Europe-Asia Studies

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The Soviet and the Post-Soviet: Street Names and

National Discourse in Almaty

Mehmet Volkan Kașikçi

To cite this article: Mehmet Volkan Kașikçi (2019): The Soviet and the Post-Soviet: Street Names
and National Discourse in Almaty, Europe-Asia Studies, DOI: 10.1080/09668136.2019.1641586

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/09668136.2019.1641586

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 EUROPE-ASIA STUDIES, 2019
https://doi.org/10.1080/09668136.2019.1641586

The Soviet and the Post-Soviet: Street Names

and National Discourse in Almaty

MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

Abstract
While discussing Kazakhstan’s post-Soviet identity, scholars treat ‘Kazakhisation’ as a given, and the substance
of the process of developing such an identity is usually ignored. This article gives an insight into this process by
analysing the politics of street names in Almaty and its relation to collective memory in post-Soviet
Kazakhstan. It is argued that the so-called ‘Kazakhisation’ of the country has been shaped primarily by the
Soviet legacy, and it is in no sense pursuing the elimination of the Soviet past, or moving essentially anti-
Russian lines. In fact, the post-Soviet discourse of the Kazakh nation is not a rupture but a continuation of
Soviet discourses.

ON 30 NOVEMBER 2017, ONE OF THE BUSIEST AND MOST CENTRAL streets in Almaty was
renamed after the president, Nursultan A. Nazarbayev. In the Soviet period, the street had
been named for Dmitry Furmanov, a popular patriotic author. Radio Free Europe/Radio
Liberty announced that ‘almost all streets in Almaty, then Kazakhstan’s capital, were
renamed after the Soviet collapse. But Furmanov Street remained unchanged, sparking
speculation that it would one day—perhaps after his death—be named after Nazarbaev’.1
In fact, the claim that ‘almost all streets in Almaty’ were renamed in the post-Soviet era is
untrue and substantially simplifies the dynamics of contemporary Kazakh identity. Such
simplifications even dominate the scholarly literature. Nevertheless, one point in RFE’s
coverage is correct: street names are perceived as highly significant in Kazakhstan, and
their renaming is an ongoing political process.
The commemoration of historical figures is a prominent feature of the Kazakh urban
landscape. This article will analyse how collective memory in post-Soviet Kazakhstan has
been shaped through the ritual commemorations of historical-national icons, as formed by
the Soviet experience. To understand the political meanings assigned to history in
Kazakhstan, it is necessary to understand the particular Soviet tradition of the personality

A shorter version of this article was presented at What is the Soviet Legacy? Commemoration Practices in
Almaty, Eurasia, Crossroads Conference, The Harriman Institute, Columbia University, New York, USA, 30
March 2018.
1
‘A Central Almaty Street Gets a New Name: Nursultan Nazarbaev Avenue’, RFE/RL, 30 November 2017,
available at: https://www.rferl.org/a/kazakhstan-nazarbaev-street-almaty-furmanov/28888004.html, accessed 2
February 2018.

© 2019 University of Glasgow

https://doi.org/10.1080/09668136.2019.1641586
2 MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

cult. I will first take a brief look at street names in Almaty in the imperial and Soviet eras, then
at the process of renaming (or not) streets, and new and remaining street names in Almaty
after independence. The aim of this article is to provide an insight into the so-called
‘Kazakhisation’ of the country, whereby the government commemorates historical figures
to legitimise itself and its particular vision of Kazakh national identity.
Most importantly, the discussion of the post-Stalinist era shows that 1991, while a
significant point, is not a rupture either in terms of street naming or of Kazakh identity.
Indeed, I argue that it is first and foremost the Soviet legacy that shapes the post-Soviet
Kazakh identity, highlighting in this sense the weak nature of the scholarly debate on the
germane issue. Commemoration is a direct Soviet legacy, and the national discourse
reproduced through street names is significantly structured by the Soviet experience.
Although many scholars refer to the Soviet legacy as a defining source of post-Soviet
Kazakh identity, what is understood by the ‘Soviet legacy’ is not clear. In the last decade,
historians have produced some valuable works on Soviet Kazakh identity (Auezova 2011;
Yilmaz 2012, 2015; Bustanov 2014; Carmack 2014, 2015), which is for the most part
ignored by scholars working on post-Soviet Kazakhstan. This article attempts to
incorporate historical literature into contemporary debates.
In general, the politics of street names in Almaty avoided to comment negatively on
Soviet-era Kazakhstan or to promote anti-Russian sentiments, focusing instead on
Kazakh nationalist sentiments through the choice of names from the era of the Kazakh
Khanate (1456–1846). However, the nationalist and anti-Bolshevik Alash movement,2
which resisted Russian colonisation, remains relatively invisible in the city. There is
almost nothing about the collectivisation period, the famine of 1930–1933 or the
Stalinist Terror. Kazakh national feelings are evoked through both pre-Russian names
and Soviet Kazakh figures. It can be claimed that, although Kazakhstan has experienced
a process of Kazakhisation since the dissolution of the Soviet Union, this is not an
essentially anti-Russian process, nor does it represent a rejection, or even a form of
criticism, of the Soviet past of the Kazakh nation.

City as a text
Eviatar Zerubavel (2003, pp. 28–9) posits that ‘since the sacred is often manifested in ritual
display, we also need to examine the way major figures and events from the past are
ritually commemorated’. Henri LeFebvre (1992) argued that power and knowledge are
embedded in the representation of the space, which is invariably ideologically
conceived. More recently, scholars have been increasingly engaged in the critical study
of street names. In this approach, place names are taken as ‘social facts’ embedded in

2
Kazakh intellectual and political movement active in the late Tsarist era. The movement used the press in
their attempt to create a public space in the steppe and established the Alash Orda Party in 1905. As the party’s
dominant tendency was liberal-nationalist, Alash members allied with Russian Kadets in the Duma. Following
the October Revolution, they founded the autonomous Alash Orda government in 1917. On 11 June 1920,
Alash Orda merged with the Kirghiz Revolutionary Government.
 THE SOVIET AND THE POST-SOVIET 3

complex cultural and social interrelations (Vuolteenaho & Berg 2009, p. 9). Azaryahu
suggests that:

when used for commemorative purposes, street names and the version of history they introduce into
the public sphere belong to the semiotic makeup of local and national identity and to the structures of
power and authority. … They introduce an official version of history into networks of social
communication that involve ordinary urban experiences that seem to be separated from the realm
of political ideology. (Azaryahu 2009, p. 53)

Palonen (2008, p. 220) argues that ‘the city-text’ functions as a system of representation
and political identification that aims to establish a world view upon the society. It can also be
taken as a representation of power relations in the society and a physical manifestation of
hegemonic discourse. The city-text shows ‘how power relations shape commemorative
priorities and produce certain geographies of public memory’ (Azaryahu 2011, p. 28).
Street naming is also closely related to the legitimisation of the political order. Through
the commemoration of national heroes or great events, regimes attempt to link themselves
with the past glory of the nation to gain political legitimacy. Through street names, the
legitimisation of the regime becomes interwoven with daily life in a routine, almost
imperceptible way (Azaryahu 1996, pp. 311–12).
Post-socialist countries provide ample opportunities for scholars of street names. Young
and Light (2001) argue that the cultural aspects of the process of post-socialist
transformation have a strong geographical element, which takes representation of space as
a part of the validation of new power relations. All post-socialist states rename a
considerable number of place names, especially in the capitals and large cities. According
to Diener and Hagen, in post-socialist urbanism:

there are broad tendencies toward crafting and commemorating revised and reified ‘national’
narratives by preserving, rebuilding, or creating historical landmarks. These processes of
reinterpretation often focus on projecting narratives of unity, tradition, and perseverance back into
pre-history. Yet these new historical narratives are highly selective and involve a significant
amount of forgetting about alternative identity narratives. (Diener & Hagen 2013, p. 489)

