Central Asia between the Ottoman and the Soviet Worlds.
The BCP had been re-formed for the occasion with the forced merger of an older BCP, founded in 1918 and consisting mostly of Turkestanis and Tatars with only tenuous connections to Bukhara, and the more numerous party of the Young Bukharans, a local opposition group increasingly radicalized after 1917 and organized in Soviet Turkestan. The Young Bukharans were notable for the fact that their traditions of Muslim reform tied them in meaningful ways to late Ottoman debates. Thus it came about that an offshoot of the Ottoman political world took root in the maelstrom of the Russian Revolution.
In this article I explore the ways in which post-Ottoman and early Soviet models of political and social action and of cultural transformation floated back and forth across the imperial boundaries before 1914. This was a period of great ferment in which models radicalized rapidly and became intertwined in unexpected ways. The Young Bukharan case represents in an especially acute form the predicament of Muslim reformers in the Russian Empire, who existed at the intersection of the Russian and Ottoman intellectual worlds. The collapse of the old order in both empires in 1917-18 set into motion a period of intense transformation in the political and cultural horizons of Muslim intellectuals of both empires. The Bolsheviks were always alert to the national and colonial dimensions of the Russian Revolution, and many Muslim intellectuals in the Russian Empire (and some in the Ottoman) found their model very attractive. At the same time, late Ottoman models of political and cultural reform of Muslim society, albeit interpreted in a radicalized form, continued to exert considerable influence on Muslims in both empires. The central concern of this paper is to examine the ways in which late Ottoman and early Soviet models intersected in Central Asia.
Models across Empires
Trade, education, Sufi initiation, and pilgrimages connected Muslim communities of the Russian empire to many parts of the broader Muslim world, from India through Arabia to Egypt. For the modernist reformers who began to emerge in the late 19th century, however, the most significant node of interest by far was the Ottoman Empire. The attraction of the Ottoman Empire for Muslim reformers lay not in some primordial religious or ethnic solidarities--as the much abused terms "pan-Islamism" and "pan-Turkism" imply--but rather in the fact that the Ottoman Empire was the most powerful (largely) sovereign Muslim state left in the age of empire. The focus on the Ottoman Empire for the modernist reformers was new and made possible by a transimperial Turcophone public space that existed for a few decades around the turn of the 20th century, one in which a nascent press and commercial publishing brought Turkic-reading audiences in the Russian and Ottoman empires together. Combined with easier transport that led to considerable movement of people, both elite and nonelite, these decades saw the emergence of a transimperial community of intellectuals that imagined new kinds of ties among themselves, new collective affinities, and new models of action.
This public space had a specific geography tied to the imperial geopolitical realities of the age. It began in the 1880s with the rise of a nonofficial Ottoman press and of commercial publishing in the Ottoman Empire. The Ottoman-language press dated back to 1831, but its impact had been minimal until considerably later. It was, ironically, in the post-Tanzimat "constitutional despotism" (1878-1908) of Abdulhamid II that the press appeared as a financially viable concern. Its center was in Istanbul, although provincial newspapers appeared as well. (2) Steamships and the nascent modern postal system carried these publications to the Turcophone communities of the Russian Empire. Turkic-language publishing had existed in the Russian Empire for over a century by then, but little of it was commercially feasible and few newspapers received permission to publish. A major landmark came in 1883 with the establishment in Bagcasaray (Bakhchisarai, in the Crimea) of the bilingual newspaper Tercuman/Perevodchik (Interpreter), which under the tireless editorship of Ismail Bey Gasprinskiy quickly acquired a readership that spanned the Turkic-reading communities of the Russian Empire and extended well into the Ottoman Empire and beyond. Tercuman remained the only major nonofficial Turkic-language periodical in the Russian Empire until the revolution of 1905 and acquired a position of great influence out of proportion to the size of the Crimea. The period after 1905 saw an intensification of this public space, and Turkic-language newspapers emerged in large numbers in the Tatar lands and in Transcaucasia. (3) Not only was Tercuman joined by a large number of newspapers in the Russian Empire, but the Constitutional Revolution in the Ottoman Empire gave rise to a feisty, independent press. The Second Constitutional Period (1908-18) also saw the emergence of a number of press organs of Muslim emigres from the Russian Empire. Mostly run by men from the Volga-Urals region (although a few Azerbaijanis were also involved), these periodicals were critical of Russian rule over Muslim societies, although they nevertheless retained a distinct (dare one say "Russian"?) identity and differentiated themselves from the Ottoman public they addressed. (4)
The major centers of this public space were Istanbul, Kazan, Tiflis, and Orenburg, but it covered the two empires and extended beyond them. Iranian Azerbaijan was connected to Transcaucasia (in 1905-6, the revolutions of Russia and Iran overlapped in many important ways). (5) Cairo was also an outpost, where an Ottoman-language press appeared under the relatively mild conditions of British rule. The newspapers appeared in various strands of Turkic, which in written form were more or less intelligible across this grand geographical space. (6) The audience of this press included many who could read Turkic, even if they did not speak it. The Turkic press was a model for the press in Iran and even Afghanistan. More significantly for our purposes, Bukhara, where the language of culture and the chancery had long been Persian, became part of this reading public. Terdiman as well as Ottoman newspapers (and, after 1905, Tatar ones) appeared as the major vehicle for modern forms of knowledge in Bukhara. (7)
Newspapers from the two empires crossed back and forth across an imperial boundary that was far from impermeable. Newspapers were read in both empires; they quoted each other, reprinted articles or cartoons from each other, and referred to each other as "our esteemed colleague" (mu'tabir rafikimiz). Writers, too, contributed to multiple newspapers throughout this public space. These overlapping readerships created a venue where ideas from the differing political landscapes of Russia and the Ottoman Empire (and the broader world in general) interacted for the expression of new models for the future and new identities. It was in this common public space that a great many models of politics, society, and culture developed. Authors and readers were differently located, of course, on either side of the imperial border: if the strengthening of the state was absolutely central to the concerns of Ottoman authors, then for their Russian Muslim counterparts the state figured less prominently as the potential motor of reform. Even in the "dissident" press established in Istanbul by emigres from the Russian Empire, we find a complex stance toward Ottoman society. Writers envied the fact that the Ottomans possessed sovereignty, but they also scolded them for not being more interested in (and solicitous of) other Turkic populations of the world. (8) Yet, for all this, we find a number of common themes in these newspapers: authors were familiar with common models of progress, civilization, reform, modernity, language, and identity, even as they debated them and took various positions with regard to them. Many of these common themes outlasted the shared public space and reemerged in the greatly altered conditions of the postwar period.
The war in 1914 cut off the circulation of people and texts and disrupted this transimperial public sphere, which revived in the greatly altered conditions of 1918, when the collapse of the Russian war effort reopened the old imperial boundary. Indeed, over the next few years, movement across it seems largely to have been unfettered. From the outset, the Bolsheviks were interested in organizing Communists among the Muslim populations of European Russia but also in exporting the revolution to countries of the "East." Moreover, the Bolsheviks attempted early on to proselytize among the numerous Ottoman prisoners of war in Russia. A number of periodicals in various Turldc languages appeared that were read on both sides of the (former) imperial boundary. A journal called Yeni Diinya (New World), published by the Central Bureau of Muslim Socialists, appeared in Moscow as early as 27 April 1918. (9) It was edited by Mevlevizade Mehmet Mustafa Suphi (1883-1921), a graduate of the Istanbul Law School (Istanbul Hukuk Mektebi) and the Ecole libre des sciences politiques in Paris. Suphi had returned to the Ottoman Empire to teach, but his political views landed him in exile in Sinop, from where he escaped across the Black Sea to Sevastopol. Arrested in Russia as an enemy subject upon the outbreak of war in 1914, he was sent offto prison in the Urals, where he discovered Marxism. (10) Later on, Yeni Diinya became one of a number of periodicals published in Muslim languages by the Central Bureau of Muslim Organizations of the RKP(b) in 1919 and 1920. (11) Although there was considerable discomfort among the Bolsheviks over its line--a report in Narkomnats in 1918 opined that the journal "reflects exclusively the moods and opinions of the petty bourgeois intelligentsia" (12)--the journal nevertheless had the blessings of Soviet authorities. Yeni Diinya lasted only until 1921, but the following year Narkomnats began publishing a journal titled Kizil Sark (Red East) from Moscow. (13) Soviet publications in Ottoman (and in Azeri) were read in Anatolia in these years. They might be seen as counterparts to the "dissident" emigre Russian Muslim press that had existed in Istanbul on the eve of World War I. This revival of the Turkic public space proved shortlived, however, and by 1924, the flow of publications was a thing of the past, as new state frontiers crystallized.
