He used to not look at the illustrations, but insteadtore them out and gave them to his younger sister. (6)* [3]

Salih seems to suggest that perhaps it is necessary for a reader to "tear out the illustrations" so that he himself can form ideas on the thoughts the book presents.

The story continues as late one night the boy falls asleep over his book, and his fur

hat, standing near the fireplace, catches fire and eventually the entire house nearly bums

down. After this, the child's parents forbid him to read in the evenings, and that particular

book is destroyed: whether in the fire or by the parents is unclear in the story. The

conclusion of the story, Salih states, is that one should never doze ' while reading a book at

night because, "a fire might be set. . . . 7be child loves the book, but weariness is

betrayed in his body. Weariness creates indifference, making one fall asleep" (6). Salih

seems to suggest that Uzbeks, who have tried to read and think for themselves without

paying attention to the "Illustrations" provided by the Communist Party, have become

weary in their striving and have fallen asleep. And, in falling asleep they have lost control

over the situation; before they are able to do anything, a "fire" breaks out, and the book,

from which they were beginning to gain their own ideas, is destroyed.

Salih's final advice to his brother is that "not the books without illustrations, but books without ideas make a reader fall asleep. Do not read books without ideology,' your teacher truly explained. I advise you, 'Also, do not read books without ideas' " (6). He clearly states that it is not the dullness of a book without pictures, that is, without an ideology already provided, which makes a person apathetic, but a book without any concrete ideas to think about in the first place which atrophies the brain. Thus, in the first theme, Salih seems to want his readers to wake up and think for themselves, not simply follow, like sheep, the ideology put forth by Moscow.

The second theme in this period, following inferences made in "Letter to My

Younger Brother," is a description of Russian presence in Central Asia: Salih notes

Russians' ignorance of where they live and their insensitivity to the environment and

culture; he also notes Russian presence as one that does not belong in Central Asia; and

Russians' unwillingness to change. Related to this is the theme that a great person is one

who studies and thinks for himself., i.e., not imitating Russian dominance and ideology.

71e three pieces which express this theme are, on the surface, about statues of famous

figures which stand in Uzbekistan. Written in 1979, they are three mini‑ vignettes about Russian sculptures which are very much out of place in this Central Asian setting.

In the first tale, "The Sculptures.Who Lost Their Way," Salih begins by describing people standing in a bread line "holding their hearts in their hands" (66). The difference between this particular line and the stereotypical Russian bread lines comes out slowly. First, Salih demonstrates that neither the old people, nor the war or labor heroes, nor the religious leaders, are permitted to cut in front of the line, which is the usual custom. Then he says those in line are statues; not people, and they are "getting acquainted with one another." Salih writes:

Indeed, our many statues do not know why they are standing, why and to where they have come. Someone leads them like a child saying, "you continue standing here, I will come back," and they disappear,. . . and never return. What concerns the statue is this: here he is a stranger, wandering, not able to recognize the people standing at his side, and he continues to stand. (67)

In the paragraph following, Salih makes an important comparison between the statues standing together in a line and the one standing by himself; "in its time therefore, I ihust say this: successful statues stand by their lonely selves in an alley. Yes, a good philosophy which exists in life is also a custom among statues: a great person is always a lonely person" (67). And the last sentence which Salih writes is that in the lonely statue's hand is the inevitable book which he spends his time reading.

In the next statue tale, "Those Who Stand Alone," the statue standing alone is Pushkin, a famous Russian writer. A fan of the writer Byron (a English writer popular in Uzbekistan and whose works have been translated into Uzbek), passes Pushkin's statue and wonders why Pushkin is there and not Byron. The answer jokingly given is that Pushkin has fans in Uzbekistan, but not only that, Pushkin loved Uzbekistan even to the point of putting his life on the line in a duel for the republic. Salih sarcastically writes, "do you know the reason Pushkin dueled with Dante? The reason was Uzbekistan. If you pass by his [Pushkin's] side, he moves you because you know very well, great proletarian writer, how he loved ordinary people like you. Worship him as a brothe? (68).