Gill (2004) shows how post-socialist regime change affected street names and discusses
which Soviet names were erased and the general logic of the renaming process in post-Soviet
Moscow. In the case of Budapest, the struggle over renaming streets represented the debate
between different levels of administration, and between right and left, over the new discourse
of national sovereignty (Palonen 2008). In some cases, renaming can stand for the symbolic
destruction of the ‘enemy’ and the extensive renaming of street names on both sides to erase
evidence of former minority populations expelled on both sides as in the case of the
Azerbaijani–Armenian conflict (Saparov 2017). It is necessary to note that very different
approaches to urban space can be found within the same country: in Ukraine, Sevastopol kept
most of its Soviet-era street names and monuments in order to emphasise affinity with
Russian history and Russia (Qualls 2009), while Kharkiv’s post-Soviet identity crises
entrenched divisions between Russia and Ukraine in the city’s urban space (Kravchenko 2009).
The reconfiguration of space and time is therefore a key aspect of post-socialist
transformations. Prior scholars demonstrated that there is a dynamic interaction between
4 MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

the official discourse of national identity in Kazakhstan and citizen perceptions

(Laszczkowski 2014; Dubuisson 2017), suggesting that the official discourse is not
entirely independent from its reception. Following Katherine Verdery (1991, p. 122), this
article delves into Kazakhstan’s national identity as an authoritative discourse as having
‘the capacity to dominate the field of symbols and discourses in which it was employed,
pressing the meanings of other terms and symbols in its own direction’. Such a structural
approach will help us better perceive the Soviet legacy on contemporary Kazakhstan.

Identity politics in independent Kazakhstan

Most scholarship on modern Kazakh politics referred to the ongoing process of
‘Kazakhisation’.3 Sarsembaev defines Kazakhisation as:

a dual policy aimed both at securing the approval of the nationalist Kazak public without disturbing
the multi-ethnic peace and at creating a new Kazakh nation as a long-term permanent basis of the
Kazakh statehood as well as a short-and-medium-term base of the elite’s power. (Sarsembaev
1999, p. 333)

Yet, Cummings (2006, p. 178) argued that, at the time of independence, Kazakhstan lacked
‘national authenticity’, a deficit aggravated further by the perceived legitimacy of the former
Soviet order, the elite’s acceptance of a strong Russian influence, and the absence of a readily
available ‘other’ for the rising Kazakhstani state.
Scholars of post-Soviet Kazakh national identity have focused on its two-faced character:
the government’s propagation of an all-inclusive Kazakhstani identity alongside its emphasis
on an ethno-national Kazakh identity (Surucu 2002). Marlene Laruelle (2014) noted that
Kazakhness and Kazakhstanness are self-referencing, whereas Ó Beacháin and Kevlihan
(2013) argued that the notion of civic nationalism and its tensions with ethnic tendencies
are as important as the ‘Kazakhisation’ of the country. Diener (2016) agrees that a kind of
civic nationalism is emerging, whereas Rees and Williams (2017) suggest there are still
significant barriers for such an identity in Kazakhstan. On the other hand, Burkhanov and
Sharipova (2014) refute that any such civic nationalist identity has emerged; in their
views, the primordialist vision has reproduced itself in the younger generation.
It is however questionable whether focus on the dual character of identity politics is
helpful to understand the complex Soviet legacy in Kazakh identity, and the multicultural,
yet profoundly ethnicised, everyday life in the country.4 Another trend in the literature is

3
‘Kazakhisation’ is an ambivalent term. It may suggest a transition from a non-Kazakh to a Kazakh state, or
a rupture between Soviet and post-Soviet identities. The nature of the Soviet nationalities policies, specifically
the policy of korenizatsiya, is much more complex than this simplistic interpretation. Despite these criticisms, I
use the term because it has gained popularity in the literature. I should also note that this article is not about
demographic Kazakhisation or Kazakhisation at the administrative level. Scholars have studied various
aspects of these processes (Karin & Chebotarov 2002; Diener 2005; Panicciari 2012). The process of
‘Kazakhisation’ had started even before Kazakhstan became independent; see Stefany (2013).
4
It seems that many scholars implicitly assume multiculturalism is directly connected to a civic identity.
However, the concept of civic identity requires at least a degree of weakening or relaxation of ethnic
identifications and a blurring of ethnic boundaries, an unlikely prospect in today’s Kazakhstan. Burkhanov
(2017) shows clearly that the promotion of such an identity has received a hostile response from the public.
 THE SOVIET AND THE POST-SOVIET 5

to explain various political and ideological discourses; these works emphasise the differences
of the Nazarbayev regime from the groups they label ‘Kazakh nationalists’ or ‘national-
patriots’ (Insebayeva 2016; Kudaibergenova 2016). While providing useful guidelines for
understanding Kazakhstan’s internal politics, however, the focus of such scholarship on
the differences between various ‘discourses’ obscures their commonalities. Laruelle (2016,
pp. 168–69) noted that the ‘national-patriot’ perception of history is shaped by ‘the
permanence of the nation and its primordial nature’, romantically imagined as an
uninterrupted continuity from the Kazakh Khanate and its legendary warriors, the batyrs.
However, it is not clear how this vision of history and Kazakh identity differs from the
official version propagated by the Nazarbayev regime. Indeed, it appears that the rhetoric
of the regime and of the nationalists are both shaped by the same discourse on Kazakh
identity and history.5
These studies, to a large extent, do not problematise the terms ‘Kazakh identity’,
‘Kazakhness’, ‘Kazakh’ culture or ‘Kazakhisation’. Besides, most of these studies assume that
Kazakhisation, or post-Soviet Kazakh national identity, is a counter-discourse or process
against an imagined hostile Russian or Soviet past; thus, Kazakhisation is frequently
understood in terms of rupture and as a linear, albeit not unchallenged process. Studies of
post-Soviet Kazakh national identity do not attempt to explain what Kazakhisation actually
involves as a process. Such an uncritical understanding of Kazakhisation is apparent in the
work of Aydıngun (2008), presenting the process as accompanied by the development of anti-
Russian and anti-Soviet sentiments. Werner also interprets Kazakhisation as the return or rise
of Kazakh traditional symbols: ‘The symbols used to represent the Kazak “past” tend to
bypass the Soviet era which is generally associated with the destruction of Kazakh traditions’
(Werner 2000, p. 128). Norris (2012) defines ‘nomadic nationhood’ as an understandable
reactive tendency in post-Soviet nation-building.
With regard to history education, despite the eradication of Soviet ideological concepts,
the textbooks of post-Soviet Kazakhstan are very similar to those used in the Soviet era
(Kissane 2005, pp. 57–8). Similarly, I argue that an analysis of commemoration practices
and collective memory demonstrates how the references to Marxism–Leninism have been
eradicated, but not the Soviet past. While Kazakhisation might be interpreted as the ‘de-
ideologisation’ of the Soviet past,6 the means used are Soviet, and their content is very
much shaped by the Soviet experience.