Ottoman Models in Bukhara
Bukharan reform had begun in the early years of the century as a coalition of various groups with an interest in introducing modern forms of education and governance into Bukhara. These included merchants, newly integrated into the global economy, who wanted new legal structures and educational opportunities for their sons; teachers who wanted to establish new kinds of schools; and even some Islamic scholars (ulama) who sought to ground these changes in a modernist interpretation of Islam. These aspirations were located in the broader phenomenon of cultural reform that encompassed almost all Muslim communities of the Russian Empire, but unlike them, Bukhara still had a state that could become the locus of reform. Although Persian (Tajik) had long been the language of learning and the chancery in Bukhara and was spoken by the majority of the urban population (many of whom were bilingual), Bukhara's relations with Iran were complicated by sectarian differences. Moreover, after the installation of the protectorate, the Ottoman Empire, as much the more powerful state, appeared to Bukharan intellectuals as the most relevant model to follow. It was no coincidence that when Bukharan merchants established a benevolent society to send Bukharan students abroad for a modern education not available to them locally, they chose not Moscow or Tehran but Istanbul as the destination. This choice was fateful, for it was through these students that not just Ottoman state models but a fascination with Turkism came to define the parameters of Bukharan reform.
The clearest example of fascination with Ottoman models for Bukharan reform comes in the work of Abdurauf Fitrat (1886-1938), who spent the years 1909-13 in Istanbul as a student. In 1911, he used a fictional Indian Muslim traveler as a sympathetic but stern outside critic to list the desiderata of Bukharan reformers. As the Indian travels through Bukhara, he notes the chaos and disorder in the streets, the lack of any measures regarding hygiene and public health, the complete lack of economic planning or public education, and the corruption of morals and improper religious practices. Government officials have no concern for the good of the state; the ulama "drink the blood of the people," and ordinary people are victims of ignorance. The solution was for the emir to fulfill his duties as a Muslim sovereign and to establish order through providing modern education, public health care, and the establishment of economic policy. (14) The Indian traveler, of course, is a literary artifice. The solutions proposed by him have little to do with India; they all come from the hopes and desires of late Ottoman reformers and the dtatisrne of the Young Turks.
Bukharan reform remained confined to secret societies and faced considerable opposition in society. (15) Russian observers called the proponents of reform "Young Bukharans," in the manner of the Young Turks, and this was the name the Bukharans adopted for themselves in 1917, when the reformers finally emerged in public and attempted to force the emir into granting reform. But the emir saw in the Russian Revolution an opportunity to reclaim the authority that his forefathers had been forced to surrender to the Russians. The emir's vision of the future was built on the traditional vocabulary of Islamicate Central Asian kingship; it had no place in it for the ideas that so enthralled the reformers. Faced with the demands of the reformers, he equivocated for a while before turning to conservative forces in society, with whose support he led a crackdown on the reformers. (16) By the end of the year, most reformers were in exile in Turkestan.
This exile reshaped their political horizons, giving them an abiding hatred of the emir and a fascination with revolution as a modality of change. Yet, their revolution was to be put at the service of the millat, "nation," and the state, rather than a class. They found shelter in Tashkent and Samarqand, where some of them joined Russian political parties, while organizing the Young Bukharan Party. They labeled themselves, at least in correspondence with Soviet authorities, "the Revolutionary Party of Young Bukharans (Left Socialist Revolutionaries)," with a central committee of five including Fayzulla Xo'jayev. (17) Through the course of the year, the exiles organized politically, often with the help of the Soviet regime. Fayzulla Xo'jayev made his way to Moscow in the autumn of that year, where he organized a Moscow bureau of the Young Bukharan Party and established contact with party and Soviet authorities. (18) The Young Bukharans were enthralled by the political upheaval of the time and the possibilities that it opened up. The Russian Revolution for them was an opportunity to modernize the nation and to win national independence, something which they saw as possible only with the help of the Soviet regime, with its anti-bourgeois and anti-imperialist rhetoric and its own concerns with overcoming backwardness. The tone of Young Bukharan writing in exile exhibits these passions very clearly. The emir appears not as the last surviving Muslim monarch in Central Asia, as the reformers had seen him before 1917, but as a corrupt, bloodthirsty despot who lives off the toil of the peasants in his realm: "All his thoughts are of living in luxury, and it is none of his business even if the poor and the peasants like us die of starvation. 'His highness' is a man concerned only with eating the bestpulov, wearing robes of the best brocade, drinking good wines, and having a good time with young and good-looking boys and girls." (19) For Fitrat, Alim Khan had become a "monument of oppression" (20) who had sold the honor of Bukhara and Islam to the British. (21)
In Bukhara itself, the emir strengthened his rule; and Young Bukharan attempts to organize resistance on the ground met with little success. The Bolsheviks gave help to the Young Bukharans as part of their general strategy of encouraging revolution in the colonies (this was the heyday of their Eastern policy, which involved the Bolsheviks funding numerous revolutionary organizations), but they had reservations about the possibility of a movement against the emir gaining any traction in Bukhara. They also did not think much of the Young Bukharans, whose ideological credentials were suspect. "The Decembrists of Asia, the Young Bukharans and the Young Khivans, have learnt nothing from history," wrote a commentator in Tashkent in August 1919. "They argue that the oppressed people of Khiva and Bukhara have to be 'liberated' from outside, with the force of the bayonets of the proletarian Red Army of Turkestan. That the 'liberated' exploited masses could, through their ignorance, see their liberators as foreign oppressors, is not their concern." (22) Moscow's plenipotentiaries also took this view upon their arrival in Turkestan that autumn. V. V. Kuibyshev visited Bukhara in November 1919 and gave a harshly negative assessment of the Young Bukharans, "who use our protection to act in a puerile, hooligan fashion to no end and [thus] exacerbate our relations with Bukhara." "The activities of the Young Bukharans," he continued, "should either be harmonized with our policies, or we should proclaim urbi et arbi our negative attitude toward their actions, which often have a purely predatory character." (23)
Indeed, in the autumn of 1919, Russian relations with the emirate were almost warm. Bukhara was a source of grain during a time of famine in Turkestan and a base for supplying the Red Army as well. (24) A purely military solution was also not deemed feasible. A. E. Aksel'rod, Soviet Russia's resident in Bukhara, argued for a long-term solution in which a revolutionary movement and a Muslim army raised from defectors from the emir's army would eventually lead to change in Bukhara. A military solution would create immense problems: "Destroying the Bukharan army is very easy, but dealing with a two-and-a-half million-strong population, located in mountains, would be completely impossible." (25) Aksel'rod had a sympathetic audience in Moscow in the person of G. V. Chicherin, who as commissar for foreign affairs wanted full control over Soviet actions in Central Asia in order to avoid difficulties with foreign powers, especially Britain. Lenin was also in favor of a gradual approach based on local work in cooperation with local noncommunist actors with the aim of creating a local uprising.
It was Frunze's impatience and persistence (and distance from Moscow) that led to a dramatic change in policy. Bukhara to him represented not a source of grain but a haven for counterrevolutionaries and a hotbed of imperialist (British) intervention, with no likelihood of an indigenous revolutionary movement: "To form a revolutionary upsurge in Bukhara, it is necessary to wait not months but years." (26) Such waiting was pointless, and Frunze pushed through with the invasion, winning Moscow's consent under various pretexts. Moscow insisted, however, that he work with local forces to give the invasion a veneer of revolutionary legitimacy. Frunze forced the merger of the existing BCP (composed mostly of Tatars living in Russian enclaves in Bukhara) with the Young Bukharans into a new Bukharan Communist Party on the eve of the invasion. (27) Tnus began a difficult relationship between the Young Bukharans, now officially Communists, and their sponsors in Tashkent and Moscow.