Salih continues:

The weeping willow trees which surround the great poet

slowly sing songs.

Usually while listening to songs Eastern people involuntarily

move their heads with the music. Regretfully, sculptures

cannot move their heads.

Particularly Pushkin.

Because in Europe they don't move their heads. Europeans

imitate any kind of melody by tapping their feet. Every

passerby who strolls through Pushkin Alley, standing

tapping his feet quietly and beautifully, will be a witness to

Pushkin's standing quiet, listening to the unknown nation's

music with his whole bronze body. (68)

Salih points out that statues of Pushkin are not found in the streets of London or Paris, but,

"in any case, he [Pushkin] stands in the most beautiful crossroads of Tashkent” (68).

Pushkin, realizing then that a statue of Gorki is standing not too far away, breaks in asking Gorki how he came to be in Uzbekistan. The answer to Pushkin's question does not need to be stated for his readers, and Salih does not bother. In fact, Salih writes that at this question the statue of Gorki does not even turn to look since its neck is thick and tough. Because, "in order to turn their heads, at least one hundred years are needed. In the second place, your question is an extremely childish one. The ordinary winds which are able to move you and us cannot move the statues. It is very large social events, such as stormy revolutions which can move them" (68).

In the last of the three statue tales, 'The Meeting," Salih begins by saying that the character of the sculptor is evident in his creation. In other words, a statue represents the sculptor himself. "If a sculptor is a craftsman who is far‑seeing, the statues which he created will also be far‑seeing. And, if a sculptor is energetic, if he is feisty, he will describe his works in the manner he himself admires " (69). Salih goes on to describe two Russian stautues, Pushkinand Gorki. Thus these, statues represent Russian presence and Russian ideology in Uzbekistan.

Salih then tells how two statues, Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin and Aleksei Maksimovich Gorki, jump down from their pedestals and become live, moving figures. Like the statues in the first tale, they express the desire to become acquainted with one another and do not know where they are. Gorki has to inform Pushkin that he is somewhere in Central Asia Pushkin says, "I am extremely pleased to become acquainted with you. But excuse me, will you tell me: where am I?' Gorki answers, "in a way, a to speak truthfully we are not in Russia: you are in the country where I am standing" (69). They both long for Russia, wondering when they will return Pushkin says, "I longed to pour out all my words; not only birch trees, but the great river Volga, the city of Nizhniny Novgorod and its dear friend V1adimir Illich, but the solidarity of writers of realistic prose did not allow for this" (69). Pushkin declares they must return to Russia, so the two of them catch a flight to Moscow. Gorki, however, discovers he has left his walking‑stick somewhere in Central Asia. Puslikin reassures him by saying they will get his stick back, but Gorki counters by reminding Pushkin that they do not know where they were in Central Asia. He states, 'Ve do not know the name of the city from which we flew" (70).

Salih finishes much as he began, referring to those who create the statues, stating that they will one day fall because of their passion for their own homeland and because they are strangers m Uzbekistan. "Therefore, if the passion which is in the sculptures is not false, if they did not deceive our eyes, having stood, they themselves will fall from the pedestal where they are standing now, and one day, without a doubt, they will make their way to any side they wish" (70). Salih sarcastically concludes: "We, who are great fans of your people, will open a new museum for the famous stick which they forgot” (70).

The first theme seen in "The Sculptures Who Lost Their Way" is that "a great person is always a lonely person" and someone who studies and think for himself. It is such individuals who are great people, not the ones standing together in a line who do not even know where they are. Perhaps these lonely statues are the great leaders‑‑‑the ones with ideas who lead, and thus occupy a place of prominence apart from the others. Or

perhaps Salih is referring to himself as a single statue alone with his ideas. AS will be shown, Salih later tried to work for change within the political system rather than standing by himself outside. In this tale the statue stands alone holding a book, instead of his heart, in his hands. Thus, instead of being one who demonstrates his vulnerability to the system by holding his heart in his hands like those statues standing in line, he reads a book in order to gain knowledge. Salih says that those who stand alone, off in an obscure alley, are the ones who have ideas gained from reading books (books probably without illustrations, if one remembers his "Letter to My Younger Brother”)‑ the ones who think for themselves. These are the great people, not the ones standing in line who do not even know where they are.