Reading street names in Almaty

While it is largely impossible to know the specific circumstances behind every street name,
general trends can be discerned by reading Almaty’s street names. Even more than 25 years

5
Who is a Kazakh, what is Kazakh tradition, and what belongs to Kazakh national culture is never
questioned by either the regime or the nationalists. The disagreement emerges on the issue of how far
Kazakh national culture should dominate politics, or how the government should treat other nationalities.
According to Yessenova (2002), the tradition of shezhire (genealogy) effectively defines the concept of
Kazakh identity, and although this tradition predated the Soviet era, Soviet nationality policies effectively
continued the work of earlier Kazakh nationalists.
6
This is in line with how people in Central Asia tend to remember the Soviet past (Dadabaev 2015).
6 MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

after independence, authorities themselves see street names as manifestations of the official
understanding of history. A high-level official at Almaty Municipality stated that there used to
be 352 Lenin, 267 Sovetskaya and 275 Oktyabr’skaya streets in Kazakhstan; as we entered a
different historical epoch, street names must adapt to the reality of Kazakhstan’s
independence (Zlobin 2017a, p. 11). Zhanibek Nalibaev, the head of the Almaty
Onomastics Commission (Onamasticheskoi komissii goroda Almaty),7 explains that 130
streets were immediately renamed after independence; however, there was never the goal
of changing all street names. The Onomastics Commission is made up of historians,
linguists, geographers and journalists, and is responsible for commemorating great men
and women of politics, science, literature, culture, arts and sports (Verzhbitskaia 2005,
p. 3). Street names are called ‘history textbooks’ by journalists (Zlobin 2017b, p. 8), and
newspapers in Kazakhstan frequently devote pages to the historical figures commemorated
through street names, such as the bis8 of the Kazakh Khanate or veterans of the Great
Patriotic War (Shupeikin 2007, p. 26).9 Encyclopaedias of street names have been
published for almost all Kazakh cities.10 Street names are perceived by historians and
regime officials as a means of disseminating the national discourse (Abzhanov 2006;
Zlobin 2017a, 2017b). Although the naming of public places has political implications
everywhere, commemorating historical figures through street names, and thus imprinting
them in the mind of the public, is particularly marked in contemporary Kazakhstan.

Street names in Tsarist and Soviet Almaty

The contemporary centre of Almaty had already developed by the turn of the twentieth
century, when the city was known with its imperial name (Vernyi). However, there was no
tradition of naming streets after people at the time, and streets were named, for instance,
Gubernatorskaya (Governor’s), Gospital’naya (Hospital), Soldatskaya (Soldier’s),
Dunganskaya (Dungan—an ethnic group).11 In 1899, Bul’varnaya (Boulevard) was
renamed after Pushkin in honour of the fiftieth anniversary of the poet’s death, and in
1909, Shtabnaya (Headquarters) Street became Gogol Street in honour of the author’s
birth centenary. From the early twentieth century until the time of writing, Pushkin and
Gogol were the most enduring street names in Almaty. In the Tsarist era, the only other

7
The Kazakh press started calling for a return to native toponyms in the last years of the Soviet Union, and
in 1993 the Kazakh Parliament decided to replace Russian place-names with their originals in Kazakh. A
republican level onomastics commission—O Respublikanskoi onomasticheskoi komissii pri Pravitel’stve
Respubliki Kazakhstan—was established in 1998 as a consultative organ to prepare proposals for naming
and renaming place names (‘Postanovlenie Pravitel’stva Respubliki Kazakhstan ot 21 aprelya 1998 goda
No: 368’, available at https://online.zakon.kz/document/?doc_id=1009120, accessed 14 June 2019).
Following this decision, city-level onomastics commissions began to proliferate.
8
Bi: Judicial and administrative authority in traditional Kazakh society. Comparable to qadi in other
Muslim societies.
9
‘Ikh imenami ulitsy nazvali’, Vechernii Almaty, 9 May and 22 June 2002.
10
For Almaty as an example, see Imangaliev and Tobaiakov (2001). Imangaliev (2013) covers Kazakh
capitals of the twentieth century: Qyzyl-Orda, Almaty and Astana, providing an overview of 300 historical
figures after whom streets have been named, in Kazakh, Russian and English.
11
Information about street names in Almaty during the imperial and Soviet periods is taken from
Tuiakbaeva (2008), Buketova (2017), Maliar and Fel’d (1966), and Alma-Ata: Gorod, Raiony, Ulitsy
(Alma-Ata, Nauka, 1989). I do not provide specific references for each street name (see the Appendix).
 THE SOVIET AND THE POST-SOVIET 7

person commemorated in the centre of Almaty was General Gerasim Kolpakov. In 1918,
Kolpakov Street was renamed after Lenin, the first communist to be commemorated in
Almaty. Karl Marx came in second in 1919; and many more were to follow. The tradition
of commemorating historical figures through street names was born.
Shirin Akiner (1995, p. 43) reflects a widespread belief in the scholarship that few Kazakhs
were commemorated in the Soviet period, among them, Abai Qunanbai (the late Tsarist era
enlightener who is celebrated as a ‘philosopher’ and the national poet of Kazakhstan),
Qurmangazy (nineteenth-century bard), Mukhtar Auezov (Soviet Kazakh novelist) and
Zhambyl Zhabaev (Kazakh bard who was canonised during the Soviet era and died in
1940). While this proposition was particularly relevant for the Stalinist era, it should be
noted that the Soviet regime tended to commemorate people after their death; in the 1930s,
there were not many dead Kazakh revolutionaries to be commemorated. In 1936,
Kirgizskaya was renamed after Amankeldi Imanov, the famous Civil War hero, and in 1938
Gospital’naya was renamed after Zhambyl, who, unusually, was still alive at the time. These
two remained the only Kazakhs commemorated in central Almaty streets until the death of
Stalin. During Khrushchev’s thaw, many Kazakhs were commemorated through street names
in Almaty. Most of these were the heroes of World War II, such as Aliia Moldagulova
(1956), Nurken Abdirov (1956) and Sultan Baimagambetov (1957).12 Karim Mynbaev
(1956), Qurmangazy (1957) and Quliash Baiseitova (1957) were amongst the first Kazakh
artists and scientists commemorated in Almaty. Another category of street names is that of
victims of the Stalinist Terror. The rehabilitation of local communists after the death of
Stalin was a significant theme in the thaw’s renaming process. The rehabilitation of Ilias
Zhansugirov (1958), Beiimbet Mailin (1961), Sanzhar Asfendiiarov (1962), Saken Seifullin
(1962), Abdolla Rozybakiev (1962) and Oraz Zhandosov (1964) was reflected in street
names of Almaty. While some victims had to wait longer to be commemorated, such as
Turar Rysqulov (1975) and Temirbek Zhürgenev (1984), de-Stalinisation made a significant
impact on Almaty’s ‘city-text’. Rather than the dissolution of the Soviet Union, de-
Stalinisation represented the first turning point of the ‘Kazakhisation’ of street names.
The trend of commemorating Kazakhs continued after Khrushchev and up to the fall of the
Soviet Union. For example, streets were named for the most celebrated authors, poets,
musicians, academics and soldiers of Soviet Kazakhstan, among them Mukhtar Auezov
(1961), Qanysh Satpaev (scientist; 1964), Sabit Muqanov (writer; 1973), Malik Gabdullin
(soldier and writer; 1973), Zhumagali Saiyn (poet; 1964), Tair Zharaqov (poet; 1966),
Akhmet Zhubanov (composer; 1969), Ilias Esenberlin (writer; 1984), Baurzhan
Momyshuly (soldier; 1985), Alkei Margulan (academic; 1986), Gabit Musirepov (writer;
1986), Isa Baizaqov (poet; 1971) and Muqagali Maqataev (poet; 1986). No comparable
figures have yet emerged in the post-Soviet era.
The majority of Kazakhs commemorated by street names in the Soviet era were Soviet
Kazakhs who died in this period. Few pre-revolutionary Kazakhs were granted this
honour. The first example was Qurmangazy (1957), and in 1960, Arychnaya Street was
renamed after the poet Abai, whose large statue was erected in 1961. Other examples were

12
All dates about street names in parentheses give the year of commemoration, not the date of death of the
person.
8 MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

the nineteenth-century bards Makhambet Utemisov (1962), Sherniiaz Zharylgasov (1963)

and Süiinbai (1987). Zharylgasov was known for his epic poems about Isatai Taiman, the
nineteenth-century batyr and the leader of a rebellion against Russian rule; a street was
named after Taiman himself in 1981.
A few hundred Kazakhs were commemorated in the Soviet era. In the post-Stalin era,
there was an enduring tendency towards commemorating more Kazakhs, establishing a
trend that would continue until the dissolution of the Soviet Union. When the Soviet
Union collapsed, some of the most important streets in Almaty were already named after
prominent Kazakhs.