The People's Soviet Republic of Bukhara as a Post-Ottoman State
The short life of the Bukharan People's Soviet Republic (or BNSR after its Russian initials) was marked by bilingualism in both the linguistic and ideological senses of the term. The Young Bukharans made Uzbek the official language of the state (under the emirs, Bukhara had no "official" language, but the chancery, as well as the madrasas and the literary life in general, functioned in Persian) and used it exclusively in all internal correspondence of the state. Communication with their Bolshevik handlers or supervisors was carried out only in Russian. This language divide went farther. When Young Bukharan leaders corresponded in Russian with soviet and party figures (whether in Bukhara, Tashkent, or Moscow), they spoke "Bolshevik" in the sense that their memos were strewn with references to toiling masses, class struggle, and prospects of world revolution--in short, the language one expects to find in Soviet archives. But in their internal correspondence--and especially in the documents generated by the lower and middle levels of the bureaucracy--we find a very different conceptual vocabulary. These documents speak the language of a Muslim modernist politics as it evolved in late Ottoman debates over the future of the Ottoman state and the Muslim world in general. There is little question that this latter was the native language of the Young Bukharans, while their use of the Bolshevik idiom was dictated by expediency. Attention to the conceptual vocabulary of the vernacular documentation therefore is immensely revealing of the political underpinnings of the BNSR.
One of the first acts of the new government was to establish a newspaper (the emirs had resolutely refused the introduction of this innovation into their territory and had pressed the Russian political agency in Kagan to suppress two vernacular newspapers that began publishing in that enclave in 1913) as the official organ of the new order. The first issue carried the banner headline, "Bukharan Compatriots! May Your Freedom and Equality Be Blessed!" (Buxoroli vatandoshlari Ozodliq va tenglikingiz rnuborik bo'lsun!). Underneath was a diatribe against the emir by Fayzulla Xo'jayev, which accused the emir of exploitation, corruption, and indifference to the needs of "our sacred home Bukhara" (muqaddas yurtimiz bo'lgan Buxoro). Xo'jayev also sketched out a trajectory of the new regime he represented: 10 or 15 years ago, some people began to worry about reform, but the emir not only did not listen to them but actually persecuted them. There was no mention of communism, Russia, or 1917. (28) This narrative of the reformers' struggle against despotism and for rights and equality for the people and independence for the state was the dominant representation of the Young Bukharan government in the months that followed. The government also hurried to convene a congress of the people, which met in the emir's summer residence outside the city as early as 6 October, where too the emphasis was on the end of despotism and the fact that "the [new] government is just and the supporter of the people." (29)
For the Young Bukharans, the end to despotism and the proclamation of freedom and equality were in the service of the people (xalq, millat) and the homeland (yurt, vatan). "Brothers!" exhorted one activist, "the old regime oppressed you because of your ignorance. Brothers, come, join the Communist Party and become the masters of your own rights. Give your children the benefit of knowledge and education [ilm maorifdan behramand qilib], open schools where such have not been opened, [and] eliminate the immoralities that had taken root under the old government." (30) Another author in the same issue--an active reformer from Tashkent who had been a member of the RKP(b) since 1918--saw the main goals of the moment as including the creation of a national army, the political education of local youth about the new order, and the destruction of the supporters of the old order, all in keeping with the "spiritual conditions and way of life" of the local population. (31)
The transformation of Bukhara from the patrimony of a dynast to the homeland of a Bukharan people or nation was the result of a new political imagination that had emerged in the previous two decades. (32) Now the task was to ensure the independence of the state, its territorial integrity, and its strengthening through economic development and the establishment of modern regimes of power. In short, the Young Bukharan agenda was one of national salvation through revolutionary means. This agenda was inspired by the late Ottoman state, but it was to be carried out in Soviet conditions, using Soviet institutions.
The Bukharan revkom established an extraordinary commission for struggle with counterrevolution (BukhCheka) on 31 August 1920, even as the fighting continued. In the following weeks, the revkom issued a number of decrees establishing ministries, regularizing the working of courts, putting all Muslim education (maktabs and madrasas) under the oversight of the Ministry of Education (and nationalizing their property), placing all mosques under the jurisdiction of a Ministry of Pious Endowments (waqf), and creating new administrative divisions in the state. (33) Other concerns of the government clearly indicated a new sensibility toward the population and new aspirations to modernity and civilization. In 1921, we find the Central Executive Committee of the republic, the successor to the revkom, discussing the necessity of creating a modern prison to be housed "in a building specially designated for the purpose by the government, as in civilized states," (34) and promoting sport and physical culture among the youth. (35)
In September 1921, the Council of Ministers (xalq nazirlar sho'rosi) sent out a circular to all local soviets exhorting them to follow proper bureaucratic procedure in all respects, to keep good accounts, and to collect taxes efficiently. These tasks were important because
the wrong policies of the emir had left our state among the most backward states in the world in terms of science and technology, industry, agriculture, or commerce. As a result, today 2 percent of our people can read and write, and the remaining 98 percent cannot, and as a result are completely ignorant of the world. Because our commerce was based on old principles, there is no real commerce in our state. Instead, our merchants have become middlemen between Russian merchants and our peasants: that is, our commerce sells the wealth of the peasant to other countries ... [and] all the profits from the commerce goes to other countries .... It is well known that a state that is unable to find the proper path of commerce cannot have industry either. (36)
It was on such propositions that the Young Bukharans' economic policy was based. Another position paper, also from 1921 (but, maddeningly, unsigned), surveyed the present economic situation and tried to elaborate a course of action. "The economy of our republic is in a crisis that deepens day by day," it began.
We cannot export the goods that we produce and cannot get sufficient quantities of goods that we need. The paper money with which we pay Russian workers living on Bukharan soil is backed by nothing more than the command of the government. Thus these payments represent a tax on the people of Bukhara, as is the food supplied to Russian troops stationed in Bukhara.... This can be solved only through the pooling of the resources of the rich. It was this joint effort of thought and of wealth that ensured the development of commerce and industry in Europe. But since the creation of joint-stock companies is not possible in the Soviet conditions in which we live, this role has to be played by the state. (37)
While these concerns are generic to developmental nation-states, the link to late Ottoman concerns with "saving the state," something shared by all stripes of Muslim opinion in the empire, is also clear here. Traces of this concern can be found among the Young Bukharans both in form and content. The use of Uzbek as the language of state led to the creation of a new vocabulary, which was heavily Ottomanate, as were the republic's chancery styles and practices. The visual evidence of the vernacular documents, as well as their tone and general sensibility, are striking in this regard. (38)
The most significant channel for the transmission of Ottoman influences was the transimperial public space described above. In addition, several leading figures among the Young Bukharans had studied in Istanbul. Abdurauf Fitrat is perhaps the most important case, but Usmonxo'ja Po'lodxo'jayev, a cousin of Fayzulla Xo'jayev's and briefly head of the Bukharan state in 1921-22, had also spent four years in Istanbul. Rahmat Rafiq (1884-?), another Young Bukharan, first went to Istanbul only in 1918 after being exiled from Bukhara. He spent over a year in Anatolia with the resistance before returning to Bukhara in 1921. (39) He became an important figure in the BCP, rising to membership in the central committee. Fayzulla Xo'jayev had studied in Moscow but publicly credited Fitrat with drawing him into the Young Bukharan movement. (40) He himself could write in an elaborate Ottoman style. (41)
Yet another channel of Ottoman influence was the large number of Ottoman officers, former prisoners of war stationed in Siberia, who were released and left to fend for themselves after Brest-Litovsk. As they made their way home through Central Asia, they found their modern education in a Turkic language a prized possession. Many of them became schoolteachers in new-method schools, where their penchant for martial music and drill imparted a new ethos to the new schools. Some of them became prominent in Bukhara as well. Said Ahroriy (1895-1931), who was editor of Buxoro axbori and then served as Bukharan consul in Baku, was born in the Ottoman Empire to a father who had gone on the hajj from Khujand in the Ferghana Valley and never returned. Ahroriy went to an Ottoman officers school and served at Gallipoli in World War I before being taken prisoner by the Russians. He was in Tashkent in 1918 where he opened a branch of Turk Ocagi, the network of political clubs that Turkist activists had established in the Ottoman Empire after 1908, and was active in a number of other endeavors. He went to Bukhara in 1920 and joined the BCP. (42) Nevertheless, Ahroriy's was an unusual case among the Ottoman officers who found themselves in Central Asia in these years. Most of them were men seeking to make a living in a strange land and not missionaries for a cause, let alone the "Turkish emissaries" with whom Russian authorities had been obsessed since the turn of the century.