The ignorance of Russians living in Uzbekistan and their insensitivity to Central Asian environment and culture is a feature of all three statue tales. In "The Sculptures Who

Lost Their Way," Salih writes that the statues do not know the places to which they have come; they are strangers, wandering around trying to recognize people. The statues may be

Slavs, transplanted in Central Asia, or they may even be Uzbeks, also lost and confused in their own land as a result of following Communist Party dictates. Those in line are trying to get acquainted with each other so that they will at least have something in common. The statues in "Those Who Stand Alone" do not understand the local culture where people move their heads in time with music rather than tapping their feet. And in the previous statue tale, when Gorki admits he and Pushkin do not know the name of the city from which they came, Salih seems to poke fun at the Russians because of their presence in Uzbekistan in the first place, and their ignorance in not knowing exactly where they were.

In the next discussion of Russian presence Salih suggests that Russians do not even belong in Central Asia. In "nose Who Stand Alone," Salih begins by placing Pushkin's statue alone, thus admitting, because of his emphasis in "The Sculptures Who Lost Their Way," that Pushkin is a great writer. But because of the sarcasm which follows, describing how much Pushkin supposedly loved Uzbekistan, Salih seems to imply that although Pushkin is great, his statue does not belong in Central Asia. And when Salih points out that statues of Puslikin are not in London or Paris, he appears to suggest they are not there because those nations have no desire for a Russian sculpture of Pushkin: they have their own heroes such as Byron to commemorate. Underlying these statements is the thought that Uzbeks do not particularly want a statue of Pushkin either, but the statue is there because of Moscow's domination. In "The Meeting," Salih goes even further when he writes that Pushkin and Gorki returned to Moscow, thus perhaps suggesting that Russians ought to leave Central Asia, and maybe even expressing the hope that someday they will. When Gorki discovers he has left his walking stick somewhere in Central Asia, Salih says Uzbeks will open a museum just for that infamous stick. In writing this, Salih seems to be hoping that one day Uzbeks will immortalize the Soviet regime in a museum, preserving the Russian presence only as something of the past, laughing because they now possess that stupid stick which was so precious to Gorki, but could not find his way back to retrieve it.

The final description of Russian presence seen in the three tales is Russians' unwillingness to change. Salih implies in "Those Who Stand Alone" that Russians are stubborn and not able to changee unless a revolution occurs. Yet in a few years the "one hundred years" were up, as glasnost and perestroika began to slowly move the "thick necks" of the Soviet empire. They were no "ordinary winds," and the "stormy revolution" really was no revolution at all but the internal collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.

The final theme of Salih's writing in this period concerns the value of the Uzbek language. This theme is expressed in two poems‑perhaps in poetry and not prose because

Salih is first of all a poet, and therefore he expresses that which is most meaningful to him in this manner. “In An Alien Land” written in 1981 (but not published until 1986), he never mentions the Uzbek language, but the message is nevertheless clear:

I give my own greetings in another language

They invite me to breakfast in another language

Like a blind man in the streets of the city

They lead me in only three or four words of another language.

They show me a star in another language

They awaken me in the dawn in that language

I am afraid not of my own language

But forgetting those three or four words

In this great city.

If my homeland is my dream

The homeland is my dream because,

1 speak in my own language only in my dreams. (Alis‑tebesssum saiasi 105)

Simply from the title, "Ozge Elda," one knows that the sentiment expressed in this poem will be strong. The poem expresses Salih's frustration at having to use a language that is not his own in all aspects of life, from dawn until night. He feels like a stranger in his own hometown because the language spoken in the streets is Russian. His homeland does not exist. He can only dream of his own homeland, although ironically, he does live in Uzbekistan. And although he is not afraid of using his own language, he does fear it will soon become lost in the expanse of Russian used in the city. He is now living "in an alien land." But fortunately, he is still able to speak his mother tongue in his dreams; this means there is still hope and the language has not been lost forever.