The renaming process

The scholarly discourse on post-Soviet Kazakh identity has focused on the process of changing
city and street names. Like in all Soviet cities, the street names in Almaty used to represent the
socialist and internationalist discourse of the Soviet regime. According to Diener (2002, p. 83),
the Kazakhisation of the city names helps to territorialise the nation and legitimise the borders.
However, there were no ‘original’ Kazakh names for the streets in Almaty hence the issue was
more complex than changing names of rural settlements or geographical toponyms. Some 130
streets were renamed in Almaty in the first year of independence (Verzhbitskaia 2005, p. 3).
Renaming has continued sporadically, as we see in the case of Furmanov/Nazarbayev Street,
but the most significant renaming took place in the early years of independence. As the city
grows, focus shifted to the newly built parts of the city.13
Overwritten names include Nikolai Bauman, Karl Marx, Lenin, Komsomolskaya,
Oktyabr’skaya, Pravda, Rosa Luxemburg, Felix Dzherzhinsky, Internatsional’naya,
Sovetskaya, Krasnoarmeiskaya and Mikhail Frunze. Not surprisingly, the most significant
tendency is to obliterate direct references to communist ideology. The Kazakh government
has been careful not to erase the memory of local communists (Turar Risqulov, Saken
Seifullin, Abdolla Rozybakiev, Alibei Zhangeldin): some of them (Sadvaqasov and
Qulymbetov) were recently commemorated with street names. Another identifiable
tendency is that non-political Russian names, such as Pushkin, Gogol, Yuri Gagarin,
Feodor Chaliapin and Kliment Timiriazev, have usually been allowed to stand.14

13
In December 2017, 42 new streets were to be named in Almaty. A newspaper article listed 12 people to be
commemorated, including the Chechen opera artist Sultan Baisultanov, the Russian author and translator of
Kazakh authors into Russian Ivan Shchegolikhin, the Kyrgyz celebrity Chingiz Aitmatov, the famous
nineteenth-century city resident Egor Red’ko, the Kazakhstani scholar of German origin Gerol’d Bel’ger,
the Khan Kenesary, and Kazakh heroes of the Soviet Union Talgat Begel’dinov and Sagadat
Nurmagambetov (Kashteliuk 2017, pp. 6–7).
14
Certain transfers of street names help us understand attitudes towards Russian names. For example, while
Zenkov Street was renamed after Kazakh folk literature character Aldar Köse, Andrei Zenkov, one of the most
important architects of nineteenth-century Almaty (Vernyi), was not forgotten. His name was given to a street
formerly known as Proleterskaya, a small but very central and symbolically important street because it passes
through Panfilov Park, the site of the city’s largest cathedral, one of Zenkov’s most significant works, today
used as the Musical Instrument Museum. There were also name transfers for Kazakh figures; for example,
Almaty’s Altynsaryn Street was renamed after the Russian author Eduard Uspenskii and the name
Altynsaryn transferred to a longer street formerly known as Pravda Street.
 THE SOVIET AND THE POST-SOVIET 9

Certain tendencies are clear when we look at the new names. Most commonly
commemorated on the streets of Almaty are the bis, batyrs (warrior heroes) and khans
from the time of Kazakh Khanate: Töle Bi, Raiymbek, Abylai Khan, Bukhar Zhrau,
Qarasai Batyr, Nauryzbai Batyr, Qabanbai Batyr, Aiteke Bi, Qazybek Bi, Bögenbai Batyr
and Ötegen Batyr. Kazakh writers, poets, artists, soldiers and scientists from the Soviet
period constitute the second significant category. As we have seen, most of these figures
had been commemorated before 1991 and have retained their status in independent
Kazakhstan. Others have been added to this category, such as Umirbek Zholdasbekov
(academic), Shamshi Qaldaiakov (composer), Zhuban Moldagaliev (writer and poet) and
Muslim Bazarbaev (writer and academic).
Apart from these two significant categories, other tendencies are evident in the renaming
process. For example, some streets have been renamed after non-Bolshevik Slavs, such as
Grigorii Potanin (Russian ethnographer), Adol’f Yanushkevich (Polish rebel and traveller
to the Kazakh Steppe) and Vasilii Bartol’d (Russian Turcologist). Fellow nations such as
Kyrgyzstan, Turkey and Ukraine are recognised through the commemoration of Manas,
Turgut Özal and Taras Shevchenko (the last one inherited from the Soviet period). The
last theme in the renaming process is the use of key words from the current national
discourse, as in the Soviet period: Dostyq (friendship), Zheltoqsan (December, referring to
the 1986 protests) and Zhibek Zholy. This category is marked by an emphasis on ‘the
friendship of peoples’, the harmony of ethnic groups in the country, independence and
civilisational heritage.

Insight into the city centre

Perhaps not surprisingly, governments have mostly focused on city centres in their renaming
work (Gill 2004, p. 491).15 The centre of Almaty has four main avenues: Al-Farabi (1975),
Abai, Töle Bi and Raiymbek. Al-Farabi is both a symbol of civilisational heritage and land,
commemorated throughout Kazakhstan because he was born within the boundaries of
contemporary Kazakhstan.16 Raiymbek is one of many Kazakh batyrs remembered in the
street names of Almaty, symbolising the nomadic past and the so-called ‘free Kazakh
soul’. Töle Bi, Aiteke Bi and Qazybek Bi represent Kazakh unity. In the eighteenth
century, the bis of the three hordes (Great Horde, Middle Horde and Little Horde) came
together to unite Kazakhs against the Zhungar invasions and this meeting is
commemorated as the symbol of Kazakh unification.17 Although Töle Bi is one of the
most important avenues in Almaty, smaller Aiteke Bi and Qazybek Bi streets appear near

15
Gill (2004, p. 491) points out the significance of the city centre for post-socialist regimes.
16
Al-Farabi and Akhmet Yassawi are the two most important medieval figures who are embraced as
Kazakhs or at least proto-Kazakhs. Yassawi Street, while on the city’s periphery, is long. This is a legacy of
the Soviet concept of autochthonism and nationalisation of medieval Central Asian history according to
modern boundaries. See Bustanov (2014).
17
Today, in the centre of Shymkent, where the three bis are believed to have met, there is a large monument,
Orda Basy, commemorating the event, comprising three statues. There are as yet no studies of the image of a bi
and its place in the national imagination. I understand the bis to symbolise Kazakh unity. They are also
presented as the great minds behind the great khans, and in this way, are used to deconstruct the image of
Kazakhs as unsophisticated warriors.
10 MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

it, in a symbolic move that indicates the unity of these three hordes or, alternatively, the
superiority of Nazarbayev’s Great Horde—funded by Töle Bi—in contemporary
Kazakhstan. Thus, the period of the Kazakh Khanate, the official basis of modern Kazakh
statehood, is extensively commemorated in the centre of Almaty. Lastly, Abai can be
taken as the symbol of Kazakh language and literature. Literature is the field where
depoliticised non-Russian identities could be most freely asserted during the Soviet era;
Abai was recognised as the national poet of Kazakhstan both by Kazakh intellectuals and
Soviet authorities.
The heart of Almaty is located mostly between Abai and Töle Bi.18 This Töle Bi–Abai line
is intersected by other major streets: Dostyq, Abylai Khan, Gagarin, Rozybakiev, Auezov,
Seifullin, Furmanov/Nazarbayev and Baitursynov. In post-Soviet Kazakhstan, streets
named for the Uyghur Bolshevik Rozybakiev and the Dungan Bolshevik Massanchi
(another relatively central and important street) were left unchanged, as in the case of
Kazakh communists.19 The writer Mukhtar Auezov, in a sense the successor of the poet
Abai, was also responsible for Abai’s literary canonisation.20 Therefore, as a celebrated
Soviet author who extensively researched pre-Soviet Kazakh history, the name of Auezov
is particularly appropriate for providing a sense of historical continuity. As well as having
the Kazakh national theatre named after him, until 2014 Auezov was the only person
whose name had been given to an administrative district.21
Dmitry Furmanov was the only Russian communist commemorated in the city centre in
the post-Soviet era, possibly because of his strong ties to Central Asia and Almaty more in
particular.22 Ivan Panfilov, the commander of the legendary ‘Panfilov’s 28 Guardsmen’,
represents a less controversial Russian figure, given the significance of the myth of the
Panfilovtsy for Kazakh (and Kyrgyz) historical consciousness.23 Thus, although Panfilov
Street in Almaty is relatively short—albeit very central, and renovated as a pedestrian
precinct as of summer 2017—one of the largest and most beautiful parks in Almaty,
which is dedicated to the commemoration of the Great Patriotic War, is still named for the
‘28 Panfilov Guardsmen’. There is no other Russian communist commemorated in the city
centre, but one can find the names of World War II commanders Zhukov and Voroshilov
in the outskirts.