The Soviets themselves paid lip service to the idea of Bukhara's sovereignty in returning all Russian enclaves on the territory of Bukhara (established in the treaty of 1873, these contained the railway, all railway stations, and were home to the only Russian settlements in the protectorate) to Bukharan control. The new government set out to establish diplomatic relations with its neighbors, sending a mission to Afghanistan, and others to Moscow, Iran, and the (post-Ottoman) government of the national assembly in Turkey. Bukhara established an embassy in Kabul, although the arrival in the city of the deposed emir complicated matters a great deal, and relations between Bukhara and Afghanistan never really took off. A mission was sent to Ankara where it was received by Mustafa Kemal himself. (43) By 1923, BNSR had representations in Kabul, Tbilisi, Moscow, Tashkent, Samarqand, and Khorezm, and agents (oqsaqqol) in Perovsk, Kazalinsk, Ferghana, and Merv. (44) In addition, it had established a trade representation in Berlin and had spent considerable amounts of money in sending students to Germany for higher education. In 1921, the Bukharan Communist Party sought entry into the Comintern as an independent party ("like the Germans"), rather than as a satellite of the RKP(b). (45)
The Soviets, of course, had no interest in supporting a Muslim modernist state on the post-Ottoman model, and they acted to incorporate Bukhara into mainstream Soviet life as quickly as possible. Bukhara thus was no exception to Soviet policy in regard to the various republics that had emerged on the territory of the former Russian Empire in the years of the Civil War. Bukhara's peculiar status as a "people's soviet republic" was a product of geostrategic considerations of 1920, when a sense that a purely military solution would not work had kept the Bolsheviks from annexing the emirate outright. But unlike the other nominally independent states of the period, such as Ukraine or the Far Eastern Republic, which had served the Soviet state as buffers against hostile neighbors, Bukhara was seen as a revolutionary outpost in the "East." The dramatic events of 1919, when Afghanistan had been able to force Britain to recognize its independence, had changed the diplomatic calculus in the region. While the Bolsheviks remained wary of British designs, fear of British retaliation did not figure in policy toward Bukhara once Chicherin's reservations on this account had been disregarded in 1920. Rather, the Soviets attempted to bring Bukhara in line as quickly as possible. From the outset, the Politburo paid a great deal of attention to Bukharan affairs, as did authorities in Tashkent. Soviet authorities had little respect for the political stances (not to mention their lack of "ideological steadfastness") of the Young Bukharans even though they had been inducted into the BCP. In September 1921, Mikhail Tomskii, the chair of the Turkestan Commission of the RKP(b) and thus Moscow's plenipotentiary in Central Asia, reported to Lenin about the leadership in Bukhara: "As before, they continue to sabotage us with bread and to beg for money. The more one finds out about the political lines of the various 'communist' groups here, the worse it gets. They try to outdo each other in their Russophobia. They make very good use of their own position and godlessly swindle us both politically and economically." (46) The Young Bukharans' hesitations in carrying out the directives of the center added fuel to the fire and produced a range of reactions, from condescension to hostility.
The BCP's attempt to join the Comintern as an independent party encountered resolute opposition from the RKP(b), and the BCP was admitted to the Comintern in April 1921 only as a "sympathetic organization," and then quickly merged into the RKP(b) on 1 February 1922. Similarly, Moscow had little patience with the Young Bukharans' attempt at establishing their own foreign relations. Moscow blocked a Turkish delegation from visiting Bukhara in 1922 and in 1923 shut down all of Bukhara's foreign representations. But it was economic affairs that brought out the hostilities most clearly. The Soviets assumed that the BNSR would subordinate its economic policies to the interests of the Soviet state and that Bukhara would supply goods (most important, food and cotton) to the RSFSR and trade primarily with it. The BNSR government's attempts at running its own policy provoked hostility. Immediately after the revolution, the Bukharan government refused to give up all of its grain, cotton, and astrakhan wool for barter trade with the RSFSR. "During my stay in Bukhara I found a completely unexpected situation," wrote the representative of Narkomvneshtorg [the People's Commissariat for Foreign Trade] to Moscow. "I had expected that they will speak to me in a communist manner [po-kommunisticheski], from the commonality of the interests of the two republics, but that there is not much in common is clear from the fact that the Bukharan republic has 'declared private property sacred.' Apparently, it is not easy to disavow the 'sacred' even for a communist government if that government is headed by Mansurovs.... In a word, the Bukharan revkom wants to conduct its own foreign trade." (47) This hostility was also replicated among functionaries' modest positions, such as one D. G. Rozhanskii, the acting director of Turkvneshtorg [Turkestan Agency for External Trade], who wrote to A. M. Lezhava, the RSFSR commissar for external trade:
From the attached minutes of my meetings with the Bukharan government you will see their position on the question of barter. The position is such that, were it not necessary to account for considerations of a political and diplomatic character, I would bank on the complete (temporary) curtailment of all allocations from our side, in order to confront Messrs Muhitdinovs and Khojaevs with the consequences of their real petty-shopkeeper policies. You will see that under the noble screen of accountability to the people, Bukharan authorities follow the principle of the primitive Uke [pervobytnogo khokhla]: "Cough up the money and take away the goods." (48)
Indeed, diplomatic and political considerations often fell by the wayside. A few months later, Muxtor Saidjonov, the minister for economic affairs, had an argument with the representative of Turkestan's Commissariat of Food Supply. The argument provoked a complaint from Iurenev, the plenipotentiary representative (as successors to the tsarist-era political agents were called) of the RSFSR; and as a result, Saidjonov was promptly relieved of his duties. (49) In 1923, we find Iurenev's successor Pozdnyshev accusing the whole Bukharan government of discriminating against Russians in hiring practices and calling for an end to them. (50)
In the end, the relations between Soviet Russia and the BNSR were always completely asymmetrical. The Young Bukharans had been placed in power by the Soviets and could never break free from their grip. Although the Bolsheviks continued to find only chaos and backwardness in Bukhara, by 1923 they felt strong enough to begin squeezing out the most obstreperous members of the government. By the time Pozdnyshev complained about discrimination against Russian cadres in Bukhara, he had already presided over a purge of the Bukharan cabinet, forcing the removal of four of its most "nationalist" members, as well as the reconstitution of the Central Committee of the BCP. Successive purges of the BCP greatly reduced its membership rolls and reduced the maneuverability of its leaders. The national delimitation of Central Asia in 1924 spelled the end of the BNSR, as the three existing republics of Bukhara, Turkestan, and Khorezm (Khiva) were replaced by ethnoterritorial republics that entered the Soviet Union as union republics. The delimitation was routinely touted at the time as Central Asia's second revolution, as a process that was to ensure the success of Soviet construction in the region. These claims were not too far off the mark. The delimitation did signal much greater central control of the region and the end of the Ottoman model of political development there.
Muslim Communists and Turkish Developments
Bukharan developments present in heightened form the much wider phenomenon of the continuing impact of Turkish developments on the Muslim communities of the nascent Soviet state. Turkish developments exercised a deep fascination on native cadres in Central Asia. As I have said before, this impact cannot be understood simply as "pan-Islamism" or "pan-Turkism" but rather requires us to think in terms of shifting loyalties and identities in a time of tumultuous change.