"Speak in Turkii" written in 1982 but not published until 1990, describes the paradox of speaking in Uzbek and how it should be used to express one's deep emotions. Salih writes that on all occasions, whatever the mood, one should speak in "Turkii":

It is easy to speak in Turkii

It is not so very difficult to speak in Turkii

It is so very enjoyable to speak in this language, so very bitter.

If your mood is merry, if you awake on the right side of the bed

If you have no regret from the day

If your faith is in the future‑speak in Turkii.

If you love someone, and love does not fit in your heart‑speak in Turkii

If you hate someone, if your hatred catches in your throat

‑speak in Turkii. (Arzu Fuqarasi 121)

Together these two poems, although they express the love and importance Salih feels in the language and his desire that Uzbek be spoken more, do not demand its increased use as his later writing does.

Chapter Two‑‑‑1986‑1989

The period 1986 to 1989 was characterized by several political developments in Uzbekistan. It continued the anti‑corruption campaign initiated by Moscow in 1983, and perestroika and glasnost began. These addressed the cotton monoculture which had produced many problems: the desiccation and salinization of soils; the drying of the Aral Sea; a high infant mortality rate; an increase in cancer, tuberculosis, lung disease, typhoid, hepatitis, gastro‑intestinal disorders, and birth defects; a contamination of mothers' milk; and an overall shorter life expectancy. The new openness extended to areas beyond the cotton monoculture. Uzbeks began discussing the rehabilitation of their writers (such as Cholpan and Fitrat), nationalism, wages, Moscow's policy of imposed family planning, unemployment and the importance and usage of the Uzbek language. As will be demonstrated, in the later part of the period, people felt free enough to express themselves through demonstrations in which they demanded further rights and freedoms.

This period continued the anti‑corruption campaigns. The five works of Salih in this period to be discussed here, mention the campaign only in passing, but a brief discussion of the anti‑corruption policy is necessary to provide a clearer background to the cotton monoculture and the consequent problems faced by Uzbekistan. The campaign focused on corrupt leaders throughout the Soviet Union who falsified reports, received and gave bribes, promoted family members instead of more able candidates, and various other forms of corruption. From 1983 through early 1989, Moscow systematically removed such corrupt leaders, from top officials to lowly oblast leaders. Uzbekistan was one of the republics most strongly hit by the campaign because of the problems of the cotton monoculture. With the increased salinization of soils and lack of water, it was impossible for Uzbeks to fulfill the cotton quota given them by Moscow. The result was that Uzbeks were forced to pad production figures or face Moscow's wrath. That did not leave them

much of a choice‑‑‑they falsified the figures. So, thousands of tons of

cotton existed only on paper. Of course Uzbeks were paid (albeit at a low rate) for this non‑existent cotton. In June 1984, one report stated that in the preceding eighteen months three officers were removed from the Central Committee of Uzbekistan. Iley were reported in newspapers as having retired or having been transferred, but in actuality they were dismissed (Sheehy 1984b). Later, however, newspaper accounts openly named officials and listed the charges of corruption.[4] In August 1984, one scholar wondered whether Rashidov (Uzbekistan's first secretary from 1958 until his death 31 October 1983) would have been brought under fire had he not died of a heart attack in 1983 (Sheehy 1984a).

The anti‑corruption campaign continued until the beginning of 1989 in Uzbekistan. In August 1984 one Western analyst stated that anti‑co~ruption measures were unlikely to take root because one party rule, chronic shortage and a system in which both material rewards and career prospects are closely bound up with plan fulfillment inevitably give rise to all kinds of abuses. On top of that, nepotism flourishes in places where a high premium is placed on looking after one's kin (Sheehy 1984a). In 1989 the Uzbekistan administration, already feeling for some time that Uzbekistan had been unjustly accused more than the other republics, reversed some of the charges made against individuals.