The area between Abai–Töle Bi and Dostyq–Zheltoqsan streets is known as the ‘golden quarter’, as it was
18

the nicest neighbourhood of the Soviet city. For the purposes of this article, the centre of Almaty covers a larger
area.
19
Kazakhstan’s Uyghur and Dungan populations are concentrated in the Almaty region.
20
Auezov’s The Path of Abai is widely regarded as a key work in the Kazakh literary canon (Auezov 1942,
1947, 1952, 1956).
21
Unlike streets, most city districts are not named after historical figures. Auezov District was created in
1972, during the Soviet period. In 2014, a new district was named for the Batyr Nauryzbai. The other six
city districts are Almaly, Alatau, Bostandyq, Zhetisu, Medeu and Turksib.
22
Furmanov has been described as someone who dedicated his life to Almaty and the Semireche region
(Maliar & Fel’d 1966, pp. 29–30).
23
Red Army general Ivan Panfilov served in Central Asia throughout the 1920s and 1930s. According to the
official history, his 28 guardsmen from the 316th Infantry Division that had been formed of soldiers from
Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan (of various nationalities) fought against 50 German tanks for 4.5 hours during
the Moscow defence in 1941. It turned into one of the most important Soviet legendary stories about the
war. The authenticity of the story has been questioned by historians (Balmforth 2015).
 THE SOVIET AND THE POST-SOVIET 11

Abylai Khan, who is regarded as the greatest Kazakh khan, can be said to symbolise the
Kazakh state. Finding pre-Russian roots for Kazakh statehood has been one of the most
urgent tasks for the Kazakh government. Thus, it is not surprising that Abylai Khan’s
name has been given in 1991 to a street once named for Stalin (changed in 1956 to
Kommunisticheskaya). Baitursynov, one of the founders of the Kazakh written language,
is the only Alash member commemorated in central Almaty. His house is located on the
street named for him and used as a museum today. Bökeikhanov—the leader of Alash-
Orda Government—is also commemorated through a long street, albeit one that only
intersects Raiymbek of all the four main avenues hence located far from the city centre.
Other significant streets in the centre are Kunaev, Satpaev, Gogol, Massanchi, Qabanbai
Batyr, Nauryzbai Batyr, Maqataev and Mametova. For many, in addition to Gogol Street,
which was named in 1909, the names of Massanchi, Kazakh poet Maqataev, Kazakh war
hero Mametova and celebrated Soviet Kazakh scientist Satpaev were assigned in the
Soviet period.
Moving away from the heart of Almaty, in addition to the four major central avenues, the
longest streets are Risqulov, Saiyn, Momyshuly, Seifullin, Rozybakiev, Nazarbayev/
Furmanov, Zhandosov and Timiriazev. Kliment Timiriazev was a well-known Russian
scientist; Turar Risqulov, Saken Seifullin and Oraz Zhandosov were Kazakh communist
leaders who perished in the Terror, along with the Uyghur communist Abdolla
Rozybakiev. It should be stressed that their names, and that of the poet Zhumagali Saiyn
and World War II hero Baurzhan Momyshuly, were already assigned to streets in the
Soviet period. None of these major streets was renamed when Kazakhstan became
independent. Other important streets in Almaty include Altynsaryn (named for the
nineteenth-century enlightener), Ötegen Batyr, Navoi (a medieval poet), Suiinbai (the
nineteenth-century bard) and Ilias Zhansugirov (novelist and poet, victim of the Stalinist
Terror). Of these, only Ötegen Batyr and Altynsaryn were renamed after independence. As
noted previously, Altynsaryn’s name was already commemorated in the Soviet period
albeit through a shorter street, thereby signifying increased status for this major Kazakh
figure as part of the government’s nationalist discourse.
In terms of numbers of streets named for historical figures, in Almaty, as of 2017, there
were 13 streets named for Zhambyl Zhabaev, the Kazakh bard;24 12 for Abai; eight each
for Raiymbek Batyr and Qarasai Batyr; six each for Qurmangazy, Manshuk Mametova
and Aliia Moldagalieva, both Kazakh female heroes of the Soviet Union; and five each for
Dinmukhammed Kunaev, Saken Seifullin and Töle Bi (Zlobin 2017a, p. 11).25

What does the city-text of Almaty tell us?

Azaryahu (2011, p. 31) suggests that, when it comes to street names, there are mainly three
tendencies in post-colonial societies: to signify a complete break from the colonial past; to
leave colonial commemorations in their place; and selective ‘de-commemoration’ of the

24
Zhambyl became one of the most celebrated Stalinist poets in all Soviet Union and his statue remains at
the top of the street named after him at the very centre of Almaty.
25
As of February 2018, there is an ongoing process of eradicating duplicate street names to prevent
confusion.
12 MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

colonial past. Although the use of ‘postcolonial’ for Central Asia remains controversial,
Kazakhstan has followed the third way.
First, despite the ongoing Kazakhisation and de-ideologisation of the Soviet past,
Kazakhstan’s elite discourse is still determined by Soviet concepts. The personality cult
and types of commemoration are very much the legacy of the Soviet system. Bhavna
Davé (2007, p. 2) argues that the dominant Kazakh perception of the Soviet past is ‘not a
disapproval of colonial domination per se, but a feeling of disappointment by the failure
of the Soviet state to fully deliver its promised goals’. Regardless of whether we accept
Davé’s proposition, Werner’s claim that Kazakh heroes from the pre-Soviet period ‘are
being honoured for street and town names throughout the country, as names with Soviet
connections are gradually weeded out’ does not accurately reflect collective memory in
Kazakhstan (Werner 2000, p. 128).
There are two main groups of people, representing two historical periods, commemorated
throughout Almaty. The first comprises figures from the period of the Kazakh Khanate; the
second comprises Soviet Kazakh figures, usually yet not exclusively non-political, mostly
writers and poets, as well as artists, scientists and soldiers. On the other hand, although Alash
members were all rehabilitated26 and many streets were renamed after them, these are on the
periphery of the city and only Baitursynov and Bökeikhanov have a significant (in the sense
of length and centrality) presence in Almaty. Bökeikhanov, as the leader of the only modern
pre-Soviet state building attempt, and Baitursynov, as one of the most important designers of
the Kazakh language, are not marginalised but neither are they at the core of the national
discourse. The other Alash members’ names do not appear in the city centre.
There is hardly any commemoration of the Stalinist purges or the great number of
deaths in the time of forced collectivisation.27 In fact, the first monument in Almaty
dedicated to the commemoration of the victims of the famine of 1930–1933 was only
erected in May 2017 (Akhmetov 2017). The monument is located not in a major public
space and no context is provided for visitors. There is no reference either to Soviet rule
or to Stalin, only a quote from Nazarbayev: ‘we will never forget the victims’. It can
thereby be argued that anti-Soviet movements and the tragic effects of the Soviet regime
are not at the heart of historical consciousness and national identity in contemporary
Kazakhstan. This point is well-made by Kundakbayeva and Kassymova (2016) in their
study of the monuments to the Soviet-era victims across Kazakhstan. These monuments,
unlike some other post-Soviet countries, do not portray the victims as ‘Kazakh martyrs’;
according to the authors, inclusiveness of all nationalities is a defining feature and
victims are not incorporated into the nation-building narrative. Tellingly, a museum for
the victims of political repression was opened in 2003 but closed in 2006 due to
financial difficulties.28