The vernacular press followed developments in Anatolia closely. In the uncertain years between 1918 and 1920, there was no clarity as to what the relationship between social revolution and national liberation was going to be. Even Shalva Eliava, the chair of the Turkestan Commission of the RKP(b) Central Committee that arrived in late 1919 to establish the writ of the center in Turkestan, was reported as saying that Soviet power does not require a social revolution of the East: it was sufficient to bring about national liberation. (51) In the general revolution of geopolitical suppositions in the aftermath of the October Revolution, the Ottomans appeared as enemies of imperialism (represented by the British and the French), and after the Armistice, its victims, especially once "nationalist" resistance to Entente occupation began in 1919. The Central Asian reading of events in Anatolia was entangled with Soviet posturing on the "Eastern Policy," with its claims of liberating the "East" from imperialism, which featured very prominently in the local press in those years. Soviet power presented itself as the main succor of oppressed peoples in the world and, conversely, all anticolonial movements as its potential allies. In 1919, Kazim Bey, an Ottoman officer sent to Afghanistan during the war as part of a German-Ottoman mission to lure that country into war against the British, showed up in Turkestan, exhorting the locals to unite with the Soviet government to fight the British, the "enemies of the freedom and independence of all humanity and the constant enemy of Muslims." (52) In January 1920, he was joined at a meeting, hosted by the Tashkent old city ispolkom, by one Hiiseyin Hilmi Bey, a representative of the "Anatolian assembly," in making the same plea. (53)
The ensuing struggle led by Mustafa Kemal was seen similarly in global anticolonial terms. One author wrote of Greece and Armenia, against whom the Ankara government fought on different fronts, as the "small Entente" acting as a proxy for the "big Entente." (54) Kemal's victories against the two sides were celebrated in Central Asia. In October 1922, a meeting at the recently founded Central Asian Communist University heard that the "present struggle of the Grand National Assembly, the only independent Muslim-Turkic government in the East, is the struggle between the oppressed East and the tyrannical West." (55) In the same week, the ispolkom of the old-city soviet in Tashkent held a "solemn demonstration" of the "toiling Muslim masses of Tashkent, together with the Red Army and Russian workers," to mark "the brilliant victories gained by the troops of the Great National Assembly over Greece, the protege of English imperialism in Asia Minor," and to express "their solidarity in the matter of the struggle of Turkey for its national liberation." (56) Once the Grand National Assembly established itself as the state power in Turkey, its negotiations with the Entente at Lausanne and its internal political developments continued to be reported in considerable detail. (57)
Soviet Muslim support for the Turkish nationalist cause had impeccable revolutionary credentials, but there can be little question that it reflected a special fascination with Turkey. Developments in the other countries, especially non-Muslim ones such as China, did not produce anything similar. This fascination was based in the affective ties that had knit the Ottomans with the Muslims of the Russian Empire in previous decades. It was rooted in common discourses of Turkicness much more than in Islam. As one commentator put it, the issue of the caliphate was a weapon in the hands of "perfidious Albion (the English)" (makkor Olbiyun [inglizlar]) for use against the Muslim world, for it set Arabs against Turks and provoked the sell-out sharif of Mecca to revolt against the Ottomans. For the author, the answer to the question of who should get the caliphate was clear: the Turks, who had held the title since the time of Sultan Selim (who, in defeating the Mamluks of Egypt in 1517, had been able to claim the caliphate), and who were now fighting valiantly; anything else would be sheer ingratitude (kufron-i ne'mat). (58) The caliphate itself tended to recede in importance over these years. By 1924, the nationalists had so supplanted the Ottomans as the object of interest and affection that the abolition of the caliphate in March was reported entirely matter-of-factly in Turkestan. (59)
By this time, the Turcophone public sphere had been ruptured again, as newspapers and other publications could not cross the new Soviet borders. Turkic-language newspapers in the Soviet Union were dependent on Soviet news agencies for their news. Turkestan's Russian-language newspaper, Turkestanskaia pravda, also covered Turkish events. The difference lay in the much greater prominence accorded to the news in the vernacular press, and in the commentary on the news, for which vernacular newspapers continued to have considerable latitude until at least 1927. Even later in the decade, when that latitude was greatly constricted, the press continued to report on the transformation of Anatolia that began with the establishment of the republic. The Kemalist reforms took place in close chronological proximity to their counterparts in Central Asia. Scholars have noted that party authorities often worried that Kemalist reforms in the cultural realm provided an alternative non-Soviet model for Central Asia and fretted about being outflanked in that respect. (60) The tone in the Uzbek press was quite different. Nothing exemplifies this better than the question of women's liberation. Turkish women appeared early in the Uzbek press as paragons of modernity. (61) On the eve of the hujum, the campaign against the veil in Uzbekistan in 1927, the newspaper Qizil O'zbekiston (Red Uzbekistan) noted (incorrectly, as it turned out) that Turkey was carrying out a sartorial reform for women, which would ban veiling in public. (62) Such reporting almost suggested that Turkish developments were a model for or a parallel to Soviet efforts. The effect was to render Soviet reforms less exceptional and more normal for the Muslim world. The time for such acknowledgment of linkages of Central Asia to the broader Muslim world had run out by then, however. Soon it became politically impermissible to draw such parallels.
Communism and Kemalism: Awkward Allies, Jealous Rivals
In Taksim Square, the symbolic center of modern Istanbul, stands the Monument to the Republic. Commissioned from the Italian sculptor Pietro Canonica in 1928, the monument is typically heroic, featuring 11-meter tall statues of 15 figures looking defiantly into the future. Only a few of the figures represent historic individuals (the rest represent "the people"), but peering over the shoulder of Ismet Inonu, the hero of the war of liberation, prime minister, and Ataturk's successor as president, is S. I. Aralov, the first Soviet ambassador to Ankara, his head covered by a Lenin cap. The monument thus freezes in stone the diplomatic entanglement of Soviet communism and Kemalism at the moment of their births that both sides later came to find embarrassing.
The Soviet and the Kemalist regimes shared many features: a civilizing mission, an aspiration to remake culture, a defiant attitude toward the international geopolitical order, and a jealous regard for their territorial integrity. They also used similar forms of mobilization. (63) The Russian Civil War and the Turkish "war of liberation"--the founding moments of the two regimes--overlapped in the Caucasus. The nationalists in Anatolia looked to the nascent Soviet government for military aid, and contacts begun in 1919 led to a treaty of friendship signed in March 1921. (64) The Turkish side did well in these interactions. Ottoman negotiators at Brest-Litovsk had secured the return to the Ottomans of the provinces of Kars, Ardahan, and Batum, lost to the Russians in 1878, and although Batum was eventually not retained, the Anatolian nationalists were able to fight off attempted expansion by Armenia in 1920. (65) Since both were revisionist states in the post-Versailles world order, their mutual relations remained cordial until 1935, but they were never without a healthy dose of skepticism and caution as well.