In the writings discussed in this paper, Salih makes one reference to the fact that he and other Uzbeks agreed that the anti‑corruption campaign had gone too far. In "A Difficult Way of Awakening," while discussing the three main "eras" of Moscow's rule (under Stalin, Khrushchev and Brezhnev), Salih implies that the population of Uzbekistan was simply a puppet under each, without the freedom to express themselves in a true way, but at least it was not singled out in a negative way over the other republics. Salih felt discriminated against because the anti‑corruption campaign focused on Uzbekistan. He writes, "sometimes we became tired of praising ourselves, raising ourselves to the sky, and now we are tired of criticizing ourselves severely, putting ourselves in the ground” (183).

The demonstrations at the end of this period show the political development of the time and relate to the issues about which Salih writes. As writing was Salih's way of expression, so demonstrations were the only means available for some people to affirm their values and beliefs. The largest, most enduring and costly demonstrations (in terms of Eves and goods) occurred in the summer of 1989. The demonstrations began, however, in 1987 with Tatars fighting for their right to return to the Crimea ("5,000 Tatars. . 1987), and the Tatars repeatedly demonstrated throughout the following year.[5]

(Approximately 400,000 Tatars were deported to Central Asia from their homeland under Stalin in 1944.) In January 1989, 300 Afghan students studying in Tashkent rioted, and, although exactly what happened is not clear from reports, several people were hospitalized and some twenty cars were damaged (Alimov 1989). Then in February, "hundreds" gathered in the streets of the capital demanding the removal of Mufti Babakhan, the leading representative of official Islam in the USSR. A puppet of the state, the Mufti was known for his womanizing, immorality and total lack of knowledge of the Koran (Bohr 1989a, 1989b). Calls for the removal of the Mufti continued for a year.

The most intense demonstrations began in June 1989 and continued through August of that year. Initial press reports declared that the entire situation started when a Meshketian Turk overturned an Uzbek woman's fruit stall at the market after stating that the price of her strawberries was too high. Later Uzbek press reports admitted other underlying causes and reported a few deaths and injuries and the establishment of a curfew in the city. A 16 June Radio Liberty report told of at least 87 dead, 974 injured, 748 homes burned and more than 50,000 "weapons" (some were simply rods and other common objects) confiscated during the first two weeks of June. The riot also spread outward to Kokand. Much of the rioting was directed at two targets: Meshketian Turks and cotton prices. Because of threats to their lives and destroyed housing, officials quickly evacuated 11,000 Meshketian Turks to a refugee camp and on 13 June relocated 4,500 of them in Russia (Bohr 1989d).

The two main factors which sparked the riots in the summer of 1989 were the population explosion and the distorted development of the economy. Gross unemployment, increased pressures on land and water resources, lack of private plots for growing one's own food, pressure to grow more cotton, increased use of pesticides, an increase in infant mortality, low health standards, racial tension, low wages, and a lack of industrial skills all contributed to the disturbances (Sheehy 1989a). The tensions simply increased to a boiling point and erupted. Years of being buffeted by Moscow left the power structure in Uzbekistan in complete disarray; authorities had little control over the situation. The corruption scandals resulted in thousands of leaders being expelled from leadership positions, many of whom were innocent or could have done nothing different under the circumstances. Their absence left gaps and inexperienced persons in positions of leadership. Most important was the Uzbek leaders' inability to think ahead: their nearsightedness and lack of hope. One scholar wrote that hope for Uzbekistan lay in "informal groups" such as Birlik[6] (Unity) which Salih helped to found in November 1988 (Critchlow 1989a).