26
Although the majority of Kazakh communists who perished during the Terror would be rehabilitated in
the thaw years, the rehabilitation of Alash members had to wait until late 1980s.
27
Lack of commemoration or ambivalence towards the memory of the famine has attracted scholarly
attention; see Kundakbayeva and Kassymova (2016). Compare this with the highly politicised and
extensively commemorated Ukrainian and Irish famines (Noack et al. 2014).
28
Almatydagi Saiasi Qugyn-Sürgin Qurbandary Muzeii Gimaratsyz Qaldy, 2006, available at: https://www.
azattyq.org/a/1168439.html, accessed 5 February 2018.
 THE SOVIET AND THE POST-SOVIET 13

The ‘city-text’ of Almaty shows that so-called Kazakhisation is not simply the revival of
Kazakh culture and history against the Soviet or Russian version, as it is usually supposed,
but rather a selective reading of the past that is shaped far more by the Soviet legacy than any
post- or non-Soviet nationalist project. This conclusion questions Myong and Chun’s (2015)
argument about renaming streets in Almaty. They see the renaming process as part of a
‘cultural war’ fought by Kazakhs against their oppressors, in other words, against the
Russians; the process itself is about restoring ethnic Kazakh identity. Similarly, Giulia
Panicciari (2012, p. 26) believes that the ‘Kazakhisation’ of the Almaty urban space is a
very striking post-Soviet development and a rupture, noting that ‘most Soviet-named
streets have been reassigned Kazakh names’.
Daily consciousness can be slower to change than official attitudes. People in Almaty still
predominantly use old Soviet names for certain streets: Lenin instead of Dostyq, Pravda
instead of Altynsaryn, Mira instead of Zheltoqsan, Tashkentskaya instead of Raiymbek,
Kalinin instead of Qabanbai Batyr, and so on. However, I have never heard any call
Abylai Khan ‘Kommunisticheskaya’ or Kunaev ‘Karl Marx’. Then again, the name of
Hungarian communist Mate Zalka is still used instead of Ötegen Batyr. Thus, there is no
clear-cut logic of adopting new names. According to Bissenova (2017, p. 654), old
residents of the city prefer to use former Soviet names. Panicciari (2012, pp. 29–30) notes
how her Uyghur acquaintances make fun of Kazakh batyr street names. However,
renaming streets is apparently much less shocking for the residents of Almaty than for the
author. For her Uyghur and Korean respondents, the process is natural although they are
not necessarily fans of it (Panicciari 2012, p. 43). Panicciari also noted that residents took
the change of street names in their stride and did not even pay much attention: Russian
nationalist organisations were the most hostile to ‘Kazakhisation’ in the 1990s (Peyrouse
2008), but such an attitude cannot be generalised to all Russians living in Kazakhstan. As
a striking example of the difference between Russian and Kazakh attitudes towards
Kazakhisation, Peyrouse (2008, p. 114) notes that according to a poll in 2001, 60% of
Kazakhs were favourable towards toponymic changes whereas 70% of Russians were
opposed. It is not surprising that nationality plays a role in people’s perceptions; these
results however, are less striking if we read the poll to mean that 40% of Kazakhs did
not support name changes, whereas 30% of Russians were not opposed to these changes.
It is not accurate to interpret any discontent with the renaming process as a symptom of
ethnic conflict or hostility: Brusilovskaia’s (2004, p. 13) criticism of name changes, for
instance, is based on the concept of rights of residents of a city. As an example, she
gives not a Russian street name, but Pasteur Street, which was renamed after Maqataev in
1986. She is not opposing the commemoration of Maqataev but the erasure of resident
memories, and she thinks, as in Western countries, residents should have a say in urban
affairs, not experts such as geographers or historians. A more nuanced approach is
provided by Danzer (2009) in his work on the perceptions of ethnic Germans in
Kazakhstan. From the article, we learn that there are multiple tendencies within the same
ethnic group where some members of the group feel marginalised by ‘Kazakhisation’
while some adopt to it more easily. Despite multiple responses, Danzer states that there is
a ‘high level of initial tolerance towards the state’s “right” of nation-building’ (Danzer
2009, p. 1575). It appears that, for citizens of Kazakhstan, the process is less striking
than it is for the Western scholars.
14 MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

Rethinking the Soviet legacy

Khans, batyrs and bis of the pre-Russian era are currently the most celebrated historical figures
in Kazakhstan. However, assuming that this emphasis on Kazakh history became possible only
after independence is quite misleading. Recently, Kudaibergenova (2013), and Dadabayeva and
Sharipova (2016) have drawn attention to how Kazakh–Soviet nationalistic narratives were
imagined by the Kazakh cultural elite in the 1960s and 1970s. Kudaibergenova argues that
these narratives deeply influenced the post-Soviet nation-building in Kazakhstan whereas,
for Dadabayeva and Sharipova, post-Soviet Kazakh identity is a direct product of one
novelist, namely Ilias Esenberlin. It is remarkable that two most important nationalist post-
Soviet Kazakh films, Köshpendiler (2005) and Zhau Zhürek Myn Bala (2012), are based on
novels written by Esenberlin exactly in this period. On the other hand, the fact that both
films depict Kazakhs’ struggle against Zhungars (and not against Russians) tells much about
the Kazakh identity. In fact, most of the ‘heroes’ commemorated in Almaty streets—
Qabanbai, Bögenbai, Qarasai, Ötegen—are also known for their fight against the Zhungars.
Thus, such an emphasis on Kazakh history does not have anti-Russian implications. For
Dadabayeva and Sharipova, Esenberlin comes out of nowhere, single-handedly, almost like
a super-hero, producing a narrative for the whole nation. In fact, all these themes had
antecedents in Soviet Kazakh history, and despite the fine-tuning adjustments of the Soviet
authorities, an image of the Soviet–Kazakh patriot was crystallised much earlier with its
traditional symbols, and with frequent references to the pre-Soviet Kazakh history.
What scholars of post-Soviet identities understand from the Soviet legacy is usually limited
to the institutionalised national categories. Through their totalitarian understanding of Soviet
history, these scholars have struggled to explain why those national categories have proved
so resilient. Such works still claim that national discourse was suppressed in the 1920s and
reborn only in 1986 (Insebayeva 2016). In Dadabayeva and Sharipova’s (2016) vision of
Soviet history, Marxism, understood as a fixed and clear-cut ideology, dominated every
sphere of life, and Kazakhs strove to resist this totalitarian system. Burkhanov and Sharipova
(2014) understood the Soviet legacy on Kazakh identity as limited to national identification
on passports. In view of their totalitarian understanding of the Soviet past and resistance
paradigm, their response to the question, ‘Why does the primordialist approach continue to
dominate and reproduce itself in Kazakhstan today?’ is that ‘Kazakhstan cannot be referred
to as a post-industrial society. Parochialism, tribal, regional, and ethnic identities inherent to
agrarian societies are still very much important for individuals’ (Burkhanov & Sharipova
2014, p. 33). Very interestingly, primordialism turns into a primordial, even agrarian, and
pre-modern social structure instead of being a modern nationalist ideology or discourse.
In a pioneering study, Kathryn Dooley (2016) very convincingly shows how Central
Asian traditionalism and ethno-national specificity was not only allowed but even
supported as a potentially healthy influence against the rise of consumerism. Local
traditions and cultural distinctiveness were celebrated in the post-war press. In addition,
Saparov (2003) shows how the creation of a national-cultural landscape was possible
under the Soviet regime.29 Despite the regime’s attacks on nationalists in the 1930s,