In 1920, even as they began to negotiate with the nationalists under the command of Mustafa Kemal, the Soviets continued to cultivate the cooperation of Kemal's bitter rival Enver Pasha, as well as patronizing Mustafa Suphi, the founder of the Turkish Communist Party. The Baku Congress of the Peoples of the East (September 1920) had both Enver and a representative of the Ankara government present, in addition to Mustafa Suphi. (66) It was only with Kemal's military successes in 1920 that the Soviets decided to bank on Kemal and to send Enver off to Central Asia. (67) The Soviet connection with Suphi and the Turkish Communist Party founded in exile in Baku proved longer lasting but tended to be put on the back burner when faced with needs of the state. (68)
Soviet opinion of republican Turkey remained ambivalent for much of the 1920s, with classically Orientalist themes coexisting with revolutionary rhetoric. A journalist visiting Turkey in 1924 focused primarily on the exotic and the negative: Istanbul's "noise and liveliness are not really urban but somewhat resort-like, made by the crowd and not by work or creation," while Turks "are sluggish and do not like to hurry.... Seeing people stand or sit for hours in imperturbable contemplation, it appears that time here is measured not in minutes but in years." (69) But Turkey's transformation by Kemal was noted by scholars and the authorities and caused some debate about the "Kemalist revolution" as a conceptual category. The most immediate cause of interest in Kemalism was the developing situation in China. Could China follow the same path that Turkey had under Kemal? Many observers of Turkey felt positively about the revolution wrought by Kemal. In 1927, in an article published by the organ of the Central Asia Bureau of the VKP(b), the Orientalist V. P. Osetrov argued that Kemalism was a specific type of "Oriental revolution," characterized by the "hegemony of the native bourgeoisie, which acts against the development of the proletarian elements or an agrarian revolution," but which "grows in the struggle against foreign imperialists and pursues a program of political and economic independence for the country." Given, however, that the anti-imperialist revolution was still ongoing and that there was no competing agrarian or proletarian revolution in place, Osetrov argued that the "Turkish revolution ... is an element of the global anti-imperialist front and therefore Kemalism still is a revolutionary factor." (70) He pushed this point further in a lengthier treatment of the subject that appeared the following year and provided considerable detail to argue that the main social base for the Kemalist revolution was the peasantry, whose interests the regime's etatisme had protected. (71)
Stalin, however, had already spoken. In May 1927, he had proclaimed to an audience of Chinese students in Moscow that "a Kemalist revolution is possible only in countries like Turkey, Persia, or Afghanistan, where there is no industrial proletariat, or practically none, and where there is no powerful agrarian-peasant revolution. A Kemalist revolution is a revolution of the top stratum, a revolution of the national merchant bourgeoisie, arising in a struggle against the foreign imperialists, and whose subsequent development is essentially directed against the peasants and workers, against the very possibility of an agrarian revolution." (72) Scholarly analyses of Kemalism gradually fell in line. Osetrov's book was attacked for its "opportunism" and its general political and academic weakness, (73) and, with the geopolitical situation shifting rapidly, Kemalism was consigned to the camp of counterrevolution in Soviet thinking by the mid-1930s. (74)
Kemal, for his part, had little patience for rivals to his power, and although he was prone to using rhetoric very close to that of the Bolsheviks in dealings with the Soviet state, he could not countenance an independent communist party. When members of the Turkish Grand National Assembly organized a Turkish Communist Party in 1920, Kemal promptly banned it, and in a brazen move, established an official "Communist Party," with a central committee stacked with generals and officials. In early 1921, when Mustafa Suphi and his companions sought to enter Turkey, their boat sank in the Black Sea off Samsun. Kemal did permit the establishment, under the leadership of Sharif Manatov, a Bashkir Communist, of the Turkiye Halk Istirakiyun Firkasi (People's Communist Party of Turkey) as a legal party. Nevertheless, once the republic had been declared in 1923, Kemal strengthened the rule of his Republican People's Party (Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi) and began to squeeze out other political forces. In 1925, the government used the Law for the Maintenance of Order to shut down all communist parties and newspapers. This was followed by a series of arrests in May 1925, which resulted in lengthy prison sentences for the accused. In 1936, with relations with the USSR deteriorating, the government introduced new articles of the penal code that banned all organizations advocating class struggle or other "divisive" platforms. (75)
In a way, the underlying suspicion crystallized the lines that separated the two regimes over the course of the two decades discussed here. The overlapping civil wars and the related demographic disasters led to immense movements of populations, and large numbers of Muslims from the Caucasus emigrated to Turkey. Turkey was a major destination for Muslim intellectuals from the former Russian Empire, many of whom had been active in the Civil War as leaders of national movements. The Bashkir Ahmed Zeki Velidl Togan, the Tatars Ayaz Ishaki and Sadri Maksudi, the Young Bukharan Usmon Xo'ja Po'lodxo'ja o'g'li (Osman Kocaoglu), and former Basmachi leader Ko'rshermat provide a sense of the scope of this movement. By the early 1930s, Istanbul was home to a feisty but fractious emigre community, complete with a polemical press. The experience of exile and political defeat gave the emigres an intense dislike of the Soviets and radicalized their nationalism. They not only represented an anticommunist lobby in the country but also played a substantial role in nationalizing the republic.
The Kemalist state pursued a carefully crafted policy of demographic management through immigration and resettlement. Turkish culture and, increasingly, Turkish "race" became the main criteria for permitting entry into the republic. Nevertheless, this policy fell victim to the rivalry with the Soviet Union. Initially, Muslims from the USSR enjoyed privileged access to Turkish citizenship, but this changed over the course of the 1930s, as the Kemalist government became increasingly suspicious of Soviet Muslims and their possible use for espionage. In 1933 refugees "not of the Turkish race" coming over the Soviet border from the Caucasus began to be denied entry, and in 1937 this turned into a blanket refusal to admit refugees from the Soviet Union. (76)
There was a reverse flow of people as well. The Soviet Union was the destination of many Turkish citizens, many of whom were associated with the left. In the early years, there were Turkish students at Communist University for the Toilers of the East. Perhaps the most interesting and well-known case is that of the poet Nazim Hikmet (1902-63), who spent eight years in Soviet lands in the 1920s. (77) He returned in 1928 but faced considerable persecution and spent a great deal of time in jail. Eventually, in 1950, under threat of another sentence, he escaped to exile in Moscow, where he spent the rest of his life. This exchange of exiles is symbolic perhaps of how the entangled origins of the two regimes came to be denied and common models disavowed.
The story I have told here is not, strictly speaking, one of models being borrowed among actors at the margins of Europe. Rather it is a story of models floating across imperial boundaries and of deeply intertwined histories of different actors, all of which came to be disavowed. Print allowed the modern intellectuals of the Muslim communities of the Russian Empire to become part of the political worlds of both the Russian and the Ottoman empires. It was in this space that models moved back and forth across imperial boundaries and, in a time of cataclysmic change, were transplanted to new locations. The Russian Revolution made it possible for the Young Bukharans to attempt to implement what were essentially Ottoman models in the republic they found themselves running. The Ottoman model itself was drastically radicalized by imperial collapse and transformed into Kemalism, the early history of which paralleled closely that of the Bolshevik state.
The events described here also remind us of the enormous purchase the idea of revolution had in the aftermath of World War I. Revolution could be read in many different ways, but the idea of a radical remaking of the world appealed to many across intellectual, political, and ethnic divides. They also remind us of the existence in the early 20th century of an Ottoman political world that extended far beyond the boundaries of the Ottoman Empire itself. Muslims, whether statesmen in Afghanistan and Iran or intellectuals in colonized areas such as Bukhara, saw Ottoman attempts at strengthening the state, building modern institutions, and modernizing culture and Islam itself as a model for the reconciliation of Islam and modernity. There is considerable irony here, for it was in its moment of weakness that the Ottoman Empire came to be the center of attention--indeed, of affection--of Muslims beyond its borders in a way it had never succeed in becoming before.
But perhaps the most significant conclusions to be drawn are historiographical. The Bukharans never could develop a historiography of their own, and we are left with Soviet and Kemalist projects to contend with. (78) Both were equally loathe to acknowledge these parallels, let alone to see them as models or borrowings. The refusal to acknowledge parallels or common models was largely rooted in reasons of state. The official historiographies of the two regimes came to locate each of them in firmly teleological trajectories, one of class transcendence, the other of national redemption; both required the subordination of messy historical detail to grander narratives. Thus, despite the fact that the Bolshevik and Kemalist regimes were forged in the same cauldron of postwar collapse and had been tied together in many tangible ways at the moment of their emergence, the mere acknowledgment of the use of alternative models very quickly became politically inconvenient in both places. Uncovering the entanglements and the borrowings helps place both the Soviet and Kemalist projects in their time and place and explains why the idea of the BNSR as a post-Ottoman state is not as odd as it sounds.
Research for this article was made possible by grants from the National Endowment for the Humanities and the American Council of Learned Societies, to whom goes my gratitude. I benefited greatly from comments from participants at the workshop on "Models on the Margins" in St. Petersburg and from two anonymous reviewers for Kritika. Special thanks to Michael David-Fox for suggestions with regard to translating a tricky turn of phrase quoted here.
Dept. of History
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(1) The best account of the establishment of the protectorates remains Seymour Becker, Russia's Protectorates in Central Asia: Bukhara and Khiva, 1865-1924 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968).
(2) On the Ottoman press, Fuat Sureyya Oral, Turk Basin Tarihi, 2 vols. (Ankara: Yeni Adim Matbaasi, 1967-70); and Hasan Duman, Istanbul Kutuphaneleri Arap Harfli Sureli Yaymlar Toplu Katalogu, 1828-1938 (Istanbul: Research Centre for Islamic History, Art, and Culture, 1986) have not been superseded; on the Hamidian period, see Elizabeth B. Frierson, "Unimagined Communities: State, Press, and Gender in the Hamidian Era" (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1996).