Birlik held its own demonstrations. The core of the group from its outset consisted of the intelligentsia and youth, but later it attracted people of all backgrounds and levels of education. Their demands to the authorities concerned language laws, the reduction of cotton production, Uzbek sovereignty, health care, social welfare, and personal freedoms

(Fierman 1991). On 19 March 1989, among other issues, they called for the official recognition of Uzbek as the state language. They tried to obtain permission to hold a demonstration, were refused, but held the rally anyway. On March 20, 12,000 gathered as Abdurahim Pulatov, a leader of Birlik, read their demands for a state language. Again on 9 April, Birlik members appealed for official recognition and demanded to be allowed to publish their own paper, and, supported by a crowd of approximately 100,000, also demanded the use of Uzbek as the primary language of the republic. Participants were also concerned with environmental problems; one banner read, "There Won't be a Central Asia Without the Aral Sea." Salih read an appeal at the demonstration calling on leaders to stop discriminating against Uzbeks with unfounded charges of corruption. His speech showed the increased nationalistic attitude of Uzbek citizens when he said: "these people have not been fighting for their rights. No one has yet said: Either you learn my language or you leave Uzbekistan' " (Kocaoglu 1989). On 21 May, Birlik supporters staged their third demonstration with some 10,000 participants. They demanded the cotton quota be lowered and that formal recognition for their organization (Bohr 1989c). The authorities accused Birlik of inciting the riots of the summer of 1989, but Birlik leaders denied it, saying they could not possibly have organized such a massive disturbance.

In his writing, Muhammad Salih discusses many of the same problems Uzbeks voiced in. their demonstrations; his writings are interrelated with political developments in Uzbekistan His writings throughout this period become more politically oriented as he addresses issues he feels Moscow and Tashkent administrators needed to consider. In this paper five of Salih's works in this period will be looked at‑‑‑these were written from 1986 to 1989. They are: "The Speech Read in the October Plenum, 1986, of the Writer's Union of Uzbekistan," "Health to Women," "Returning," "A Difficult Way of Awakening," and "Letter to the Academic Erkin Yusupov'. These compositions focus on four themes: the reinterpretation of Uzbekistan's history and rehabilitation of past Uzbek writers; ecological and health problems; family planning; and Uzbek as a state language.

First, a word regarding the genre of these literary pieces and the change in censorship from the first period. All five of these pieces are articles or public addresses, not stories, and most were published shortly after Salih wrote them. He does not use symbolism or imagery, but boldly and clearly presents his concerns, his anger, and his views regarding the problems in the social and environmental spheres. His words become increasingly transparent, but his writing style still demonstrates the ease and flow of a poet and accomplished author. "Ibe Speech" was a paper Salih read at the October 1986 Plenum of the WritersUnion of Uzbekistan. It was not officially published until 1990. "Health to Women," written in 1988, was published in 1990 in Kozi Tiyran Derd. (It is likely that it was also published elsewhere earlier, but that information is not given in Kozi

Tyran Derd.)

Salih wrote "Returning" in 1988 and Sovet Ozbekistan: and Prayda Vostoka published it in January 1989. He wrote "A Difficult Way of Awakeninj in early 1989 and it was published by the Moscow journal Druzhba Narodov in June of the same year. Salih wrote the letter to Yusupov in January 1989. All five works were published in Kozi Tiyran Derd in 1990.

The first theme of the period is the reinterpretation of Uzbek history and the rehabilitation of Uzbek writers. Under glasnost, some Uzbek writers had come to demand a reassessment of Uzbek historical figures. However, authorities did not always agree that Uzbek history should be celebrated. In 1986, Usmankhojaev (who was appointed first secretary after Rashidov's death) said that idealization of the past, including Timur,[7] disoriented the national pride of the people and damaged "internationalist education" (Sheehy 1986a). But with the advent of glasnost, leaders had to decide how to deal with works written in the 1920s and 1930s which had previously been banned as "nationalistic" works. In 1987, bowing to public pressure, Usmankhojaev established a commission to study Fitrat and Cholpan's literary legacy, and select their most "ideologically and

Timur, born in 1336, ruled much of the known world until his death in 1405, including India, Afghanistan, much of what later formed the Soviet Union, Turkey, and much of the Middle East Uzbeks consider him one of their great heroes.