29
Saparov (2017) draws attention to the fact that the post-Soviet renaming process is a direct legacy of the
Soviet practices.
 THE SOVIET AND THE POST-SOVIET 15

ethnocentric history writing continued and the pre-war years brought the construction of
Kazakh batyrs in a national narrative, parallel to the union-wide focus on Russian identity
(Yilmaz 2015). Indeed, as early as 1934, Marxist history-writing with its emphasis on class
was gradually replaced by ‘new historical narratives [that] were closer to romantic national
narratives than internationalist Marxist class struggles’ (Yilmaz 2015, p. 8). Great leaders
instead of masses, the state instead of class conflict, political history instead of economic
history became the focus of history-writing. In this process, Kazakh historians transformed
batyrs from obscure local figures into national heroes. Folk narratives were collected from
regions, codified and homogenised on a pan-national scale (Yilmaz 2015, p. 88).30 The war
years brought even more opportunities for the non-Russian peoples, including Kazakhs, to
write their own histories in the relatively relaxation of social control (Carmack 2014, 2015).
Newspapers published many articles about Kazakh batyrs (Aqynzhanov 1941). Isatai
Taiman was the most celebrated among them, and by the end of the Soviet regime, he was
the only batyr commemorated in Almaty’s streets. It is striking that even Abylai Khan was
celebrated as a khan who only ‘sang the song of the people’ and defended the homeland
(Kenzhebaev 1942). There is not even a slight class analysis in the text. Hence, execution of
the nationalists in 1937–1938 in no respect ended the national discourse.
Shoqan Valikhanov,31 Ibrai Altynsaryn and Abai Qunanbai are three other important national
icons from the pre-Soviet Kazakh history. It should be noted that they were all celebrated
through dedicated street names by the Soviet regime, so their appearance in Almaty is not a
post-Soviet invention. As demonstrated by the position of Bökeikhanov Street, far from the
city centre, Alash leaders have been rehabilitated but are located at the periphery of modern
Kazakh identity. However, there have been calls to incorporate the Alash leaders (as well as
other early twentieth-century Kazakh leaders such as Turar Risqulov) into Kazakhstan’s
collective memory. In 2010, a journalist complained that no library was named after
Mirzhaqyp Dulatov, the author of many of the earliest literary works in the Kazakh
language.32 This was unusual for Kazakhstan, where thousands of historical figures are
remembered in the names of monuments, streets, parks and universities.33 It is clear from the
comparative news coverage that Alash leaders are not accorded the significance of Soviet
Kazakh figures such as Momyshuly or Zhandosov. A new edition of Bökeikhanov’s works
the same year was given similarly brief attention in the press.34
The significance of Soviet Kazakh figures in the national discourse far surpasses that of
Alash members. Mukhtar Auezov is presumably the most celebrated of all Soviet Kazakhs
and Dinmukhammed Kunaev, the purged leader of the Kazakh Communist Party, is the
leading Kazakh politician remembered in contemporary Kazakhstan. Rehabilitated

30
Works on contemporary Kazakh identity use the term ‘national’ almost always as opposed to other
‘national’ cultures or groups. How culture or identity was nationalised from its obscure local, regional or
tribal context goes unnoticed. For a promising exception, see Koch and White (2016). For a more
contemporary example of nationalisation of a batyr in a different but related context see Jacobs (2010).
31
Known as the first modern Kazakh scientist. Valikhanov Street in Almaty is a relatively short, but a very
central one. The Academy of Sciences that intersects Valikhanov Street is named after him too.
32
‘Paryz ben Qaryz’, Egemen Qazaqstan, 24 February 2010.
33
‘Alashtyn Ardaqty Azamaty: Mirzhaqyp Dulatovtyn 125 Zhyldyq Mereutoiy Atar Ötildi’, Aiqyn, 16
April 2010.
34
‘Bökeikhanovtyn Bai Murasy Zharyq Kördi’, Aiqyn, 23 February 2010.
16 MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

immediately after independence, Karl Marx Street was renamed after him in 1991. Renaming
Karl Marx Street after the purged leader of the nation can also be interpreted as a symbolic
move.
However, when we think about the Soviet-era icons, the heroes of the Great Patriotic War
stand out as the most extensively commemorated group of Kazakhs. Baurzhan Momyshuly, a
Kazakh general in the Soviet army who gained renown for his defence of Moscow against the
Germans, is regularly commemorated in publications, events and television programmes, in a
continuation of a Soviet form of commemoration.35 Momyshuly was also a writer and his
literary works are a repository of popular quotations about courage, heroism and
patriotism. Manshuk Mametova, the machine gunner who died in 1943 at the age of 21,
and Aliia Moldagulova, the sniper who died in 1944 at the age of 19, are two other icons
of the Great Patriotic War. A monument dedicated to these heroines was erected in place
of the Lenin monument in a park in 2007 by the Old Square opposite the former Dom
Pravitel’stva (now Kazakh-British University).
Maurice Halbwachs has discussed the vital significance of the localisation of sacred
memories. In this understanding, sacred memories are necessarily related to certain places,
which are usually already sacralised by former inhabitants (Halbwachs 1992, p. 219).
Therefore, if a story is set in a place that is already sacralised, the story appears to be
more legitimate. I argue that we can replace ‘place’ or ‘localisation’ in Halbwachs’ theory
(thus extending the scope of his argument) with other connecting points between earlier
and later memories in different contexts. In the modern age, relating memory to an event,
such as a war or a revolution, might be more crucial than relating memory to a specific
place. In this sense, we witness the ‘event-ualisation’ of memories rather than localisation.
One of the first things Kazakh children learn at school is that one of the two soldiers who
raised the Soviet flag over the Reichstag in Berlin was a Kazakh named Rakhimzhan
Qoshqarbaev. Momyshuly, Qoshqarbaev, Mametova and the other heroes of World War II
are constantly referenced as the ‘heroic sons/daughters of Kazakh people’ and the symbol
of Kazakh courage, patriotism and heroism. What is interesting is the near invisibility of
any other aspects of the war. Discussing Christian memories of sacred places, Halbwachs
says that ‘symbolic reflection detaches these places from their physical environment and
connects them with the beliefs of the group’ (Halbwachs 1992, p. 205). Similarly,
commemoration of the Great Patriotic War in general, and the representation of Baurzhan
Momyshuly in particular, are an example of Halbwachs’ ‘symbolic reflection’. The wider
context of the war and Momyshuly’s position as a Soviet officer are elided; he is
associated with Kazakh nationalism and the linear progression of Kazakh history. Overall,
victory is treated in terms of Kazakh glory, stressing the role of Kazakh, and sometimes
Kazakhstani, people, detached from its actual historical context as a war between the
USSR and Germany.36 The actual historical war has been almost totally subsumed into an

35
‘Baurzhan Batyr’, Qazaq, 5 May–12 May 2010. For the only discussion of Momyshuly’s legacy in the
English language, see Schechter (2009).
36
One should also consider the Russian–Kazakh dimension of memory in Kazakhstan, which is beyond the
scope of this article. Indeed, the rise of ‘Immortal Regiment’ parades on 9 May in recent years as an import from
Russia makes it more complicated and crucial that it has the potential of challenging Kazakh national discourse
about the war.
 THE SOVIET AND THE POST-SOVIET 17

alternative narrative grounded in pre-modern Kazakh folk tales, the anti-Bolshevik Kazakh
nationalist movement and Kazakh courage and ‘blood’.37