(3) The best account of the Muslim press of the Russian Empire still is Alexandre Bennigsen and Chantal Lemercier-Quelquejay, La presse et le mouvement national chez les Musulmans de Russie avant 1920 (Paris: Mouton, 1964).
(4) Volker Adam, Russlandmuslime in Istanbul am Vorabend des Ersten Weltkrieges: Die Berichterstattung osmanischer Periodika iiber Russland und Zentralasien (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2002).
(5) Mangol Bayat, Iran's First Revolution: Shi'ism and the Constitutional Revolution of 1905-1909 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991). Sergo Orjonikidze was active in Tabriz, where he was known as Gurji Sergo, "Georgian Sergo"; see V. L. Genis, Krasnaia Persiia: Bol'sheviki v Giliane (Moscow: Tsentr strategicheskikh i politicheskikh issledovanii/MNPI, 2000), 24.
(6) The linguistic situation was in a great deal of flux as the emergence of mass publishing (and, in the Ottoman Empire at least, the increasing presence of the state in the lives of its subjects through documentation and schooling) forced the question of language reform and simplification to the forefront. 7he established literary traditions of Ottoman and Chaghatay (eastern Turkic) were challenged by movements for reform, aimed largely at bringing the literary language closer to the vernacular, while proponents of new strands, such as Tatar and Kazakh, pressed their claim to the status of literary languages.
(7) The role of Terciiman and the Tatar press in Bukhara is well known; see, e.g., Sadriddin Ayniy, Buxom inqilobi tarixi uchun materiallar (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo narodov SSSR, 1926). For a reference to Istanbul newspapers being read in Bukhara in the 1890s, see Ahmad Makhdumi Donish, Risola, yo mukhtasare az ta'rikhi saltanati khonadoni manghitiya (Dushanbe: Sarvat, 1992 [orig. ca. 1895]), 91.
(8) Adam, Russlandmuslime in Istanbul, chap. 5.
(9) It later moved to Bagcasaray and then to Baku. The full text of the Moscow and Bagcasaray issues has been published (along with selections from the Baku issues) in modern Turkish orthography in Mete Tuncay, ed., Mustafa Suphinin Yeni Diinya 'si (Istanbul: BDS Yaymlari, 1995).
(10) Yavuz Asian, Turkiye Komiinist Firkasi'nin Kurullusu ve Mustafa Suphi: Turkiye Komiinistlerinin Rusya'da Teskillatlanmasi (1918-1921) (Ankara: Turk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi, 1997), 6-25. Suphi was only one of many revolutionaries to have discovered Marxism in wartime detention in Russia; the same was the case with Bela Kun, Georgi Dmitrov, and Jaroslav Hasek, as well as with numerous ordinary prisoners of war.
(11) On the organization of Muslim Communists in European Russia, successively called the Central Bureau of Muslim Organizations of the RKP(b) (1918-19), the Central Bureau of Communist Organizations of the People of the East (1919-21), and the Central Bureau for Agitation and Propaganda among Turkic Peoples of the CC RKP(b), see A. Ishanov, Rol' Kompartii i sovetskogo pravitel'stva v sozdanii natsional noi gosudarstvennosti uzbekskogo naroda (Tashkent: Uzbekistan, 1978), chap. 1.
(12) "Obozrenie tiurkskoi sotsialisticheskoi pechati," Gosudarstvennyi arkhiv Rossiiskoi Federatsii (GARF) f. 1318, op. 1, d. 420, 1. 70.
(13) Mete Tuncay, Turkiye'de Sol Akzmlar (1908-1925): Belgeler, 5th ed. (Istanbul: BDS Yayinlari, 1991), 348-49.
(14) 'Abd ui-Ra'uf [Fitrat], Bayandt-i sayyah-i hindi (Istanbuh Matbaa-yi Hikmet, 1911).
(15) Adeeb Khalid, "Society and Politics in Bukhara, 1868-1920," CentralAsian Survey 19, 3-4 (2000): 367-96.
(16) For the complicated politics of Bukhara in 1917, see V. L. Genis, Vitse-konsul Vvedenskik Sluzhba v Persii i Bukharskom khamtve (1906-1920 gg.). Rossiiskaia diplomatiia v sud'bakh (Moscow: Sotsial'no-politicheskaia mysl', 2003), 84-106; R. Aizener [Reinhard Eisener], "Bukhara v 1917 godu," Vostok, no. 4 (1994): 131-44, and no. 5 (1994): 75-92; and Khalid, "Society and Politics," 387-89.
(17) Tsentral'nyi gosudarstvennyi arkhiv Respubliki Uzbekistan (TsGARUz) f. 34, d. 70, 11.25-27.
(18) Majid Hasanov, Fayzulla Xo'jayev (Tashkent: Oz'bekiston, 1990), 31-32, 35.
(19) Abdulla Badriy, Fosh Bukhorolilar bechora xalq va dehqonlar uchun yaxshimi, yamonmi? (Moscow: Yosh Buxoro|ilarning Maskav kamiteti, 1919), 4-5.
(20) Fitrat, "Buxoroning holi," Hurriyat, 29 December 1917.
(21) Fitrat, Sharq siyosati (n.p. [Tashkent], 1919), 34. Fitrat here refers to the widespread accusation that Sayyid Alim Khan had received British aid to fight revolution both at home and in Turkestan. British involvement in fact was minimal and did not extend beyond the supply of a small number of arms to the emir.
(22) I. B., "Khiva, Bukhara i sovetskii Turkestan," Izvestiia Tsentral "nogo ispolnitel'nogo komiteta Turkestanskoi Respubliki RSF i Tashkentskogo soveta rabochikh, soldatskikh i dekhkanskikh deputatov (Tashkent), 5 August 1919.
(23) V. V. Kuibyshev to Turkomissiia, 30 November 1919, Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyi arkhiv sotsial'no-politicheskoi istorii (RGASH) f. 122, op. 1, d. 45, ll. 1-1ob.
(24) V. L. Genis, "S Bukharoi nado konchat' ...": K istorii butaforskikh revoliutsii (Moscow: Tsentr strategicheskikh i politicheskikh issledovanii/MNPI, 2001).
(25) Quoted in ibid., 4.
(26) Quoted in ibid., 27.
(27) Gents (ibid.) provides an excellent account of the debates within the Bolshevik leadership on the fate of Bukhara. The unification of the Bukharan Communist Party and the Young Bukharans provoked a great deal of resistance among the members, and the meeting proved quite raucous. See A. K. Akchurin, "Vospominaniia o dvadtsatom gode v Khive i v Bukhare," in Sbornik statei k desiatiletiiu Bukharskoi i Khorezmskoi revoliutsii (vospominaniia uchastnikov Bukharskoi i Khorezmskoi revoliutsii) (Tashkent: Uzbekskoe gosudarstvennoe izdatel'st-co, 1930), 46-49.
(28) Fayzulla Xo'ja, "Kun to'g'di," Buxoro axbori, 9 September 1920.
(29) "Buxoroning ilk quriltoyi," Buxoro axbori, 11 October 1920; TsGARUz f. 47, op. 1, d. 8, 1.47 (from a felicitationary speech by Domla Ikrom).
(30) Muhammad Said, "Xitobnoma," Buxoro axbori, 26 November 1920.
(31) Laziz Azizzoda, "Bu kunning vazifasi," Buxoro axbori, 26 November 1920.
(32) I have explored this point further in "From Noble City to People's Republic: Re-Imagining Bukhara, 1900-1924," in Historical Dimensions of Islam: Essays in Honor of R. Stephen Humphreys, ed. James E. Lindsay and Jon Armajani (Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, 2009), 201-16.
(33) TsGARUz f. 46, op. 1, d. 117, 11.45ob.-46.
(34) Ibid., f. 47, op. 1, d. 150, 11. 106, 49ob., 60ob., 60, 45ob.-46, 12ob.
(35) Ibid., d. 595,passim.
(36) Ibid., f. 48, op. 1, d. 5, ll. 32ob.-32.
(37) "Bukunki iqtisodiy holatimiz," TsGARUz f. 46, op. 1, d. 170, II. 19-20.