artistically sound" works for publication. Finally, in 1988, some of Fitrat and Cholpan's writings were republished but with notes stating they had committed "nationalistic" errors and "mistakes" because they had failed to acquire a Marxist‑Leninist worldyiew (Soper 1988b). As "nationalists," Cholpan, Fitrat and others had been labeled enemies of the state and executed. Thus, from fear of encouraging "nationalist" attitudes, the official assessment in the 1980s of such Uzbek writers of the 1920s and 1930s remained basically negative. This is perhaps because Usmankhoiaev was determined to tolerate no ideological laxity in the literary sphere (Sheehy, 1985). One Uzbek professor noted that it was not so important that works of Fitrat and Cholpan be published‑rather, current literary writers' works needed to be published and the injustice to them rectified (Soper 1987). In addition to the rehabilitation of writers, Uzbek history was reinterpreted during the latter 1980s. Salih himself urged the study of the ancient Turkic script, stressing that the cultural heritage of Uzbeks had its origins in Turkic as opposed to Arabic or Persian culture. He also called for Western and Eastern scholars to pay more attention to the historical achievements of the Turkic people (Bohr 1988b).

Three of Salih's articles address the first theme of the period, the rehabilitation of Uzbek literature and authors and the reinterpretation of history of the 1920s and 1930s. These three pieces are: "The Speech Read in the October 1986 Plenum of the Writer's Union of Uzbekistan," "Returning" and "A Difficult Way of Awakening." In these, Salih discusses the rehabilitation of Usman Nasir, Cholpan, Fitrat, and Behbudiy, all important Uzbek writers killed in the 'Stalinist' purges of the 1930s. He acquaints Uzbeks with both these writers and their works, thereby encouraging Uzbeks to be better educated about their own literary heritage. Salih specifically mentions that FitraCs works were still not published when Salih wrote "Awakening" in 1989, although he states that the government had agreed to do so. He writes of Nasir more than the others, placing him alongside Cholpan as a great poet, perhaps because Nasir was only twenty‑four years old when he was executed. In "Awakening" Salih writes, 'It seems the reason for his [Nasir's] arrest

was the words,'the so‑called leader usually is an ordinary person like comrade Stalin; he very much resembles our neighbor, our boot maker.' The poet paid for this joke with his OWnlife" (181).

Salih addresses the issue of 'nationalism' as it pertains to the rehabilitation of Uzbek writers of the 1920s and 1930s in "Returning." He writes that a'feast'in Stalin's honor sacrificed "the intellectuals who are considered to be our countries' flowers" (161). Sacrificed at this "feasC were Cholpan, Qadiriy, and Fitrat, all 'nationalists' according to Stalin. Salih asks if Nasir was also a nationalist. He writes that those in the'department of repression' say a poet 1oves his own language, his own culture. He is proud of the history of his nation. So, therefore, such a person cannot be a nationalisC (161). Yet Nasir and other Uzbek writers were labeled "nationalists" and executed.

One portion of "Awakening" is devoted to the Stalinist period of repression in the 1930s. Salih writes that in the late 1980s Uzbeks praised the courage of writers of the 1930s who loved to write the truth and hated the revering of dogmatism. Yet, there were few writers who dared to write truth at that time; Salih says, "we were supposed to see the courage of these few writers. In a country of many millions, there were extremely few" (181). The reason there were so few is that, "writing against Stalin's regime was equivalent to shooting a bullet directly at Stalin. [11hose who dared to do this were few because those who wrote against the regime were immediately shot, and those who were able to write were left to rot in prison" (18 1). Those who 'remained safe' from Stalin were probably those who did not write anything which declared the truth, writes SalilL Stalin, he adds, was the worst of the three Soviet leaders (Stalin, Khrushchev, and Brezhnev). He, "placed ethical morals below political ideology. Flis ideology renamed one who spied as a patriot, and the person who refused to be a spy was denounced as a betrayer of the homeland" (183). Salih sums it up by saying, "a society whose ethical standards are unsteady ... will influence literature and the cultural fronC (183).”