Conclusion
In the Soviet romantic comedy, The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath (1975), Zhenia goes to
a public bath with his friends on New Year’s Day. His friend Pavlik is supposed to fly to
Leningrad at night, but having drunk too much, two other friends send Zhenia instead of
Pavlik by mistake. Still very drunk when he disembarks at Leningrad, Zhenia thinks he is
at Moscow Airport to see off Pavlik. To get home, he takes a taxi and tells his address in
Moscow: Third Builders’ Street 25, Apartment 12. The taxi driver takes him to the same
address in Leningrad. Coincidentally, Zhenia’s key opens the door of the apartment, which
looks exactly like his apartment in Moscow. After many arguments with the female
resident, Zhenia finally understands that he is not at home. Apart from being a New Year’s
classic, the film was a brilliant critique of Soviet urbanism: all Soviet apartments looked
the same, and all street names were the same in all Soviet cities, such that after a few
drinks, a person would be unable to tell what city he was in.
Homogenisation is part of modernity, but perhaps nowhere else have cities become so
similar. Almaty underwent its share of Soviet homogenisation, but interpreting this as
‘Russification’ is misleading.38 In addition to revolutionary heroes and key phrases of
socialist ideology, internationalism was another inspiration for Soviet street names.39
During the Soviet era, Almaty had hundreds of streets named for cities or republics in the
socialist world, with names of those who were thought to be representatives of other
nationalities, for communist heroes or people who were thought to be world heritage
across the globe, and even directly with names of nationalities. The streets of Almaty
commemorated other cities (Leningrad, Nal’chik, Warsaw, Abakan) and other republics
(Karelia, Turkmenistan); representatives of other nationalities (the Tatar Gabdulla Tukai,
the Georgian Shota Rustaveli); communist celebrities (the Hungarian Mate Zalka, Maurice
Thorez); world historical figures (Spartacus, Newton); and nationalities (Uyghurs,
Tuvans). Although one can still find Odessa, Kazan, Tchaikovsky and Goethe streets, it is
first and foremost this socialist and internationalist legacy, not the Russian, which is now
gone. Because the city-texts were not ‘Russian’, Leningraders too erased the city’s
socialist street names in order to claim their city’s imperial heritage (Marin 2012), a
process no less striking than the ‘Kazakhisation’ of Almaty.
Studies on the so-called ‘Kazakhisation’ of the country usually assume a break with the
Soviet (sometimes read as ‘Russian’) past and interpret the increasing emphasis on
Kazakh toponyms as an anti-Russian or anti-Soviet process. It is true that since
independence, Kazakh symbols and historical figures have become much more visible.

37
For a similar case in Turkmenistan, see Denison (2009).
38
In one respect, Almaty’s city-text was Russian: the language used for street names was Russian, thus,
Vosmoi Marta Street, not Segiz Nauryz. However, although the extensive use of personal names instead of
Russian words creates the impression that Russian has been replaced by Kazakh, Russianised versions of
street names are still heavily used.
39
For a short classification of Soviet place names see Peterson (1977).
18 MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI

However, the content of the post-Soviet official discourse on the Kazakh identity is rarely
discussed in the literature. Having examined the politics of street names in Almaty and
collective memory in Kazakhstan, this article has argued that what is called Kazakhisation
is not a narrative opposed to the Soviet past of the Kazakh people, nor is it an anti-
Russian discourse. Very few works notice this complexity of the ‘Kazakhisation’ process.
Among them, Laruelle (2015) notes how Kazakh television avoids painful memories of
the Soviet past, and instead focuses on the country’s ancient history. In line with Laruelle,
I have argued that commemorative policies in Kazakhstan avoid anti-Russian or anti-
Soviet sentiments. My argument also supports Bhavna Davé’s (2007, p. 3) assessment that
the Kazakh language campaign in post-Soviet Kazakhstan does not have a decisive anti-
Russian character. Ethno-nationalist expectations are met largely by commemorations of
Kazakh khans and batyrs, and famous Soviet Kazakh writers, composers, poets and World
War II heroes. My article also confirms Diener and Hagen’s (2013, p. 501) proposition
that from Eastern Europe to Mongolia, post-Soviet transformation of urban space is not a
simplistic post-socialist ‘return of the nation’ or a ‘return of history’. Rather this
transformation highlights a continuing negotiation of national identity that shares much
with socialist commemorative practices. Indeed, this reading of history is obviously very
much Soviet both in form and in content. The idea that street names must commemorate
‘great men’ was not unique to the Soviet Union in the twentieth century, but as a
revolutionary polity it was an extreme example. The post-Soviet Kazakh obsession with
honouring great national figures is even an exaggerated version of the Soviet legacy: the
only streets in the centre of Almay not named for people are Dostyq, Zheltoqsan and
Zhibek Zholy. Moreover, the detailed listing of street-name commemorations in
encyclopaedia form is itself a Soviet practice (Maliar & Fel’d 1966).40
Although few pre-Russian Kazakh figures were publicly commemorated in the Soviet
period, the discourse on them is far from novel. Ilias Esenberlin did not come out of
nowhere, and his narrative was structured by the national discourse reproduced in the
Soviet period almost uninterruptedly. Dadabayeva and Sharipova (2016, p. 176) state that
Esenberlin puts a high emphasis on land (in the novels, Kazakhs cannot be happy in
Khiva or Transoxiana because they were not Kazakh lands), and according to them, his
emphasis became the source of independent Kazakhstan’s perception of land as an
essential part of nationhood. Yet, it is impossible to understand Esenberlin’s emphasis
without reference to how history was nationalised according to the concept of
autochthonism, and how land became the essence of nationhood in Soviet history-writing,
so much so that when the Soviet authorities wanted to impose regionalist history-writing
in an effort to tame nationalism in the republics in the 1970s, Central Asian historians all
rejected such a vision in favour of national history-writing (Bustanov 2014, pp. 71–7).
It goes unnoticed in many studies that a significant portion of historical figures
commemorated in Kazakhstan are actually Kazakhs from the Soviet period, that the
majority of them were not among the repressed, and that the repressed were already being
commemorated in the thaw years. The real novelty of the post-Soviet period is the
rehabilitation of Alash figures; however, as this article has shown, they are still at the

40
See also, Alma-Ata: Gorod, Raiony, Ulitsy (Alma-Ata, Nauka, 1989).
 THE SOVIET AND THE POST-SOVIET 19

margins of the official discourse and their commemoration thus does not significantly
challenge the Soviet legacy. On the other hand, Soviet Kazakh figures, particularly heroes
of World War II, continue to dominate the national discourse. This is not to argue that
discourse is static and unchangeable, but even supposedly oppositional voices are
significantly structured by the authoritative discourse of nation with its heavy Soviet
heritage. These fully indigenise the personality cult of the Soviet regime, suggesting that
the state’s and oppositional figures’ vision of history are shaped by the same highly
essentialist ethno-national vision.

MEHMET VOLKAN KAȘIKÇI , Arizona State University School of Historical Philosophical and
Religious Studies—History, Tempe, AZ 85287-4302, USA.
Email: [email protected]

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Appendix
TABLE A1
CENTRAL ALMATY: PRINCIPAL NAME CHANGES
Imperial period Soviet period Post-Soviet period
Kolpakov Lenin Dostyq
Pushkin (from 1899) Pushkin Pushkin
Lepsinskaya Furmanov Furmanov/Nazarbayev
Kazarmennaya Panfilov Panfilov
Pishpekskaya Baiseitova (from 1957) Baiseitova
Starokladbishenskaya Vokzal’naya/Stalin/Kommunisticheskaya Abylai Khan
Issyk Kul’skaya Mira Zheltoqsan
Uzun-Agachskaya Dzherzhinskii Nauryzbai Batyr
Sartovskaya Uzbekskaya/Seifullin (from 1962) Seifullin
Dunganskaya Dunganskaya/Massanchi (date unknown) Massanchi
Taranchinskaya Uigurskaya/Kosmonavtov (from 1962) Baitursynov
Arychnaya Arychnaya/Abai (from 1960) Abai
Lagernaya Shevchenko Shevchenko
Gospital’naya Zhambyl (from 1938) Zhambyl
Gubernatorskaya Sovetskaya Qazybek Bi
Balkhashskaya Oktyabr’skaya Aiteke Bi
Gogol (from 1909) Gogol Gogol
Torgovaya Gorky Zhibek Zholy
Kul’dzhinskaya Pasteur/Maqataev (from 1986) Maqataev
Iliiskaya Mametova (date unknown) Mametova
Source: Buketova (2017, pp. 292–94).