(38) See more in Adeeb Khalid, "The Bukharan People's Soviet Republic in the Light of Muslim Sources," Welt des Islams 50, 3-4 (2010): 335-61.
(39) Rahmat Rafiq, "Biograficheskii ocherk" (ca. 1924), RGASPI f. 62, op. 4, d. 633, 1. 293.
(40) "Buxoro jumhuriyatining xarbiya noziri birodir Fayzulla Xo'ja," Buxom axbori, 5 February 1923.
(41) See a note by him in RGASPI f. 544, op. 4, d. 30, 11. 75-76.
(42) Xolida Ahrorova, Izlarini izlayman (Tashkent: Sharq, 1998), 12-60.
(43) "Buhara Heyet-i Murahhasasmm Kabul Merasiminde Irad olunan Muhim ve Tarihi Nutuklan," Sebilurresad 19 (1922): 261-62.
(44) RGASPI f. 62, op. 2, d. 51, 1.84.
(45) Ibid., f. 61, op. i, d. 33, 1. 1.
(46) M. P. Tomskii to V. I. Lenin, September 1921, in D. A. Amanzholova and O. I. Gorelov, "'Peresmotrite delo s baranami': Pis'ma M. P. Tomskogo V. I. Leninu. 1921 g.," Istoricheskii arkhiv, no. 4 (2000): 11.
(47) Vladimirov to L. B. Krasin, 9 December 1920, in Ekonomicheskie otnosheniia sovetskoi Rossii s budushchimi soiuznymi respublikami, 1917-1922 (Moscow: Vostochnaia literatura, 1996), 187.
(48) Rozhanskii to Lezhava, 14 February 1921, in Ekonomicheskie otnosheniia, 197.
(49) TsGARUz f. 48, op. 1, d. 6, l. 47ob. (27 July 1921). In his note conveying the news of Saidjonov's ouster, the chair of the Council of Ministers felt compelled to assure Iurenev that Saidjonov's conduct was due to ill health and not hostility to Soviet power.
(50) Ibid., f. 56, op. 2, d. 4, l. 28 (circular, 6 November 1923).
(51) Quoted by Abu Turg'ud (pseud.), "Toshkandda bo'lg'on rovutlarda," Ishtirokiyun, 24 December 1919.
(52) Ishtirokiyun, 22 March 1919.
(53) Mirmullo Shermuhammadov, "Eski shahr 'Ijroiya qo'mita' sida sharafli bit majlis," Ishtirokiyun, 13 January 1920.
(54) "Kichik ontonto yiqildi va katta ontonto yiqilmoqdadir," Mehnatkashlar tovushi (Samarqand), 26 December 1920.
(55) S., "Turklarga yordim," Turkiston, 20 October 1922.
(56) Telegram to the Turkish Grand National Assembly, October 1922, Gosudarstvennyi arkhiv goroda Tashkent f. 12, d. 78, 1. 116.
(57) Speeches by Kemal reported in Turkiston, 17 February 1923 and 6 March 1924; forthcoming elections in Turkiston, 8 June 1923; and the establishment of a new political party (the Yeni Halk Partisi) in Turkiston, 21 November 1923.
(58) Abu Turg'ud, "Xilofat masalasi va Turkiston musulmonlari," Ishtirokiyun, 16 March 1920.
(59) "Xalifalik bitirildi," Turkiston, 9 March 1924.
(60) Gregory Massell, The Surrogate Proletariat: Moslem Women and Revolutionary Strategies in Soviet Central Asia, 1919-1929 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1974), 218-20; Douglas Northrop, Veiled Empire: Gender and Power in Stalinist Central Asia (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2005), 81-82.
(61) "Turk xonimlari ozodliq yo'lida," Turkiston, 13 June 1923.
(62) "Turkiyada ham paranjiga hujum," Qizil O'zbekiston, 21 February 1927, 1; "Turklarda xotinlar kiyimi masalasi," Qizil O'zbekiston, 8 June 1927.
(63) A comparison of the Soviet and Kemalist projects is one of the main concerns of my "Backwardness and the Quest for Civilization: Early Soviet Central Asia in Comparative Perspective," Slavic Review 65, 2 (2006): 231-51, although there is much more to be done in exploring the parallels between the two.
(64) Bulent Gokay, A Clash of Empires: Turkey between Russian Bolshevism and British Imperialism, 1918-1923 (London: Tauris Academic, 1997). See also Salahi Ramsdan Sonyel, Turkish Diplomacy, 1918-1923: Mustafa Kemal and the Turkish National Movement (London: Sage, 1975).
(65) The complicated relations between Soviet Russia and the nationalist resistance are examined by Michael A. Reynolds, "Buffers, Not Brethren: Young Turk Military Policy in the First World War and the Myth of Panturanism," Past and Present, no. 203 (2009): 137-79.
(66) Aslan, Turkiye Komunist Firkasi, chap. 3.
(67) The dalliance of the Bolsheviks with the Ottoman triumvirs remains to be fully explored, but see Kamoludin Abdullaev, Ot Sin 'tsziania do Khorasana: Iz istorii sredneaziatskoi emigratsii XX veka (Dushanbe: Irfon, 2009), 198-232; V. M. Gilensen, "Sotrudnichestvo krasnoi Moskvy s Enver-Pashoi i Dzhemal'-Pashoi," Vostok, no. 3 (1996): 45-63, is entirely oblivious to Turkish sources.
(68) Bilal Sen, Cumhuriyetin Ilk Yillarda TKP ve Komintern Iliskileri (Istanbul: Kuyerel Yayinlan, 1998).
(69) L. Seifullina, V strane ukhodiashchego islama: Poezdka v Turtsiiu (Leningrad: Gosudarstvennoe izdatel'stvo, 1925), 59, 74. Despite the tide of the book, there is little discussion of Islam in it.
(70) Irandust (pseud.), "Sushchnost' kemalizma," Za Partiiu, no. 2 (1927): 64, 68.
(71) Irandust (pseud.), Dvizhushchie sily kemalistskoi revoliutsii (Leningrad: Gosudarstvennoe izdatel'stvo, 1928).
(72) I. V.. Stalin, "Talk with Students of the Sun Yat-Sen University" (13 May 1927), in his Works, 13 vols. (Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1954), 9:261-63.
(73) Z. Feridov, "Kemalistskaia Turtsiia i fashizm (o 'kontseptsii' Irandusta i kemalistskom opyte)," Revoliutsionnyi Vostok, no. 7 (1929): 56-69. Osetrov was able to defend himself (Irandust [pseud.], "Neskol'ko slov o kemalizme," Revoliutsionnyi Vostok, no. 8 : 53-71), but his critic was given the final word: Feridov, "Otvet Irandostu," Revoliutsionnyi Vostok, no. 8 (1930): 72-84.
(74) Already in 1931, in denunciations and statements of self-criticism, Kemalism had taken its place alongside capitalism and nationalism as a form of ideological corruption; see the statement before the Central Control Commission of the VKP(b) by several young Uzbek Communists acknowledging that their mistakes "would have led to the restoration of capitalism and to Kemalism" in Uzbekistan: RGASPI f. 62, op. 2, d. 2575, 1. 43. On the broad outlines of Soviet-Turkish relations in this period, see B. M. Potskhveriia, Turtsiia mezhdu dvumia voinami: Ocherki vneshnei politiki (Moscow: GRVL, 1992), 201-28.
(75) George S. Harris, The Origins of Communism in Turkey (Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press, 1967).
(76) Soner Cagaptay, Islam, Secularism, and Nationalism in Modern Turkey: Who Is a Turk? (London: Routledge, 2006), 97-98.
(77) Saime Goksu and Edward Timms, Romantic Communist: The Life and Work of Nazim Hikmet (London: Palgrave, 1999). The best source for Nazim's time in the Soviet Union in the 1920s is the memoir by a friend who accompanied him in his travels: Vala. Nureddin, Bu Dunyadan Nazim Gecti (Istanbul: Remzi, 1965).
(78) The post-Soviet historiography in Uzbekistan is primarily a variation on the Soviet theme and equally unwilling and incapable of exploring the complexities of the BNSR.
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