In "The Speech Read in the October Plenum," Salih discusses Moscow's referring to the activities of Uzbek writers of the 1920s and 1930s revealing "guruhbazlik" (clannishness) and defines it as: "an association of one group of 'dogmatic people' who attempt to cause you to submit to the opinion of the majority for their own benefit” (131). Salih writes that lie revolted against this 'clannishness' in an open letter to the Writers' Union, in which he stated that Moscow was still keeping the creative works of Uzbek writers of the 1920s and 1930s under a ban. He describes the effect the ban had on literature in. the open letter to the Writers' Union, which he quotes in "The Speech Read in the October Plenurn":

Under the influence of this clannishness, the literary climate of our republic sharply deteriorated. Pressure against language and the arts strengthened. In the newspaper "Sovet Ozbeldstan," a large article was published concerning ideology. In this article there is not any word about art. Therefore, any kind of literary work is dead without art. As if this were lacking, a many literary storied censorship appeared. Beginning with the junior literary worker of the newspaper up to the instructions of the Central Committee‑‑all became censors. Even Shakespeare, who is translated into Uzbek, could not escape their scissors. They even edited him. (132)

The result of this open letter, Salih writes, was that the tables were turned; Moscow put the name "clannishness" on those who signed the open letter along with him:

Yes, 'clannishness' which we struggled against put its own seal on us. One must recognize that this

was a beautiful punishment for us. Each of the writers who put their signatures on the letter and afterwards did not deny it, knew they would not receive any reward for their courage. None of them put their signature to this letter for publishing more books or for increasing their authority. . . . They in their own letters attracted attention, demanding justice regarding the generation of the '20s of our literature. They went against the violence toward our mother tongue which our ancestors spoke, against our language spoken by us and our children. (132) Such thinking, Salih writes, is not clannishness, but "the voice agains; [emphasis not in original] clannishness" (132).

Again, in these articles, Salih challenges his fellow Uzbeks not only to think for themselves, but to turn back to their history, language, and traditions. He says that because of threats on their lives, many earlier Uzbek writers wrote according to the dictates of the central government. Their writing, Salih states, is "politicized literature." In "Awakening"* he writes, "mostly we accepted politicized literature as 'national patriotism'. ... In past years our literature went through the process of politicization. This did not be~efit us but damaged true nationalistic peculiarities, and today we are tired of not resolving these very damaging problems" (184). Salih concludes by saying the same type of 'politicized literature'was nevertheless being written in the 1980s. He judged that, in the 1980s "if writers turn their faces to the spiritual springs of their own people's souls, to traditions, and to their mother tongues, this muddy flow may stop" (184).

The second theme in the period focuses on the ecological, social and health problems caused by the cotton monoculture. Moscow relied heavily on Uzbekistan's cotton, so in order to fulfill Moscow's requirements, Uzbeks terminated their practice of crop rotation and increased the use of pesticides. But this caused the quality of cotton to decline, and caused rivers and the Aral Sea to dry up. Education suffered (children worked in the cotton fields instead of attending school). People's diets lacked meat and milk because land was used almost solely for growing cotton.[8]

Salih argues that the overemphasis on the cotton harvest was the root of corruption and other ills, and that these would remain as long as cotton dominated the economy (Sheehy 1988a). He also complains about the unfair low price Moscow pays for Uzbekistan's cotton. He states for example that before the revolution a peasant could buy a cow with a bag of cotton; in 1989 the same amount bought only matches (Sheehy 1989). Salih says, "we have ceased to worship man and have begun worshipping cotton.

For the sake of cotton, gardens and pastures have been razed, villages have been destroyed, and people are suffering. That is what monoculture means* (Nazarov 1989a).

Salih's work, "Health to Women," written in 1988, clearly and boldly discusses the ecological and health problems related to the cotton monoculture. After fiat stating that he and other Uzbeks are concerned about these problems because Uzbekistan is their "vatan" (homeland), Salih lists some of the problems and bluntly states who is to blame:

The border of our Aral Sea is in ruin, our males are being poisoned, our women give birth to deformed children, our young men are unfit for military service, children die, and poisonous enterprises which are rejected in other republics are built in our rayons. The cause of all this arises firstly from the moral decrepitness of the officials, ministers' selfishness, and our own intellectual lack of courage. (136)